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There’s several murmurs of discussion and the voice replies back. “If there was truly no love, why didn’t your father and Mrs. Anders file for a relatively simple divorce? Why go through the pitfalls of cheating on a spouse?”
Fuck.
Where did that come from?
In my pause, the reporter pounces. “In fact, isn’t it true that the only reason you’re standing here today is because Mrs. Anders got pregnant? That if she hadn’t, you would simply carry on as before.”
Fuck, he’s just backed me into a corner.
Michael made it explicitly clear not to air the dirty laundry, but I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do now to defend Jocelyn and me. I can’t talk about the specific cases where the marriage looks fucking fake, because it’ll make dad look bad. And he’ll retaliate with enough overkill to steamroll us.
But on the other hand, I can’t talk about knowingly cheating, or helping a woman cheat.
Seriously, this smacks of a Michael Anders setup, doesn’t it?
I look to the right of me and see Jocelyn standing there, placing her complete faith in me.
I just wish I knew what to say.
That's when another voice comes from behind the crowd.
“He didn’t cheat, because the marriage was never proper to begin with,” the voice states with commanding authority.
I can’t see who it is, but I see the people part—similar to how Moses parted the Red Sea.
And out of the corner of my eyes, I see the front row begin to split up in different sides.
And my dad comes walking out.
He turns his back to me and faces the cameras. “Maybe I should say some words now too, give my side of the story.”
Yeah, he’s definitely up to something.
I just wish I knew what.
Michael
Well, I guess you never expected to be hearing from me now, did you?
Come on, I figure the least you can give me is a chance to get my side of the story in, if that. This is going to be the one and only time I get a chance to talk to you, and I guarantee you that a few things will happen.
First, you will see why I’m better than those two. Better than Jocelyn—sure she’s pretty, but she’s a child. Doesn’t understand how the world works. Thinks that people are inherently good. This world is a nasty, brutal place. I take what I can and I try to keep you from taking it from me. The whole concept of family or friends that we’ve created is a luxury. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself. And nothing else matters. The murderer sleeps as peacefully as the person he murdered when they’re both dead.
Yes, I’m better than Lance too. Sure, he’s got that body. He’s got a good heart. Bless him, he is a good person, I don’t deny that. He even has the killer instinct. No one else would be able to turn that press conference around if they didn’t. But he could be so much more. Instead he chooses to waste it all by thinking with the wrong head. He falls in love. Love is for suckers.
I’m going to leave you with that for now because I think you’re not being completely receptive to what I have to say. Figures. You probably want Lance and Jocelyn to end up together, don’t you? They’re two stupid human beings and I have no time for anyone who doesn’t understand or see that.
I climb the steps to the podium as Lance looks at me. He’s wondering what I’m up to. Well, he’s about to find out how a real master handles this. I don’t even bother looking at Jocelyn. She’s probably staring at me with those cow-like eyes of hers, wondering what’s going on. Honestly, I can’t believe I had to spend as many months as I did tolerating her. Her constant need for affection. Her constant attitude of needing love. It’s sickening.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say into the microphone, giving the press a wide smile. “You’ve certainly had a roller coaster of a day today, haven’t you?”
There’s isolated pockets of laughter. That’s how you need to do it. Lance and Jocelyn, in their typical fashion, just bungled the whole thing.
But then again, they were never supposed to get this far. Not with those questions I had planted about Jocelyn’s relationship to Lance and about cheating.
That’s right. I planned it. I sabotaged them. I wanted them to fail.
