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I still remember stopping by his office as a teenager, eavesdropping on the man who had always been so cruel to me. I remember how he laughed as he described my dad’s lifeless, mangled body. How he hired someone to cut his brakes the night before, knowing he wouldn’t make it to work the next day. How he swooped in like a knight in shining armor to the young widow and her small child. How conning my dad into letting him own half his business as his business partner was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Fastest money too. I remember being frozen in place, knowing I should have grabbed my phone and recorded it but being too stunned to do so.
I remember walking to my room numbly and vowing I would avenge my father, no matter the cost.
I never dreamed it would be this hard, though.
I pick up my phone and call my mom. I think it’s time for a family dinner.
* * *
My stepbrother arrives,dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept lately. Looking like he’s one step away from retirement. “Honey.” My mom peers at him. “What is wrong? You look so tired.” My mom, the godsend that she is, has never treated him any different then she’s treated me. Even when he rejected her at first, she never stopped trying.
He clears his throat, laying a napkin down on his lap. “The woman I’m seeing, her daughter isn’t exactly adjusting to me being around. We want to get married, conjoin our families as soon as possible, but the girl, she’s not really having it.”
“Send the brat to boarding school,” Derek pipes up.
My stepbrother casts a glare at his father. “I don’t want to and even if I did, she’s eighteen, it would mess up her transcripts and all kinds of things.”
“Just give her some time, honey. You know how hard it is to adjust.” My mom smiles, patting his hand from across the table.
“Yeah, it’s just a tad bit different of a situation,” he mumbles, placing his utensils in his hand before he begins to eat.
Dinner is quiet, none of us actually caring about one another enough to strike up a conversation. I look up, catching my stepfather’s eyes. “I’d like to talk to you in your office.”
“Oh goody.” He chuckles.
We both rise, the room thick with tension, the other two watching with bated breath as we exit. Anytime my stepfather and I have talked, it’s never ended good. We’ve never gotten along. But I want to bait him, see if I can get him to admit it.
His office is lifeless, bleak, just like his personality. Standard desk, law books covering the bookshelves. No messy desk filled with papers like there should be. One single family photo rests on the corner of his desk. He has a giant gold-and-red rug. Two single chairs facing his desk. That’s all, though. No golf pictures or souvenirs. The room is depressing.
He sits behind his big deep brown desk, a cigar in one hand, a crystal glass in the other. Looking like a nineteen-seventies cartoon villain. “Cut to the chase. I don’t care for you and don’t really want to have a guys’ chat. What do you want, Lincoln?”
I smirk, taking a sip of my scotch. “Do you remember the summer we had the pool redone and Mom threw a huge party to show it off to everyone?” He nods, puffing rings of smoke into the air. “Remember that night, when you had your buddies in this very office?”
He sighs. “I was piss drunk, so no, I do not. Get to the point.”
Oh, I’m about to.“Very well. I remember I stopped outside your door, eavesdropping, and I heard you tell a story. A rather cruel one, if I might add.”
His body freezes and he looks over to me, a tad bit pale and lacking his usual arrogance. “Whatever you think you heard, you’re wrong.”
“But how would you know? You don’t remember. But here’s the thing, I remember every detail of your story about how you killed my father. “
He grins. “I didn’t kill your father,” he lies. “And even if I did, you can’t prove it.”
I laugh. “But I’m so very close to proving it.”
He leans on his desk, gaze threatening and penetrating. “If you don’t stop this nonsense now, I’ll take the very thing that means everything to you away.”
Callum flashes across my mind. Her blonde hair, blue jewel-like eyes. Her milky thighs and big bows. But there’s no way he knows about her. I smirk. “I have nothing to lose,” I say.
He grins, eyes twinkling with a secret. “Are you sure about that?”
I nod with confidence, rising to my feet. “May the best man win.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Journal entry: How can this be goodbye when it feels like the beginning?
This achein my chest feels everlasting. The silk bow on my head feels heavy and the lipstick painted on my lips is lackluster. Is this my life now? Where the world seems dull, and everything has lost the sparkle of excitement?
