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“I’m sorry.” Harper slipped from the room, and I was grateful to be alone. I held the napkins to my bleeding hand. It wasn’t too bad, I’d live.
“Marie, can I get some help here, please?” I called out, hating that I had to ask for help, but orange juice was now spilling out onto the floor.
I bent down with some more napkins to clean up the mess at my feet. I heard footsteps, which I assumed to be Marie or some of her staff. “Can you get some rags, please?”
I stood up and found myself staring at Aiden from across the table. He had an empty glass and was likely coming for a refill but when he saw me, he turned on his heels and headed for the door without a word.
“Hey, wait, I wanted to talk to you!” I called out, rushing around the large table. He stopped and turned to face me. Suddenly, I forgot what I was going to say; my words came out slurred and I cursed how much I had to drink. “I know we both said some hurtful things, I, uh…”
“We both said hurtful things?” Aiden scoffed, crossing his arms in front of him and shaking his head. “I’m just trying to help you get over what happened with Dad, man, and you continue to insult me at every turn.”
“I’m not the only one who has said hurtful things, Aiden, but I agree—”
“I thought you were going to apologize,” he said, turning and shaking his head again.
“I am.”
“An apology where you tell me everythingI’vedone wrong isn’t much of an apology, Jackson.”
“I think we both owe each other an apology honestly.”
“Maybe so, but not until you’re sober, man. You need help.”
He disappeared into the hallway, and I was once again left alone. Rage coursed through my veins. Why did I fuck up everything?
Just like Dad, I thought to myself. Aiden had said those words to me countless times. Maybe he was right.
Maybe I was destined to be a fuck up like our father.
As I stared at the mess all over the dining room table, it only cemented my feelings. I grabbed the bottle of vodka and decided that was enough Christmas cheer for me.
I couldn’t deal with my family sober.
23
Aiden
New article on the South Carolina Chroniclewith your search termspopped up on my phone.
My search terms were my name. Any time a new article or mention of my name popped up, I’d get a Google text alert. It had been a few days since I’d last received one so I thought maybe the journalists had taken a break over the holidays, but someone was burning the midnight oil on Christmas Eve apparently.
I sighed and pulled up the article.
Aiden Bishop: Like Father, Like Son, New Information Released.
The media was so quick to believe my guilt because of my father. They assumed I was just like him and that I idealized my dad, following in his footsteps. Nothing could be further from the truth. I had done my best to separate my life from him, to be nothing like him.
The “proof” was some text messages to the congressman’s wife. They weren’t from me; I knew that right away. I never messaged her, not once. They weren’t even written in my style. Clearly, she was carrying on an affair with someone, but that person wasn’t me.
I had no interest in his wife.
I had tried to stay quiet, because no matter what I said, the media would spin it and make me look bad. I was hoping the suit would clear my name and once all the facts were presented to a judge and it was ruled to be slander, I would be free and clear of all this. Jackson had agreed to help me, but considering we weren’t on speaking terms and he couldn’t even stay sober long enough to open Christmas presents, I wasn’t going to count on his help.
I had to take care of this myself.
I had no new work, and all my clients were dropping like flies due to the accusations. I was an easy target, of course, because of my dad. But this guy needed to realize someone else was fucking his wife and stealing from him and it wasn’t me.
I wasnotmy dad.
