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“Are you drunk?”
I laugh at his question. “Nah. I’m not drunk. Are you?”
“Where the hell are you, Maddox?”
I take a long drink of my booze, relishing the burn as it settles in a pool of warmth in my stomach. I smack my whiskey-infused lips. “Around. Where are you?”
“Goddammit, Maddox,” Dad explodes. “This isn’t like you. Get your shit together and sober up.”
I chuckle at his assumption that he knows me at all. “Really? What am I like then? A doormat? The weak link?”
“Where the hell is this coming from?”
“Oh, I dunno.” I set my bottle down beside me and pull myself up, using the cold bars surrounding the top of the tower to aid in my quest to stand. Swaying to the left, I hold tighter and laugh at myself. “Maybe this is coming from a place deep inside me that’s tired of everyone thinking I’m so predictable. What if I don’t wanna be the good boy everyone thinks I am? Maybe I wanna fuck up sometimes. Maybe then I’d stand out against those guys.”
“Listen, son,” Dad lowers his voice, “I don’t know what’s going on out there, but you need to drink some water and go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“What if I wanna talk now? Am I not allowed to call the shots on that?” My hand slips and I spin around, my back hitting the bar. Then I see the bottle at my feet. All alone. I lean down to snatch it up. “I wanna talk about this shit and drink until I forget we talked about it.” I lift the half-empty fifth to my lips and take a long swig. Dribbles of the dark liquor slide down my chin, but I wipe them away with my forearm and lick it off, refusing to waste a drop of the only thing tethering me to this world.
“All right. You wanna talk? Let's talk. But you have to promise me you’ll stop drinking for the night.”
I look at the whiskey in my hand and pout. “Fine.”
“What’s on your mind, son?”
“For starters, you need to understand that I’m gonna fuck up sometimes.”
“We all do. It’s only natural, but as your father, I can only hope and pray your fuckups are minimal.”
“Ohhhhh,” I drawl humorously. “What we did is not minimal. But I’m not going to tell you, so don't ask. But,” I emphasize the word, “I will be honest and tell you I haven’t been doing a very good job at my task as a Guardian. Got no idea what’s going on at the Kappa Rho House. Don’t watch those fucking guys. I honestly don’t even go there,” I tsk. “It was a stupid assignment anyways.”
“All right. You know you’ll have to write a report to The Elders by the end of the semester and you have to have truthful knowledge of what’s going on in that house. Just try harder.”
“Forget that. It’s not even important. I’ll have plenty to report soon enough. Let’s talk about your involvement with the governor. Why are you so hell-bent on investigating his death?”
His silence leads me to believe my suspicion of him having a personal interest in this case is accurate.
“Why are you asking about the governor? Did you witness something that you haven’t shared with me?”
“Why are you deflecting? Just answer the question. It’s easy enough.”
“You’re drunk, son. Get some rest. I’m ending this call. We can talk when you’re sober.”
“Don’t do it.” I deepen my tone. “Don’t you hang up on me!”
The line goes silent, and I stomp my foot. “Dammit!”
I knew he was hiding something from me. Him hanging up shows his guilt. That’s okay. I’ll get to the bottom of this one way or another. I’ll keep an eye on things as a Guardian, but it’s not going to be who The Elders want my eye on. I always knew there were some crooked members in The Society. Just never imagined my dad might be one of them.
My phone pings with a text, and I assume it’s my dad telling me to get to bed and sober up. But it’s Riley. I hold it out in front of me. Nine messages from her today. All read with no response on my part. The effects of the booze are clouding my judgment, but I refuse to text her back. No matter what I say, it won’t be good enough. Ridge will always come out on top.
I bring the bottle to my mouth and take another long swig before tapping the message to read it.
Riley: Don’t move. I’m coming up.
What the…
I stagger to the left, and just when I grab the pole to catch my balance, my phone flies out of my hand, falling fifty feet to the ground and likely shattering on the concrete.
