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“Why did you cut me off?”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“No, Freya,” he responded. “You owe me. You taunted me into a relationship with you and then you just disappeared without any warning. Am I supposed to just let that go and move on?”
I was taken aback. Liam had mentioned this. Brent Lucan did not let things go. Liam had also said, Brent Lucan was unforgiving and ruthless, and if you ever hurt him, he was sure to hurt you back multiple times over. “Why do you sound like the victim here?”
His eyebrows rose with incredulity. “Do you believe yourself to be a victim?”
“Why do you even want me?” I asked. “There are so many other women around that you could have.”
“Why did you ask me to make you feel good at the charity event? There were so many other men who could have made you feel better.”
Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand that he could be so calm and guiltless, and have absolutely no qualms about sleeping with the daughter of the man he had probably ruined. I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. Somewhere at the back of my mind I also suspected that Brent feared no one, or thing, and thus would never sink low enough to lie. Perhaps I was wrong. I would soon find out. “Don't you feel any guilt?”
He frowned. “About what?”
It was so hard to breathe. It felt as though time had stopped and yet again, everything was about to change. “About my father and about my family.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why would I feel guilt?”
I wanted him to assume I knew much more than I did to trick him into giving up information. I treaded carefully. Making my accusation general. His response could mean nothing, or everything. “You put us in quite a mess,” I said. “We’re struggling like this because of you. How can you have no qualms whatsoever about sleeping with me after what you did to him? I lost my father because of you.”
With a bored sigh, he folded his arms across his chest. “Freya, if you truly knew what happened to your father you wouldn’t be asking me these questions or making these unfounded accusations.”
It felt as though the bubble around me shattered. “What?”
“Who told you that I was responsible for your father’s death?”
I panicked as I thought of what to say, it felt like I was about to be shut down. “Are you saying that you aren’t?” My nails dug into my hands with anxiety as I waited on his response.
“Why would I be? He wasn't murdered, he took his own life.”
My blood began to boil. “Didn’t you contribute to it? Aren’t you the one who accused him and his entire company of fraud and possibly of murder?” My voice had become a screech, but I couldn’t stop. All the pain, sorrow and confusion I had kept inside me came flooding out. “I loved my father. He was strong and ambitious and he loved my mother. He would never have taken his life if you had not destroyed him. And now we are like pariahs in our community. Everywhere we go, we are whispered about and mocked. I had to watch my mother crawl around on the floor begging for a bit more time to pay her bills. That’s what you’ve done to my family. Do you understand, Brent? I LOVED my father!” I shouted. Tears were now pouring out of my eyes. I didn’t attempt to hide or wipe them away. I let him see how ugly my pain was.
His eyes grew shrouded.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I demanded furiously.
“What answer do you want from me?” he asked. “And would you believe it?”
“Are you fucking responsible for my father’s death or not?” I hurled at him.
“I am not.” Then he turned around and walked out of the bathroom.
All the fight went out of me as I slumped back against the sink.
Freya
I returned home in the early hours of the morning to see my mother asleep at the dining table, her face resting on her arm, her reading glasses pushed into her cheek. Spread on the small glass table were sheets of papers. I went over to her and as gently as I could, removed her glasses.
She jumped awake. “Oh, Freya,” she whispered, looking up at me with a slightly disorientated expression.
I took in her sunken eyes, the red mark left by her glasses on her cheek and her scrunched up messy hair, then I pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Nothing is wrong. I just fell asleep. I must have been tired. Did you have a good time tonight?” She patted her hair and began to gather the papers.
“I’m not a child anymore. Tell me.”
“I know you’re not a child, Freya.”
“Then what is it? You don’t want me to be worried?”
“Well …”
“You can’t shoulder all of this alone.”
“I won’t,” she said. “Not anymore. I’m going to see your aunt Bethany and ask her to lend us some money.”
I reared back. “No, Mom. You can’t do that. You cut off all contact with her years ago because she used to treat you like shit. She’ll make you grovel for the money.”
“I know,” she replied, lifting her chin. “But it’s either that or we lose our home.”
“What?”
