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For good.
30
BRANDON
“You’re losing focus, son.”
I lift my head and jerk when I accidentally touch the hot pot.
“Bran!” Dad takes my hand in his and inspects my fingers.
His touch burns my cursed wrist. I feel as if his laser eyes will reach beneath the watch and see the evidence of how fucked I am.
Glyn was right. My parents love me—theyalwayshave. But a part of me can’t help thinking it’s because of the façade I put on so well. Their dutiful son, an obedient teenager, never complains and never throws a fit.
Never gets in their way. Never causes them headaches like Lan does.
A part of me believes that if they see me for who I truly am, I’ll lose the Son of the Year Award faster than lightning.
That prospect scares the shit out of me.
I subtly pull my hand from Dad and plaster on a smile. “It’s nothing. Just a little burn.”
“You need to be careful in the kitchen. That’s the first rule of cooking.”
“I know. Sorry.”
Dad pats my shoulder affectionately and goes back to chopping carrots, but not before he offers me his golden smile. The one Lan and I inherited. Though he’s a much blonder, more muscular version of us.
Mum said he was the most popular guy in school and garnered more attention than he should have. And I can see it. Not only does he drip with the ‘superior’ King genes, as Grandpa Jonathan likes to call them, but he’s also levelheaded and charismatic to a fault.
A select few prefer to do business with him instead of Uncle Aiden because he’s much more amiable. Uncle is…well, let’s say his motto is his way or the highway. Eli and Lan definitely take after him in that department.
While many have flocked to Uncle Aiden, Dad is the actual gem with his intense yet caring personality. His outward ruthlessness yet inner warmth. His firm demands and bear hugs. Dad has always been the ultimate role model and the type of man I’ve strived to be.
Responsible. Reliable. In control.
Too bad I’m too messed up in the head to ever be able to achieve that.
I thought with time, everything would get better, but the ink has been festering inside me and painting every beautiful color and memory in black.
And the thought of everyone seeing me at the end of that process makes me nauseous.
I’d rather bleed to death than let anyone see me like that.
“Bran?”
I blink at my dad, that last thought still coiling my stomach as I smile. “Yeah?”
“Shouldn’t you be adding the spices now?”
“Oh, right.” I focus on that and methodically sprinkle precise amounts of each one into the pot.
But even this activity that I used to take immense pleasure in only causes me pain now.
I can’t stop thinking about the times I was cooking in the penthouse and Nikolai was being clingy, and while I called him annoying, I actually loved having him around.
I loved the fact that he couldn’t stay away from me—not even for a minute. He made it his mission to touch me all the time as if I were the magnet to his steel.
