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“Jesus fucking Christ.” The daisy chain runs long on this side of the fence.
I live under the same goddamn roof as my daughter, and yet, it’s her fucking estranged mother who tells me she’s dating her step-brother aftersheheard it from her goddamn new husband.
“Since when?” I half-shout.
“I’d say Deo’s been chasing her for a few months at a guess?”
“Fucker got a death wish?”
“Give it a rest, Tyke.” She laughs, her goddamn cackle resonating off the expensive frontages down the otherwise quiet street. “You always were a bit stupid, weren’t you.”
I work my jaw. "Stupid enough to believe you spoke the truth when you told me for better or worse."
Her eyes harden, hands sliding up and down exposed arms. “Better or worse.” She huffs a disgruntled sound. “At least those ends of the spectrum have life to them. That shit in the middle where you checked out? Thatnothingness..." Her eyes narrow, anger and resentment in the deep blue. "You would have taken me with you."
“Maybe I simply followed your lead.” I lift an eyebrow. I've heard this shit a thousand times over, and the story never gets any better. What she should say is that she couldn't be bothered when the going got tough. What she should say is her narcissistic self checked out when it wasn'therneeds being met. What shedidsay was that she didn't care enough to try anymore. "Is he home or not?"
Charlene jerks her chin toward the house. "Leave your boots at the door. I just had the carpets shampooed."
The woman makes it to the house well before I do, which suits me just fine. Last thing I need is to feel as though she leads me like a fucking slave. Some twisted mistress taking her latest offering to her sick king.
The regal fucker sits at the dining table, newspaper spread out before him. I register enough to recognize numbers across the pages, some business rag for the wealthy playboys to appear important whilst holding. I doubt the fucker understands much else amongst the newsprint other than who among his competition are on their knees, looking for a devil to save them.
"I haven't seen you for how long? Four and half months?" Marco drawls, eyes never leaving the pages before him. "And you show up now. On a Sunday." He sets the paper down, fixing me with a hard stare. "Why?"
"Didn't realize you missed me that much." I walk past the asshole and stop at the wall-to-wall glass windows. "You've been busy landscaping."
"Paid someone to. Yes."
"You know what I meant." I keep my back to him, arms folded, as I stare at the flawless lines of perfectly trimmed hedging. Everything controlled to the nth degree, just as he likes it. "Can't imagine you with dirt under your fingernails." Blood, maybe. But not dirt. "Have some new bodies you needed to hide?"
“Hilarious, as always." His tone drips with condescension. “There's more than reinforcing rods under your concrete, Tyke."
"You know it." Fucker helped me put a couple of them there. “What’s this I hear about your boy courting my girl?”
“They’re young. Let them make mistakes.”
“You think it’s a good idea? They’re fucking family.”
“By marriage only,” he drawls. “Not even name. Is that the reason for your visit?”
I shake my head, resolving to have this shit out with Maddie later. “I got mail a few weeks back—registered. Know anything of it?"
"You came here about fucking mail?" Charlene spits.
“He let you talk with the big boys?” I turn slowly. "Thought you were best used as decoration these days.”
"Fuck you." Her cheek twitches beside her nose.
"Leave," Marco orders her, eyes on me. "You were going for a run."
Activewear, sure. But there isn't a single other thing that says Charlene was prepared for a workout. Not her danglingearrings, overdone makeup, or lack of fucking food down her throat. "Aren't you worried she'll pass out on the side of a road somewhere?" I ask once she's left the room.
Marco simmers a small smile. "That's the hope."
Ah.So, the welcome mat has worn thin here, too. "I did warn you."
"And I never did listen to anything you say." He folds the paper and pushes it aside. "Sit."
