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I run a hand through my hair, though that motion is getting a little old. I’m fucking nervous and I hate it. “You’ve no idea the shit fight I went through, but I had no rights. None whatsoever. I tried, and I want you to know that. Your grandmother wouldn’t even let me see you. I wrote, but I’m sure you never got any letters.”
“You wrote?”
“Yes. I felt terrible that she wrenched you away from your friends and what you knew.”
“Trust me. They were easy to miss.”
I take a breath. “Which is why this — what happened tonight — can’t go any further, Charlize. I’m not kidding around. If I’d known it was you, I would’ve stopped it.” Why does she act like none of this was wrong? Like she couldn’t care less?
“Keep your hair on. We’re two consenting adults who aren’t blood related. I saw you half a dozen times growing up, Alistair. You were never my father. But now may be a good time to chat about what was up with you and my mother.”
“Now isn’t a good time.” Never will be a good time. I try not to sound bitter, but I can’t help it. So much about that time, and the regret I have, eats away at me. Maybe it always will because I couldn’t help Abigail. Maybe that’s my penance in life; the burden I have to carry for all of my sins. Now I have the memory of giving Charlize oral sex and talking dirty to her to add to the list. What is wrong with me?
How do I get myself into these situations?
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white.
“Why not? Seventeen years is a helluva long time, Daddy dearest. I’m sure you could’ve thought of a good story by now.”
“Very mature. And there’s no story.”
She shrugs like a petulant child. “Are you sure? I mean, most girls don’t get to see their stepdad’s big dick…”
“One more dig, Charlize. I swear to fucking God.”
I think she’s getting some kind of sick enjoyment out of this. And a part of me knows that I fucking deserve it. I didn’t try hard enough, and that’s on me. I should’ve fought harder.
I was selfish and arrogant back then. I could’ve done more than I did, and it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. Even if going to court would’ve been futile, at least she’d have known I did care.
“You always were cute when you were angry.” She hugs herself, sitting back in the seat. I clench the steering wheel while she continues to taunt me. “I know what my mum saw in you, and that isn’t a dig. You always were the protective type. The man of the house. Sometimes I think she needed that, you know, a big strong man to take the pressure off her. She struggled so much. Maybe that’s why I stayed away at boarding school without a fuss. I hated it, but I wanted you guys to make things work.”
Her words sting me. I don’t like the idea that she hated school, and perhaps if she had been home more, she’d have seen the lie between me and her mother firsthand.
I know Abigail struggled. I saw it. When she couldn’t be herself and live how she wanted, she’d bolt. That's what she did her whole life. When Charlize was born — so I was told — when she struggled with addiction and with her overbearing mother; she’d bolt. When she couldn’t take the pressures of everyday life; she’d leave. It was her MO.
“Clearly I wasn’t protective enough.”
“Did you ever love her?”
The question comes out of nowhere and it hits me in the chest like a thunderbolt.
But I have to answer honestly, I can’t lie to her, even for the greater good. “I did, in my own way. Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“You weren’t in love.” It’s not a question.
“Your point being?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Well, that you were legally married. You didn’t love each other, you weren’t intimate — as far as I can tell — and then she died. So us and what we did, doesn’t have to have any guilt attached to it. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Alistair.”
Fuck. The way she keeps saying my name.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who hired an escort.”
“No, but I am an escort, for all intents and purposes.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She sighs, turning her head away. “Never mind.”
