7. Bones
CHAPTER 7
BONES
A s if my day wasn’t bad enough with five back-to-back lectures, I now have to attend my monthly meal at my father’s house. I hate it, and I debate canceling, but I know he will make me pay. Popping some pain relief for the headache I feel brewing, I slide from my car and head up the driveway to the showy mansion.
Townsend is not subtle, not in the least. No, he likes to flaunt his power and wealth and hold it over people, including me. He loves that he has me on a leash like that.
The fucker.
I don’t bother knocking. I simply open the front door and storm into his house. I incline my head at the staff, looking for any familiar faces, but as always, they are new—nobody lasts long here. When I was a child, it was to stop me from getting attached after he saw how close I was with the cook. After I left, the turnover rate became higher, since my father is not an easy man to please, so it doesn’t surprise me that I don’t recognize anyone.
I pass the marble statues and paintings hung proudly in the reception area. This house was always more like a museum—a showcase of his wealth and power. There are pictures with presidents, CEOs, and every powerful man you can think of displayed on these walls, as well as paintings that sell for upwards of millions. It’s a collection of wealth without taste.
I hate how cold and empty it feels.
This was never a home, it was simply a house, which makes me even sadder because I realize the one I have now is the same—cold, empty, and a place to rest my head.
Silent Rose became my home, but after everything that happened, even that is changing, and I find myself clinging to the last shred of warmth, needing that support, family, and escape.
I step into the formal dining room, and my shoulders tighten when I realize he is already waiting. He looks impatiently at his watch and then me. He doesn’t say it, but it is a silent slap to the face.
I’m late, and he’s not happy.
I can practically hear his monologue. I am a very busy man, son. Do you know how much money I could be making? Instead, I’m here making time for you and you’re late.
Nodding my head in greeting, I slide into the chair at the other end of the long oak dining table. We face each other with at least twelve seats between us on either side. A flower arrangement and candles are perfectly placed in the middle.
The fire roars behind my father, giving him a satanic appearance. The chandelier is turned down low for ambiance, and Mozart, if I’m correct, floats through the room as the curtains flutter in a slight breeze from one of the many windows spanning the right side of the room.
The rug under my feet slides as I tug my chair in, and I take great delight in messing up the perfect room even a little. I sit up tall, stiff, knowing better than to defy him. I used to take great joy in acting out, in snubbing his perfect posture, but it got me nowhere. He would react, but in the end, it didn’t change anything, so now I play along for two hours every other week. I am his perfect son so he will leave me alone the rest of the time, and he feels his fatherly obligations are complete.
I do not speak. I know better. One does not speak unless spoken to. You must remain alert, polite, and, better yet, calculating. Every word must be thought through, must have a meaning—an attack and a counterattack.
“How are your grades?” he asks, breaking the standoff.
No hi, how are you, or are you well. He doesn’t even ask how I’m feeling after surviving a serial killer.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but my shoulders slump slightly. I guess you can take the kid from the house, but you can’t take the house from the kid. Somewhere deep down, I still crave my father’s love and approval, and I hate that even more. I will never meet his perfect standards because they are impossible, but I still try. He glances at my exposed forearms and the tattoos there, his lips tilting down in disgust, but he has no other outward reaction.
I remember the day I came home with them. He took one look at me and left. He didn’t even speak, and we didn’t see each other for many months. I thought that would have felt good, but instead it only hurt me knowing he cared so little.
For him, it’s all about appearance and structure, and I am a blot on his perfect, impeccable image.
The son he never wanted.
“Good,” I say.
“Only good? They should be excellent. Clearly you are not working hard enough. I will contact your professors in regard to extra work you can undertake to improve them.”
I know better than to argue, yet I find my mouth opening anyway. “I’m studying more than most, and my grades are the highest in the class?—”
“Yet they could be higher. Correct me if I’m wrong.” His eyebrow arches, daring me to lie to him. No doubt he has already looked over my last reports and submissions. Hell, he will probably email them back to me with corrections and notes on how to improve.
I never win an argument with him, not once, so why do I keep trying?
“How is work?” I ask instead, offering an olive branch. I don’t know why, since there will never be any love between us, but it will hopefully stop him from reprimanding me all night and shift his attention to what he’s passionate about.
“Clumsy,” he replies as he leans back, no doubt referring to my change of topic, “but effective.” There’s a gleam of pride in his eyes at that. “We just started working with some big companies. They will be announced soon. I am building this for you?—”
I tune out as he rants on about how he’s building this empire for me, so we can work side by side, his perfect protégé. He will never give up on it.
I eye the maid nervously waiting for him to finish speaking, and when he does, she scurries forward. “Sir, are you ready for your first course to be served?”
He eyes her distastefully. “Of course, it is already six minutes late.”
“You were speaking,” I remind him, saving her from his ire. “You taught them it is rude to interrupt, have you not?”
He tilts his head, watching me as he waves his hand, dismissing her. “Your need to save those below you has not been taken away, I see. I thought you would have learned your lesson since your… friends’ issues.”
“Issues? You mean when we were almost murdered by a serial killer?” I offer coldly.
He curls his lip, hating those crude words. “It is your own fault. You shouldn’t have involved yourself with the likes of them.”
Oh, of course, because anyone Mr. Declan Townsend has not deemed worthy is not to be trusted nor engaged. He believes friendship and love are weaknesses, and once that rubbed off on me and I believed it too, until that all changed. Now he is gone as well, and I am left alone once more.
“I should have told that to the serial killer,” I retort.
“Do not be pedantic, Silas.”
“It’s Bones,” I remind him.
“I named you Silas Townsend. I will not call you some silly nickname,” he snaps. “You sound like a thug.”
I laugh. “You’d know all about thugs. Aren’t you in bed with most of them?”
“That is not funny in the slightest. My company works on many pro bono cases—” I ignore his rant as the maid appears behind him with a plate, hesitating when she realizes he is angry.
“Food is here,” I interrupt him, and from the tightening of his lips as he quiets down, I know I will pay for that later.
Another of his rules—you do not interrupt elders.
“Well, serve then,” he snaps without looking at her. She hurries forward, terror in her eyes. I don’t blame her. My father is a terrifying man. I know the depth of his power and anger, but I don’t care anymore. He can’t take anything else from me.
I lean forward, my eyes widening in horror as I watch the young maid stumble over the edge of the rug as she tries to balance too many plates, and the one above my father’s seat crashes and breaks on the table and floor.
The silence is loud for a moment, nobody daring to speak or move. The young girl looks like she’s ready to cry, her eyes wide in horror and fear as my father slides his chair back, looking at the mess in displeasure.
Everybody knows Declan Townsend despises mistakes more than he despises messes. He demands perfection, and as he looks up at her, I see her physically flinch.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I will clean this up right away. I’m so sorry—” She wrings her hands before her in horror, tears leaking from her eyes. All he does is stare, something that has made CEOs weep and flee, so when she starts to tremble, I don’t blame her.
Lurching to my feet, I go to intervene when his gaze moves to me. He’s about to reprimand me, but his phone rings, breaking the silence. He releases us all from his rage as he picks it up and checks the ID.
As he pushes from the table, he doesn’t even spare me a look as he answers the call, talking as he walks away, leaving the mess and me behind, a far too familiar scene. The maid hurries out of the room. Sighing, I throw my napkin down and head to his broken plate. Kneeling, I start to pick up the shards as the maid hurries back, horror in her gaze when she sees me.
“Sir, please allow me!” she begs, dropping to her knees as if she has committed a great crime. She pushes my hands away, her eyes wide and terrified. “Please, if he sees?—”
“Let me help,” I offer kindly. “I’m sorry for his attitude. You didn’t deserve that. It was a mistake.”
She ducks her head in shame, her cheeks heating. “I should have been more careful. Please, sir, let me. I will be in more trouble if anyone sees you like this.”
Leaning back on my heels, I watch her swiftly clean up the mess, stand, and leave without looking at me again. Fuck this. Where is the humanity? Where is the basic kindness?
I can’t even offer a helping hand to the staff. They are so terrified of my father and his precious only son.
I’m left standing in the empty, cold dining room, staring down at the small bleeding cut on my finger from the sharp edge of the plate. It should be bigger, I should be cut to pieces by him, but as usual, those wounds don’t show. Instead, I watch the blood roll down my finger and hit his perfect rug before turning away.
He’ll be gone all night. Work is more important for him, but at least it frees me.
As I head out the front door, I hear him screaming somewhere deep in the house and shudder, and that is exactly why I will never let another angry male into my life.
My appetite is gone after being around my father, but I know I must eat, so I scarf down some burgers on the way home. Unlocking my front door, I drop my keys into the bowl, not bothering to turn on the lights as I kick off my shoes and pad into the dark, empty apartment. My eyes stick on the photos, the only ones in the entire place, on the side table. There’s one of me when I’m younger, without tattoos, and my arms are around the only person in this world I cared about.
I look so young and happy, my smile wide, but as I pick up the frame, I see the light catch on my reflection. Gone is the smile, and now I’m as cold as my father, just like he wanted. Putting it down carefully, I look around my apartment, wondering if this is the life I will always live.
I’m exhausted from being around my father and feeling far too raw. When my phone pings, I rip it from my pocket and frown at the unknown number.
Unknown: I got your number from Alek. I stole his phone. Hope your class was good.
It pings again.
Unknown: I’ll have a race soon. You should come and watch. I know I’ll be much better with you to impress.
Unknown: You can even take the winner home with you.
Unknown: That’s me, by the way.
Unknown: It’s your Skylar.
I snort, a smile curling my lips even as I shake my head. My shitty night suddenly disappeared. He has this way about him, making me want to laugh even in the shittiest of situations. I mean, he did even that night.
Bones: I would not, under any circumstances, come and see you race.
He types back quickly, clearly waiting for me to reply.
Unknown: Name your price. I’ll pay it. You want a car? A house? A kiss?
Bones: How about your silence?
Unknown: Deal, I’ll leave you alone for two days if you come to the race.
Bones: I was joking, not making a deal.
Unknown: Too late, you should know better as a lawyer. I’ll see you there. Alek knows the information. Feel free to wear my name on your shirt. I can always sign it for you later or take it off you. Whichever you want.
Bones: I’m blocking you.
I hesitate when I lock my phone and I don’t.
Why? I don’t know. Maybe his insanity is rubbing off on me.