26. Roman
ROMAN
“ L et’s talk about your mother.”
I grit my teeth, eyes flicking toward my dad who’s sitting on my front porch, sipping iced tea and watching the sunset.
“Let’s not,” I reply.
He gives me a disappointed look.
My thumb spins the ring on my finger so fast it blurs in my vision. The last thing I want to do is give him power by doing whatever he says, but at some point, I have to give up this weird need to stay in control and just trust this will work out.
If I don’t, I might drive myself insane.
I may have already if it weren’t for the fact that every night over the past week, I’ve snuck to Upside Down Rock and met with Juliette.
Sometimes, we spend hours talking about everything and nothing and all the in between.
Other times, we sit in silence and create .
She writes her stories, and I draw her .
It’s always her.
A sense of longing wraps around me.
Juliette would want me to face whatever my life has turned into head-on. If we’re relegated to dark corners and fake boundaries that don’t come close to defining what we really are, the least I can do is make the sacrifices worth it.
“Fine,” I admit. “But…I came here for Brooke. She’s who I want to talk about. She needs health insurance and money for her meds. I didn’t know what else to do.”
He nods, grimacing. “You don’t know what she’s sick with?”
That familiar desolation rises in me.
Helplessness.
“No, it just came on a few years back. She has good days and bad. Lots of headaches, dizziness, vomiting. Seizures. But everything checks out in tests, so they don’t know what’s wrong.”
My father looks sad. “Genetic testing?”
I shrug. “We only have Mom. No clue who her father is.”
My dad frowns like the thought of my mom with someone else pains him. “If I had known you were struggling so much…”
A hit of gratitude smacks me in the face. I don’t want to feel anything other than resentment toward him. The anger is comfortable. Familiar. This new sensation makes me itch. “Yeah, well, I needed a dad either way.”
He swallows harshly, his gaze never straying from the backyard, but when he replies next, his voice is thick. “I should have done better to care for you. I didn’t realize Heather?—”
“That’s right,” I cut him off. “You didn’t.”
Who does he think he is, trying to have this heart to heart now? I’ve got news for him—he’s about five years too late. Where was this man when I came to him the last time, when I was basically arms wide open, begging for him to care?
He wasn’t sick then.
Dad leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Have you spoken to Brooklynn about her trust?”
I clear my throat. I would if she’d answer her phone. “She won’t be interested.”
He sighs, then nods. “Well, in any case, I’ve got a health insurance plan with her name on it, Roman. She can’t say no to that, can she?”
My lungs squeeze with hope, or fuck, I don’t know what. But it’s light and unbelievable, and like maybe being here isn’t the worst thing in the world, even if it means giving up everything else that matters.
Even if it means I don’t get Juliette.
I breathe in deep and rock back in the patio chair, gazing out at the sun. A million different thoughts swirl in my head, and a thousand different feelings spiral through me, mixing like a heavy sludge and slicking my insides.
But…I believe him. I think.
“Your mother needs to sign off on the papers for the health insurance, unless Brooklynn can afford to wait until she’s eighteen and you think she’ll accept it from me.” He hikes his brows.
“I don’t want her to wait.”
I’m not sure he’ll be around by then, anyway, so that’s a risk.
“And your mother?”
My chest aches when I think about her. I’ve been avoiding her phone calls since I’ve been back, not even listening to her voicemails, because I’m angry with her. I’m so fucking angry, and getting this space from her just makes me more upset.
But then there’s another part that recognizes it isn’t really her , is it? Drugs don’t make a person; they just hide them somewhere we can’t find.
“She needs rehab. I want—” I choke on the words, and I try again. “I want her to get better, to be my mom again. But she won’t go willingly.”
“Son.” He sighs. “Some people are beyond help.”
My lips twist, emotion hitting me hard and heavy, and I refuse to accept that answer. I know I’ve thought about giving up on her, have tried a thousand times to get through to her with no success, but I can’t just leave her out for the wolves to snatch up and carry off.
“I need you to try.” The words are grit and grime as they cross my tongue. “I’m asking you to try.”
My gaze is burning a hole through the ground, something thick sitting in the back of my throat and clogging my airways.
“Please,” I rasp.
“So, call her, then.”
“Who, Brooke?”
“No, your mother.”
I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Right now?”
“Right now.”
I hate that he’s here, hate that all of my playing cards are scattered in front of him and he’s got me on strings like a puppeteer. I hate that he’s about to see how I’m treated by the woman who’s supposed to love me the most.
And more than anything, I hate that I care.
She answers on the first ring.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.” My mother’s flat and void-of-any-human-emotion voice flows through the line.
“Sorry, things have been busy,” I reply.
“Don’t forget why you’re there,” she snaps.
I bristle. I’m annoyed that everyone in my life seems to have strings attached to me they can pull this way or that.
My father’s lips twist in displeasure. “I assure you, Heather, our son is in no way lacking in his loyalty to why he’s here,” he pipes up.
My heart stutters because I didn’t expect him to defend me, and the little boy inside of me who’s dreamed of having him for things like that preens.
The line grows silent. Deathly so. And then a whisper that’s so small and weak it’s as if it’s from another person entirely. “Marcus?”
It’s a thousand knives carving through my chest when she has more of a visceral reaction to hearing her ex-lover’s voice—who abandoned her—than her own child’s.
I swallow harshly, cracking my neck and leaning forward, glancing up to my dad. His eyes are on me, not on the phone.
When he doesn’t reply to her, I lick my lips and start talking again. “I haven’t forgotten, Ma. How’s Brooke?”
She scoffs, her voice hardening again. “She’s fine, she’s…Brooke. You know how she is, nose in a book, ignoring the world.”
A smile quirks up my lips when I picture Brooklynn in her books. “But everything else is good?”
“She’s taken care of.” She sucks in a quick breath. “Marcus…are you still there?”
My throat swells and a burn radiates behind my eyes.
If she were still the mom I grew up with, she’d ask me how I was. And maybe when she did, I’d tell her about this girl I met. How she’s so beautiful I can hardly breathe, and how doing this is costing me a chance with someone who I’m pretty sure I could love.
Huh.
“Is Brooke there right now?”
She clears her throat. “I’m not at home.”
“Okay, well, she’s being put on a health insurance plan.”
“What?” Her tone flicks higher. “We’re getting insurance? Oh, Marcus, thank you.”
“It wasn’t me, actually,” he says, his gaze coming to rest on me again, a layer of understanding blanketing his view. “This is all Roman’s doing.”
Her tone changes again, until it’s smooth as cream. “Of course it is. Roman’s always been such a good boy.”
Resentment bubbles up like acid, scorching through the cracks she’s caused in my heart.
I lick my lips. “There are conditions, Ma.”
“What do you mean, ‘conditions’?”
My knee bounces faster. “You’ve gotta get some help. Rehab. Wherever we tell you to go.”
I glance at my father because, well, we didn’t exactly talk this out, but he nods, and more gratitude seeps into the moment.
“What did you tell him, Roman?” Her voice is low, a hiss that whips through the phone and latches onto my cheek, stinging like a slap. “Been running your mouth?”
“This is how it works now,” I reply, my jaw tight. “We help you. You get clean.”
“I can’t,” she whimpers.
Blowing out a sharp breath, my shoulders drop in defeat. That was my last card to play, and honestly, I hoped having my dad on the line with me would help the matter.
“Heather,” my dad chimes in. “My lawyer Frederick will be sending a form for you to sign for Brooklynn’s enrollment, and you will sign it, do you understand?”
A bit of my loyalty shifts and skews with every word my dad speaks.
“Frederick,” she echoes. “Sure, of course.”
“You’ll sign it today,” I push.
She pauses. “Hasn’t taken you long to get that Montgomery bite in you, has it, Ry?”
I exhale slowly, my fingernails pressing crescent shaped moons into my palms.
“I want you to get help, sugar,” my father adds.
The nickname he uses spears through me. It obviously affects my mother, too, because she sucks in a gasp. “Do I…” She pauses. “Do I get to see you?”
My chest twists that she didn’t ask the same of me.
My dad looks like he’s waiting on me to answer, and I let out a hollow chuckle. “She isn’t talking to me.”
“Heather.” His voice is softer now, genuine remorse tempering the tone.
And for just a moment, I let myself wonder what my life would be like if he had been able to love her. If maybe he would have also loved me.
Would I have turned out any differently?
Would Juliette and I have met when I was a kid and been able to convince our families to put down their weapons and live in peace?
Would Brooklynn be dealing with the things she is now?
My father looks at me again, his face tightening. “If you get the help we offer, if you really try , then…maybe.”
“Okay.” Her voice is still small. Still quiet. So unlike the woman I’ve known, both before the accident and this shell of herself that she became after. “I’ll sign the papers. Brooklynn shouldn’t have to suffer any more than what she already has.”
Click.
Goodbye to you, too, I guess.
My father blows out a heavy breath. “Well, that went…”
“Better than expected,” I finish for him.
He frowns and then looks out over the yard, rocking slightly in his chair.
“You did good the other day,” he says. “Speaking to the reporters, I mean.”
I glance at him and nod before sipping the iced tea one of his employees brought us.
“What now?” I ask.
My father shakes his head, placing down his drink and twisting in his chair to face me, a serious expression taking over his features. It hits me as I stare at him that we really do look alike. I take after him much more than my own mother, and I’m not sure whether that makes me angry or proud.
It’s a weird mix of both, and the two sides warring for the spot makes me want to rip out of my skin.
“I know it was you,” he says.
Confusion races through me, and I tilt my head, masking my reaction. “Know what was me?”
“The graffiti that popped up the other week on the train car.”
My heart pounds against my ribcage. Fuck.
He picks up a manila folder, one that I hadn’t even realized was there at his side, and then he hesitates, placing it in his lap.
“Remember our deal,” he reminds me.
I huff, irritated he’s questioning me. “I signed the papers, didn’t I? There’s no going back now.”
“Good. Right.”
He hands me the folder.
I lift a brow, looking down at it. “What’s this?”
“A detailed explanation of the corruption by the Calloways.”
“Okay…” I wait for him to clarify more, but he doesn’t. He just stays still and silent like he’s waiting on me to put things together for myself, which is difficult to do when I have zero moving pieces.
“I want you to paint it on the walls of this town.” Something sparks to life in his gaze.
My face contorts in surprise. “You… want me to tag?”
“Sometimes the best message is delivered by a faceless ghost. And sometimes the best way to take down an empire is when you give people a sprinkle of doubt and let it fester.” He pauses, licking his lips.
“ Sometimes to get rid of the rot, you have to rip everything out from the roots and start fresh.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I entirely believe him. “And what if I get caught?”
He shrugs. “You’ll be protected.”
“But you can’t take care of this?” I lift the folder.
My father sniffs. “The Calloway ties are strong, son, and I’ve fought for years, but with me being sick and in treatment, I’ve let things get away from me.
They own the politicians. The city council members.
The board of trustees to Verona University.
Every avenue I try, I get shut down. And every year, they dig their talons deeper into the town and push me out. ”
“What about the WayMont agreement?”
“All that agreement does is ensure the Montgomery Organization and Calloway Enterprises don’t own above a certain percentage of the town. But shell companies aren’t technically owned by Calloway Enterprises, and bribing political influence isn’t, either.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
He nods. “There are always loopholes. Craig has a business deal with people outside of this town. Influential people. They send in a group he says are land agents. They like to come to the HillPoint areas and coerce the neighborhoods into high-interest loans. I was too busy trying to survive to even realize what they were doing before it was too late. They’ve acquired ownership of land and businesses because of defaults on those loans. ”
“So, they basically own everything, despite an agreement saying they won’t?”
“Almost.”
I swallow. “Are you broke?”
He grimaces. “Not yet. But if things keep going the way they are…”
It does seem fucked up.
I finger through the documents. There aren’t paper trails to what the Calloways have done, but my dad has collected enough information that I can cause suspicion.
My dad sniffs and then stands, adjusting his belt buckle and patting me on the back. “Knowledge topples kingdoms, son. All I’m asking is for you to enlighten the people.”
“Conveniently leaving out your corruption, I’m assuming?”
He smirks. “I didn’t ever say I was a saint. You’ve gotta lie with the dogs to get the bone.”
My brows furrow, and I nod.
“Benny’s around if you need any help with this. He’s your go-to, but he and Frederick are the only ones you can trust with this. Understand me?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, my focus still on the papers.
I pull out one of the pages, a glossy photo staring me in the face. One with three men huddled in the back alley of what looks like The Round Table Tavern on the edge of the HillPoint.
Moving down the page, my finger ghosts across the names. Tyler Bault. Art Penngrove. Lance Calloway.
Fuck my life.
I grit my teeth, reminding myself why I said yes to this.
For Brooklynn. For Ma.
But it doesn’t stop the foreboding circulating in my chest, warning me that this is only going to push Juliette further away.