Prologue #2
Even though I haven’t been involved much in my father’s business, even though I’m barely able to calculate the gravity of what’s just happened, something clicks when I see the cloth in his hand.
Somewhere in my head, a siren screams.
My father is wearing gloves. He’s using the cloth to grip the muzzle of the gun.
His fingerprints won’t be on this thing. Only mine.
He’s done this before. I’ve overheard the threats spoken in low tones behind the door of his office. Your prints are on the weapon now. If you want it back, you’ll have to cooperate.
I’m not my brother. My father didn’t raise me to work alongside him. I was the maid’s kid, and she fled town the second I was born. He sees me as weak—he always has. Even if I cooperate, how long before my father decides I’m too much trouble and I wind up like that man tied to the storage racks?
He’s already threatening to take Troy away. Which can’t happen. It can’t.
My murmured “fuck you” sounds as if it’s coming from someone else.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Next time it’s coming out of your fucking hide.”
Fuck you. Fuck you, you fucking son of a bitch. Fuck you and your power-drunk controlling bullshit. Everything I’ve done to apologize for not being the son he wants, to stay off his radar, it’s never been enough. It never will be.
The epiphany makes me lightheaded.
There’s a tug on the gun. “Adam. Let go.”
But I don’t. I don’t let go. I take a breath.
Finally, I’m able to squeeze the trigger.
The crack of the shot echoes, breaking my world open. The jerk of his body, still holding the muzzle, pulls me forward. But I hang on. Even when my ears ring and the recoil makes my arm feel like a noodle.
There’s shock on his face as I squeeze the trigger again. And again. And I keep squeezing.
Until there are none left.
Until my father is nothing but a bloody heap on the floor.
My shaking hands feel heavy and dull, like they’re not my own. Fuck.
What the fuck have I done?
Why didn’t I see this coming? I should have known one day he’d turn me into a monster.
Get out of here.
Thanks to my father’s paranoia even with his own staff, the only security we have here at night is the guy manning the front gate. Still, someone could have heard the shots. I use that stupid handkerchief to wipe off the gun. Wipe off my hands. Then I stuff it in my pocket, and I run.
I’m gasping from exertion by the time I get to my room, trying to catch my breath but trying to do it silently. The house is empty, I think. The staff is usually gone by now. But I don’t know . I don’t know anything right now, except that I have to go.
Until I’m in my car I don’t take a full breath. With shaking hands, I dial Troy’s number. The air rushing in and out of my lungs is too loud and choppy.
Troy answers on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”
“My dad’s dead,” I tell him. “We have to go. Now. Tonight.”
There’s a long silence before he answers. “We don’t have enough money saved.”
Not nearly. None of this is what we planned. “We’ll figure something out. Get your stuff. I’m on my way.”
Then I hang up, and I hit the gas.
Wes – A few months ago
Faculty mixers are boring as hell. But the good part? Free drinks, free food.
Given the state of my finances right now, I need all the free shit I can get.
It’s a brunch thing, but there’s an open bar. Usually, I take my health too seriously to drink. When I’ve spent the morning fielding divorce demands from my ex, though? Let’s say I’ve had a few too many vodka and sodas.
Gina: You make more than I do, Wes. It makes sense for you to keep covering the mortgage for the time being.
Wes: I make more because I’m working two jobs. You can’t expect me to pay for a house I’m not living in.
As divorces go, mine has been pretty amicable. But the money stuff? With student loans, attorney fees, and bend-over-and-grab-your-ankles fees, I’m already stretched thin.
Gina: At least give me some time to figure out how I’m going to pay for it myself. Please?
We both know I’m going to give it to her. I always do. Dammit.
My wife and I have spent the better part of our marriage unhappy, and we both know that’s mostly on me. For not being able to give Gina what she needed, for not trying enough. For not being enough.
What I keep wondering is, when am I going to be done making amends? How will I be able to fix things when my money runs out?
One thing at a time, though, because through my lightweight vodka haze and the ambient sounds of clinking utensils and old men congratulating themselves, I’m pretty sure my brother just told me he’s about to flush his career down the toilet.
“Why the fuck would you go and do that? You said this job fucking saved you after Marina died.”
Fallon lost his wife in a tragic accident a little over year ago. Never really got along with her, but I’ve had a ringside view of his grief. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Now, he’s in a relationship again with a damn college student. Wanting to quit his job.
He’s talking about how his new boyfriend, PJ, has brought the spark back to his life. That in the contest between the job and PJ, he’s choosing PJ. It’s romantic. Sweet, even.
The trouble? I’m convinced PJ is scamming my brother. From what I can tell, the kid’s flat broke. Also, he’s a sex worker. I know, because I’m the one who hired PJ to go on a date with Fallon. I wanted to get my brother out of his funk. Get him to have a little fun.
Not…all of this.
“You know that kid is broke as fuck, right? He probably saw that sweet-ass beach house you live in and got dollar signs in his eyes. Probably thought he won the sugar daddy sweepstakes.”
Speaking as someone who is also broke as fuck, I know desperation when I see it.
“We’ve been over this, Wes. You’re insulting literally all of us right now—me the most. You’re the one who wanted me to get out and start dating again.
Now that I have, you want me to be alone again?
You’re the one who set us up. I don’t care that you didn’t know him that well. I like him, and I’m happy.”
My empty drink cup crumples in my fist. The cracked plastic pinches my fingers. I’m so stunned by my brother’s words I hardly notice.
“Look,” Fallon continues, “I can’t thank you enough for your support after Marina died.
I needed it. I’m grateful. It’s also time to get the hell out of my personal life.
I’ve been staying at PJ’s place recently, and we’ve gotten a lot closer.
I’m not lonely and angry anymore. I’ve got a puppy to take care of.
I appreciate that you helped me get this job, but I don’t need it like I used to.
If someone finds out about our relationship, I’ll be fired.
PJ could get expelled. There’s too damn much at stake. ”
He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s better to come clean now. Between PJ and the job, I’m choosing him.”
“Fallon.”
My brother’s face gets red. “It’s my decision.
I know you don’t trust him; I know you think he’s too young.
You didn’t like Marina because you thought she was too controlling.
Except I told you over and over that the control was something I consented to.
So I don’t expect you to understand my relationship with PJ, either.
Lucky for you, you’re not the one dating him. ”
He’s right, I don’t understand. Fallon and I both married women who weren’t happy if they didn’t get their way. Every passing year of my marriage, I felt myself disappear.
I heard how his late wife spoke to him. How his too-young boyfriend speaks to him. How could anyone be happy being treated that way?
“Fallon, wait.” As he tries to leave, I catch him by the arm. “Don’t do it, okay? Don’t.”
Even though I practically raised him, Fallon and I rarely fight. What I’m about to say might make him hate me, but I have to stop him before he makes a huge mistake.
My little brother deserves better.
“Wes. Stop. Were you not listening to everything I just said, or were you still distracted by that dead fly in your drink?”
What? Oh. Right. The dead fly that made me flinch and toss my drink all over Fallon. Given the sloshy way my stomach feels, it’s for the best.
“I know, I know. But…” God, I really don’t want to have to do this. I’m not proud of what I did, okay? I was trying to help.
“Okay, you know what? Tell me later.” Fallon turns to walk away.
“He’s a whore,” I blurt out, way too loudly. “Did you know that? He bones other guys for money.”
There. There. I said it.
Fallon doesn’t seem as shocked as I expected.
“Don’t call him that. I know he’s an escort.
He told me. He takes lonely people to weddings and charity events and sometimes, in the case of a guy who says he has trouble dating because of his busy career, out for coffee and bagels one morning a week. He doesn’t have sex with any of them.”
“Y-you actually believe that?” There’s no way it’s true.
“Yes, Wes. I believe him. What’s the alternative, spending the rest of my life not trusting anybody? If I think he’s cheating on me, then I’ll talk to him about that. Him, who I’m in a relationship with, not my interfering older brother who’s manufacturing reasons to break us up.”
“I’m not manufacturing shit, Fallon. He’s lying.” I suck in a breath, unable to hold back the final blow. “I know he’s lying because he got paid to have sex with you.”
Fallon freezes. The guy who was hell-bent on storming over to the dean to hand in his resignation a few minutes ago is now eerily silent. Shit, he’s going to hate me.
I already hate myself, so I guess it’s fine.
“What the hell do you mean he got paid to have sex with me?”
A waiter drops a bin of beer and ice with a loud crash, causing me to flinch. My chest is tight, and I’m already wishing I could take back what I said.
No, what I did.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Fallon asks again.