Chapter 21
FELIX
The night was still and the air crisp as I staggered out of the cab and up the driveway to Dylan’s Foster’s house.
I was once a welcomed guest, able to enter his abode at will. Now, I was a trespasser, sneaking onto his property in the early hours of the morning.
It had been nearly a week since that disaster in the boardroom, and I’d done nothing but percolate and spiral.
That day just happened to be extra special as my test results had come in.
It seems despite using a condom every single time, the rancid bitch and her dirty snatch managed to give me Chlamydia!
Cue crash out number—I lost count. At that point, I was sinking a bottle of hard liquor a day. But I was no quitter, ready to set a record high to drown out my own afflictions and numb the pain.
Sure, I was a lowlife pig for ever stepping out on my wife, and I was paying for that in the worst way, but I did not embezzle money from my own company.
Why would I bother?
I had to get in touch with Stella, but that shit was impossible. Hence why my drunk brain had thought it was a good idea to go on a stealth mission and ambush her instead.
I had bail conditions, which was another reason I shouldn’t have been there, lurking. But I was sick of sitting in that empty house, alone and scared, all due to my own selfish deeds.
I was desperate to be with my wife.
“STELLA! COME OUT HERE NOW! TALK TO ME!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, skirting around the garden bed of her father’s house, trying to reach the main windows. However, I clearly didn’t think that through when plants and vegetation began to pull on my flesh.
“Ah! Shit!” I exclaimed, escaping out of the brush and heading for the main doorway, ready to pound on the entrance.
I didn’t quite get that far.
I faltered as the door wrenched open before me. Then, I was subtly pushed back to make room for my father-in-law, who slipped outside and closed that barrier behind him.
He stood tall, glaring stare skating over my form in judgement as he crossed his arms. The stance was clear. Dylan Foster was playing sentinel and guard to my family within.
“Get off my porch, Johnson,” he snapped.
“I need to see her,” I said, speech slurred but determined. “I need to apologise… Explain. It isn’t what she thinks.”
“No? So you didn’t have an ongoing affair with your secretary for seven months?”
I stammered. He didn’t understand.
“Technically, yes. But it wasn’t like that. She didn’t mean anything. Stella and I… We’re going to get through this.” I tried to push past him, but he was a solid fucking wall.
“It still hasn’t sunk in yet, has it, Felix?” Dylan shook his head, pushing me back a step. “There is no getting through this… It’s over.”
I couldn’t take it. I wanted to stay in my fantasy land, where I could still claim my wife, and go back to the days when we were happy.
But those words. Those two distinctive words were my complete undoing, and I lost all reason.
It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
I tried to barge past Dylan. Sure, he was old enough to be my dad, but he still worked out and had the tenacity of a former pro league baseball player. Which meant I wasn’t getting past him easily, if at all.
We tussled for what felt like ten minutes, but probably more aligned with thirty seconds, when a third body catapulted into my side, breaking us apart.
I was sprawled on the front lawn, chest heaving and limbs aching as I took in my son, Eli, standing over me with a tortured expression.
“Leave, Dad.”
Fuck. I didn’t mean for this to happen. How did this get so out of control?
“Eli,” I implored, remorse thickening my tone. “Son, I just—I just want to speak to your mother.”
“No,” he said, fists bunching at his sides. “I don’t want you to.”
I gradually came to a stand, arms open as I pleaded with my eleven-year-old, the gatekeeper and caretaker of our family.
“I’m your father.”
“Since when?” Eli snapped, tears gathering in his eyes as he gave me his truth. “You’re never there for me, for Phoenix, for Mum. Where have you been, Dad? Where? Because you haven’t been ours for a long time.”
I sniffled, my face wet from the salty water leaking from my eyes. When did that start?
Why did it take my child to finally hammer those harrowing revelations in? Looking into his tormented eyes, I started to realise how much I had sacrificed.
I had stolen his innocence, taken his blind belief in me and torn it to shreds.
My boy no longer trusted me. I had broken that—me. When did I turn into my father? Without love, without care.
God, I hate myself.
“I’m sorry, son,” I said, my steps backtracking to give him more room, to comply with his request. “I’m sorry.”
I could feel myself sinking deeper into the ether of self-loathing and guilt—the least of what I deserved.
I watched on in anguish as Dylan placed a comforting hand on Eli’s shoulder, providing support and a solid foundation of love.
That should be me.
I shook out of my stupor, the hard truths blasting me with the impact of a full-speed freight train.
“I love you, Eli.” I gulped. “I’m going to do better, I promise.”
I had to pull away. Had to give him space. If I bulldozed through his boundaries, I knew I’d lose him forever.
With my heart in tatters, I turned my back and walked blindly into the night, letting darkness envelop me in its embrace.
“I’ll do better,” I whispered, letting the cold breeze hear and take my vow—the only presence left willing to accept anything from me.