Chapter 21
JULES
I can’t stand the sight of my father after what I discovered about him yesterday. The same goes for Teague. He must be aware of something, if not everything. I avoided them last night, but it’s well into the afternoon and the rumblings of hunger are making it impossible to continue avoiding them.
I find them at the kitchen table. Always the damn kitchen table. Its clear glass top is the only thing in the room that’s translucent, nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it. They’re scheming. I can tell because silence blankets the room when I walk in. I don’t want to know what they’re up to. It’s too big, too much. I can’t block out the brutality anymore. All I can picture is that box of grenades, those tiny handheld bombs, and where they’ll end up—the absolute destruction they’ll cause. Will they be used to murder unsuspecting villagers on their way to the local watering hole? Or by insurgents to kill enemy soldiers over manmade borders, or for oil, or for worshipping a different God? To think someone could pull a pin out of something the size of a tennis ball and wipe out an entire room of living souls… It’s barbaric.
“Good morning. Or afternoon,” Teague says in a joking way that falls flat.
“Don’t smile. You look like one of those inbred freaks from The Hills Have Eyes.”
“Savage burn.”
“Yes, ‘savagely burned’ could also be used to describe your face in its current condition.”
“Gimme a break, J. I’m trying,” he says to my back as I rifle through the fridge.
Honestly, what is he trying to do? Win me over? Get me to trust or even like him again? The odds of a massive meteor striking the earth and extinguishing all life are higher than that happening. He tracked my location, hunted me down, cracked me in the face with a handgun, and, oh yeah, tried to murder the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. He has no path to forgiveness. I’m a Scorpio. We elevate the art of holding grudges to a science.
I was going to make myself a sandwich, but instead settle for something quick and portable in the form of a pre-packaged yogurt parfait.
“Basic politeness is ‘trying’ to you. Noted,” I reply as I hurry to make my escape.
Dad stops me. “Jules, just a minute. Come sit with us, please.”
“Can’t. The Red Sox are tied with the Yankees in the ninth.” Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. There is a game on but I’m not watching it. Rowan says I hex them—they always lose when I watch.
“Juliet, it’s important.”
“Fine.”
Teague is in my chair. Another thing I begrudge him for. I take the one across from him.
My father runs a hand through his short, sandy hair. It’s not like him to be worried over words. “I’m getting older. And my enemies are getting bolder. I’m not going to live forever. You and your mother each have a trust in your name, and those belong solely to you in the event of my death. However, Teague and I have discussed it and, when the time comes, he’ll be taking control of my ventures.”
Oh no, say it ain’t so. “Okay.”
“That’s it? ‘Okay’?” Teague leers at me, his battered eye smaller and more squinty than the other.
It’s no great loss. I only wish the dynasty were mine so I could tear it asunder. It would be fitting—a Calloway built it, a Calloway obliterates it. “Yes, Gollum. It’s your precious. You want it. I don’t.”
Dad is caught somewhere between disappointment and satisfaction. “I assumed you wouldn’t.”
“Great. It’s sorted. Can I go?”
He dismisses me with a nod. “Enjoy the game.” He’s so clueless he has no idea that I don’t fucking like baseball.
Heading back to the quiet solitude of my room, I wonder if it’s possible I can still total the car despite not being in the driver’s seat. Indirect saboteurs can be as ruinous as deliberate ones. I go to find my mother, who, like me, has been hiding herself away in this big house lorded over by a sad little man. She hasn’t voiced it, but that’s how I know she’s as disgusted with him as I am.
“Mom, I need to borrow your phone.”
“Rowan?”
“Yeah.” We’ve been conspiring via my mother’s phantom phone number in case my dad decides to turn on my phone and try to access it. It’s not connected to a secondary device, thus it’s more secure than sending messages from my iPad.
She switches from her main to her alternate number and I shoot Rowan a text.
Teague has to go, too. He’s going to inherit the throne and the cycle will continue.
Rowan texts back pretty quickly.
It won’t be a problem. One more body in the room when shit hits the fan. When it’s time to toss the bait, bait them both. Teague’s eager enough to bite.
I don’t make a habit of seeking my mom’s approval. But if I ever needed it, it’s for this. “Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”
“We are, darling. It’s been a long time coming, and it would have happened eventually, with or without us to nudge it along.”