20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Hugo
M y high school certainly wasn’t the largest in Vancouver, but it did have an outsized presence. We were in the poorest neighborhood and yet had a robust arts program. Constantly under threat of having the funding cut, naturally, but we persevered.
I worried my actions might’ve undermined all that.
A fact nearly borne out when I finally turned my phone back on Saturday night.
Cope and Renee offered to hold my hand while I did it, but I sent them home.
Of course.
Renee needed rest. As much as I needed support, things would blow over, and my life would return to normal. If something happened to her or the twins, I’d never forgive myself.
Or Axel Townsend for bringing this chaos into my life.
Since I hadn’t checked the laptop all day either, I truly felt detached. Like I’d spent the day in the studio and had no connection to the outside world.
As soon as I powered on the phone, it exploded. Not literally, but notifications buzzed through for a solid two minutes.
Need to change the settings .
Except I didn’t know how and googling directions right now felt entirely too exhausting.
As I tried to sort through everything, Renee’s newest message popped up.
— CNC at 6pm. Axel and Geneva Alvarez —
Jesus.
I dove for the remote, noting the broadcast would be half over.
Geneva and the occasional weekend anchor for the Vancouver News at Six for CNC flashed on the screen.
Momentarily distracted, I stared at Jake McGrath. A former war correspondent, he’d recently settled in Mission City and did spot reporting in Vancouver—mostly for the national nightly news broadcast. Breathlessly handsome—with his light-brown hair and stunning blue eyes. Also happily married. Him, I might’ve googled. Family man. Deeply committed to his wife and their son. Then I’d gone down a rabbit hole to delve into her tragic backstory and been overwhelmed with gratitude that sometimes happy endings existed.
Oh my God, that’s what you’re focused on?
I recorded this broadcast, so I could always watch it later. Maybe that’s why my mind wandered because—
Geneva’s words penetrated. “We’re leaving in some of the expletives to provide context for Mr. Townsend’s words.”
Oh shit. He’s so mad at me that he swore?
I eyed my phone, which just buzzed again.
— Call me this instant —
Merkerson.
Yeah, yeah. He could wait.
I barely held myself together as the interview began. Clearly this was just an excerpt because Axel was already speaking and douchebag came out of his mouth.
Gavin.
Geneva came back with Jake. “The full interview will air on Sunday night’s national broadcast—”
Fuck a fucking duck .
“We reached out to Gavin McPherson to clarify his comments, and he maintains Hugo Threadgold was having an inappropriate relationship with Axel Townsend back when Axel was a high school student. Axel denies that vehemently and we’ll let viewers judge for themselves tomorrow night.”
Someone pounded on my front door.
Incandescent rage lit within me.
Fucking douchebag is the least of it. I’m going to kill him with my bare hands. Bad enough he was besmirching me. Horrific he was going after Axel. For all Grindstone’s newfound popularity, they still didn’t have the resources—
No, they just might. Pauletta Magnum’s father was a scion in the business community. If he believed Axel, he wouldn’t want the band his daughter represented to be dragged through the—
The pounding came again.
“Go away.”
The media had knocked earlier, demanding a comment.
Cope sent them on their way.
Now I wish I’d said something. Although I would’ve been blindsided and might’ve said the wrong thing. God, do I need a lawyer? Yeah, I probably —
“Hugo Theseus Threadgold.”
Oh shit.
“Open this door or I’ll assume you’re in distress and in need of the police.”
My father was blustering. No way in hell would he call the police and descend more chaos upon us.
Cope mentioned the media was still camped out when they left less than an hour ago.
The likelihood of them having packed up—especially if they knew Geneva’s bombshell—was non-existent.
With great reluctance, I opened my front door, ensuring I stayed out of sight because, frankly, I didn’t want a photograph of me and my parent showing up in the paper.
Surprise. My mother also stood at my father’s side. Eugenia Threadgold, nee Iverson, didn’t do conflict. She’d left the child-rearing to a series of nannies and the disciplining to her husband.
And had let me know—at every single turn in my life—how much of a disappointment I was.
My father’s criticisms were tempered. Possibly because he’d learned early on that the more he leveled orders, the more recalcitrant I became. Instead, he opted for manipulations and veiled threats.
Most of the time, I responded to neither.
“Would you like a glass of water? May I take your coat?”
“A scotch on the rocks for me, and your mother will take a cabernet.”
“I don’t have alcohol in the house.” Which would you know if you’d ever visited.
Not that I’d wanted you to.
“Speaking of houses…” Theseus Threadgold pushed against one of the wooden pillars. “Is it even safe?”
“I had a home inspection before I moved in—”
“Ten years ago—”
“Before I moved in.” I gritted my teeth. “There was extensive termite damage, but the inspector figured I’d get about five years. So I’m pushing it at ten. It might fall down around us at any moment.”
“Oh dear.” Eugenia pressed a hand to her chest.
Theseus glowered. “That’s not amusing, son.”
I puffed out my chest. “I’m only ever your son when you want something from me. When you need to prove what a family man you are. Leonora did the right thing by moving to Europe years ago.”
Eugenia held her hand to her chest. “My darling girl. Gone forever.”
I snickered. “She married a Grecian, and you disowned her.” She’d gone to Athens to study for university—her first attempt to escape my parents’ grasp. Then she’d fallen in love with a Greek God and married him—the final straw in my parents’ eyes and the permanent rift she’d hoped for. Three kids and pregnant with her fourth, she frolicked at the beach every day while her husband ran a successful hotel that catered to upmarket tourists. Leonora might speak the language of the ultra-rich, but she wanted nothing to do with them. I always assumed she’d burn in the sun—same fair skin as myself—but she managed to look stunning in every family photo she sent me.
I need to visit.
That’d been on my list for the summer. Truly. Until I’d nearly made love to Axel Townsend in a tent in Black Rock last October and my life had been turned upside down. “Leonora’s very happy. Would you like to see the Christmas photo she sent? Your grandchildren—”
“We don’t have grandchildren.” Theseus stuck his nose in the air.
Something flickered in Eugenia’s expression, though. Ah, so not totally unaffected. I never mentioned Leonora anymore. My parents might be indifferent, but I missed my sister terribly. We’d always been close.
Which made me think of Thornton Graves, his dead sister Kyesha, and…that landed me right back at Axel.
I glared at my parents. “Why are you here? You couldn’t possibly have seen the interview with Geneva—”
My father met my glare. “I have…sources. I saw the raw footage about an hour ago. Naturally, we will stand by you—”
“Naturally.” Because otherwise people will think you believe Gavin’s accusations and that would mean you have a pedophile son . Of course, if proof emerged that I’d had inappropriate relations with Axel, then they’d light of out here like their asses were on fire and demand I be prosecuted.
But I’d never so much as touched Axel. Or any of my students. I’d been prodigiously careful. Accusations destroyed careers. I had too many students who needed my help. Kids like Axel and Ed . Which strengthened my resolve. “Why are you here, exactly? Because I know I didn’t call.”
“Don’t be rude.”
Rich. My father admonishing me.
Like I was ten and not forty-two.
“Say what you have to say, then feel free to walk right out of my life.”
Eugenia gasped.
“Water or no water? Coats off or on? I honestly don’t give a shit.”
“May I sit?” Eugenia was literally clutching her pearls.
God help me. “By all means. I’ve got plenty of space.”
As a unit my parents sat on the leather sectional, perched on the end.
Believing that meant no water—and their coats were staying on—I plopped into my recliner. I didn’t put my feet up. I nearly did…and restrained myself because I needed to be able to show them to the door quickly and getting out of a reclined seat quickly just wasn’t a thing.
“We believe you should see a lawyer.”
“Your lawyer does corporate affairs.” Damn competent woman whose name I couldn’t recall. Eugenia had attempted to set me up with the poor woman after my divorce. Apparently my mother thought a lesbian and a gay man made the perfect couple.
Clueless didn’t begin to touch that kind of ignorance.
“I’m not referring to Vanessa.” Theseus straightened. “I’m talking about Wentworth Chamberlain.”
“The divorce lawyer?” I snickered. I’d heard of Wentworth, of course. His name was whispered through the elite of Vancouver. If one needed a cutthroat divorce attorney, one called Wentworth. If one’s soon-to-be ex-spouse hired Wentworth, one considered oneself fucked. Oh, Vancouver had a few other high-priced and perfectly competent divorce lawyers—but none as ruthless or as competent as this guy. He’d been on the way up when Gavin had divorced me. Neither of us had gone the acrimonious route, so neither of us hired Wentworth. “I don’t understand why I want a divorce attorney. I’m already divorced—”
My father sliced his hand through the air. “He’s also extremely competent in damage control. He has an excellent public relations team—”
“I don’t need PR—”
“He can see you tomorrow at nine.” Theseus looked around my living room and sniffed. “He said he could come here. Perhaps his office might be better.”
“I don’t need a divorce lawyer—I’m already divorced. I don’t need a PR team—I didn’t do anything wrong.” I flashed to the multiple increasingly hostile messages from my boss. Is some damage control in order? Needing Cope and Renee’s advice wasn’t going to help. A psychologist and a teacher could offer their opinion, but they couldn’t offer serious legal advice. “If I see Wentworth—and one hour of his time is about a mortgage payment for this place—”
“I’ll pay.” My father sniffed again.
I’d cleaned last weekend and hadn’t spilled anything, so this room didn’t smell. Honestly, he was just pissing me off. “Be that as it may…won’t it look bad that I’ve hired a lawyer? Doesn’t that make me look guilty?”
“Far from it. The hiring of a good attorney shows how seriously you are taking McPherson’s accusations. That you intend to mount a defense—”
“I don’t need a fucking defense. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I enunciated each word carefully.
“Your mother and I are issuing a joint statement that we stand behind you and believe in your innocence.” He met and held my gaze. “Because you are innocent…right?”
“Fuck yes.” I leapt from the chair. “I would never—could never—touch a child. Even a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. Axel is twenty-eight fucking years old. And yes, he’s my former student. And maybe that crosses a line, but it’s a fucking thin one that barely can be seen. I never thought of him in that way. Until we met as adults. Things…changed.”
“Is there any chance you could change them back?” Eugenia still clutched her goddamn pearls. “I know a nice woman—”
“Oh my God, Mother. Gay. No women. No breasts or pussy. Those are very nice things—and women are wonderful. I prefer pecs, asses, cocks, and anal.”
“There’s no need—” My father rose.
“Great, you’re halfway to the door. Don’t let it hit your asses on the way out.” I stormed to the back of the house, to the kitchen, and cursed that I really didn’t have booze in the house.
My friends, when they visited, brough their own alcohol. I used to have a few things hanging around, but the bottles just gathered dust. No point in keeping them when they just went bad. So they all got tossed.
In defiance of both Renee and common sense—who both said don’t drink caffeine after three in the afternoon—I cracked open a cola, poured it into a glass, added ice, and plopped down on a rickety chair at the kitchen table. Replacing the set was on my list. A very long list of improvements I’d make. Time, and more importantly money, always stopped me. My mortgage and helping the kids came first. Always had and always would.
My father clearing his throat pulled me out of my reverie.
I didn’t bother to stand.
Gingerly, he stepped into the kitchen. He placed a business card and a thick envelope on the table. “Let me know if you need more. Our lawyer will issue the statement within the hour. You’ve hurt your mother, but I’m going to forgive as it’s obvious you’re under stress—”
“You think?”
“Be good.” He snapped that. Then, in a conciliatory tone, “We do care. You think it’s only about our reputations, but we do care.” He cleared his throat. “If you could forward the photo of Leonora to my professional email, I would appreciate it.”
Before I could respond, he was gone.
Sonofabitch .
How was I supposed to stay angry when he offered that small gesture of reconciliation?
I shot off a text to Leonora asking permission to share a photo.
To my surprise, she sent back a thumbs-up. Well, that’s not particularly helpful…but that must be permission.
Knowing if I thought too long about it that I wouldn’t do it, I yanked out my phone and sent the photo in an email to my dad’s business account.
Then I shot off a text to Leonora letting her know what I’d done. Tactfully suggesting this might not mean anything…but letting her know I’d done it.
Given it was the middle of the night in Greece, I didn’t expect a response.
And I didn’t get one.
Instead, I fingered the business card.
Wentworth Chamberlain .
Fuck my life.