Chapter 2 Heath
HEATH
The rattling sound of the lock against the bars makes me open my eyes.
“Good. You’re awake. It’s time to go.” The shrewd officer from before, who escorted Sebastian out, is back with his scowl and hatred for me. I’ve never crossed paths with him, but he certainly has a grudge against me.
“What do you mean?” I rasp out, my throat dry from being patched for hours. Standing up on my feet, I stumble a little. Looking down I find the cut on my leg that needs medical attention. The wound I totally forgot about in the heat of the events that took place afterwards.
“Hurry up!”
Ignoring it, I walk out of the damn cell where I don’t want to be again.
The officer, tall and sharp-looking, narrows his eyes on me. “There is someone who paid for your bail and everything else. You’re going home even though you don’t deserve it.”
My fists are clenched tightly beside my sides. Rage coursing through me like a stream of molten lava. My teeth grit together.
He’s here.
My father came for me.
Like most kids, I should feel joyous or relieved to know that my parents care for me. He came all the way from Canada to bail me out. I should be happy, but I’m not.
I’d rather spend another night here than see that man. The man I hate so much.
Quietly, I follow the officer. He continues telling me how I’m spoiled and don’t deserve to have the privilege.
At some point he tells me his son goes to the same school as me and has told him a lot about me.
Talk about stalking. Seriously! Doesn't that guy have something else to talk about besides keeping tabs on me and discussing me with his dad.
“I hope you change yourself and grow up,” he says before turning to his left. “There’s the man who bailed you out.”
Reluctantly, my gaze jumps from his face to the one he’s staring at.
Gray eyes. Cold face.
Xavier Travon awaits me dressed in a black suit that fits him perfectly, definitely custom-tailored and from Armani. He loves expensive shit; the latest phone, laptop and car on the market he gets them. The Rolex on his wrist catches light and reflects it, reminding me to check the time.
I find a clock in the corner. 5:30 am.
It’s too early in the morning to deal with him after a year of not seeing him.
“You’re free to go. Hurry up, leave.” The officer pushes me and I shoot him a glare.
Striding towards Dad, I realize we’re the same height now. In fact, I might be a couple centimeters taller than him. I remember the last time I saw him—last year a week after the funeral. He hasn’t changed much.
Under the suit, he’s still packed with muscle and has a defined body made from hours of exercise and nutritious diet.
His face is sharp and looks striking with features that are very similar to mine.
His displeased scowl is in its rightful place and his piercing eyes are busy cutting everything in its way.
Without a word, he turns around and walks out of the police station.
I follow him since he’s holding a bag that has my phone, wallet and wrist watch in it.
Climbing down the stairs we stop in the middle of the parking lot where a black Mercedes is waiting for us. Opening the door to the back seat he throws the bag inside and then gestures me to get in.
Like fuck I would.
I need to check up on Hope. I need to make sure she’s okay. I’m worried sick about her.
“I’m leaving,” I tell him, as I approach the car to get my phone and text her.
“You’re not going anywhere but home.” He closes the door and keeps his hand on the handle.
That voice. The deep, stern voice that loves to command me.
My heart clenches at the sound of it. I’ve missed it. Fuck. I hate saying it. I hate it. But I can admit it to myself as long as I don’t say it out loud.
“Those are your first words to me after seeing me for the first time in more than a year?” I ask him, my eyes set on him in a glare.
He returns it with one of his own. “Get inside the car, son. We need to have a long talk.”
I smile dryly.
There’s so much I want to say to him. I just don’t know where to begin.
I want to be angry at him. Hit him. Curse him. Hurt him. But there’s also a part that just wants to give him the silent treatment and make him suffer.
I’m torn between the two.
“Heath—” he starts.
I shake my head. “No! Don’t say my name. Just don’t.”
My hands shake in anger or perhaps sadness. I have no clue. All I know is my head hurts and my heart cries.
Seeing his face reminds me of the hospital visits and the long discussions with the doctors. A time of my life I would very much like to forget, but I can’t because those moments were when I spent the last days with my sister.
Past is not only made up of bad moments, it also has good moments. The ones you don’t want to forget about. As much as it hurts remembering it, there’s also a joy remembering it because you get to relive those good moments.
Instead of lashing out at me, he softens his response, which is a first. “Let’s go home.”
My mouth opens in surprise, but I soon realize I don’t have time for this.
“I have to be somewhere,” I reply, even though I shouldn’t. I don’t owe him anything.
“It’s five in the morning. Where do you have to be?” he asks calmly, but his gray eyes burn with annoyance.
For fuck’s sake. Why is my phone in the backseat of his car and I need to get past him to get it?
“None of your business.” I move to open the door but he tightly holds the handle.
I glare at him, and he returns it with one of his own.
“Get in the car. This is my last warning.” His serrated tone surprises me.
“What will you do—”
Taking a step in my direction he hisses, “Carol is inside the car, and I won’t have you disrespect my wife and your mother. So get your ass inside and talk to her.”
I freeze. “Mo-Mom is here?”
I’ve never stuttered in my life before.
He nods slowly and opens the door.
My body folds inside the car. The moment the door closes, the woman in the passenger seat turns to me and I’m hit by the sight of a teary woman.
“Heath! Oh my God. You’re okay.” Her hands cup my cheeks and she brings my face close to hers as she places a damn kiss on my forehead.
I’m so stunned I barely resist or show my disgust.
“I told you he’ll be fine, Mia,” Dad assures her in a gentle tone as he joins us.
Mom continues sobbing and feeling my face to assure herself that I’m here and okay.
It takes me five minutes to get a grip on myself and break free from her hold and push back from her so she can’t touch me.
What the fuck just happened?
“Heath—”
“He’s fine. Give him space.” Dad lays a hand on her back and rubs as he pulls her to him. He kisses her temple as she cries in his chest while speaking words that don’t make any sense.
My parents are here.
Right in front of me.
“I told you I’ll take care of it. Now stop crying. You know you look awful when you cry.”
I stiffen at hearing those words.
What the fuck? I said the same words to Hope.
“He was in jail—” she sobs in his chest.
He kisses her head. “Not anymore. I got him out. Now will you please stop crying? You’re breaking my heart.”
Reluctantly she pulls back, and he wipes away all her tears and presses a kiss to her forehead. He whispers something to her that I can’t hear, or perhaps I don’t want to hear when I’m busy staring at the woman who’s my mother.
The first thing I notice is, she’s lost weight.
Significantly. She looks thin and weak as if she hasn’t eaten for days.
There are dark circles under her eyes and a hollowness to her cheeks that wasn’t there before.
Her bony face is still beautiful without makeup, but there’s a sadness to it.
When she looks up, her ocean blue eyes meet mine that are a replica of hers. They’re sad and filled with worry,
“I missed you so much,” she says on the brim of tears.
Dad sighs heavily and tips her chin so he can look at her. “No more tears.”
She nods, but a tear slides down her cheek. He brushes it away and says, “I told you to stay at home. You never listen to me.”
She shoots him a mean look. “Our son was in jail. There was no way I was going to stay at home. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”
Dad purses his lips displeased, before giving her a nod. “When we get home, you’ll rest as you promised me.”
She gives him a quick nod, then turns to me. Her eyes run all over me before she smiles a little.
“You’ve grown up and you look well,” she says.
“I’ve been eating healthy and working out.” I tell her instead of being mad at her. Something is wrong with her and until I get to the bottom of it, I can keep my attitude in check, I suppose.
Despite not wanting to do anything with her, my eyes assess her and I end up saying. “Are you sick?”
A frown embeds between her eyebrows and she shakes her head. “No! No, hon. I’m perfectly fine.” She smiles. It’s fake.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Dad sends me a cold stare. “Watch it.”
With a sigh, I grumble, “You look really weak.”
Waving her hand in the air she brushes me off. “I missed a meal. It’s nothing serious.”
From the looks of it, a hundreds of them. “It looks fucking serious.”
Dad glares at me again.
So I face him and point my finger at her. “Tell me, what’s wrong with her?”
Before he can answer, Mom puts her hand on his arm. They both share a look that speaks thousands of words that I can’t hear, but they understand each other perfectly.
A minute later he turns to me. “She’s fine.”
My stomach tightens into a series of knots that wrap around my gut in worry.
I know it. Something is wrong. I just can’t put my finger on it.
It happened with Emery.
It happened with Hope.
Now it’s happening to my mother.
Hope? Fuck. I need to contact her.
In a haste I take out my phone and switch it on.
There’s one message from her that makes my heart drop into my stomach.
Hope: I’m fine. I’ll see you at school.
My fingers tighten around my phone and I’m seconds away from cracking it.
I’m fine? She’s never fine. That’s the problem.