44. Mason
FORTY-FOUR
MASON
It’s been two weeks, and I’ve had no way to check and make sure that Lily is safe. I’ve texted Chase, but so far, those texts have gone completely unanswered. It makes my insides tighten whenever I focus on the what-ifs, and right now, I can’t afford the distraction, so I remind myself the only way to ensure her safety for good is to make sure my father can’t reach her.
I’ve been a good little lapdog, but ever since we came back to the estate in Oregon, they’ve been keeping me private, dropping tidbits into the press slowly, making people salivate with the questions. What’s going on with Thomas Wells? Why did he postpone his campaign trail? What could possibly be more important?
The longer I stay here, stowed away like a prisoner, the more I come to terms with the fact that I’ve never really been hidden. They chose to let me live out my life, allowed me the illusion of believing that I was successful. But now I know they’ve just been waiting for the opportune moment to strike, for the moment when I could be used as a tool. But I’ll bide my time, even if I have to do it lying in my childhood room, the memories of my misery echoing off the walls. They may have kept track of my physical whereabouts, but they don’t know my mind. They can’t know that I spent years of my time forging my mental state into a fortress. One that they can never penetrate. One they can never win against.
“He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not will be victorious.”
But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t going a little stir-crazy. It’s been two weeks and I still haven’t seen my mother. I haven’t spoken to Olivia. My only points of contact have been my uncle Frank and my father, two pieces of a whole.
Their plan is to play it like I ran away, a troubled teen who crumbled under the pressure of being a Wells, afraid of marrying so young and what it meant to live in the shadow of my father.
They’re not wrong. On any of those facts. They just left out the part that my father went behind my back and destroyed my chance at happiness. I might not have anything to help bring my father down yet, but I’ll wait patiently in the wings, even if it takes years. Even if he makes it to that seat in the White House. I’ll expose him for what he is.
I make my way downstairs to get a glass of water. It’s been years since I’ve been here, yet everything comes back to me quickly. Absolutely nothing has changed, even my room is the same as it was the night I left. Walking into the kitchen, I stop short at the sight of my mother, her hands gripping the edge of the island as she tosses back a pill with a glass of wine.
Typical.
Like I said, nothing around here has changed.
I clear my throat and she gasps, turning around. My heart clenches at seeing her, so polished and perfect, looking every bit the Stepford wife, and for just a moment, I’m thrown into the past. To a time when I craved her love and was always left wanting.
Thinking about how shitty my mother is makes me think of Lily again, and all the ways she thrives in the role. My stomach flips at the thought of her, grief rising up and sticking to my insides.
My mother’s eyes widen, something akin to sadness flickering in her gaze before she smooths out her disposition. She walks over to me, her hand reaching up to cup my face. I let her, my jaw muscle jumping underneath her frail palm. She shakes slightly, her skin cold and clammy, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was from seeing me again. But I know it’s the Sunday morning cocktail inside of her that makes her tremble, not the sight of her long-lost son.
“Alexander,” she whispers. “He said you were back, but I?—”
She cuts off her words when my father’s voice floats down the hall and he walks in, followed closely behind by his bitch, Frank.
And then, in walks Olivia.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the gas station, and the anger I felt for her then is tenfold, my rage grasping on to her, needing somewhere to place the blame.
She looks away, glancing down at the ground.
“Oh, good, you’re here already,” my father says. “We have media training today. All of us together, so we can answer questions appropriately when asked.” He walks over and smacks me on the back, a Cheshire grin creeping over his face. “Next week is the big day. Are you ready?”
I force a smile, biting back the smart-ass retort that’s lying thick on my tongue. Better for him to think I’m agreeable. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
His grin stays painted on his face as he walks over and kisses my mother on the cheek. My eyes glide back to Olivia as she glances around the room, actively avoiding my stare. Fire races down my spine. Officially, she has the role of my father’s “personal assistant.” Betrayal runs hot, knowing that, after everything, she stuck around—accepted a job offer from him like he didn’t ruin fucking everything.
It infuriates me that this whole time she’s been at my father’s beck and call, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why. It can’t be for money. Olivia is an oil heiress; her portion of her family’s inheritance alone is more than what our entire family will make in a lifetime.
Ten years ago, I thought she stayed around for me. Foolishly, I thought that what we had was love. But now that I’ve felt what love truly is, I know that’s not the case. Olivia and I were just photo ops, strategically placed and forced into decisions that neither of us had the spine to fight against.
The media training is monotonous, and a few hours later, I’m lying back in my childhood room, my phone on my chest as I silently wait for a text message I know will never come. My body starts to tense, insides jittery with the need for nicotine, so I walk to the patio and light up a cigarette, staring up at the sky.
“Alexander.”
Olivia’s voice floats from the room behind me, and my muscles stiffen, wondering how I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear her come in. I turn around, my eyes narrowing. Her mouth is turned down at the corners, a heaviness to her gaze that didn’t exist ten years ago, like her experiences have started to darken her soul until they’re bleeding through her eyes.
“Olivia.” My voice is sharp, my walls rising immediately around her. I don’t trust her.
“I thought that we could take a minute and talk.” She walks in farther, and I move to go inside, but she shakes her head, her eyes shining with a warning. My insides clench, my steps stuttering to a halt. She closes the patio door behind her, walking to the lounger and perching on the corner.
My head cocks as I watch her, wondering what the fuck she’s doing.
“Fewer prying eyes out here on the patio.” She smiles, pointing toward the ceilings. Realization settles like a rock in my gut. Cameras . Of course.
I stare at her, crossing my arms and occasionally taking drags of my cigarette, waiting for her to spit out whatever she came here to say.
“How are you?” she asks after long minutes of silence.
I huff out a laugh, snuffing out the butt of my cigarette on the banister. “How do you think I am, Olivia? I’m peachy.”
She nods, her hand running through her hair. “I’m surprised you’re going along with all of this.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well. Why fight when you can’t win?”
She nods, her mouth twisting. “Yeah, I get that.”
There’s a sadness to her features, and maybe if I were a better man, I would try to find the cause, but the days of me wasting any of my goodness on her are over.
“Do you have a point to being here, Olivia? Or are you just forcing inane conversation to torture me?” I raise my brow.
“No, I—” She shakes her head. “I just wanted to talk. To apologize, I guess.”
My stomach twists. “Apologize for what?”
“For my part in everything. I know you must think the worst of me.” Her voice shakes.
I chuckle. “That’s an understatement.”
Her eyes are wide and glossy as they gaze up at me. “Alexander?—”
“I stopped being Alexander the moment you didn’t tell me what was going on with our child.”
She swallows and glances down, a single tear falling down the side of her face. Slowly, she lifts her head and locks me into her stare.
“She wasn’t yours.”