52. Mason
FIFTY-TWO
MASON
There’s a nervous energy swirling through the car. We’re in a limo, of course. Thomas Wells wouldn’t be caught dead in anything less than prestige. My father sits next to Olivia, Frank next to me. My mother is meeting us there, coming straight from her brunch.
My leg bounces as we pull onto the side street of the capitol, the photos I’ve tucked away in this ridiculous suit burning a hole through my pocket. Olivia chews on her bottom lip, her eyes nervous and wild as they flicker between me and the windows.
I sympathize with her position. It takes a lot of guts to do what she’s about to, but at the end of the day, she still used me as a tool. She still never really loved me. She still lied .
Just like I lied to Lily.
Although not quite as extreme, it does put things in perspective. Both were a breach of trust where your entire foundation of belief is rocked to the core. When all of this is over, when my mind quiets from revenge and allows me to reflect instead, I know I’ll feel the regret for not telling her the truth as soon as I knew I loved her.
My gaze snags on Olivia’s, anticipation weaving through my system knowing that we’re so fucking close .
My father smiles, laughing at something Frank says before looking over at me. “You ready for this, Son? Need to go over what to say again?”
My lips twitch as I look him dead in the eye, knowing that I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life than I am for this moment.
For ten years I’ve been running from this man. And it ends today. “I know what to say.”
“Let’s hear it.” His teeth gleam. “Just to be sure.”
I lift my brows. “There’s a lot of story behind the past decade and not enough time to tell you all the details of what went on. I was young and scared, and in the process of me running away, I hurt the people who loved me most, and I regret my decisions that brought us here today.”
“Perfect.” Frank’s meaty hand grips my shoulder tight, and I bite on the inside of my cheek to keep from ripping his arm off me and breaking all of his fingers.
The car jolts to a stop, and we exit, making our way through the controlled crowd of people, cameras blinding with their flashes as we walk to the steps of the capitol, where the podium sits.
As I sit down next to my mother, my eyes scan the crowd, imagining what their reaction will be when everything comes out into the open. Frank goes up to the podium first, thanking people for coming and answering a few questions.
And then it’s my father’s turn.
Olivia’s knee shakes next to me, the motion making my stomach tense and jump faster than it already was. I pull a toothpick out of my pocket, my fingers brushing the edges of the photographs, and pop it in my mouth, wishing it were the sweet release of nicotine instead.
“Thank you all for coming. I’ve been a man of family and faith my entire life,” my father speaks.
I hold back the snort.
“And I know many of you, as is your right, have been wondering why I’ve gone off the grid for the past two weeks.” He pauses dramatically, with practiced precision that would make the Oscars proud, pulling a handkerchief and dabbing it underneath his eyes. Fucking prick.
“Well, folks, a blessing has fallen on our family. Many of you know that ten years ago, my son, Alexander, went tragically missing after the night of his engagement party to the lovely young woman you see right there.” My father turns and waves at Olivia.
My jaw clenches as she smiles, waving back. Murmurs start rumbling in the crowd.
“It is my absolute joy to tell you that after years of desperation, of never giving up the faith—the faith that is not only the foundation of our family but our country—our boy is home. Alexander, come on up here, Son.”
He turns toward me as the murmurs grow rampant, cameras being raised along with hands flying in the air, people hoping to be called on for a question. The entire spectacle makes me sick to my stomach, but I push down the nausea and move forward, knowing that these next few steps are my steps to freedom.
We did it . This is going to happen. And after it’s done, I’m going back to Tennessee, finding Lily, and begging for a chance to explain. I’m going to actually live for the first time in my life, and I can’t fucking wait.
My father leans into the microphone. “We’ll take just a few questions now.”
He points to the woman in front, who I already know is Sandy from WSNC Oregon, the first person on our approved list of people. She was given the appropriate questions to ask before this event started. See, what most people don’t realize is that the majority of these conferences are nothing more than shows. A play put on for the masses. Unfortunately, for everyone else up on this stage, I’m not planning on following the script.
My stomach flips, nerves racing through me until my hands physically shake, hoping that Olivia doesn’t back out now. She was truthful up until this point, so all I can do is hope that she’ll stand strong with me up here and say what she needs to say.
“Hi, thank you, Senator. Sandy from WSNC. Wow. Alexander, hi.”
I chuckle, grinning. “Hi, Sandy.”
“I guess we’ll start with…where have you been?”
I lean in, running a hand through my hair. “There’s a lot of story behind the past decade and not enough time to tell you all the details of what went on. I was young and scared, and while I made decisions in my life that I regret, other people’s decisions are what I’d like to talk about today.”
My father tenses as he stands next to me, his nostrils flaring.
“And I’m planning to answer all of your questions. I am,” I continue. “But first, I’d like to invite Olivia Sanderson to join me up here.”
My father’s spine goes rigid, his head snapping toward me.
I cover the microphone with my hand and let loose the first genuine smile since being in his presence. “Careful, Father, your mask is slipping.”
Olivia comes to stand next to me, her hair falling on the side of her face, curtaining her eyes from my father’s view. Her fingers tremble as she grips the podium. The press box is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, the tension spiking higher with every second.
Olivia clears her throat. “When I was fifteen years old, Thomas Wells brought me into his home, took me up?—”
My father springs forward, ripping the microphone from in front of her face. I push her so she isn’t hit by his elbow, my arm forcefully shoving him back.
Gasps sound from the audience, and I hold back a grin, because if anything, he’s making the situation worse. The innocence card is much harder to play when you try to steal the microphone to silence the girl.
From the corner of my eye, I see his security moving forward, but he seems to collect himself, running his hand down the front of his suit and slicking his hair back before he turns and shakes his head, waving them off.
“Are you kidding me?” he spits. “What the hell do you think this is?”
I smile wide. “This, Father, is justice.”
Olivia’s eyes are wide as they stare at us, and I nod my head, encouraging her to continue. “Olivia, go ahead. I won’t let him touch you.”
She nods, her teeth chewing her bottom lip. “Thomas Wells invited me into his home under the guise of wanting to matchmake me with his son,” she starts again. “It wasn’t much later that he brought me into his room, supplied me with alcohol and pills, and stole everything from me.” She turns her eyes to him. “Thomas Wells raped me when I was fifteen years old and took pictures of the aftermath. He…” Her voice breaks, tears streaking down her cheeks. She lifts her chin higher. “He made me pretend to be in love with his son so he could use me as his toy . He convinced me that what we had was love, and when he got me pregnant, he held me down, and he had a two-bit doctor force an abortion.”
My chest burns from her words, sorrow swirling in my gut.
Olivia stands strong, her shoulders back and her head held high.
My father is stoic, his eyes blazing fire, but a mask still on his face. Ever the perfect fucking politician.
The press explodes, the sound of yelled questions and clicking of cameras so violent, it makes my insides jump. Olivia ignores it all, turning to face her abuser, black tears marring her face. “I hope you rot in prison and they show you all the mercy you showed me.”
And then she walks offstage and disappears into one of the cars.
I clear my throat, trying not to let the emotion show on my face as I make my way back to the mic. “There is evidence in my possession that I will be turning over to the appropriate authorities. Thank you for your time.”
Before I step off the stage, my eyes flash to my father one last time. His mouth is gaping, eyes wide and frantic. He has to know there’s no coming back from this.
Victory swims through my veins, and justice has never felt so fucking sweet.
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”