38. Roman
ROMAN
“ I heard an interesting rumor about you today,” my dad says as he sits across from me at a restaurant called Dante’s, located in the middle of the town square.
He doesn’t look up when he speaks. Instead, he stares down as his knife slowly cuts into his steak, the blood oozing from the meat and onto the plate. His voice is calm, and he looks collected.
But his words send a spike of awareness trickling along my spine.
“Oh?”
My mind races, wondering what the rumor is, and why he asked me to come here tonight.
He seems unhappy about something, and I think it might be the pace I’m painting at.
I haven’t had a chance to do too much more, but I’ve been procrastinating, because the urge to tag isn’t there when it’s being utilized as a weapon I have no control over.
The protest on VU campus, and the pictures that followed of Juliette having to shield herself from reporters made me sick.
“Benny says you’ve been…friendly with the Calloway girl,” he says.
My stomach tightens, flashes of Juliette playing in my mind.
Her smile. Her laugh. The way she scrunches her nose when she’s annoyed and bites on her lip when she’s trying to keep from grinning.
A waiter stops by and picks up the wine bottle, pouring more into my dad’s glass before leaving without a word. I wonder if he should be drinking that, but I guess I’m just happy that he’s still able to drink and eat anything , even though for years I wished him dead.
Jesus, I’m a disaster.
“Benny’s an idiot,” I say, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal. “She was at the Round Table and some guy was hassling her.”
My father nods and then takes another sip of wine. “So, I don’t need to worry about it?”
I reach forward, grabbing my own wine, and gulp it down.
Fucking Benny. Snitch-ass bitch.
My mask is carefully crafted, and I make sure it’s impenetrable now as I reply. “What would there be to worry about? She’s nobody.”
She’s everything.
He shrugs. “Benny says that the two of you seemed to know each other. That you were… I believe the word he used was ‘intimate.’”
My mind races, figuring out what angle to play.
I set down my wine glass and lean back in my chair, sighing. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Good,” he says. “I don’t mind who you fuck—that’s none of my business. But I do care if the Calloways are tying you up in some sick mind game.”
I scoff, and he cuts me a serious look.
“Do not underestimate them. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost me everything.”
Emotion clogs my throat, because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was talking about me.
“Juliette isn’t like that.”
The words come out slow, like a whisper. It’s a risk to say it, but fuck it. I’m tired of sitting back while everyone has their own idea of who she is, too.
A look of understanding flows over my dad’s face, and he shakes his head, but the anger I expected never comes. “So, there is something.”
I clench my jaw, rolling the stem of the wine glass back and forth in my fingers, the red liquid sloshing around in the bottom of the glass. “Nah. Nothing that matters.”
And fuck, does that hurt to admit.
“Some things are better left to die, son.”
My chest squeezes tight, and I force a nod. “Is that what you did with Ma?”
“I loved your mother.” His eyes grow sad. “But what I felt for her pales in comparison to the love I have for you.”
My brows draw in, and an ache hits me right in the sternum, like something has clawed its way inside of me and ripped open old wounds. I let out a humorless laugh. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes; I can admit that. But you’re my legacy, Roman. The purest love I’ve ever felt was when you were born and I held you in my arms. You don’t have to believe it, but it’s the truth.”
Another phantom pain spreads through my chest, and I reach up to rub it away.
My father takes a bite of his steak, his chin moving as he chews, his eyes locked on me like he’s trying to convey a secret. “And I would have done what I did a thousand times over to protect you.”
“Part of me still hates you,” I admit. “I don’t know that your soft words and pity acts can undo years of abandonment.”
He grunts. “That’s something I’ll just have to make peace with when I die, then.”
“Don’t talk about yourself like that. I don’t like it.”
Shock filters over his face like a curtain.
“Who is Brutus Myrddin?” I ask, not wanting him to focus on what I just said.
He glances around like he’s worried someone will hear. “He’s the man the Calloways went into business with.”
“Then why was his picture in the files you gave me?”
“Because he’s a large part of why we’ve lost everything that we have.”
“He partnered with the Calloways.”
He dabs the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin and places it back on his lap. “And was very upset that I wouldn’t sign on the dotted line to dissolve the WayMont agreement. Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”
“How did he die?”
My father takes a sip of his drink. “Shot in the back of the head and found on the bank of some river in Boston.”
“Jesus.”
“Enough of this talk,” he says. “Things are getting back to how they should be, and that’s why you’re here. To make a statement. Craig’s fumbling in his power now; people are waking up.”
He coughs then, his napkin coming up to cover his mouth. It’s a vicious attack, and I’m reminded that he isn’t well. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember because he’s so good at covering it up. “Enough shop talk. How’s your sister?”
My mind is running a thousand miles a minute, trying to come to terms with the fact my father is giving me pieces to a puzzle and assuming I’m okay being left halfway in the dark while I expose people for secrets they’d rather have buried.
If it weren’t for others who don’t match my description being purposely caught on cameras around Rosebrook, people would surely know it was me already.
“She’s barely speaking to me. How’s Mom?” I reply.
She was supposed to be taken to the rehab facility in the hills of Monterey last week, and I’ve been vacillating between needing to know about her and wanting to let go so I’m not disappointed when her rehab fails.
“I haven’t spoken to her,” he says. “Nobody can for the first thirty days.”
My stomach tightens. “But you know she’s there, at least, right?”
“Of course.” He looks offended. “Frederick checks in on her daily.”
“Why Frederick?”
“Because I asked him to.”
I nod along, but anxiety winds its way around me like a noose. “Will she be safe there?”
He leans forward, tapping his fingers on the table. “One thing about your mother is that she’s very resourceful. I have no doubt that once the drugs clear from her system, she’ll do everything in her power to come home to you. She may not show it, but she loves you more than life.”
“Yeah.” I pick at my napkin, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that I’m not sure I believe she’ll actually get better. After all, someone has to want to better themself in order for it to stick, and she’s never been willing before.
I assuage my thoughts by reminding myself that after her first thirty days I can check in.
“So, you’re really not worried about Craig Calloway coming after me anymore?” I ask. “Or any of his children?”
“No. He controls much more of Rosebrook Falls than back then. Besides, you’re very public here, and you’re no longer a little kid. The only way he can get to you is if you let your guard down. Like, for example, with his daughter.”
Too many emotions bleed together at his words, making the weight of knowing Juliette might never speak to me again hurt even worse. “I told you, she isn’t like that.”
“And I heard you. But let me ask you a question, and you think hard about the answer.” He jerks his chin to a table behind me, and I twist around in my seat to look.
“If you and her are so close, then why is she here with the governor’s son?”