CHAPTER NINE #3
Alistair lingers after the party is officially over.
He says he wants to spend time with his children.
The older man’s presence in the Estate, even if he does keep to his own wing, is like a thunderstorm that refuses to burst. Metallic oppression of stubborn power in the air, and nothing can go on as normal until it passes.
He talks privately with Lachlan once after the party and further insists that the public “punishment” was to set an example to the others.
He also tells Lachlan, who expected no such explanation, that Jessamine was kept inside so long because Alistair was debating keeping her existence a secret entirely and when she was born, he had not yet bought and paid for drone-free airspace around the Estate.
It’s not unheard of.
People of such stature often release ridiculous fake names for their children when announcing them, if they announce them at all.
It troubles Lachlan, though, who always thinks of the cats and the girls and the way the Lupo smiled when he said they stopped fighting, stopped trying to escape entirely.
Alistair gives Lachlan a bonus cheque.
‘For your excellent handling of the party,’ he informs him, the pair sitting with that lavish desk between them four days after the party. ‘I read the rundowns this morning. You had to change clothes due to bleeding?’
‘Yes, sir. I popped a stitch.’
‘How?’
‘Ballistic layer snagged it.’
‘I see.’ Alistair sips his tea from a china cup.
‘My daughter is quite taken with you. Have you wondered why I do not discourage it?’ When Lachlan hesitates, unsure of how to answer, the old man goes on.
‘The truth is a strange thing to own. I like you, Lachlan. You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.
Yes, you are young and you cause minor issues now and then, yet your synergy with my family is unmatched.
I would be very loath to lose you. I must ask, are you happy here? ’
‘Yes, sir. I am.’
‘Tell me why.’
‘I’m learning new things all the time. The longer I stay, the more secure I can make the East Wing, the more I can improve safety for the children and effectively manage your son.’
‘And that makes you happy?’
‘I’m well paid and good at what I do, so yes, sir.’
‘Tell me about your life before you enlisted.’
God, Lachlan would rather die than endure a “friendly” conversation like this, but he’s faced worse and he knows what Penhalyx is after. ‘I was raised poor by hard-working parents. Didn’t do well in school, but I scraped by. The house was small. The town was even smaller.’
‘Tell me about your father.’
Lachlan’s vagus nerve clenches. ‘He worked the scrap yards in Dockside.’
‘Do you miss him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘He was a mean drunk.’
‘I see. And your mother? Good relationship?’
‘Distant.’
‘You took this job to pay her medical debt.’
‘My cousin remortgaged her house to help cover it. I wanted to help.’
‘Family is important. One could say we are family now, hm?’
‘I would never presume to—’
‘But I would. I would presume,’ Alistair says, and for the first time there’s real force behind the words.
He looks away as he says it, and the movement is so painfully familiar it unsettles Lachlan.
The same controlled withdrawal Jules uses whenever emotion threatens to surface, a clean cut away from vulnerability before anyone else can touch it.
‘I know I am a stranger to Jessamine. To Mimi,’ he self-corrects softly.
‘I told myself not to get attached to her. Girls are different, I never… well. No matter.’ He looks back at Lachlan then with those same honey eyes his son inherited.
‘I know what she calls you sometimes. I know far more than you think I do, Lachlan. I know how strongly you advocate for my children, even against me. I have no intention of interfering in your little homegrown rebellion. Do you know why?’
Lachlan’s heart is beating so fast it hurts. ‘Sir, I wouldn’t—’
‘Because my children will never be free of their father. Not through their own efforts, nor yours, nor anyone else’s.
There are domains beyond your knowledge, entire structures of understanding from which you are necessarily excluded, and I intend to keep it that way.
I want,’ he adds, voice dipping into something coarse, setting down his tea, ‘my children to know some measure of a warm presence. A protector. An older brother.’ He looks down, tone flat. ‘A dad, not a father.’
Silence stretches between them for a long time.
Lachlan’s mind is whirring, he feels so much and shows none of it. Eventually, Alistair breaks it by checking the screen built into his desk and pinch-dragging it up to hover mid-air.
He then taps a button.
‘Bring up the Thailand meeting by two days.’
‘Yes, sir,’ a male voice confirms.
Whatever fragile honesty passed between them is gone now, Lachlan can tell. Alistair sips his tea, once more in control of himself.
‘You killed yours, I think?’
Lachlan doesn’t even bother to lie. ‘I did, yes.’
‘Fathers are the first monsters,’ he muses. ‘I wished every day for mine to die and then the day came… and I no longer knew the world around me. My children deserve the best of everything which is why I want to keep you. If you’re happy, of course.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Julian is incredibly precious to me. When he was younger, certain complications led me to a difficult solution. There is a line that must be walked with him. He must grow strong, disciplined, healthy, but never uncontrolled. He is far too intelligent for brute force. I would not break him, but I do need him willing to bend. You can walk that line for me, Lachlan, and you will.’
Lachlan is suddenly so exhausted, he could cry.
He hasn’t cried since he was seventeen, and he doesn’t now.
‘Won’t you?’ Penhalyx prompts when he says nothing.
‘Yes, sir. I will.’
Jules had once looked at him and said, same thing anyway and Lachlan had been cut by it, but it was true. The old man knows everything. He knew from the start. He wanted it. He wanted all of it.
And Lachlan has given it to him.
A more comfortable cage. A kitten to live for, stay for.
He is the kitten.
‘Good. That’s all.’