Chapter 9
Jase
Who do you hate most?
Sam. My dad. Sometimes myself.
—J
“We need the money in four weeks at the latest. Otherwise, you’ll have to leave, Jase.”
Pearson’s words are still ringing in my head, on repeat in a continuous, toxic loop. I hear them again and again as I hurry to the parking lot to call an Uber. How could this happen? How could everything go so wrong?
Fuck fuck fuck!
It takes far too long for the damn Uber to finally appear.
I slide into the back seat to avoid talking to the driver.
My thoughts race as the car makes its way with agonizing slowness through the Boston traffic, across Back Bay to the West End.
Half an eternity passes before it finally pulls up by the glass-fronted building complex where my parents have their clinic.
My parents are fertility experts and specialists in gynecology, and if they put half as much energy into their own son as they do into the unborn children of their patients, we’d probably all be doing a lot better.
The clinic takes up three floors of the building, with its own laboratory and several delivery rooms. My parents spend more or less every moment of their time here, unless they’re called to one of the nearby hospitals to help with a cesarean section.
My parents are brilliant, and medicine is their whole purpose in life.
It used to be different, back when we were still a family. But the old days are long gone.
My mother’s office is on the first floor. I don’t bother stopping at the reception desk to announce myself. Her assistant is sitting behind the desk, talking to a very pregnant woman, and doesn’t even notice me.
Dark wood floors, bright walls, warm colors. The atmosphere is friendly and inviting, a place designed to make you feel safe and at ease.
Hypocrites.
The welcoming feel of the practice is totally different from our family home. The reception area is full of photos of families that Mom and Dad have helped over the years, beaming children with big, dewy eyes. But I know there isn’t a single damn photo of their own family in the entire place.
No one notices me as I walk through the wide hallway and head to Mom’s office. The door is open. I hear her voice, soft and warm and soothing. A tone that she only uses in the clinic, never at home. A pang of longing hits me. That used to be different too.
I pause in the doorway. Mom is alone and talking on the phone, probably to a patient.
Locks of blond hair frame her delicate face, falling in perfect curls to her collarbone.
Victoria Winslow is a beautiful woman, and I don’t just think so because she’s my mother and, at least at one time, my only ally.
I clear my throat, and she turns to look. A sharp crease appears between her finely arched eyebrows; she doesn’t look particularly glad to see me.
I wish I hadn’t had to come here either, Mom.
“Jase,” she says coolly after quickly ending her phone call. “What are you doing here?”
I step into her office and close the door.
“We need to talk.”
She stands up and smooths the skirt of her wrinkle-free dress. “You can’t just come here without telling me first. I have appointments.”
I bite back a snide remark and flop into one of the chairs in front of her desk without waiting to be invited. “I don’t plan to stay long. The payments for my tuition have been withdrawn. Do you know anything about that?”
It would be better if she did, because there’s only one other person who could have done it, and she doesn’t want to argue with him any more than I do.
She goes pale. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
So it was his decision. Fuck.
“I suppose that means that Dad found out that you paid my tuition,” I say, unable to stop every muscle in my body from tensing. How the hell did he find out? Mom transferred the funds last year too, and he had absolutely no idea.
She stares at me silently, opens her mouth and closes it again, like a fish out of water. I wait for her to say something, to make things right.
Help me, Mom.
But she doesn’t. She says nothing, just stares at me as she gets whiter by the second.
“What can we do now?” I ask, clinging to my pragmatism in this impossible situation.
“I . . . I . . .” Mom stops and goes a shade paler as the door flies open and Dad rushes into her office.
He barely looks at her, his piercing gaze focusing immediately on me. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
I grin at him, a stupid reflex and my own personal defense, because I know exactly how much it drives him up the wall. “Nice to see you too, Dad.”
“Stop playing games, Jase. What are you doing here?” He steps behind Mom’s desk and stands next to her chair, turning her office into his battleground.
“I thought you were expecting me. Then you should know why I’m here.” I pick at a loose thread on the seam of my jeans. It’s just my luck that I showed up at probably the only time today he wasn’t busy with a patient. There’s a reason I didn’t go to him directly.
His nostrils flare, but I know he won’t lose control. Not here. Never in the clinic. “I assume you’re here because I found out your mother is paying tuition for your ridiculous dance school.”
The thread breaks with a barely audible snap.
“Yup, looks like it,” I reply, though inside I’m asking myself what I actually am doing here. What do I expect to gain from this? After all, I know exactly where this conversation is leading.
“What do you expect to gain from this?” he asks, like he read my mind. He taps his toe impatiently, clearly ready to be rid of me.
I cross my legs in an attempt to make myself more comfortable while my heart beats out of time. Suddenly, it’s pounding far too fast, begging me with every beat to just disappear and spare myself the inevitable. But I can’t leave. Not without at least trying.
“Actually, I wanted to ask Mom to transfer the money again.” I ignore Dad’s condescending stare and instead look Mom directly in the eyes, trying to remind her that I’m still here and that I’m her son. The one she used to love.
“Forget it,” he replies, putting words in her mouth. They sound fast and hard, like shots from a pistol. They hit me right where it hurts, but I refuse to flinch. If I show weakness, I’ve lost.
“Dad, may I remind you that Mom can do whatever she wants with her own money?” My smile is more like a grimace.
“Not if it comes from our joint account.” His mask of control is slowly but surely crumbling. But he’s holding out longer than I expected.
I turn to Mom again. Seriously? She transferred my tuition fee from their joint account? It’s no wonder Dad noticed it.
“You have exactly two options, Jase,” he continues. He only needs a few seconds to regain his composure. “Either you come live at home and go to Harvard, with our full financial support, or you decide against Harvard and your family and deal with the consequences by yourself.”
“Rufus—” Mom says, but Dad silences her with a sweeping gesture.
“We’ll talk later, Victoria.”
I get up and shove my hands in my pockets as Mom gives me an apologetic glance. I look at Dad like I don’t care, but actually, I’m sick to my stomach. “Then I guess I’ll live with the consequences.”
Dad’s mask shatters like glass. His face goes bright red. “Don’t be a fool!”
A harsh laugh escapes me, but my eyes are burning. “I’m not the one acting like a fool here, Dad. You’re determined to get your way? Fine by me. Then cut off the money if it makes you feel better! I’ll be fine.”
That’s a lie, and we both know it, but I’m not going to back down. I can’t. It’s not about Harvard; it never was. It’s about me not being who he wants me to be. And yes, I came here for money, but deep down, I know there’s another reason. On shaky legs, I head for the door.
“Jason Alexander Winslow, you’re not going to leave now.” Dad’s voice has become ominously quiet, but I don’t stop.
I’m not afraid of him. Because no matter how angry he can get, he’d never hurt me. Or Mom, or Lia. My dad is a doctor, heart and soul. He doesn’t hurt people; he saves them. He just couldn’t save the one person who meant more to him than anything else in the world.
My heart is racing as I walk out of Mom’s office and then the clinic. Did I really think I could fix the whole thing so easily? Ask Mom for money and everything would be fine?
Obviously, I was wrong. I’m not going to get the money, and that means I’m totally screwed.