27. Kayden
KAYDEN
Even now, in the car, as I drive to my destination, my mind is full of her.
No matter what I’m doing, she’s on my mind.
The taste of her. Her sweet aroma. Being with her makes me greedy, longing for eternity, wanting to relive it over and over.
It’s as if I never left. As if all these years, we’ve been tethered to each other.
Our connection is deeper than anything, our chemistry explosive. I can’t get enough.
Last night was incredible. I had to stop. I want to be with Maddy. I want to give her my all.
But I’m a fuck up, and she deserves better. She only wants me because she doesn’t know.
The message written on the walls of my bedroom this morning was a clear warning. This needs to come to an end.
I told you to stay the fuck away from her, in black. Then, in red ink: Are you ready to pay the price?
You’re gonna lose her, the voice inside my head says, plaguing my mind with bad thoughts. He’ll tell your secrets. Once she knows, there’s no way in the world she’ll want you.
Not that you ever had a chance.
I clutch the steering wheel.
Waking up to soft fabric in my hand was a surprise, too. Madelyn’s panties from last night.
I recognized them instantly.
I had to, I just had to press them against my nose and choke on her scent.
Focused too much on my own desire and half-asleep, it took me a beat too long to understand that I never took the panties with me.
That they, too, must have been left by the psycho, the game master. A souvenir of what I could never have.
He must have come into my room, scrawled the message on the walls while I slept, and stuffed the panties into my closed palm.
It fueled me. I’ve fucking had it with his game. I have to get to the bottom of this. If there’s no anonymous psycho, there’s nothing or anyone who can keep me from Maddy, other than myself.
Which is what brings me here.
I park my car on the driveway of the house I haven’t been in since I ran away seven years ago.
It’s six thirty in the evening. They should be here.
The outside remains the same as I remember. A typical Victorian house.
I stand in front of the tall gray door, a lighter shade than the brick of the structure, and ring the bell.
I bet the door isn’t locked, if it’s anything like the past. But it still feels the right thing to do. This isn’t my home anymore. This isn’t my family.
No one except Madelyn is. And that’s a choice I stand behind.
I ring again, after the first alert gives me no response.
I’m about to turn away when the door swings open with a hesitant click.
Miranda, Maddy’s mom, stands by the door, a silent stare that turns into the tiniest of smiles decorating her face.
“Kayden! What a surprise.”
She’s wearing a long floral dress that doesn’t quite fit the slippers she’s got on her feet.
Her always-in-place blonde bob haircut complements her thinned figure.
It’s clear this is a woman who has more freedom than she had in the past, and is expressing herself, yet there’s still a certain restraint.
There are no scars on her body, which is a relief, I guess. Then again, with the state of my father, I suspect that phase of his life is over. He’s no longer the patriarch of the house.
She is. Sure, she had to push through years of taking care of him, but she’s got him wrapped around her finger now, and I’m happy for her. I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t take care of him even if he were the sickest man on earth. Not after all he’s done to me.
Even if he promised to put me back in his will. Something he changed the minute he got sick of me, before attempting to keep controlling my life by signing me up for the military.
Fuck, living in the streets on stolen money was hard. Sleeping on people’s sofas was pretty bad, too.
But I don’t regret a single second of it.
Kudos to this woman.
“Hey. Sorry to show up unannounced. I know we didn’t end on the best terms…” I say to my stepmother, with whom I once shared a moment of sincerity.
One that even Maddy doesn’t know about. Both silent victims of my father’s abuse. Except she stayed with him, she persisted. I slipped away.
“Can I come in?”
She purses her lips before treating me with a soft smile again. “You don’t need to apologize for a thing.” She moves aside, making way for me enter the house.
The living room hasn’t changed much; the walls are lined with pictures of different landscapes. Not a single family portrait, giving a good understanding of our family dynamics to guests.
The same desk I used to work on sits in a corner, behind the sofa and TV set.
“Would you like some water?” Miranda stops midway to the kitchen, turning her head my way.
I look around. It’s quiet here.
Where is my father?
“Actually, I…I wanted to talk to my father.”
Miranda’s posture tightens. She presses her arms to her chest, holding herself.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” she says. “I know I didn’t mention it when we talked. I didn’t want to alarm you. I’m sure Maddy filled you in, but he’s—”
“I know he’s sick. I won’t cause a fuss. I just want to see him.”
She parts her lips, swallows her words, pointing at the corridor that follows the living room, where our home library, their bedroom, my temporary room, and a bathroom used to be. “He’s in his office.”
I tilt my head.
“We took your old room and remodeled it into Lucas’ office.
” She swallows, seeming uncomfortable. “No offense, Kayden, you weren’t here for years.
And we weren’t sure we were going to see you again.
We couldn’t sleep in the same room after he got sick, and he insisted on working. I had to give him something.”
Of course they did.
My father’s stubborn. I inherited that from him. He likes to pretend he’s okay even if it kills him. He’d rather die than let a woman take control of his business.
I bet he thinks he’s still got the hang of it. And Miranda has to deal with his nagging day after day, while making sure his business stays afloat.
I need to give it to her. She’s been patient and smart. From what I heard from Madelyn, Miranda learned everything from scratch about my father’s business and has managed to do okay. Of course, we don’t have as much money as before, but she’s been keeping the family on profit.
I shake my head, reassuring her. “You don’t need to give me any explanations.”
This stopped being my house a long time ago.
She presses her lips together. “All your things are back in the attic.”
“Thanks.”
I’m about to go my way when a door swings open and a man comes out of the bathroom, the nearest door to the living room entrance.
A man who isn’t my father.
He’s young, with disheveled brown hair and a trimmed beard, wearing simple slacks and a button-up shirt.
“Hey.” He greets me nonchalantly, stretching his hand forward. “You must be the son.”
I shake it, my eyebrows furrowed to the center of my forehead.
“Oh,” Miranda says, standing between us. “Kayden, this is Russell. My assistant.”
This is new.
“He’s also your dad’s part-time caretaker.” She exchanges a look with Russell. “I go out for work three times a week. I’m renting a small space. Russell helps me out in the house with your father while I’m gone.”
“Alright.” I can’t really say much about it, nor do I care. “Nice to meet you, Russell.”
Whatever works for them is fine for me.
This is not why I’m here, and I don’t have time to waste.
“He’s a genius with computers,” Miranda says, attempting to make a bit more conversation. “He’s helping me figure out some coding. I’ve been studying it myself, but I’m terrible at it. I’ve been hiring until now. It’s about time I do it on my own.”
I cough out a laugh.
Ironic, isn’t it? Russell sounds like the perfect son for my father, and he’s probably around the same age as I am, too. I was once supposed to be his coding legacy.
“That’s cool,” I say. I couldn’t give less fucks.
“Yeah,” Russell says. “If you ever need any help with anything, I’m your guy.”
A smile slips out of his lips, and he presses both hands into his pockets.
“Sure thing. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I glance at Miranda. “I have to talk to my father for a moment.”
“We’ll be here. Be gentle with him, please.” Miranda walks away with Russell.
I knock on the door of the room that used to be mine.
“Yes?” My father’s distinctive, authoritarian voice calls from the other side.
If you heard him, you wouldn’t know he’s sick.
“It’s Kayden.”
He groans. “Come in.”
I let myself into the room, where my father’s sitting at a desk, the bed right next to it unmade.
He’s wearing black, soft-looking pajamas, his once salt-and-pepper hair is lighter, shorter, and almost gone. The features on his face are worn out.
He’s leaning forward against the computer, his hand clutching the mouse.
I take a peek at what’s keeping him busy, so busy that he doesn’t turn to greet his only son.
A laugh gargles up my throat. Fucking Lucas A’gosto. Unbelievable.
He’s playing fucking poker on the screen.
I scoff before leaning against the wall.
What did I expect, really? For him to be yelling at me? Welcome me with a slap?
In his current condition, he wouldn’t be working or threatening me, would he?
That doesn’t make him any less terrifying. My father is the living proof of evil in this world.
No matter how different the image in front of me is now, he still shakes me to my bones.
“Hey, Dad,” I force myself to say, but there’s still no reaction from him.
He’s clicking away at the mouse, pressing damn cards on a deck on the computer.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, attempting to start a conversation.
“I’m busy.”
“I can see.” I step toward him. “With what?”
“Business.”
“Business?”
“Yes. I just said I’m busy. Stop bothering me. Go to your room.”
“I need to talk to you, Dad.”
“Not now.” He raises his voice. “I said, go to your room.”
“This is important.”
“This is important, too.” He slaps a hand against the desk.
My patience runs thin.
I spin my father around in the chair and pull him toward me by his collar.
“Are you faking this?” I spit. “Did you hear I was in town and hired someone to mess with me for messing with you back then? Is that it?”
My father’s eyes are zombie-like, staring at me as if I’m not there.
He pushes me away.
“You ungrateful piece of shit,” he mutters under his breath, sitting down in the spinning chair again.
Turning to the computer and ignoring me.
Click. Click.
“Shit. I got distracted because of you and did the wrong move.”
He is not faking it. There’s no way to fake this.
“Leave,” he commands. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
I don’t move a single muscle. Stay right behind him.
“Did someone come and talk to you about me?”
No response. More clicking of the mouse.
The man ignores me and takes pleasure in doing so.
Every single nerve in my body stiffens.
“I said, get out. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The strong tone of his words is surprising, given he’s still focused on the screen. He doesn’t let me finish. “We’ll be having a serious talk at dinner, young man.”
I’m not staying for fucking dinner. But of course, he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know a damn thing. He thinks I’m still a fucking teenager, wearing his leash or something.
I dig my nails into my skin, pressing my fists to my side.
He’s not going to help. And that’s okay.
Because truly, I’ve got my answer.
There’s no way in hell this man talked to anyone about me. Or about our past.
And he’s the only one left who knows shit.
He can barely remember how to play poker, let alone what I did.
It’s sad what he’s become. But he deserves it. He deserves every single thing he got.
Fucking karma. It’s a bitch.
“See you around, Miranda.” I nod toward her as I pass her on the sofa. “Russell.” I wave as I sneak out of the front door, as quickly and quietly as I came in.
I don’t show my feelings. I’m used to it.
But as I get into my car and start driving, it becomes hard to control myself.
Kill him, the voice inside my head says again. Make him pay.
I fucking wish I could. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, accelerate just to feel a rush, something other than this anger inside. I’m really holding myself from screaming.
I’ve got nothing. I’m back to square one.