Chapter Thirty-Seven – Rebel
Grunting her way up the back staircase, Rebel wondered why Daddy hadn’t installed at least one elevator in the house. For years, the mansion had been surrounded by a literal fucking moat. But a simple elevator hadn’t crossed his mind?
By the time she reached the second floor, she was overheated, sweaty, and in pain.
She should’ve stopped and got her second wind, but she wanted the sanctity of her room where she could think about her visit with Rule and his friend.
Maybe erase the memory of the crushing disappointment when her and Momma arrived, and the director said Rule didn’t want to see them, then found one excuse after the other to keep them in that office.
If Momma hadn’t gotten fed up and stormed out, they would’ve missed Rule. Father Fuckhead would’ve gotten him off premises before Momma and Rebel saw him.
Not only had they eaten lunch with him, but dinner, too. They’d gotten a tour of the place, saw Rule’s room, the cafeteria, and the chapel in which he spent time. They’d even seen the meeting rooms and met his care team.
And when it was time to leave Rule, he’d hugged Rebel. A real true Rule hug that soothed all the hurt in Rebel and made her near-drowning worth it. Rule was getting the help he needed.
He’d hugged Momma too and acted as if he didn’t want to let her go. She’d offered to have him moved to Portland or Seattle, but Rebel knew Momma didn’t want to push Rule, so when he said he’d prefer to stay in LA for the time being, she backed off.
Back in their private suite, Momma canceled their spa services and ordered all types of junk food for them. As they brushed each other’s hair and did each other’s nails, Rebel asked a question that had been nagging at her.
Did Momma realize the priest tried to sabotage their visit? Of course she had. Yet she’d been so fucking calm. Once Rebel saw Rule and her disappointment fell away, she was so fucking furious she could’ve knocked that little round motherfucker off the cliff.
Momma swore that all’s well that ends well. Rebel disagreed. All’s well that ended with a fuckhead fucked up for fucking with her and her family.
Huffing, Rebel hobbled forward and rolled her eyes. She’d stopped on the landing anyway.
Her icy blue peignoir with white bows swirled around her feet.
Although it didn’t cover the cast on her foot, no one could see the rest of it on her leg.
The robe and nightgown were one of the expensive pieces of clothing bought on Rodeo Drive.
Now that she’d seen Rule, she was so fucking annoyed with herself that she’d moped through what could’ve been the shopping spree of her dreams.
Snorting, she opened the door. The hallway that led to the bedrooms loomed ahead of her.
Unlike the third floor where the hallway was an homage to Mama or the square grid of downstairs, Rebel liked this one so much better.
Toys, usually scattered across the floor, were in toy boxes of various sizes, many next to benches.
A dartboard hung on one wall, while family photos hung on the other walls.
End to end, it reminded her of a hotel hallway, just wider and homier.
Right now, it was so silent. Sometimes, Rebel welcomed the peace. The house was always busy, and her bedroom was her quiet, safe space.
Especially after Diesel stopped breaking and entering as if he had the right.
Her nostrils flared and she bit down on her lip, unable not to look in the direction of his bedroom on the opposite end of the hall, right near the landing for the main staircase. She’d accepted that he was her brother, but she didn’t know if she could accept Jana.
She wanted Diesel happy, though.
If Jana made him happy, Rebel should adore her. Diesel deserved happiness.
“Reb?”
As if she’d conjured him, Diesel sauntered into view. He’d come up the grand staircase, the kind Rebel wanted in her house. She couldn’t do minimalism. What good was wealth without flaunting it?
Glancing toward one of the recently installed cameras, then over his shoulder at his bedroom door, he remained in his spot.
Another thing someone needed to get for the second floor hallway? A fucking clock. Rebel suspected it was at least noon o’clock. He should be at work, instead of looking so dangerous and badass in his jeans and cut.
She tottered forward at a slow, painful pace. He didn’t move to help her. Rebel knew it was because of those fucking cameras. “Don’t you have a case to argue?” she asked when she reached him. “Or are you on lunchbreak?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked so very sad. “I had an errand with Aunt Meggie. It’s nearly two, by the way.”
Well, fuck. This hallway wasn’t the only place in need of a clock.
Or she could’ve just worn one of her watches.
But she’d gone downstairs, intending to go to the natatorium, and hadn’t been able to cross the sill.
Then, she’d texted Kaia because she wanted to see him.
He wasn’t at the house. She went to the bedroom Diesel brought her to the night Daddy lost his fucking mind and fell asleep.
“Is Momma in her room or in the kitchen?”
“Aunt Meggie took my car to go visit Jo.”
Rebel nodded. “What’s wrong?”
His smile faltered. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he glanced away. “Nothing, sweetheart.”
“You’re a fucking liar. Now, tell me the truth, Diesel. Why do you look like you’ve lost your best friend?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he told her in a thick voice.
As if he would cry at any moment.
Rebel had seen Diesel in so many different forms, many of them infuriating, but she’d never seen him quite as vulnerable.
She started to hug him, then halted and looked up. “I’m just comforting my brother, Daddy,” she said, then hugged Diesel tightly. He buried his nose in her neck, wrapped his arms around her, and shuddered. “Talk to me. Now. Who do we have to kill?”
“Me, Rebel,” he said hoarsely. “And who’s we?”
“Daddy, Axel, and me. What the fuck do you mean we have to kill you?”
Diesel straightened. His wet cheeks horrified her. Grabbing his hand, she nodded toward a hallway bench, leaning against him because her fucking leg and foot was throbbing. She’d probably overexerted herself.
Once Diesel helped her to the bench and sat next to her, he put his elbows on his knees and hung his head.
“Did you kill Tabitha? Of course, why the fuck would you want to kill yourself over her? That bitch needs fucking up.”
Silence, and then, “I killed my father, Rebel.”
She allowed those words to turn over in her head, narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips. Thought really hard about all the times Diesel defended that motherfucker. “He got what he deserved,” she decided.
“You don’t even know why.”
“I don’t need to. You’ve always given him a pass. If you killed him, he deserved it.”
“I was so fucking wrong. I shouldn’t have gone there.
I’ve known where he might live for several years, though I pretended I didn’t.
I wasn’t sure if it was him, so it was just easier.
When I went there Monday, I decided to knock.
To see if it was him. I missed you and Aunt Meggie so much and I was so afraid she wouldn’t come back.
I just wanted to ask how had he survived my mother’s desertion for those few months he tried to continue on as normal.
I shouldn’t have gone,” he repeated dully.
“Yes, you should have,” Rebel told him. “You needed closure. But how the fuck did you go from wanting to ask a simple question to that motherfucker being dead? And has Daddy talked to you?”
“I haven’t told him. I couldn’t—”
“I doubt you have to,” she said gently. “He tracks us. He probably knows where you went. You need to talk to him. You’re his son. He’ll help you.”
“I want to talk to Aunt Meggie.”
“Then do that, too. Talk to both of them. They aren’t only your parents in happy times. But answer my fucking question. Why did you kill him?”
“You ask too many questions. Some things are better left unsaid.”
“And I will continue to ask those motherfuckers until I get answers, so shut the fuck up.”
Heaving in a breath, he sidled a glare at her, looking more like her Diesel. He didn’t like her cursing. Just the thought made her flip him off.
He scowled.
“Now, tell me. I can no longer go in your room, but I will camp in front of that motherfucker and make big ass signs demanding answers. Oh! I know. I’ll get Ax to help me.”
Diesel’s annoyance fled. He didn’t even smile at her boneheaded attempt to lighten the mood. His shoulders slumped and his devastation returned.
In a slow, broken voice, Diesel recounted his conversation with Skylar Rivers. His dismissiveness. His gloating. His fuckery.
“I was so harsh to my mother, Rebel. So unforgiving. And he beat her so fucking bad she lost her memory. All this fucking time.”
“This happened Monday?” she asked to be sure.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been falling apart on your own since then?”
“I deserve no sympathy. I was her son. I should’ve given her some leeway. Thought of other possibilities.”
“You were a hurt fifteen-year-old, who loved his mother and couldn’t understand why she left him.”
“I came to terms with it Tuesday afternoon.”
“If this is coming to terms with it, I hate to fucking see how you’d react if you couldn’t accept the truth.”
He glared at her.
“Fuck off,” she snapped. “You don’t want sympathy?
You’ll get harshness. Anything so you’ll understand it was all on that motherfucker.
Could you have been kinder? We all fucking know the answer to that.
You’ve pissed me off because you blamed every woman for what she did.
Or what you thought she did. But it was how you coped. ”
“It was a shitty way!”