Chapter Twelve
Everett Young
I can already tell that dinner with the Johnstons is going to be a long, draining affair.
I own two suits, and tonight I’ll be wearing the one I save for Easter Sunday—black with teal accents. As I’m adding the finishing touches, I can hear the guests arrive while Ash and Felicita greet the couple.
Francis Johnston is about ten years older than my father, and his wife is about two years younger than Felicita. Everyone in Sinclair knows that Holly is a gold digger—she came from Miami about two years ago, and they were married in less than a month of her arrival.
I think she’s in Felicita’s spin class.
Once I descend the stairs, I’ll have to be polite and pleasant or risk Ash’s wrath once they leave. So I slick back my hair and make sure my suit is in order before I leave my room.
I find everyone in the den: glasses of Brandy in hand for the men and wine glasses filled to the brim for the women. They’re laughing; that kind of laughter that comes from rich assholes who think they’re better than you, who know they’re worth more than the house you live in.
Francis spots me first, and I bow my head to him politely and give him a small smile, saying, “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnston.”
He accepts my outstretched hand once I stand to my full height.
“Everett, still polite as ever, young man.” His voice is scratchy and abused by years of cigars. “And still handsome as ever, too.”
I turn to his wife, dodging his compliment as I kiss the back of her hand. “Mrs. Johnston.”
She flushes red, covering her mouth with her unoccupied hand.
“He does as he should,” Ash speaks for me, smiling proudly as if he’s always been such a doting father.
“You’re almost done with your degree at Sinclair Public College, aren’t you?” Francis probs, his tone dripping with distaste at the name.
“Yes, sir.”
“You could have gone to the University of Miami, son. They have some pretty impressive graduates. Myself included.” He chuckles smoothly, looking me up and down in half appraisal, half scrutiny.
I have no idea what this man sees when he looks at me, but I do know what I’m supposed to show him, so I play the role as I was taught to.
“Yes, sir,” I placate. “That is very true. But I got a pretty good scholarship, and I figured we could use that extra tuition money for charitable donations instead. I’m particularly fond of the Children’s Home Society of Florida.”
I am, in fact, not very interested in charity work. Not that I don’t care about children in need—I actually have a soft spot for children. But I have no time or the means to help in a meaningful way.
But this is exactly what Ash would want me to say, and I know I’ve pleased him when he nods approvingly, placing a large hand on my shoulder.
No one seems to notice that I flinch.
“Everett is a very sensitive, passionate boy. We let him take this path to foster that spirit in him. We believe it’ll help him in the future when it comes to making connections in the business world.”
Francis hums in approval. “Very impressive, young man. Ash, you’ve done one hell of a job here. Beautiful home, beautiful wife, brilliant son. Expected of a Carmichael.”
The men laugh, taking sips of their liquor as the women nod politely, sizing each other up.
“Well, would anyone care for dinner?” Felicita purrs sweetly, her long blonde hair curled around his waist, her red dress swaying against her ankles as her heels clack in the direction of the kitchen.
Ever the charming lady of the house.
Quietly, I follow the group toward the kitchen, letting them ramble about different partners at the firm—who they like and who they don’t. Who will last the rest of the year and who will be moving on.
Dinner is a beef roast with roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread; the table is lively with the sound of cutlery and small talk. I make myself invisible until Holly drags me back into the conversation yet again.
“So, Everett,” she says, her voice sultry and soft. “Have you found yourself a girlfriend yet? You’re about to graduate; it’s about time to settle down, no?”
Holly is sixteen years older than me, yet every time I’ve encountered her in the past year, she’s made it a point to make some sort of pass at me. I’m not an idiot—I know bedroom eyes when I see them.
“I’m seeing someone, yes. It’s nothing official.” I offer our company a smile, taking a small sip of my water.
“Well, of course a healthy young man like yourself would play the field as long as he can!” Francis laughs. “But Holly is right, son. Time is elusive; you have to place your foundation eventually. Find yourself a good girl.”
I give him a polite nod. Yawn.
“We’ve had this talk recently,” Ash interjects. “He is searching for a serious partner, just as instructed, aren’t you, Everett?”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
“Someone preferably in your line of study,” he reminds me, tone pointed.
“Or someone older. Girls your age all want to party.” Holly giggles, as if the comment is meant to be a jab—to be funny.
The rest of the table laughs as well, the meaning of her statement going right over their heads.
I shift uncomfortably. “I actually have been seeing a girl in my department.”
Holly’s expression sours, her red lips twisting into a grimace. Her ginger hair is curled around her shoulders, drawing attention to the expression.
She is beautiful; that is true. But she’s also over half my age and married.
“Good boy.” Ash raises his Brandy in my direction.
The conversation is being steered in a different direction—a rare reprieve—and I let my body begin to untense.
But I can’t truly relax with Holly still taking her chances, glancing over at me with those curious, slightly defeated eyes. I don’t think this woman has ever been told no, and it’s killing her.
And for that, she might just kill me.
Nevertheless, I pretend not to notice, just as I do every time they come here for dinner. As the conversation drags, I think of other things: happy things, forbidden things.
Time passes at a faster rate.
As dinner and dessert finally come to a close, the men return to the den, and the women retire to the kitchen to clean up from the meal. I am finally excused, allowing me to break off and sneak up to my room.
I will strip out of my suit and then slip off to Skylar’s apartment.
Not that I mean for anything to happen once I arrive… of course not. My racing heart and jittery body have absolutely nothing to do with possibility and everything to do with being happy to leave this tense environment.
Plus, I was just reminded a million times of what is expected from me, and what I’ll have to deal with if I fail.
Sleeping with Skylar is not a part of what is expected of me. But then again, if it does happen, if it still manages to come to light despite my attempts to stop it, then whose fault is it really?
I would believe in a god, if only I could blame him. I would pray, if only he could take the blame from my guilty hands.
My fingertips tingle as I slip out of my suit jacket, fingers working the buttons of my collared shirt.
I can picture it—Skylar on his bed, curls plastered to his face with sweat, his awed gasps as he pulses against my palm. I can hear him begging me to stop, to let him last just a bit longer so that he can feel me, so he can just keep feeling me.
I could teach him so much. I could let him feel so fucking much of me. God, I could just die thinking about it.
As I’m finished unbuttoning my shirt, I hear my door open and shut softly.
“Hey—” I turn to greet who I imagine is one of my adoptive parents, but I find Holly instead. “Oh. The bathroom is across the hall, or downstairs.”
She smiles sweetly, taking a step toward me. “Let’s not play games, Everett. I want you.”
She tries to subtly push her tits out; her blue blouse is cut low, her pencil skirt hugging her tightly. I’ve seen better tits on the water girls who work for the baseball team—while they’re in uniform.
“Sorry, but I’m not interested,” I tell her—kind but firm.
I’m walking a thin line here, not quite sure what she has up her sleeve. This friendship my adoptive parents have with her husband is very important.
“No? What, are you gay?” she sneers.
I sputter at her question, eyes wide as I take a step back. “N-no. But my father is a dear friend of your husband.”
She advances, laughing lightly. “No one needs to know.”
Those long claws find my chest, dragging down toward the band of my slacks. I’m pinned against my desk by a rabid, purring kitten.
“I’m also seeing someone, as I mentioned.” I’m trying to keep my voice level, but honestly, I’m petrified.
Too much is happening, and she has the ability to set off a nuclear bomb. I’ve always known she was interested in me, but I didn’t think she was this dumb. Her husband’s coworker’s son?! That’s beyond reckless, even if I were interested.
“Don’t be rude,” she chastises, eyes narrowing as she reaches for one of my hands.
Once it’s in her grasp, she places it on her body, right over the swell of her breast. I try to pull away, but she grips me harder, squeezing over my fingers to cup herself firmly.
“You’re offending me. Do you want me to tell your father how rude you are? Hm?”
It is in this exact moment that I’m realizing something—the Johnstons know the kind of man Ash is. They have to. They’re around enough to see the way I cower or how he speaks to me.
And even now, Holly is using my fear of him to manipulate me into sexual intercourse.
A hopeless, isolating feeling settles deep inside of my stomach. If there was ever a small part of me that thought asking for help or reaching out to someone would give me relief, to be my own person, that part of me is dead.
I will be the man he has created, and once I’m free of his hold, I will run as far as I possibly can and live as close to his principles as possible—this way, he never has another opportunity to lay a hand on me.
“You don’t understand.” I try to reason with her, to find some kind of sympathy, even as it feels hopeless. I really don’t want to sleep with her. “He’ll kill me. Please, just leave me be. Your husband loves you, doesn’t he?”
Holly rolls her eyes, rubbing herself against me as her lips graze my neck—no doubt leaving traces of her red lipstick.
“Sure, he loves looking at me. But that’s about it.
I don’t care about fidelity, Everett. I want passion, and you’re so fucking hot.
I want you to sleep with me. I know you want it; any hot-blooded man would want me. ”
“Ma’am, I—”
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Holly shoves away from me, spinning around at the sound of her husband’s voice.
“Babe! Thank god. I was lost, trying to find the bathroom when Everett tried to force me into sleeping with him!” Her voice moves from seductive witch to scared damsel in a second flat, big green eyes watering as she rushes to her husband and tucks into his side.
“Ash Carmichael!” Francis’ voice booms, loud and severe throughout the house.
Ash appears in the doorway a moment later, Felicita not far behind him.
“Francis?” My father sounds panicked.
He takes me in: shirt open, red lipstick on my neck, and no doubt petrified. His eyes narrow on me.
“Your son. Your fucking son was taking advantage of my poor, darling wife,” Francis spits out.
Ash takes a deep, heavy breath and turns to his coworker.
“I apologize, Francis. I think that school might have messed with his God-loving mind. Let me handle him. I’ll send you a nice bottle of Brandy as an apology.
” At Francis’s unmoved expression, he adds, “Please, let me discipline him. Felicita will show you two out.”
With one last scathing look sent in my direction, Francis guides a sniffling Holly out of my room. Ash closes the door behind them, leaving us alone.
He says nothing; he does nothing. As we hear the front door slam shut a minute or two later, I can no longer bear the silence. I am terrified.
Every inch of my body is on high alert, anticipating a massive fallout.
“Dad—”
He closes the minimal space between us within seconds, his fist connecting with my stomach. I double over, all of my air forced out and into the space around us as I heave.
“Are you stupid, Everett? What have I sent you to college for, if not to make you strategic and intelligent, huh? Answer me!” His fist slams into my stomach again.
“I-I’m sorry!” I choke out. “She came onto me, but I told her no, I swear!”
Ash laughs, loud and sarcastic. “Telling her yes or no isn’t the problem, son. If she wanted to fuck you, you fuck her! Everyone knows she has an interest in you—we’re not dumb.”
I can feel my own eyes double in size, rounding in shock as my mouth hangs open. “What?”
“It’s called business. Holly has more to lose by Francis finding out than you do. He would have never known, and we would have strengthened our relationship with them. Instead, you offend her! And you get caught doing it! Pathetic—you’re pathetic!”
He begins to pace, hands clenched at his sides. I watch them, remembering every moment I’ve shed a tear from their wrath, my own body becoming something small and weak at the sight of his red knuckles.
“If my relationship with the Johnstons is affected by this, I swear—I swear to god I will lose it, Everett,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can force out. What else can I say?
He just told me that if the situation is to arise again, I’m meant to whore myself out for his connections.
Am I… am I not his son? Am I not worth more than this?
“You better be. The next time this happens, just fuck the woman. Be a man. And by god, do not get caught.” He gifts me one last slap to the face, the door rattling behind him as he storms out.
Just when I think I’ve gained even the smallest fraction of his approval, I fuck it all up again. Any progress I’ve made has been erased by my own damn morals.
I have to finish this—I have to finish my degree and settle down with a nice girl they’ll approve of. Then I can escape this hell; I can escape being his punching bag, his whore.
But even as the plan reforms in my mind, I know there is a chance it won’t matter anyway. As I do the things I’ve been raised to do, I am reminded that I have been made a weak man, and I may never get away.
There is the potential that I will always be my adoptive father’s plaything, no matter how far I run.