Chapter Eighteen #2
“My mother didn’t want anything to do with him or what he called the family business.
However, that didn’t stop him from marrying her off to a third cousin or some shit.
Have to keep it in the family, you know?
” Her nose crinkles and my hollow laughter dies on a cough.
“Anyway, my older sister came from that union. A pure, perfect Russian doll. On the other hand, I…” I take a breath.
“I was the product of an affair she had with one of my grandfather’s crew.
“My father is- was- Venezuelan, got sucked into the cartel when he was a teenager. Like my mother, he wanted to get out, but there were no safe routes to do so. My mother and him fell in love I assume- trauma bonded or whatever- and had a torrid affair which resulted in my birth. They managed to keep it a secret for about five years. Until one night at dinner with my father, I asked my sister to pass me the rolls. In perfect Spanish.”
Naomi’s brow furrows.
“My dad had been teaching me when he was around. He spent a lot of time in grandfather’s house and so did my mother.
She would bring us there to use his pool or play with his dogs.
I guess really it was so she could see my dad, or so I could see him.
I didn’t know who he really was, but I remember that he was… . He was nice.”
“Oh, Graham…”
“I was as fluent as a five-year-old can be in any language. But it made my mother’s husband instantly suspicious. Why was his son speaking to his daughter- who only spoke Russian- in Spanish? He had my DNA tested, found out I was absolutely not his, and he….”
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “He forced my mother to confess over breakfast. And then he shot her in the head.”
“Oh my god…” Naomi gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth. A single tear slides down her cheek. “Graham…”
Wiping her cheek, I shake my head, forcing a brave smile. “It’s fine,” I lie. “I don’t think about it anymore.”
I still can’t eat pancakes, but I can still hear my sister’s horrific cries as she tried to shake our mother awake, not realizing that all the red in her white, blonde hair meant there was no waking up.
“My mother’s husband disowned me, sent me to live with my grandfather who didn’t want anything to do with me either.
He blamed me for my mother’s death, helped her husband torture and then murder my actual dad.
” I raise my glass to my lips for a drink.
“But maybe there is a God. Because two years later my mother’s husband was found dead in his bedroom. Late-stage pancreatic cancer.”
It used to make me feel better to know the man who killed both my parents was suffering in the end. I don’t know how long he’d been sick, but I hope the knowledge that my mother loved another man killed him just a little bit faster.
Setting my empty glass aside, I drag a hand through my hair.
“My sister was turned over to my grandfather, not that reuniting was any kind of joyful occasion. She hated me just as much as he did for a while, still does a little. I’ve never held any real contempt against her though.
Not even when she was given everything she ever asked for and I was turned into a drug mule and—”
I cut myself off. I’m not sure I’m actually ready to tell her this now that I’ve reached this part of the story.
Elias and Rowan know. They’re my best friends, I’ve told them everything about me.
They’ve never treated me any differently because of my past. But will Naomi?
I don’t want her to hear this and start treating me like I’m fragile.
It was over twenty years ago. I was a kid, I’ve dealt with it, I’m fine now.
Okay, I’m not fine, but it doesn’t haunt me the way it used to, and my coping methods are somewhat healthier. I just… I don’t want her to look at me like I’m irreparably broken. Not when I’ve worked so hard to pick up all my pieces and present myself as something almost completely whole.
Naomi notices my silence, her hand finding my chest as she whispers. “You can tell me anything, Graham.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah I know.” Clearing my throat I shrug. “He made me do a lot of stuff I didn’t like. I was just a kid, and I was learning the truth about what had happened to my mom and dad, and my head was just a mess. He didn’t treat me well.”
“Working for him got you in trouble a lot.” I frown down at her. “I know you’ve been arrested before, Graham. Knowing this about your childhood gives it a lot more context.”
Biting my lip, I look down at the glide of my fingers up and down her arm. "How many times?" She asks, also watching the goosebumps her touch elicits.
"Six,” I mutter, the same shame bubbling up that always does when I tell people I’m technically a criminal. Elias is quite literally the only person on Earth who would hire me at this point.
"What did you do?"
Leaning my head back, I start counting in my head. “I stole a car when I was fifteen. I mean, it was mine, I took it back, but the repo guy didn’t agree.”
“You’re an idiot—”
“I was a child—”
“You’re still an idiot—”
“Anyway,” I growl into her hair. “A week later I was arrested for driving without a license. Because I was fifteen.”
Naomi, however deems me an “Idiot.” Anyway.
Counting on my fingers I finish off with, “Arrested for selling narcotics. Then there was public intoxication and urination- I know, I’m an idiot—” I tell her disgusted face.
“And then there was that time my dealer ratted me out for breaking into his apartment. I didn’t steal anything, but I should have. He was a piece of shit—"
"That was only five, Graham,” she states pointedly, as if I can’t count. I may not have had new shoes, but I had the finest education money could buy until I was eighteen and… Well, “What was the sixth?"
When I don’t answer, her body grows rigid, until she finally pulls away from me. I refuse to meet her accusatory glare as she asks again, “What was the sixth, Graham?”
When I still don’t answer, she scoffs, standing with the sheet wrapped around her, pinned by a hand at her hip. I follow the folds until I meet her angry- slightly scared- glacial eyes.
“I’m only going to ask you this one time,” she says carefully, enunciating every word. I realize she’s not looking at me at all, but at a point near my shoulder, as if she’s unable to put this question to a face she was sitting on only an hour ago. “Have you, Graham Rosales, ever killed anyone?”
Instead of answering her, I bow my head and that alone is answer enough. Yes I have and I don’t regret it.
The sheet billows to the floor and I listen as Naomi gathers her scattered clothes, not even putting on her heels before the top lock of the door clicks open. I flinch when the door slams shut behind her, burying my face in my hands with a groan.
Deep down I always knew this would end one way or another, I just didn’t think it would end like this. I didn’t think it would end with her being afraid of me. God, she could hate me, think nothing of me, love me if my fucking dreams come true. But the last thing I ever want is for her to fear me.
You should have explained, idiota. You should have told her the whole story. If she knew she would think differently!
Dropping back onto the bed with a thud, I mumble under my breath the one phrase that has never failed to find a way out of my mouth, “К чёрту всё.”