His Father

“Go. Rest. Get your shit together. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She left with Maddox who I soon found out had been put under protection by Samuels himself. That’s why we couldn’t find him.

It’s done, but it isn’t. If only they hadn’t found her, she’d never have had to know. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t come, I didn’t enjoy it, I had to.

Or maybe I didn’t.

Fuck.

She left in his arms, he carried her out of there as she sobbed against him. He didn’t even look at me, just took her and left and I could do nothing but watch.

She deserves better than this, more than what I can give her.

“Donate, destroy, and trash everything,” I tell Marcy who places a hand on my shoulder to comfort me.

“Have you called her?” she asks, knowing about the situation as I told her during a drunken rambling last night.

She’s the only person speaking to me. Cassius has served me with papers to buy me out of the Malibu business but won’t even look at me. Maddox won’t even reply to tell me where he or Tempest are and I know they’re together.

I don’t know anything about anybody and nobody will talk to me.

Nobody but Marcy.

I sit on the sofa as strangers move around my home, carefully packaging salvageable equipment. I need out of this home. It’s beautiful but I need a fresh start. Everything reminds me of her. Everything reminds me of the deaths surrounding the choices I made as a teen.

Marcy exits the house when one of the removal people call for her but she returns less than five minutes later and stands in the doorway. “You should see this, Sargent.”

Sighing, I stand and grumble my way to her, wondering what else could be wrong with this fucking house.

The pool is empty, the garden furniture is gone, but the art equipment remains. Or the easel does at least and what stands on it is a nearly finished painting of me, beautifully done with acrylics. Maddox is seven and sitting on my shoulders, leaning over to look at my face.

I clear my throat to shift the lump that’s making it hard to breathe.

“What shall we do with this?” Marcy asks softly.

“Nothing, wrap it and store it. That’s one thing I’m not parting with.” It’s the most beautiful painting I have ever seen.

God, I miss her. I miss them both.

Marcy smiles knowingly. “He’ll call. He knows it’s not your fault. He’s just angry.”

“I really made a mess of life, didn’t I?”

“Yep, but you fixed it too… eventually.”

“I fucked another woman and she caught me, I’d hardly call that fixing anything.”

Marcy winces. “Just keep trying, she’ll reply one day.”

“Maybe I should leave her be? She deserves better.”

“Hello?” Marcy raises her hands at our surroundings. “That’s what you’re trying to do isn’t it?”

I head back inside, grab my car keys off the counter and go. Not because I have anywhere to be but because I don’t and that’s extremely frustrating. I need to keep busy.

Tempest

It’s been a week and I’m still so jumpy, adrenaline still courses through my veins whenever the memory surfaces again. Which is often.

People died. I don’t know how to live with that again and this time it wasn’t even my fault.

There’s just so much going on. I’m busying myself with my art, trying to stay positive and normal for the most part. I’m going back to work for Devon next week. I’ve got a therapy session thanks to Maddox who won’t let me say no though I think his father is behind it.

I just can’t talk to him yet. I don’t know how.

I’m trying to understand it, to understand him but I can’t process it. He had sex with somebody else. Maybe it wasn’t for pleasure, maybe it was to keep me safe…

I don’t blame him, not entirely, I just don’t know how to move past it.

“That’s incredibly dark, Pest,” Maddox comments, looking over my shoulder at my unfinished drawing.

“I had to get it out of my head.”

Tucker’s legs peek out from beside the sofa. It’s drawn in dark colors, blends of grays and black with some white.

“I get it.” Maddox places his hand on my shoulder. “Ice cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“You’ve hardly eaten.”

I shrug. “I’m not feeling great.”

He sighs and sits on my bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Shaking my head, I put my pencil down and look at my gray-stained fingers. “Everything was so perfect and then suddenly… people died in front of me.”

“I wish I’d sent you away first before calling the police.”

“Me too,” I murmur, wetting my lips. “My period’s late. Really late. I don’t know if it’s the stress of everything or…”

He doesn’t hesitate like I thought he would. There’s no judgment in his eyes either. “I’ll get you in with a doctor.”

“No, I should speak to your dad. I just don’t know how to approach him. Whenever he calls I feel sick and just want to run away.”