I narrow my eyes again at Jonathan. “How’d you even know who Connor had been with?” Even the thought of Frederick willfully handing Jonathan this information curdles my stomach.
Coconut howls again, scraping at the door, equally displeased at today’s events. I like that dog. She can smell the foul stench of disloyalty. From the kitchen, I hear cursing: a barrage of fuckings mixed with calm down and wait.
Jonathan scratches his jaw, a slight shadow from skipping a shave. “I had some time after my transplant surgery…” He looks to Loren and then to Greg again, the consequences hitting him better than my anger has. At least he’s feeling something ugly. “…and I called Faust. The boarding school gave me a roster of everyone who attended while Connor was there. It cost me fifty grand…” I think he just now realizes that it cost him more than money.
Loren rubs his eyes, about to excuse himself as he nears the kitchen door.
“You called hundreds of names?” Connor asks. He went to all this trouble, just to see Lo and Connor separated?
“I had time on my hands, and you’d be surprised how many caved with a cash offer in the six-digits. People piss on their non-disclosures as soon as you tell them you’ll cover the fine. Remember that, Lor…en.” His words falter at the sight of his son, who rubs his reddened eyes.
“You’re sick,” Poppy suddenly says. I turn to my sister who’s stayed quiet mostly, Sam near her side. She’s slack-jawed in horror.
Jonathan touches his chest defensively. “When you’re protecting your child, you’d do just about anything.” He looks to me. “You’ll see.” I press my daughter closer to my chest, her cries at a minimum.
“None of us would ever do this,” Lo declares. “We’d never even consider it for a second.”
“Then you’re weak—”
“No,” Lo cuts him off, his face twisting with pain. “I’m twenty-five, Dad. I don’t need you to hold my hand and tell me who to trust. I don’t need you to speak for me or to degrade me. I need you to love me.” His voice cracks. “And the saddest thing…I’m beginning to think you don’t even know what real love is.”
Jonathan reacts like a bullet passed slowly and excruciatingly through his brain. Like he shot himself in the face.
Connor was right. By the surprise of no one, he’d say.
I watch Loren head towards the kitchen while my father asks, “Why not tell me, Jonathan?”
Jonathan’s throat bobs. He seems small and defenseless now. I’ve never seen Loren hold so much power over his dad, not until today. “Connor would’ve convinced you otherwise,” Jonathan tells him.
“Not because I’m manipulative,” Connor says easily, “but because I would’ve been right. It’s impossible to reverse what you’ve done.”
Jonathan shrugs his tense shoulders. “I had to try.”
My blood still boils, my arms quaking. I need to leave with Loren, and I glance quickly to Connor to let him know. Instead of nodding, he tells Jonathan, “Leave.”
“I’m going to wait for my son—”
“Which one?” Connor asks. “You see that door that Lo is about to open? On the other side is a man who gave his father part of his liver, with hopes that he’d be kind and a better person than he once was. This man also likes to use his fists on people who’ve wronged him. So if you’re staying, you’re going to be punched in the face. So leave.”
Jonathan’s brows furrow. “Don’t you want to see me get punched?” Weirdly, he looks like he’d rather be hit than go home alone.
I cringe. I don’t want to pity him. I want to hate him. I’d rather focus on Jonathan’s two-dimensional villainous qualities than the parts that make him a troubled human being. It makes my hate feel justified, rational even.
“I’ve never had a father-figure, nor do I particularly want one,” Connor announces. “But I’m aware of what it means for a son to hit a father, and I don’t take pleasure in seeing that. So if you’re smart, you’d leave.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Jonathan says, almost beneath his breath. He actually heads to the foyer.
I ask since I know Connor won’t, “Do what?”
His eyes land on my husband. “You make me feel like I lost when I should’ve won, and you make it seem like you won when you lost.”
He must’ve been planning a victory lap around my living room, ready to pump his fists in the air, and exit with his son, safe and sound by his side.
Now he’s leaving with his tail between his legs.
“We both lost,” Connor admits, and I pale.
He never admits this aloud, even when it’s true. A cold blade drives through my abdomen, reality sweeping me back into a tempest.
You don’t love your husband.
You don’t love your child.
It’s all a big game. It’s all fake.
Fake, I scoff.
Fake.
What about our pain and fury and grief? Is that fake too?
[ 38 ]
CONNOR COBALT
It takes us a couple minutes to push through Lily and Daisy’s kitchen barricade, table and chairs stacked together to bar Ryke from the living room. When Lo and I finally breach the doorway, Ryke attempts to charge past us. I seize his bicep and push him further back, to where Rose and Loren can slip around me.
“He’s gone, Ryke,” I say, as calmly as I’m able to. My throat constricts with the rest of my muscles. It’s hard for me to concentrate on the future, past today, and stay fully upright. Never have I had this problem before. To trick myself, I just worry about the present and leave tomorrow out of my mind.
“He’s not fucking gone,” Ryke growls. “I hear him—I fucking hear him.” He shoves me to reach the door, but I grab hold of his arms again.
“You hear Corbin, Samantha, Poppy, and Sam.” I told Naomi she could go, and then Greg left to talk to Jonathan, probably outside in the driveway. I’d never tell Ryke how close his father actually is.
Unfortunately, Jonathan is attached to almost all of us, so when he does something deplorable, nearly everyone is affected. Theo had only a thin strand tethered to Loren and Rose through Hale Co.
If my past had to be showcased at all, Theo vindictively outing me would’ve been better than what we face now.
“Did he really…” Ryke struggles to speak. In my peripheral, I notice Loren w
hispering to Lily by the microwave, his eyes misted, and then Daisy quickly lets her Siberian husky out the backdoor, the yard fenced in.
I don’t see Rose anywhere, and I don’t even have time to contemplate where she could be, my phone buzzing in my pocket. My mind is either fogged or rotating backwards and sideways.
“Connor,” Ryke growls my name. “I have to know if it’s fucking true.” I assume he only heard fragments of our discussion through the wall.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, concerned that he may try to bolt past me again, and with the other, I retrieve my cell. “Yes, it’s true.” Before the guilt hits him, I add, “And if you blame yourself for this, you’re past tragic, my friend. His actions aren’t yours, in the same way that your mother’s actions aren’t yours.”
Daisy swiftly slides between us, setting her hands on Ryke’s chest. It enables me to let go of my grip on him. “Hey there,” Daisy says.
Ryke lets out a tense breath. Unsurprisingly, he relaxes more in her company than in mine.
I check my phone.
You free? We need to talk. – Scott Van Wright
He’s the last person I want to see, capping off one of the worst days I’ve ever experienced. Regardless of my personal feelings, I have to meet him. I can tell that he doesn’t trust me one-hundred percent yet. We haven’t brought up our hatred of each other during the reality show. So how could he believe that I’m truly his friend all of a sudden? It’s a conversation that has to happen.
I brace my arm on the bar counter, my body in knots.
“I feel sick to my stomach,” Ryke says to Daisy.
“I can get you a water or a cupcake.”
He almost smiles. “A fucking cupcake?”