by Hazel Grace
My blue eyes flick back to his brown. “Your help. Yes, how many times do I have to turn you down?”
My father leans back against the cream-colored leather of the booth. “We both know you haven’t been happy with her for years.”
“Are we back to that? Who are we talking about here?”
I want to hear him say it. I want him to admit that this problem, the bane of my existence, is also because he helped push it upon me.
“We need to face this head-on,” he replies slowly, ignoring my questions. “We need to fight this.”
I perk a brow, squeezing my tumbler in my hand. “Again with this ‘we’ shit.”
“You’re fully aware that if you let Demi into that White House, she'll burn you and it to the ground.”
A mirthless laugh escapes me as I bring my drink back to my lips. “Wasn’t that always the plan? To be married, which would gain the perspective of doting husband with children and win the hearts of Americans everywhere?”
"Plans change." His face is the normal somber that he always masks, but something else alludes to a secret that I'm unaware of.
"How so? Since losing Camila, now you want to have a change of heart?" His brows snap together, and I see him swallow as he deters his focus from me.
I hit him with the lowest of blows, but it's the fucking truth. And my lovely wife helped with the simple fact that my youngest sister allegedly overdosed on pills mixed with heroin. Drugs that Demi practically shoved down her throat and up her arm.
And daddy dearest over here bulldozed her down my throat.
“It took one of us to die for you to see that Demi wasn’t the loving little bitch that you thought she was,” I continue, tightening my hold on my glass. “You let your head get muddled during your many blow jobs from my wife, Pops. But let me make something perfectly clear...once a cunt, always a cunt. The more you let her into this world, the more she thought she could control it. She fed on that shit. And when you give that bitch an inch, she’ll take more than the goddamn mile. She’ll eat you up, spit you out, and stomp over the remainder of you with her Gucci heels. She’ll light the whole fucking town down just to have you watch it incinerate.”
“So what do you plan to do then?” my father quakes through a whisper. “You’re going to let her become First Lady and then destroy everything you’ve worked toward?”
“Yes.”
My father snaps his head back to me. “What?”
“I said...yes.”
“Are you mad?”
“Extremely, thanks to you. Your pep talks were legendary.”
He vigorously shakes his head. “It was never supposed to be this way.”
My lips break into a smile. "Yes, it was, and so much more. You thought Demi would save me because I was just a bachelor whom no one would vote for nor take seriously to become anything, much less the next president. Best pep talk of my life."
“Because that was the plan,” he snaps.
“I would’ve preferred a wife that didn’t fuck my father before myself but—” I shrug. “—hey, we live in a different world than reality, don’t we?”
“Demi just wanted my money.”
“And you gave it to her, didn’t you? What’s more pathetic is that Nora let you do it.”
“Keep your mother out of it and watch your fucking tone with me, boy. I’m here to help you.”
“There is nothing you can do that won’t cause more of an issue. She already killed Camila. I was already fucked by—”
“What are you talking about?” my father snarls, face reddening and clearly getting pissed off.
I recline back in my seat, propping my arm over the headrest. “I spoke with Phoebe, Nora brought her to the governor’s ball.”
“She told me.”
“Your lover, ex-lover, mistress, whatever you want to call her, she still has men visiting your daughter.” Pops frowns. “To shove pills down her throat and shoot shit up her arm to make it look like she’s a drug addict.”
“Why?”
“Beats the living shit out of me, but I’m going to find out.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Yes, maybe it was a distraction or to get back at me because I dumped her after I beat the shit out of that guy at the bar.”
“She never...mentioned you because—”
“Because you were fucking her. I don’t want to know how you kept her around for so long before she wanted to come back.”
A wall of silence fills the space between us, probably sprinkled with confusion and contrition.
I used to think my father could do no wrong. That he stood over everyone and everything because he fed me lines upon lines of bullshit and lies.
His confidence, though, was always on point. The way he went about it, however, wouldn't put him in the book of "World's Greatest Dads."
“You ignored all of my siblings,” I carp. “While shoving your face so far up my career that you left a drunk of a mother to raise them. She couldn’t handle herself, let alone her own kids.”
“What the hell do you know about it?”
“I know how many people you paid off when he fucked underaged girls?”
“Stop.”
“Then you have Camila who wanted to stop doing drugs. We both failed her on that one. Phoebe was always the follower but—”
“Wade.”
I strum my fingers along my glass. “Don’t worry about me, old man. I’ll dig myself out of my own grave...or go down trying.”
“You need to get rid of her,” he upbraids. “That’s my only advice.” I cross my arms and study my expired idol.
Time hasn't been kind to him, he's not as lively or good-looking as he used to be. Must be all the stress from his job or my mother's constant complaining about figuring out something to do with my brother and sister.
God forbid she sent them to rehab and have the key locked away, that would be inhumane in her eyes. Instead, she lets them walk around free, endangering themselves and others.
"This isn't a joke," my father stresses, raking a hand through his peppered hair. He hasn't stopped fidgeting for the last two minutes, and I've never seen him not calm and collected.
This is bigger than me.
“What does she have on you?”
His brows snap together. “What?”
“What does Demi have on you? You wouldn’t be this adamant if there wasn’t something that she could destroy you with.”
With a newly straightened spine, he replies, “You’re my son and—”
“Cut the shit, what is it?” In the dim light of the restaurant, I swear I see my father's face pale. Which is absurd since I know that he doesn't scare easily.
Unless it comes down to his congressman position, then he loses his absolute shit behind closed doors.
I reach for my glass again, giving him some time to decide if he’s going to loop me in or sink on his own. And depending on what it is, will I decide if I even delve into possibly letting my father in on taking Demi down.
“There is quite a bit,” he vows. “But the biggest one is...you think I forced her onto you because I wanted to." He shakes his head. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I fucked up, but you paid the price. It was either that, or we both fell on our asses."
“For what?” My father pulls at the collar of his shirt with his index finger. “If you want to help me, I need to know everything.”
“It’s beyond anything you’d ever forgive me for or want to help me with, Wade. I know how you are because I know what I’d do.”
“I’m not you.”
I am him.
No matter how much I deny it, I've fucked over someone I genuinely care for out of my own selfish need.
Reagan deserves better than me. I don't know if I would be able to forgive her if the tables were turned. Somehow I want to say if it was Reagan, I would. My need for her is too strong. The demand is just too overwhelming because I'm having a hard time with daily shit when I know
what I've done. My guilt, it eats me alive. It suffocates me because I took a beautiful thing and shit on it.
My father waves off the waiter when he approaches before turning his attention back to me. "So you buying votes and blackmailing people into becoming governor isn't like me? Boy, I ran that game before you were born. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and although my circumstances were different, I didn't have a bitch of a wife trying to edge me down a path I wouldn't be coming back from clean."
“Make your point, Dad, I’m running out of patience and whiskey for this conversation.”
“When you and Demi separated...she begged for it not to stop.”
I’m already sliding out of the booth to leave. “I’m fucking done.”
“Wait.” Arm stretched across the table, he tries to grab my sleeve to stop me.
Nostrils flared, I hit him with a scowl. “You think I want to relive the events of when I found out my father was fucking my wife?!” My father’s eyes jerk to the people dining around us then back at me. “I wish you would’ve kept her instead of pushing her onto me and calling her your daughter that you wanted to take care of.”
"You have to understand," he protests. "I'm an old man, being wanted by a young attractive woman who—shit, she got pregnant, wouldn't give the baby up. When you broke up with her, that's why she stayed away for a few months. Phoebe found out, wanted to tell you, but I told her I'd throw her out on her ass and to let me handle it. I thought I was going to be able to buy Demi out like I have everyone else. But she had the child anyway."
His fingers rub at one of his temples before blowing out a heavy breath.
"I wanted you to stay away from her. Already aware that she was a conniving bitch. But she overheard me talking to someone about you running for governor, then the wheels in her head started moving. She heard everything from you wanting to one day be president, to my supporting you with all the connections I had. She knew you'd make it—you will, and I'm not just saying that, Wade, you have the personality for people to adore and support you. When she, I guess, thought about what to do, she demanded that the both of you get together again. She wanted to be the First Lady, and as you can imagine, she'd out me and ruin my reputation if I didn't convince you.
"So we made an agreement, I would sacrifice my eldest son for my reputation, but if you didn't win governor, then she'd leave you. So I started to sabotage your campaign because I wanted her out of your life. I had her sign an agreement outlining terms that, if you lost, she had to keep her fucking mouth shut and couldn't take a dime from you. That's when she got into your head. I didn't know that she had until I started watching the polls, hearing that you bought people out of their shady dealings and demanded their support.
"When Camila died, I tried to have Demi killed." He hangs his head into his chest. "I saw what it was doing to my kids, your mother, that all of this was my fault. It was, I'm not denying that it was my selfishness that put us where we are. Unfortunately, that didn't work. Then she aborted your baby, I wasn't supposed to know about that, but I started having her watched. Then everything spiraled out of control with the two of you.
"This is all my fault. You and Demi, Phoebe and Camila. You have a brother that you don't know about that I support. Your life is in shambles because I didn't want my future to become ruined then fall onto you because you're my son. The scandal would never allow you to become what you truly wanted. She holds this child's head over me and you. So, now...you know everything."
I open my mouth, but no words come out. They stay dormant and stuck in my throat as I think back over almost a decade that I've known Demi. The months that we were apart and she didn't contact me or vice versa.
It’s because she was pregnant with my father’s fucking kid.
And the thought of Demi giving birth to a child in this world made me scared for said child. Her manipulative nature, the way she only cares about herself. The narcissist nature of her words. She said she didn’t want to give birth to our child because she didn’t want to get fat.
But she already had one—with my father.
“Where is the child?”
“He stays uptown so I can keep an eye on him,” my father falters. “He has the best education, the best tutors, everything he needs.”
“But his parents,” I deadpan.
He lifts his chin, and I notice the redness in his eyes. "Better that than what Demi wanted for him."
My stomach starts to twist. This is more fucked up than I thought. “Does she see him?”
“Since she’s been back in the states, twice, but other than that—no. I try my best to go to all his football games and—”
“He plays football?”
"Yes. He's quite good, actually." His lips quirk. "Takes after his old man and older brother."
My jaw twitches. “Where?”
“Ridgemont.”
"What position?" I don't want to know, but I do. I'm a brother and a stepfather to some kid that I never knew existed.
What is he like? Is he lonely like I am? Is my father a better dad to him because I know Demi is a cunt?
“Wide receiver.” Sliding out of the booth, I grab my coat. “Where are you going? I haven’t even grabbed the waitress yet to order our food.”
“I got shit to do,” I reply, throwing my arm through one of the sleeves. “Have a good lunch.”
“We haven’t even discussed what we’re going to do with Demi,” he carps.
“Well, you’re fucked—I just found my out.”
“You’re going to rat me out to the public,” he trails off, pulling his eyes from me.
I shrug. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Make sure you give me a heads-up if you do so I can have my PR team on it.”
“Of course, damage control. We’ll be in touch.” Turning on my heels, I stride through the restaurant with an uneasy feeling but more hopeful than ever.
I’ll let Demi follow my ass to the White House.
I just hope she likes my house warming gift when she moves in, only to have her crucified while I watch.
♫ Heart Attack — Trey Songz ♫
Sitting on the couch eating fettuccine and watching It’s a Wonderful Life with Mama, it’s the first time in weeks that I feel somewhat okay.
Okay as in I’m on eggshells in Wade’s office to run plans by him—which I drag Emmy along with me to keep his eyes and words in check.
After a few charity events for the children’s hospital and some others to raise money for various projects, I feel as though everything has gotten even more awkward and worse.
I’m starting to doubt my decision.
I don’t know if it was because part of me missed our banter, him showing up at my house with food, and prime sex, but regardless, I didn’t like being on the fence. I wanted to be sure of things I knew I could control, but I just can’t fully convince my head to stop overthinking and just forget it.
No amount of weed takes the edge off or the truth. The emotion of love wrapped around Wade with a gold bow.
The idea makes me miserable because it feels like a noose wrapped around my neck. It tugs and chokes me whenever I see him. Needs of wanting to touch, talk, and hear him out has started to wipe away the last few weeks and muddle things up.
He has a wife, what more is there to know.
My ringtone breaks through my focus, and I mindlessly pick it up to an unknown number. Eyes wide, I quickly answer it as Mama chastises me to put it down and on vibrate.
“Hello?”
“Merry Christmas, Tsarina.”
Tears flood my eye ducts. “Marty.” It’s a choked whisper, a plea to come back home because I need him more than ever right now. Mama hears it and mutes the TV.
“Is that my boy?” she quakes, hands wringing together in anxiety. I nod, and begin inching closer.
“We’ll put you on speakerphone,” I tell him, pulling my cell from my face. “Can you hear us?”
“I can hear you,” he replies
. “Hey, Mama.”
“Oh my God, baby.” She breaks down on a sob, as I pull her fragile body into the crook of my arm.
“Mama, don’t cry. It’s Marty, he—” Now I sob and tuck my chin into my chest to try and gain my composure.
“Y’all better not be cryin’ now,” he jeers with a soft chuckle. “I can’t translate blubbering.”
“Shut up,” I sniffle.
“You both watching It’s a Wonderful Life?”
“Yeah,” Mama quakes. “We’re at the part where he jumped into the water.”
“Because he’s nuts,” Marty laughs. “But I made the guys watch it too, we’re doing that now.”
“Do you have fettuccine?” Mama asks with hope glimmering in her voice.
“Nah, Ma, we’re not that fancy. I don’t think half these guys even know what that is.”
“Well, my goodness, you all are serving this country and they can’t even afford to take the time to feed you—”
“Mama,” I cut in off a broken laugh. “He’s alright.”
“At least I got to pick the movie,” my brother adds in. “That’s a win all in its own right there.”
“When are you coming home?” Ah, the always inquisitive question that my brother never seems to have the answer to. Not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just not a decision for him to make. I wish I could write his general or whatever to get him back. He’s been gone long enough, spent too much time away from Mama and I.
And I need him for my own sanity.
“Not sure,” Marty answers. “I have a meeting with my general next week, and I’m going to request some time stateside.”
Mama claps her hands together. “That’d be great, I just miss your handsome face, and I want to squeeze you.”
“I hope it’s soon too. How are you feeling?”
“Really good, Reagan has been limiting me to certain things because she thinks I need to work on my strength and—”
“You do, Mama. Marty, she tried to walk three miles to the store yesterday in the snow.”
“Mama,” Marty chides. “Seriously?”
“I can walk to the store, I’m not a—”