by René, Dani
“You’re nothing but a fucking disappointment to me, Oliver. Fucking around with men is not what God intended for us.”
“You’re one to talk about what God intended for us. Did Mom know about the whores you were fucking while you were on cases in different cities? No? Well, I did. What do you think that does to a boy?”
“Are you blaming me for your fucking homosexuality?” He’s breathing fire through the speaker. I feel it scorch my skin, and I’m certain he’d love to set me alight and watch me burn.
“Why don’t you ask Harrison about my homosexuality,” I bite out and hang up before he has time to respond. That will leave him with thoughts to linger on. I doubt he’ll have the balls to walk up to his brother and ask about me. And that’s what I’m banking on.
Shaking my head, I blink a few times and focus on the empty road ahead. My heart gallops at the memory, and I know I’ll have to face Harrison again as well. Only this time, I’m all grown up, and I’ll make him pay.
Thankfully, Chance isn’t here to see me lose it. Because I know the moment I step foot in that house, I’ll turn into the monster that sleeps beneath the surface, readying itself for the war that’s coming.
Chapter 24
Oliver
Rolling into town, I realize how much hasn’t changed. The main road still looks deserted, along with the stores that seem to be on the brink of closure. But it’s when I reach the small office where my father would work remotely when he didn’t go into the city for a case, that I notice how barren it looks.
Broken Hill is a town time forgot. I never understood why my father lived here, and I doubt I ever will. Exiting the car, I head toward the door, which looks like it’s been locked. I recall as a young man, it would always sit partway open as if he were always expecting a rush of clients. But they never came.
This town is where everyone knows your name. They know what you’ve done and judge you because you’re not perfect, much like Mr. Cartwright Michaelson. My knuckles wrap against the glass, and a light flickers on the other side of the window. When the door slides open, I’m met with the old, wrinkled face of Harrison Michaelson. My grandparents must’ve hated my dad and his brother.
Both sons were vile monsters. Perhaps not of the same caliber. My father wasn’t sick like my uncle was, but deep down, if push came to shove, I have a feeling good old Cartwright wouldn’t think twice about taking what didn’t belong to him.
God knows, he probably has done already. I’ve only been blind to it because I never wanted to be near him. The farther I was from daddy dearest, the happier I was.
I can’t believe I was born into a family so fragmented by darkness and filth. It’s as if their minds had broken, shattered, and nothing was allowed in unless it was immoral and vile.
“Oliver.” He seems shocked to see me. Perhaps he thought I wouldn’t return. Maybe he’s scared I returned to tell everyone about his dark secret he’s hidden away for so long.
“I’m here to sign off on my father’s will and sell the house.” I don’t bother greeting him. He doesn’t deserve it nor has ever earned my respect. There’s nothing this man can say to me which will make me feel sorry for him.
He steps aside, allowing me into the small space. The once beautifully furnished office is a wasteland of broken chairs and papers strewn on every available surface.
“You’re handling the paperwork?” I arch a brow at him as he makes his way back behind the desk. His body is slightly hunched over, and his fingers bent and crooked from arthritis. He looks like shit.
“Your father wanted me to finalize everything before you arrived. Granted, he didn’t think you’d come and told me to courier documents to you once he signed them.” He speaks, but he doesn’t look me in the eye.
The air thickens with anger, which emanates from me. I want to rage at him, shout, scream, something, but I hold onto my restraint, which is tugged taut. The fine line close to snapping, along with all my control.
This man before me is old and withered, not the person I recall from years ago when he sat back and watched the pain I endured. He enjoyed it. There was satisfaction in his eyes that ripped through me so deep it tore right through my soul.
Perhaps that explains why I’m so fucked up. Maybe that’s the reason I enjoy doling out pain, watching my submissives take what I give and smiling when they whimper and beg me for more. The only difference is, I don’t force the agony on them, not like the man before me allowed it to happen.
He finally shoves the pages into a folder, shuts it, and I watch his wrinkled hand as it rests on the cover. I voice the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue for months, years, and even right now. I don’t know if I should ask it. Because, if he gives me the answer I’m expecting, I may kill him with my bare hands.
But I ask it anyway. “Does he know?” I question, waiting for him to nod, but he doesn’t. Of course, both assholes never confessed anything to each other. “You’ve never told your brother what you did to me?”
The man can’t look me in the eye. Guilt slumps his shoulders, and his hands tremble and shake. I’m proud of myself for being strong enough to face him. He knows what he did, along with his friend, or should I say, life partner. They forced me into doing something so vile and despicable. He watched me break, and, he didn’t lift a goddamn finger to help.
“You’re as fucked up as my father.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dying,” he bites out, finally looking at me. His one eye is blueish gray, and I wonder if it has anything to do with a cataract that now blinds him. I don’t ask, as I don’t care.
“I want to get this done as soon as possible.”
“Are you going to see him?” he asks, his brows lifting in question, and I wonder if it’s time to go to my father and tell him just why I walked out. Perhaps it’s time he learned the truth of what happened so many years ago.
“Maybe. Get the paperwork done. I’ll come back tomorrow.” Turning on my heel, I head for the door. I hear the shuffling of papers as I tug the handle, allowing fresh air to fill my lungs.
“Oliver,” he calls to me. I stop, but I don’t face him. “I’m sorry.”
Shrugging off his apology, I step outside and shut the door behind me with a loud bang, almost shattering the window pane. I’ve always wanted some form of recognition that he knew what he did was wrong, but he never gave it to me. Instead, he acted as nothing had happened. And that’s what hurt the most.
But I’ve overcome that. It’s no longer something that bothers me. Instead, I’ve grown from the experience and become a better man than either of the men who should’ve been role models for me.
Pulling out my phone, I tap out a message to Chance.
Oliver: I’m sorry.
It’s all I can offer him for now. I care about him, but I can’t give him the words he craves. I can’t tell anyone how I feel until I finally lay my father to rest. I realize I needed this. To come back to the place that broke me and burn it to the ground.
Slipping into the driver’s seat, I turn the engine and pull out onto the road. There’s a small hotel on the outskirts of town where I’ve booked a room for two nights. I don’t need to be here for longer than that. The sooner I can get home, the better.
And the sooner I can talk to Chance and make him see how this wasn’t my fault, or his. This was because of a man I trusted, a man who turned my genuine love into a filthy emotion.
Each person in my life I was meant to love or was responsible for teaching me about love, broke me. They took all I had to give, and I was left empty. A vacant shell. Even my father, who would never believe the pain I’d endured and couldn’t offer me solace in a world he was meant to keep me safe from.
Growing up with people judging your every move, your every choice, it breaks a child. It rips you to pieces, and you’re left with nothing more than a frail heart that can no longer hold emotion.
From my father, I learned the more women you fuck, the happier you are. But I realize
d early on it wasn’t true. He may have seemed happy, but there wasn’t a light in his eyes. His smile was sour, filled with regret and guilt.
My mother died when I was far too young to know her properly, and I never got a chance to know what that kind of affection is like. So, I focused on fucking. I focused on the need to dominate and control. Instead of wanting a woman to hold me, I craved and hungered to make them cry and scream.
Watching beautiful porcelain flesh mar with red welts is one of the most beautiful things a man like me can experience. My mind is running one hundred miles a minute as I shake away the thoughts.
Being back in this town has dredged up ghosts from the past, and I’m here to lay them all to rest beside my father. There’s no longer a reason for me ever to come back here. Once he’s buried, I will turn my back on this town and only look forward.
When I pull up to the hotel and exit the car, I glance at my phone — no response. I know he’s angry. He has every right to be. Perhaps I should call him. Stepping into the hotel lobby, I find a woman I don’t recognize at the desk.
“Good evening.” She smiles, still sleepy from her droopy eyes.
“Oliver Michaelson. I booked a room.”
She glances at the book on the desk in front of her, then nods. “Yes,” she tells me while handing me a set of keys. Two gold, slim-cut keys, which I know one is for the room, the other for the front door the guests use if they’re out in the evening.
“Thank you.” I don’t wait for her to tell me about the rules. I won’t be here for that long. Making my way up to the second floor, I unlock the door and head into the small space which has one double bed, a wardrobe against the opposite wall, and a window overlooking the forest beyond.
Memories seep through my mind, attacking me violently when I see the trees where I used to hide from the monsters. When I was a child, it was the most magical place in the world. But the older I got, I realized monsters didn’t hide under the bed at night like we were all led to believe. They hid in plain sight.
They were people you loved and trusted.
People who told you fairy tales. And scary stories.
They were the people who said they care, told they loved you, but it wasn’t with sweet affection. No. It was with a violence that would shatter your world.
I leave my suitcase on the bed, then pick up my cell phone. No response. I’d thought he would at least give me a chance to explain my anger and rage, or even attempt to apologize, but the reality is, I don’t deserve it. I always knew I wasn’t worthy of Chance Moore. And it hits me right in the gut — I don’t deserve him.
Chance is a good man. He loves with everything he has, just like his sister. When I think about Peyton, I wonder then if she may know where he may be. They’re close, and I’m positive if he were to confess anything to someone, it would be her.
Glancing at my phone, I decide I may as well give her a call. I want to talk to him. I need to find some way of apologizing to him for my anger. I scroll through my contact list and find Peyton’s number before I have time to rethink my actions.
She may not want to tell me where he is. If she knows what an asshole I’ve been, she may tell me to leave her brother alone, but there is a possibility she’ll understand and want to help me.
I’ve never felt so unworthy of someone before. Yes, my demons want to darken Chance’s light. They want to play with him until there’s nothing left, but I won’t let that happen. This is the one chance I have to make things right.
So, I hit dial on the number and press the phone to my ear. Waiting for her to answer has me holding my breath. Tension tightens my shoulders, and my heart is thudding in my throat. I feel like a goddamn teenager.
“Hello, Oliver,” she says into the speaker, but her tone is serious, far too serious, and I realize he’s probably told her. I don’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I would’ve done the same.
“Peyton, do you know where your brother—?”
“You know what, Oliver,” she starts, interrupting me. “There are many things I can accept from people. I mean, Carrick broke my heart, but he realized being an asshole wasn’t going to win him any points. I’m—”
“Look, Peyton—”
“I’m not done. Either you listen to me, or I hang up on you.”
I don’t know how Carrick handles her, but deep down, I know she’s right. “Fine.”
“My brother doesn’t go around fucking random people because it’s fun. He has wanted to be with you for as long as he’s been in Chicago, and when you finally allowed him in, you push him away. Playing with his feelings, toying with him like he means nothing to you is not something that will earn my respect,” she admonishes me like I’m one of the girls. “Now, either you sort your shit out wherever you are and come home and fight for him, or you stay there, and leave my brother to find someone who loves him for who he is.”
He hasn’t told her why I’m here. My heart fills with a foreign feeling that leaves me breathless. Even though I hurt him brutally with my words, he’s not given away any of my secrets. He’s not even told his sister why I’m here, and that means more to me than any four-letter word that could ever be uttered.
“I’ll fight for him, Peyton.”
“Can you love him the way he deserves to be loved?” she questions, stilling me for a moment. She’s waiting for me to admit it. To tell her that even though I’ve never been so scared of opening myself up before, I’ve already done it without noticing. Chance has made me love even when I was convinced I couldn’t.
“Yes.” The word rings true. It vibrates through me, and I allow myself to taste it on my tongue for a moment before I finally confess to her. “I love him, Peyton.”
“Don’t tell me.” She smiles; I can hear it in her words. “He’s the one who needs to hear it. But there’s one thing I will tell you, Oliver Michaelson. If you ever hurt Chance, I’ll rip your heart out with my bare hands.”
This causes me to chuckle. The small minx is feisty. There’s a fire that burns inside her, and I can see why Carrick loves her so much. She’s not just a submissive, she’s a confident, independent woman, and that’s more alluring than any whore, any woman who throws themselves at you.
“I don’t doubt that, Peyton. I don’t doubt that at all. Thank you for being the one to set me straight this time,” I tell her. It’s true. I recall the day I had to talk her off the ledge, and I suppose karma is coming back around, and she’s given me a payoff I don’t believe I deserve.
“Friendship and family are more than just blood, Oliver. They’re who has your best interests at heart. My brother and I were lucky enough to find our family here in Chicago.”
“You’re rather wise, young lady.”
“I learned from the best,” she tells me, and I know she’s referring to the talk we had a long while ago. When I helped her with Carrick, I offered her a long talk about emotions, family, and letting someone in. I feel like a hypocrite at times, but seeing my friends and those I consider family happy, it makes me feel like I’ve helped.
“Is Chance—?”
“He’s not here, but I’m guessing he’s at home, probably wallowing in a damn bottle of Scotch or something.” Her voice has a lightness to is, but I can hear the frustration in the undertone. I’ve caused that, and it hurts me.
“Peyton, I’m learning,” I tell her. “This, your brother, it’s all caught me in a whirlwind I never expected.”
“Oh, I know that, Mr. Michaelson,” she tells me, and this time, I know she’s smiling for real. “Just remember what you told me — it’s time to let someone learn about who you are, and for you to learn about them.
“If you give him a call, he’ll probably ignore you. My brother is one of those people who will let you stew for a little while before he lets you back in,” Peyton tells me before a screech of a little voice comes from her side of the line. “Shit. I have to go,” she tells me, causing me to chuckle.
“Thank you, sweetheart. Take care of the
girls, and make sure to give Rick my best,” I tell her.
“I will. Thank you, Oliver. Just look after my brother. Take care. And come home soon.” Once she hangs up, I realize what she said. Come home soon.
“I will.”
Chapter 25
Chance
The sun is setting on the horizon, and the two words Oliver messaged me are lingering at the back of my mind. They haunt me, but as much as I want to respond, I don’t. He needs to realize when you hurt someone, it’s not as easy as saying I’m sorry, and those two words don’t make everything right.
Shutting my phone off, I focus on the screen before me. I’d been working on a business plan after talking to Carrick earlier. I want to open another club like Nathan’s done in LA, and he’s offered to look through the plan I have.
It’s a lot of work, but I’m hoping my focus can be put to better use than the downward spiral I’d been on before I came to Chicago. Even when Peyton left to come and see Savvie a couple of years ago, I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue on the path I’d taken.
I need to stop sitting around waiting for opportunities to fall into my lap. My first step toward that was signing Oliver’s contract, but now it’s time to take my professional life and create a career I’m proud of.
The doorbell rings, dragging my concentration away from the computer. Rising from my seat, I head to the door and pull it open.
“Chance, good to see you.” Nathan smiles. He’s looking good with his dark hair tousled, his eyes dark and broody, and his smooth, sharp features, giving him a European look.
“Thanks for meeting with me, Nate.” I step aside, allowing him into the apartment. When I invited him to give me some pointers on the business, he gladly accepted. He’d been in town to see Rick and Mason, and I figured I’d take the opportunity to talk to him directly rather than on a call.
