Malicious

by Alex Grayson

  “Look.” He sighs. “I didn’t bring you in here to argue.” At my snort, he raises his brow. “I brought you in here to tell you why your mother hasn’t been answering your phone calls.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  His jaw clenches and the pulse in his temple throbs. It’s the same look he gets any time my mother is brought up.

  “She moved in with Benjamin.”

  It takes me a moment to recognize the name, and another to understand exactly what he’s saying. “Uncle Benjamin?” I question, given that my father’s brother is the only Benjamin I know.

  He gives a clipped nod.

  I stiffen in my chair and grip the arms so tight my knuckles protest. “You’re joking,” I accuse darkly.

  “I wish I was, son.”

  I jackknife out of my chair and begin pacing the room, shooting him a glare as I pass in front of his desk.

  “Are you telling me her and Uncle Benjamin are together?”

  Another clipped nod.

  I turn and face him, my body stiff with anger.

  “This is bullshit. I thought you haven’t talked to him in like twenty years or something, so how would you know? Besides, doesn’t he live in Tennessee or some shit?”

  The only reason I even know I have an uncle named Benjamin is because my grandparents mentioned him a couple times when I was younger, and I’ve seen pictures of him on their walls. I’ve never met the man and my father never talks about him. Anytime my grandparents brought him up, my father would flip his shit. Supposedly, he moved to Tennessee after he and my father had a huge falling out years ago, so I’m assuming this is where he still lives.

  “Yes, he does. Your mother moved there. Her and Benjamin have been talking for some time now. As in, while she still lived here with us.” His voice turns rough with anger.

  I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “What are you saying? They were having an affair while you were still married?”

  He dips his chin. “Yes.”

  “There’s no way my mother would do that. Especially with your estranged brother.”

  His eyes move past my shoulder and his nostrils flare. “This isn’t the first affair she had with him,” he says, looking back at me.

  “What?” I spin away from him and rake my fingers through my hair. I was never stupid enough to think my mother was completely innocent in the ending of her marriage to my father. But her having an affair? No fucking way.

  I turn back and face my father. As much as I don’t want to think about my mother being capable of something like that, there’s no denying the truth in his expression.

  “When?” I grate out the question.

  His eyes drop from mine for a moment before he glances back up. “Many years ago.”

  “Why the hell wasn’t I ever told?”

  “Because it wasn’t your business. You were just a child, Oliver. You didn’t deserve that kind of burden.”

  “That’s why you and Uncle Benjamin had a falling out,” I guess, putting the puzzle pieces together. It was never a conversation as to what happened. Only that he had done something unforgivable.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would she do this? Could it have been because of the neglectful way you treated her?”

  An affair is an affair. No matter how you look at it. There’s no excuse for one. Even if a spouse treats the other like shit, you don’t step out of the marriage. You dissolve it first. To not do so is selfish and cowardly.

  Even so, my mind tries to come up with why my mother would do something like this. If what my father is saying is true, what she did was wrong no matter the reason, but maybe if I can justify it, to put some of the blame on my father, I can begin to understand.

  “Your mother and my relationship wasn’t always so… strained.” He settles back in his chair and laces his fingers over his stomach. “Believe it or not, I loved your mother when we first met. I doted on her and gave her anything she wanted. All I wanted was for her to be happy. I thought we both were, but evidently, I was wrong.”

  Leaning forward, he pulls open the bottom drawer in his desk, grabs a bottle of expensive whiskey and two glasses, and sets them down on the smooth wooden surface. I raise a brow when he pours the amber liquid into both and offers me one.

  He shrugs. “I know you sneak from my stash in the kitchen.”

  I grab the glass and retake my seat. The whiskey burns as it slides down my throat, but I need it.

  “I was devastated when I found out. Devastated, but angry. Later when we argued about it, I also told her I wanted a divorce. She begged me to stay, swore until she was blue in the face that it was over and would never happen again. Love is fickle, Oliver.” He tosses back the contents in his glass, baring his teeth. He pours himself another. “I loved her so much that I gave in. I believed her when she said it was over and it would never happen again. I also had you to think about. You were only a baby. I went to Benjamin’s house the night I found out and we fought. I broke his nose and cracked his cheekbone. A week later, he was gone. I haven’t spoken to him since. Well, until a few weeks ago.”

  I throw back the rest of my drink and snatch the bottle from his desk. He doesn’t say anything as I pour myself another.

  “I resented her because she caused a rift between my brother and me. I also resented her because a small part of me hated her.” He looks down at his glass and swirls the liquid, appearing lost in thought. “No matter how much time had passed, I couldn’t forget what she did,” he murmurs. “Two years ago, I found out he was back in town to visit and they had resumed their affair. After that, there was no way I could continue being married to that woman. She’s your mother, and I know you love her, Oliver, as you should, but I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  I don’t know what to think about all of this. This certainly explains the neglect and uncaring way he acted toward my mother over the years. I can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t stay with a woman who had sex with another man. I’ve never understood it when adults stay married after an affair for the benefit of the child. The child does not benefit from a marriage as rotten as my parents’. A child may not understand the reasoning, but they feel the tension and animosity between their parents. It makes for a miserable childhood.

  “That doesn’t explain why she’s not answering my calls,” I tell him. “Or why she moved all the way to Tennessee without telling me.”

  “Because she doesn’t want you to know.”

  “That’s fucking stupid. She has to know I’d find out eventually.”

  He inclines his head. “That’s true. You may not want to hear it, but your mother is manipulative. She’ll keep you from hearing the truth for as long as possible, because it makes her seem guiltless. She thrives on you thinking she’s perfect.”

  I grunt. “I never thought she was innocent in all this. No one ever is. I just never thought she cheated too.”

  “I never cheated on your mother, Oliver,” he says quietly.

  I give him a disbelieving look. “I beg to differ. The proof is in this house right now.”

  He shakes his head. “Technically, I guess you could say I did, but the divorce was already filed, and our lawyers were already in negotiation when I started seeing Evelyn in a sexual manner.”

  I frown. “Mom said you were already sleeping with Evelyn when you asked for a divorce.”

  “Your mother has said a lot of things that weren’t true.”

  “Why would she lie?”

  “Because it makes me the enemy and keeps her clean.”

  I get up from my chair and set my glass down on the desk. All of this new information is making my head throb. I walk over to the window and stare outside. Rylee and Savannah are back and are currently laughing as they walk toward the house. Zayden must be taking Danielle home.

  They both look so happy and carefree, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I don’t think I’ve ever felt carefree like that in this house. I had Zayden growing up and we had some good t
imes, but I’ve never felt peace like the two women do right now.

  Once again, my thoughts move back to yesterday in my room, but instead of the carnal urges I felt before, longing takes its place. What would it be like to see a softer side of Savannah? To have that laughter and easy-going attitude directed toward me. It’s a fruitless thought because it’ll never happen. That bridge was burned the first moment we met.

  I turn back to my father and give him a chin lift before heading toward the door, ready for this night to be over with and wishing I could forget it ever happened.

  “Oliver,” my father calls.

  I’m at the doorway when I look back at him. “Thank you for being honest with me.” Without another word, I leave his office, closing the door behind me.

  8

  SAVANNAH

  “God, it feels good to be home.” Rylee plops down on the plush gray couch in our living room apartment and stretches out her legs. “I didn’t realize how difficult it would be being back in that house after a few months away. I know things are different now, but I swear every time I step foot through that front door it feels like the first time I arrived there all over again.”

  “You’re probably suffering from some sort of PTSD over what Oliver put you through.” I snort, grabbing a water from the fridge before making my way back into the dining room where I abandoned my small suitcase next to the table.

  “I don’t think it’s that serious.” She shakes her head, her thick brown hair swaying as she does. “I guess I never really got used to being there. It never really felt like home, so going back there feels strange.”

  “It’s just a house. Your home is where your family is.” I shrug, taking a pull of water.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Any word from your dad?” I broach the ever-growing sensitive topic of her other parent.

  “Oh, I heard words, all right. Just not the right ones.”

  “Did he even apologize for canceling on you… again?”

  “Please, that man doesn’t know what an apology looks like. I’m at the point now where if he wants to see me, he’ll reach out. And if he doesn’t….”

  “Well, then that’s his loss,” I finish her sentence.

  “Exactly.” She nods. “What about you? Did your parents make it back from Iowa okay?”

  “They fly back tomorrow.”

  “Were they mad you didn’t go with them?”

  “I think they were a little disappointed, but they understood. Besides, I’ll be home for Christmas in less than a month. Not to mention, I’ll probably see them at least one weekend between now and then. You know if my mom goes more than two weeks without seeing me, she starts to crumble.” I laugh.

  “Oh, I know. That’s because you’re her baby.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately for me, she doesn’t seem to realize that I’m not actually a baby anymore.” I roll my eyes.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came home with me. I know you weren’t looking forward to dealing with Oliver, but you have to admit, besides the first day we were there, he behaved himself quite nicely.”

  The mention of Oliver causes my stomach to knot. I’ve replayed the events of Thanksgiving Day over and over in my head during the last few days and for the life of me, I still don’t think I’ve fully grasped what happened.

  I want to regret it. I want to be disgusted by the memory of his lips on mine. Only I’m not. Quite the opposite actually. Because no matter how much I dislike him, that kiss did something to me. Something I’m not sure I’m ready to admit to myself just yet.

  “Well, it doesn’t hurt that he avoided us like the plague,” I respond, feigning disinterest.

  “He did seem a little off, didn’t he?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Obviously, I didn’t tell Rylee about the kiss, and I have no intention of doing so. It’s not like it meant anything anyway…. Right?

  “And then him up and leaving a day early without telling us,” she continues. “Something is definitely up with him.”

  “Probably just more bullshit with his dad.” I sigh audibly, like I couldn’t be less interested.

  “Yeah, probably. I’m going to call him later and make sure he’s okay.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you,” I tell her, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. “I’m gonna take my stuff to my room and get unpacked,” I say, desperate to get away from the topic of her stepbrother.

  “Yeah, I probably should too. Are you going to hop in the shower?”

  “I was planning on it.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait until you’re done so I’ll have better water pressure. Do me a favor and save me some hot water.”

  “I make no promises,” I playfully tease as I head down the hallway toward my bedroom.

  Slipping inside, I shut the door behind me before dropping my suitcase onto the bed. Unzipping it, I toss open the lid and start to sort through my things—throwing dirty clothes in the hamper and setting some of my toiletries on top of the dresser.

  Rylee’s right, it does feel good to be home.

  Stripping out of my sweater and leggings, I flip on the light in my attached bathroom. As much as I love that Rylee and I have separate bathrooms, I hate that mine is shared with guests—having two doors—one that opens up to my room and one that opens to the hallway.

  I would have preferred the private bath, but I opted for the bigger bedroom. I’m not really sure if the tradeoff was worth it, but alas, what’s done is done. It’s not like we have many guests. Well, other than Zayden, but he usually uses Rylee’s bathroom. Hell, when he’s here, I barely see either of them.

  Turning on the shower, I grab a towel from under the sink before dropping it on the floor next to the tub, catching my reflection in the floor length mirror attached to the back of the door. I instantly cringe.

  Every time I look at my body, all I can see are the imperfections. The little skin rolls on my back. The way my thighs are too close together. How my hips bump out, making me look even fatter than I already am. It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.

  I quickly turn away, thinking I should probably remove that mirror as soon as possible. Shedding my bra and panties, I slip into the shower, the hot water instantly soothing the tension in my shoulders.

  ----

  I shoot upright in bed, a loud banging noise startling me from sleep. Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I see that it’s just after one in the morning. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands, I almost think I dreamt the noise, until seconds later, it starts again.

  What the hell?

  Throwing back the covers, I grab my thin, knee-length robe and quickly slide it over my shoulders before peeking out into the hallway.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I realize the sound is from someone pounding on our front door.

  Rylee appears from her room moments later, looking about as confused as I feel.

  “Rylee,” a male voice comes from the hallway, barely audible.

  She turns wide eyes to me.

  “Is that….” She heads to the front door and peers out the peephole. “It’s Oliver,” she calls back toward me before unlocking the door and pulling it open. “Oliver…. What the…?” She isn’t able to finish her sentence before Oliver comes stumbling through the door, a brown bag clenched in his right hand.

  “Oh, good. You’re up,” he slurs, nearly losing his balance when he moves to close the door behind him.

  “Oliver, what the hell?” Rylee shakes her head. “It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

  “It is?” He laughs to himself. “Well, hell.” He stumbles forward a couple of steps before he catches sight of me standing in the mouth of the hallway. “Well, if it isn’t Savannah.” He hiccups. “Turns out, you’re not the only one in this world who hates me.” He lifts the brown bag and takes a long drink of whatever liquor is hidden beneath the paper. “Turns out my own mother does too!” he announces, spreading his arms wide.


  “Okay now, that’s enough.” Rylee snags the bottle from his hand and turns, handing it to me before he can take it back.

  “What the hell?” he slurs, looking down at Rylee like she just shot his dog. “I thought we were tight.”

  “We are. Which is why I’m cutting you off.” She nudges her head toward the kitchen, and I head that way without any further explanation.

  I slip past Oliver, and without a word, dump the contents of the bottle into the sink.

  “Cutting me off.” He rolls his lips like he’s giving raspberries to the air, completely oblivious to what just became of his whiskey.

  Dropping the bag and bottle into the trash, I re-enter the room, getting my first good look at Oliver since he arrived.

  He’s a mess. Wild hair. Red rings under his bloodshot eyes. Wrinkled shirt. And is he wearing flip flops… in late November? I shake off the thought and refocus on his face. Even staggering drunk, he’s still so good looking it pisses me off.

  It would be so much easier to hate him. So much easier to pretend that what happened on Thanksgiving never happened—if my heart didn’t pick up speed every time I’ve looked at him since then. Stupid Oliver with his stupid perfect face and his stupid gorgeous eyes and his stupid breathtaking smile.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  “Yes, cutting you off,” Rylee says, cutting into my thoughts. She grabs Oliver by the arm before trying to lead him to the couch. He trips and falls into her, nearly taking them both to the ground, but somehow Rylee is able to keep her balance.

  Realizing she’s not going to get him there on her own, I slide to his other side and wrap my arm around his waist, attempting to help her get him to the couch. Oliver is a pretty lean guy, but he’s also tall and solid, which makes it near impossible to balance his weight.

  It takes more effort than it should with him swaying like he’s in the middle of a restless ocean, but we finally manage to get him there, though once we do, he immediately tries to stand up again.

  “Oliver, why don’t you stay here, and I’ll get you some water.” Rylee tries to reason with him.