by Lucy Smoke
green button again and again, voicemail. It doesn't matter. I keep hitting the
recall button until I'm halfway to my destination, damn near there, and finally
—shockingly—he picks up.
"Dean? I didn't expect you to call me after our last encounter. Is this
about Avalon? Is she okay?"
The sound of my father's voice, so fucking serious and at the same time
the sound of all of my insecurities, slams into my brain. "Where are you?" I
demand without answering his questions. "Are you in your office at
Eastpoint?"
"Right now?" he replies. "Yes, I am, but I won't be staying long. What did
you call for?"
Good. The fact that he's already close will make things easier. My feet
automatically pick up the pace. "Is it true?"
He sighs, sounding frustrated. "Is what true, Dean?"
" Patricia. Fucking. Manning," I grit the name out, and even knowing the
woman is dead now—that she'll never fucking hurt Avalon ever again—it
still tastes like rotten shit on my tongue. "You've been fucking paying her for
years. How long have you known about Avalon? How many other fucking
lies have you told us? Where—"
"Do you truly think you deserve these answers more than she does?" my
father has the audacity to ask.
The shaking in my arms and legs intensifies until I have to press the
outline of my phone to my cheek so hard I can feel the edges of the glass
screen cutting into the side of my face. "She is not your fucking concern," I
growl. "She's mine. Do you fucking understand me? Mine."
I hear footsteps behind me. Panting. Stopping at the next crosswalk,
directly across from his office building, I whip around only to pause when I
see who it is. Avalon sees me at the corner and picks up her pace until she's
right alongside me. There's no sign of the others, however. I can only assume
they stayed behind with the girl.
Her eyes meet mine and then she turns, gazing across the street at where
I'm heading. Realization dawns on her face and she no longer has to ask what
I'm planning. Her expression darkens. For some reason, just having her
nearby makes my trembling dissipate until I feel almost as if I've regained
control of my own body.
"If you value your life," I start again as we turn back towards the building
and cross the street, "you'll explain why the fuck you've been funneling
money to that junkie for years."
My father remains quiet, and it isn't until we reach the front steps that he
finally replies. "Tell me something, Dean, this information that you received
—did your little hacker friend happen to mention that I wasn't the only one
sending money? Or did her computer crash before she could get that far?"
The rage flares brighter. My hand locks on the door, yanking it open. It
crashes into the wall, causing a small rainfall of red and gray brick dust to
scatter across the pavement beneath our feet. Avalon arches a brow at me but
says nothing as I continue to hold the door open for her. She walks inside and
heads for the elevators.
"So, you're telling me you knew about that as well? Who was it?"
"I'll take that as a no, she didn't get that information." He sighs. "Who it is
isn't your concern. I'm taking care of that as I've told you before."
Avalon hits the button on the elevator and steps back as I follow her.
"Give me a straight answer," I snap. "I'm tired of your games."
When my father chuckles into the phone, it's a dry sound. "You truly are a
fucking child, Dean, if you think I'm playing games." Avalon’s head turns
just as the elevator doors beep and we enter. Her lips curve down and she
scowls at the wall as she hits the button that'll take us up to the correct floor
much harder than necessary. Unable to stand it a second longer, I reach down
and snatch her hand up in mine. She doesn't try to wrest it away. Instead, her
fingers curve through mine and squeeze. She tightens her grip until her
knuckles are white and it's then that I know—she's just as angry as I am. I
close my eyes even as my father keeps talking. I'm not alone.
"I assure you, Son, Avalon is my top priority. I'll be leaving my office
now. Perhaps the two of you should take some time away from Eastpoint. I'd
hoped that giving you the girl—Miss Harrison, I believe—would keep you
occupied, but let me warn you once more—stay away from this investigation,
Dean. Let Avalon take her revenge on who she's seen. Nothing good will
come from her hunting for the one responsible."
Leaving his office? I almost laugh. The elevator dings as we arrive and
the doors open. With Avalon's hand still gripped tightly in mine and the
phone pressed to my ear, I storm down the long Eastpoint heir hallway. The
conniving eyes of past generations follow us. The second Nicholas Carter is
dead, I think, they're all coming down. Hell, I want this whole building to
come down even if that means I have to raze it to the ground myself. Nothing
will remain.
"It's too late," I tell him as we come to a stop in front of his office. The
door to his office flies open, the movement sending a gust of wind past my
face as it nearly clips me. I don't blink as I lift my eyes and meet my father's
somewhat startled expression. "We're here."
I hang up and release Avalon's hand as I drop the phone and shove him
back inside. She follows, the door swinging shut behind us and the lock
clicking into place as I stare at the man I've hated for the majority of my life.
My father.
His game is over.
24
AVALON
THE STARE DOWN BETWEEN DEAN AND HIS FATHER LEAVES ME AN OUTSIDER IN
the room. The idea isn't unwarranted. I am an outsider. Except to Dean. I’m
someone to him. When he pulls his hand away from mine—even though it's
only to shove Nicholas Carter back into the office—I want to snatch it back. I
have to bite down on my tongue to keep from saying so or reaching for him
as I follow the two of them inside the room and shut the door.
"This is ridiculous, Dean," Nicholas Carter snaps. "You cannot just barge
into my office—"
"You were leaving because you knew we were on our way, so yeah, I
think I can fucking barge into your office, especially when you're avoiding
answering my goddamn questions," Dean shoots back, cutting him off as he
releases the front of his shirt.
Nicholas drops his briefcase on the top of his desk and huffs out a breath.
He looks a little less well put together than the last few times I'd met him. His
normally pressed suit is a bit wrinkled and it makes me wonder how long he's
been in this office. How long has he been wearing it? Did he sleep here?
Dean, however, isn't too concerned with my internal questions and it's
clear he's only got one thing on his mind. Violence. Dean's arm snaps
forward and he regrips his father's shirt, his knuckles whiten and the veins in
his arms begin to pop as he gets right up in the other man's face.
"It's time to explain yourself, Dad," he spits. "Why the fuck have you
been funneling money to Patricia Manning?"
I'm just as curious as Dean, but something is keeping me from his lev
el of
reaction. Maybe killing Patricia had chilled me out somewhat, fed the beast
inside so to speak, but I don't think Nicholas Carter is our enemy. Sure, he's
keeping things from us. We know he is, but he's never been cruel to me. He's
never threatened me. In fact, he was outright kind upon our first meeting and
in a roundabout way, he was partially the reason I met Dean.
"I swear to God if you don't stop fucking with us," Dean says, "I will
make you regret it."
Nicholas Carter reaches up and grips his son's arm, turning to the side and
jerking it down so that Dean's forced to release him or risk breaking his wrist.
The movement is so fast, I almost miss it before it's over. Then in a burst of
speed, he pushes Dean back several steps and stands straight before he grabs
the lapels of his suit coat and adjusts it casually. As if there hadn’t been two-
hundred plus pounds of angry Dean Carter barreling down on him not
seconds before, as if Dean’s words hold no true threat. My eyes widen and
then sharpen on him.
When he turns, Nicholas's gaze lands on me. "I do apologize, Avalon," he
begins.
"I don't want your fucking apologies," I say before he can keep going. "I
want answers."
When he meets my gaze with those eyes of his—the same eyes that I love
in Dean's face—I get the same feeling I had before. This man doesn't seem
like an enemy. If he was, things would be very different now. That doesn't
erase the fact that he knows who the enemy is and he's keeping it from us.
To keep us safe? I dart a look to Dean, who stands there, fuming and
practically dripping in the hunger to fight. To keep Dean safe? He is his son,
after all, and even though my mother had no maternal or protective bone in
her body, that doesn't mean the same must be true for Dean's father.
"The money," Dean snaps. "What was it for?"
Nicholas sighs and glances at him. "What do you think it was for?" he
replies. "Use your head, son. It was for Avalon."
I frown, but when Nicholas turns his head back to me, his gaze skates up
and slightly to the side—behind me—before returning to my face. It was a
brief moment. Perhaps an accident, but I don't think so. Without waiting, I
turn and scan the interior of the office, spotting a row of pictures on the wall
alongside several plaques and awards and degrees.
I go to it.
"Avalon—"
"Don't." Dean steps in front of Nicholas when he moves to stop me.
What is it? What am I looking for? His eyes had gone up and slightly to
the right. I forgo the left side and the bottom pictures.
"Which one is it?" I ask aloud.
There's a beat of silence and then a slow release of breath and the rough
scratch of footsteps on the office floor. "Stop—"
"Let him," I order when Dean moves to keep him from moving towards
me again. Dean throws me a slightly confused and a most certainly unhappy
scowl, but he releases his father's arm and lets Nicholas step towards the wall
I now stand before.
With slow, incremental movements, Nicholas reaches up to one of the
pictures at the top, well out of my reach. "This one," he says, holding up a
photograph of two men. One of the men has dark brown hair and matching
dark brown eyes—a younger version of Nicholas Carter, and a very real
looking replica of Dean. The other, however, is a slightly shorter man with a
bright smile and even darker hair. There's a shadow of beard growth on his
face that contrasts with the paleness of his features.
"He's the reason why I sent your mother money," Nicholas admits, and
that's when it hits me. This man in the photograph … he's my father. I take
the photo from him and Nicholas releases it without protest. Now that I
know, I can see the similarities. Patricia said I look like my father. I'd always
wondered why I never resembled her at all. As a child, I'd hoped that maybe
she wasn't my real mother. Regardless of that now, though, I know for a fact
that this man is my biological father. We have the same hair color, the same
skin tone, and the same eyes. Blue mixed with gray.
"You knew him..." I hear my words as if they're coming from someone
else. I can't pull my eyes away from the image in my hands.
"I did," Nicholas says. Then, "It's a long and complicated story, Avalon."
I don't look away from the photo. "I'm not going anywhere until I hear it,"
I tell him, skimming my thumb down the side of the frame. My nail hits the
bottom corner where there's calligraphy etched into the wood. Two names:
Nicholas Carter and Chaz Mason.
"Chaz was my best friend," Nicholas says. "We grew up together. Went
to school together. We trusted each other with our lives and our secrets. He
would've been so proud of you—of how far you've come."
"Don't..." I don't like this feeling burning at the inside of my chest. "Just
tell me what I need to know to understand your part in all of this."
I sense more than see Nicholas nod his understanding. Behind me, Dean
is quiet. Quieter than he's ever been, but his presence isn't gone. He wouldn't
leave me now. Not like this. He's still in the room, keeping his distance and
offering his strength in the only way he knows now—by being there.
"I didn't discover your existence until a few years ago," Nicholas tells me.
"After everything that happened, Chaz's death, your mother leaving—I
assumed she had aborted you before I could stop her. She … told me she
had."
Discovering that my mother had lied about my existence after her death
feels predictable. Even after her life has ended, the results of all of her deceit
lingers behind like a cavity from too many sweets. The sweets in this case
being all of her fucking lies.
"It was coincidence, really, that I found you. We were researching
students in need that might do well in our programs when they came of age.
When your picture came across my desk, I was stunned. You looked so much
like him even then. I had my people run background checks and research and
discovered that Patricia Manning had in fact, given birth to a daughter five
months after she left Eastpoint—"
"Eastpoint?" I turn and look up at him. "She came here?" I'd always
assumed she'd never left Plexton.
Nicholas takes a step back from me and then pivots towards the windows
of his office overlooking the rest of the campus. He moves towards them and
stops with his hands fisted at the small of his back, one gripping his wrist
tight. "There were a lot of complicated matters that led to your father's death,
Avalon, and your mother was one of them. Yes, she came to Eastpoint.
Before her departure, she was actually a promising student. Back then,
program students didn't need to be as … skilled as we require them to be
now.” I’m not completely sure what he means by that, but from what I guess,
he means that back then scholarship students were just normal students who
had good grades and the luck to get into Eastpoint. Whereas today, they’re
recruited—like Rylie. “She was on a scholarship when she met your father
and the two of them fell in love."
&
nbsp; I lower my hand, but the photo remains gripped between my fingers. I'm
almost afraid to let it go as if letting it go will somehow make it disappear
from existence. I never took myself for being sentimental, but right now, I'd
kill to know more—to understand why the hell this had all happened.
"You have to understand, what's happening today," Nicholas continues,
"is the direct result of your father and mother's actions nearly nineteen years
ago. As well as mine and others..." He drifts off for a moment, his voice
deepening as his fingers squeeze his wrist even tighter.
Suddenly he turns around and faces me. “When I realized who you were,
I approached your mother. To provide for you, I offered to send her money
regularly and she agreed on the condition that I not approach either of you. At
the time, I assumed she was just as she had been when she was here. I didn’t
realize how much she’d changed or how dependent she’d become on losing
herself by any means necessary.”
“That’s a nice way of saying you didn’t know she’d become an addict,” I
reply dryly.
His lips quirk and amusement crosses his expression for a fleeting second
before it’s gone again. He releases his hands until they fall at his sides. “It
was my hope that you would be taken care of, Avalon,” he says. “I want you
to know that. When I realized that she wasn’t doing her job, I sent Delilah to
retrieve you. You were eighteen and she couldn’t keep you if you truly
wanted to go.”
“I didn’t really have a choice in coming,” I point out. “But that still
doesn’t explain why you were still sending her money even after I’d come
here.”
“That,” he says, “was to keep her away, to keep her from contacting you.
I’d received some disturbing reports about your childhood and I thought it
would be easier for you to make a fresh start without her attempting to get in
touch.”
“A clean break from my old life,” I say. Not that it matters now.
“Yes,” Nicholas agrees. “I also asked the boys to look after you—though,
it appears that has turned out far better than I expected.”
“Is this why you had all that information on her?” Dean finally speaks up.
“You’ve never asked us to look after any other program student.”
“Correct.” Nicholas nods. “And there won’t be another. Avalon was— is
