Governor (Governor Trilogy 1)

by Lesli Richardson

  Chapter Thirteen

  There is a memory from my childhood indelibly etched in my brain. I was ten or eleven years old, and my mother and brand-new step-father, Austin, decided they would take me to a Saturday afternoon barbecue at the home of one of Austin’s co-workers. It was supposed to be a fairly important gathering, even though families were included. Something about two of the senior named partners expected to be in attendance, the possibility of new junior partners being identified from the day’s attendees—all the usual bullshit office politics.

  Before we even left the house that morning, I received a long, stern lecture from my mother about not getting dirty, not making noise, not being rude, not being whiny, not running around, and definitely not to touch anything—all the warnings about actions on my part that would, no doubt, get me into serious-shit trouble with her on the back end of the afternoon, should I not heed her warnings.

  I was no stranger to this lecture, so it left me feeling as it always did—like a failure, like I was dirt, like I wasn’t good enough.

  Like maybe if I tried harder this time, I would make Mom proud of me.

  She doled out praise like she had to cut off a finger to generate it: rarely, with a lot of fuss about how hard she had life, and that I was lucky to have been expelled from her particular womb to start with.

  The implication always being that if I failed to show sufficient gratitude for my good fortune, it would not bode well for me with her.

  I spent that afternoon in a state of abject terror, afraid to go play with the other kids, despite them inviting me to join them, out of fear of what my mom would say. Too afraid to ask her if I could go play because I was scared I’d interrupt her and embarrass her.

  Afraid to do much more than nervously smile and nod my head when introduced to adults, limiting my vocabulary to yes please, no thank you, and it’s very nice to meet you sir, or ma’am.

  Or offering to refill Mom and Austin’s beverages and fetch them food.

  That meant by the time the day ended, I was reasonably certain the other kids hated me, or at least thought I was a stuck-up, brown-nosing jerk, and the adults thought I was a darling child.

  On our way home, my mother appeared to be in a good mood. She cheerfully chatted with Austin about how well things went, basically ignoring my presence in the backseat. Finally, she glanced back at me.

  “You didn’t embarrass us today. You can stay up an extra hour tonight and watch TV.”

  I was so stunned I nearly forgot to thank her. Fortunately, I stammered it out and sat there basking in the glow.

  Yeah, I know. Tell me about it.

  I mean, I know now. I look back on that poor kid and cringe, feel…angry on his behalf.

  I don’t even know what made her that way. She never spoke ill of her parents, and she was a completely different person around her older sister than she was with me as my mother.

  As I grew older, the warnings and consequences changed.

  More pointed warnings, although they did decrease in frequency.

  The consequences, however…

  I learned the hard way not to grow too attached to things. Those things were what she went after first. It was a lesson I had failed to heed, mistakenly thinking once I was over eighteen that she wouldn’t pull that bullshit any longer.

  As I grew older, it took less effort on her part to keep me in line, because she knew she had me by the wallet.

  She never beat me, never…I guess I can’t say she didn’t mistreat me, because she certainly did. My childhood was definitely abusive, when I look back with a harsh and honest eye.

  But she never denied me food, always made sure I had nice clothes to wear, and that I always had everything I needed for school, be it supplies or tutoring or anything like that.

  Appearances to keep up, you know. She couldn’t be seen having a son outfitted in anything less than top-end clothes or accessories.

  Then again, those all played into her story that she was a stellar mother. To deny me any of those things would have reflected badly on her. Especially when she used to tell any- and everyone what a shiftless deadbeat my biological father was. How hard she’d had to work to support me when he cheated on her and left us. Before she met Austin, of course.

  Looking back, it kills me that I literally felt ecstatic whenever I received the slightest recognition from her for exceeding her expectations. It drove me to sadly insane lengths to try to earn her praise.

  Potential opportunities to earn her praise were frequently dangled tantalizingly close, directly ahead of me, carrot and stick.

  She was Lucy, I was Charlie Brown, and the football was her love.

  I let her tee it up time and again, even when I knew she’d yank it away from me. It wasn’t until high school when I started to really pay attention to other kids and their parents and realized that what I endured wasn’t normal.

  I checked out self-help and psychology books from the public library across the street from my high school and kept them stashed in my school locker. I wasn’t in a psychology class where I could explain them away.

  Talking to the guidance counselor, a woman who I knew was married to one of the attorneys in Austin’s firm, was absolutely out of the question.

  At best, I wouldn’t be believed.

  At worst, she might tell my mother—or might mention something to her husband, who’d mention it to Austin, who’d definitely tell my mother—and then my life would become an utter living hell of worse magnitudes than I already endured.

  By the time I reached high school, I’d hit a manageable cruise level with my mother. I could tell when she was looking for something to nail me on for no good reason, and I would simply give up and wait her out, all while doing the usual things that normally won my way back into what passed for her good graces.

  Now the clock is ticking, until I graduate from college, law school, and pass the bar so I can be out and on my own. For now, I’m no longer under her thumb and available for her to take daily potshots at where there is no proof.

  She can’t text stuff like that to me.

  She can’t be bothered to call me, usually.

  It’s no fucking wonder I love college.

  It’s also no fucking wonder I find myself loving Carter and Susa.

  * * * *

  A little over four weeks into the semester, on a Thursday morning while I’m waiting for Carter to finish in the shower so I can take mine, I receive a text message that intrudes on what is becoming an increasingly perfect, cherished bubble.

  A text that chills my soul.

  Saturday afternoon, 5pm. Dinner at the house. Business casual. No shorts or sneakers. +1 if you want.

  In total disbelief, I stare at my phone for a long moment. This is literally the first time since the semester started that Mom’s texted me first and not as a reply to a text I sent her.

  It’s only the fifth text she’s sent me total.

  Son of a fucking bitch.

  Oh, right.

  That would be me.

  I guess I’m wearing a look, because when Carter steps out of the bathroom and glances my way, he stops and backs up, studying my expression.

  “What’s wrong?”

  There’s no use sugar-coating it. “You know how I said I’d trade doing your laundry to go visit my mom with me?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I might need to throw in that blowjob after all.”

  He steps closer and frowns in confusion. “What?”

  I show him the text on my phone.

  He’s good at cloaking his emotions, but I’m watching his eyes when I see the mask drop into place.

  I expect a lot of responses, but not the one he gives me. “Does business casual mean a tie?”

  I shrug. “I’m going to wear one, but you wouldn’t be expected to.”

  A slow smile curves his lips. “This will be fun.”

  Fear trills through my gut. That looks like a predator wanting to play. “You don’t have
to go if you don’t want to.”

  The smile disappears and he reaches out, his hand settling on my shoulder. “Buddy, I’m not letting you go alone.”

  Sudden terror rolls through me. I try to make my next comment sound like a joke. “Don’t suppose you’d mind me hanging out with you during break, would you? Before we come back to the dorms?”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “Absolutely, we can hang together.” The smile returns. “Maybe Susa will let us stay with her for a few weeks.”

  I don’t even want to hope for something like that, because that would be utter perfection, and I’m too used to hoping for something and having it yanked away.

  Like my mother’s love and approval.

  Carter releases my shoulder and starts to head for his side of the room. “I suppose telling her you already have plans wouldn’t help?”

  “You mean, help like…” I was going to use an analogy of tossing a hand grenade into a dynamite plant before my brain kicks in and realizes how utterly tactless that would be in light of what Carter’s survived.

  I guess I’m quiet too long. Carter returns and stands in front of me. “Owen, I’m going with you.” His voice sounds quietly firm, but with a gentle touch that makes me long to beg his parents to adopt me. “End of discussion.”

  My deep breath is too close to hitching from the tears I didn’t realize lay just below the surface. “How does she fucking rip me up like this? Why do I care what she thinks about me?” I flash into anger—at myself, at her, at my father for leaving me with her and not taking me with him, I don’t know. “Why am I so weak I can’t break out of this cycle with her?”

  “You’re not weak. She’s a narcissist. It’s what they excel at. At least you don’t have to worry about her paying for school, right?”

  “No, but my auto insurance and registration. Plus she gives me a small allowance that’s enough to pay my cell bill and stuff. I really can’t afford to lose that.”

  He slowly nods, his expression slightly guarded now. “But that’s all?”

  “Yeah. I mean, if I literally spent nothing else, the stipend from my scholarship would cover those. Barely. If Susa wants to keep letting me do laundry there, I could squeak by.”

  He pats my shoulder. “Go ahead and get your shower. I’ll let Susa know about Saturday.”

  I hate that I feel like a little boy all over again, being told what to do. Except this is Carter, and I don’t mind it when he does it. Because Carter has never tried to get anything out of me before. Carter is…Carter.

  Carter has accepted me unconditionally, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have the words to tell him how much his friendship means to me, or how desperately I don’t want to lose him—or Susa—from my life.

  Before I step into the shower, I text Mom my reply, the only one I can send.

  Yes, ma’am.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thus begins the countdown until our trip to Hell.

  We don’t usually eat lunch together every day. Today, however, Carter makes a point of texting me before my first class of the morning ends to lock in a time and dining hall.

  We grab salads and move outside, under the shade of an oak tree, to eat in private. It’s muggy and warm, but with the breeze it makes sitting in the shade comfortable. We’re both dressed in shorts and we can relax and not worry about people overhearing us. Sitting on the grass, close together and facing each other, it’s like the world fades away.

  I need this Carter fix right now more than I care to admit. His calm, soothing influence. I could barely function during my morning classes, my mind constantly wandering to that text message I’d received.

  I don’t know what it means, other than impending mental and emotional torture for me.

  I also don’t know what it means that being around Carter calms me, grounds me, but right now, I’m not stupid enough to push him away.

  “Why do you think she wants you there?” he eventually asks.

  “Probably something to do with Austin’s work. That’s usually the only time she trots me out now, since I’m pre-law. I stopped being the adorably polite kid that earned praise for her from her friends around age twelve, when I had a growth spurt and grew taller than her.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  I know what he means and I shake my head. “I wish I was.” I can’t bear the weight of his brown gaze, so I study my salad. “What’s it like?” I quietly ask.

  “What’s what like, buddy?”

  “Growing up in a normal family?”

  His snort makes me look up. He’s smiling. “When I find out, I’ll tell you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I didn’t really have a choice about my life. It was expected that I’d enlist in the Army. I’m kind of the black sheep for not taking ROTC in high school and in college and then going in as an officer. Like they think I didn’t try as hard as they thought I should.”

  “Yeah, but your parents love you. They’d love you unconditionally, wouldn’t they?”

  A cloud skitters through his features, gone almost before it appears. “I guess. Not very liberal people, though. I mean, not racist or homophobic, but not…progressive.”

  “You didn’t have to earn their love, though.”

  “True. So what does your mom do for a living?”

  “You mean besides being a professional social climber? She’s a real estate agent.”

  “Same thing, isn’t it?” He smirks, making me laugh.

  “Tell me about it. Chamber of Commerce, Rotary, all the trappings and bullshit. Her and Austin both. Rubbing elbows with local politicians, but not enough juice for state or federal level pols to take an interest in them. Austin’s a junior partner, not a senior partner. He pulls in some respectable billable hours, but he’s no rock star moving much higher in the firm than he currently is, and Mom knows that. Even if he managed to snag a high-profile case, he’s about as photogenic as a pile of dog crap, and nearly as entertaining.”

  “Sounds like a charmer,” Carter snarks.

  A comfortable quiet settles between us for a few minutes.

  “Do you think she’s going to try to play match-maker for you?” Carter asks. It’s an…odd question, I suppose, but then again, based on what I’ve told Carter about my mom, it’s not an unexpected one.

  “Doubtful. She’d be afraid of me embarrassing her. Probably why she told me I could bring someone. She assumes I’d bring a girlfriend, if I’m seeing anyone.”

  “Someone who she wants to decide if they’re suitable for you or not?”

  “Exactly. Wouldn’t be the first time.” He snorts, making me look up. “What?”

  He’s wearing an evil grin. “We can tell them I’m your boyfriend.”

  For a moment, part of me is sorely tempted to do just that. I’d get disowned, which would both solve a lot of my problems, as well as create new ones.

  Carter levels a steady gaze my way, one eyebrow arched. “You’re not saying nooo.”

  “I’m…thinking.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  Honestly? As appealing as it is, it’s not worth the long-term trouble for the short-term satisfaction.

  “No,” I grumble. “As tempting as it is, though. If it was my final year and I had a job, I’d say sure, and enjoy the hell out of the fireworks.”

  He’s wearing a playful smile. “You sure? We could go in there, you playing my dutiful pet, and I could really get some rumors buzzing with those people.”

  I laugh so hard I choke on a sip of water and he has to whack me on the back. “Part of me would love to see the look of shock on her face when you kiss me right there in front of everyone.”

  He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Oooh, baby.”

  This is one of the reasons I love Carter, because he makes me laugh. “Unless you really want to adopt me as a little brother and pay my expenses for me, I probably shouldn’t poke that bear quite yet.” I sigh, because part of me would really love to see the l
ook on Mom’s face as Carter kisses me, right there in front of Austin’s coworkers and her snooty friends, and I grab his ass and grind against him, just for the shock value.

  I’d totally let him kiss me for this cause. It’d be the first action I’d had in a while, fake or not.

  “Besides,” I add, “you might not even want to be roommates with me after we escape her clutches.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes before Carter speaks again. “I have a condition about Saturday.” He’s no longer smiling, and a little fear fills me.

  “What condition?”

  “When I say we leave, we leave. Period. I don’t want any arguments from you when I do, either. I’m not going to let her torture you. I’ll make sure I blame it all on me, come up with a socially acceptable excuse that will work, but you will not argue with me. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” I don’t mean to say that, but it slips out automatically, a trained response to this kind of sober warning from someone older than me.

  He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’.” He grins. “But don’t get me too used to that. I kinda like it.”

  As always, Carter leaves me laughing and yet again thankful for a friend like him.

  * * * *

  “I’ll go with you, if you want,” Susa offers that night when we arrive at her place for dinner and laundry. But since the plus-one is just that, it would mean Carter needs to stay behind. I don’t dare bring two people with me without asking my mother first, and I want to call her about as much as I want to strip naked and streak through the middle of rush-hour traffic.

  Fuck that, I’d rather strip naked and streak through traffic.

  Honestly? I need Carter. You have no idea how relieved I am to be facing this with my friend by my side. A true hero.