Chief

by Lesli Richardson

  I behave myself, though.

  Barely.

  Instead, I do play dirty and turn on the charm, calling upon my own past to roll the narcissist’s game right back at her, kissing her hand instead of merely shaking it. That initial greeting buys us a little bit of peace so I can figure out how to get Owen settled. Fortunately, we’re a bit over-dressed.

  “If you want, you can leave your blazers in Owen’s room, on his bed. Owen, will you please show your friend around and introduce him?” Elandra turns without waiting for a response.

  Perfect.

  “First barrier—passed,” Owen mutters before leading me through the house.

  His room has less personality than our dorm room did before we started moving in, but I totally get now what he meant by having more room. The room he had to himself is larger than our dorm room and has an en suite bathroom. There’s a queen-sized bed, two large dressers that would be about six of the one we each have, an armoire, entertainment center, and a walk-in closet nearly as large as our shared bathroom.

  “Wow.” I shrug off my blazer and hand it to him. He neatly lays them on his bed.

  “I know.” He shrugs. “This is what I meant,” he whispers. “More room.”

  I’ve seen the stuff he’s got in the storage unit. “You really did totally move out.” He apparently left nothing behind but furniture.

  “Yeah. She can use this room as a guest room now, if she needs to. I have literally nothing here.”

  I start to say something about how he’s definitely staying with me between semesters, but then I bite the words back.

  We’re still a long way from that, even though it’s my goal.

  Okay, screw that, my goal is to have him in my bed—and not just to soothe me back to sleep after a nightmare—long before the end of the semester, but it’s not the current reality and I don’t want to spook him.

  I’m glad I came tonight. If for no other reason than to see this. A glimpse into his psyche.

  Meeting the monster in person.

  The house feels too perfect, borderline sterile. Like a perfectly staged house for sale instead of a home. No surprise, considering she sells real estate.

  What’s conspicuously absent, however, are any visible pictures of Owen, even though there are plenty of portraits of Elandra and Austin together, Elandra in younger years, and even a few of Austin.

  Literally, the only picture I find of Owen is one taken most likely at his high school graduation because of the cap and gown he wears. In it, the couple flanks Owen, and the woman’s too-wide smile is no doubt intended to make her look like Mother of the Year.

  The house screams narcissist.

  Owen’s step-father, Austin, is a weaselly little man who obviously enjoys being pushed around by his wife.

  Ah. Now I can see Elandra’s “type.” She married one and trained another.

  It’s a valuable insight I tuck away for later.

  As the evening progresses, while Elandra’s obviously trying to evaluate me, it turns out that there are more than enough of her husband’s co-workers at the dinner they’re hosting to ensure she’s on her best behavior.

  For now.

  I’m careful that, during the entire evening, I keep an eye on Owen and I casually intervene and redirect Elandra’s attention from him to me if I think she’s pushing his buttons a little too hard. Usually by using flattery and asking well-placed questions about Florida politics and what she does for a living. Questions that make her look good as a host, and reflect well on her by my obvious knowledge of what we’re talking about.

  Thank you, Susa, and thank you, eidetic memory.

  When people find out I’m a decorated combat vet, it makes Elandra puff up a little. Now I’m a value-added accessory to her main narcissistic supply’s presence at her little soirée. That means I’m promoted in status from being merely tolerated in her home to that of a welcomed guest, and I practically have to peel her off of me from that point on.

  But, because I’m more than a bit of a bastard, I also let a few exchanges briefly play out between Owen and his mother, just to see what happens.

  Because I need to see what happens.

  Not because the sadist in me likes watching Owen cruelly twist in the wind at the end of his mother’s sharp and well-honed tongue, or blush under her cold glares, but because I want to see his reactions. How he responds to her, and the things he tries to do to keep her from acting like that in the first place.

  The dance they’re doing around each other.

  The painful comments she slings at him disguised as “just kidding” sorts of jabs. Camouflaged. Verbal harpoons her guests can see striking their target and sinking into Owen’s flesh, but they don’t recognize them as such and even laugh at their impact.

  Perhaps in a different family, such as the one I grew up in, those kinds of comments absolutely would be harmless, funny, even, in a far different context.

  But not tonight.

  She’s trying to get her overdue pound of flesh out of Owen in any way she can, and it disgusts and angers me.

  That’s why I let her go on for a little while. I want Owen to have a new baseline from this moment forward. Tonight will be a study in stark contrasts—choosing the hell he has here, or the welcoming, gentle haven he has with me and Susa.

  I want to be the one to pick him up and dust him off, to comfort him on the flip side of this endurance test.

  Bastard. Extraordinaire.

  Yes, I admit it. I own that title, and I proudly wear it.

  Owen spontaneously offers to fetch her—and me—food, drinks, always seems to be watching her for any subtle cues for him to come to her, listening for her even as he talks with others.

  She’s like the flame my sweet little moth is pulled inexorably toward, even though he knows she’s going to singe the fuck out of him every damn time without her giving a shit what she does to him.

  These are all things I need to know if I want to make sure I properly train Susa in the correct care and feeding of our self-proclaimed pet.

  Oh, I know he didn’t mean it the way I mean it, but absolutely, that’s what’s going to happen.

  I want Owen.

  I want him the way I’ve never wanted anyone or anything before in my life.

  He’s gorgeous, he’s smart, he’s funny, and he’s submissive.

  Even better, he doesn’t realize he’s any of those things—not the way Susa and I see him—and that makes him even more attractive.

  I don’t care that he’s not gay, or even bi. That’s completely irrelevant. By the time I’m done with the first stage of training him, he won’t care, either.

  Ask me how I know.

  Go on, ask.

  Let’s just say I’ve been on the other side of things and discovered that, with the proper motivation, you can train someone to love and beg for almost anything.

  Even things they hate.

  Case in point—Owen’s here tonight, instead of telling his mother to go fuck herself.

  I want to take care of him. I want to show him what real, true love is.

  I want to give him affection and attention and positive reinforcement.

  I want to show him how to win.

  I’m dead serious when I say I want to get him elected governor. I know he can do it, if Susa and I can get through to him.

  I damn sure know Susa can win. But the best way to help her win is making sure Owen wins first.

  No one left behind.

  This means I start looking at multiple options.

  It also means talking to Susa about the three of us taking a trip to Vegas.

  And not simply because Owen’s father lives there.

  * * * *

  Owen didn’t get his beautiful green eyes from Elandra, that’s for sure. Her icy blue gaze attempts to skewer me several times when I’ve unobtrusively slipped into a conversation next to Owen. Owen’s so used to my presence in his life that, without thinking, he automatically opens his stance
to include me.

  Defers to me.

  Elandra’s eyes flash fire when she realizes that, but someone else remarks how admirable it is that I’m a veteran and now working on my law degree, and it tamps down her rage somewhat because we’re back to I’ve made her look good.

  She might hate me on the back end of this evening, but she’ll also be forced to admit that I made a great impression, even if I denied her more than a little satisfaction in drawing all the emotional blood from my boy that she wanted.

  Because that’s how I think of Owen—Mine.

  He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Maybe it’s better that way, for now. I want to make sure by the time I openly lay claim to my boy that he can’t free himself from me.

  That he won’t want to free himself from me.

  When I claim him, I want him to willingly choose me and the safety and trust I guarantee him. I want him to understand there are benefits to this nontraditional union I’ll offer.

  Even if he hates me more than a little for backing him into that corner, I want him to be able to see I’m right.

  Stacking the deck?

  Damn right. I’m no idiot.

  Susa wasn’t part of my initial plans, until I realized how hard she’s fallen for me. And how hard Owen has fallen for her. And, of course, what she can do for Owen. That means I have to play the pivot and will bring them together. Exactly how, I’m not yet sure. But Owen’s twenty-first birthday is rapidly approaching.

  Alcohol is a great equalizer. Despite my early proclamations about not being a heavy drinker, this is one time I’m thinking I’ll make an exception, because I need the fastest way to drop Owen’s defenses. It’ll hopefully allow me the chance to finally delve into Owen’s hidden darkness and see the animal we all conceal within us.

  But is my pet a tame house-cat, or is there a dark tiger lurking there, just waiting for the right person to coax him out?

  That’s what I can’t wait to find out.

  Either way, he’s mine. Or soon will be.

  First, I have to get him through this visit with his mother without him having a nervous breakdown.

  Chapter Five

  At one point, I even go so far as to take a seat on the sofa before dinner. Once dinner’s served I don’t rise, waiting for Owen to look for me as he has been every thirty seconds or so since we arrived. I motion him over.

  That’s when I hold my hands out, waggling my fingers. “Sorry.”

  He helps me to my feet as he’s done before, and I make a point of wincing and needing to hold on to him for a moment, as if I’m not steady on my feet.

  Elandra sees this but makes no comment.

  Meanwhile, two other people who are close by reach out to help steady me, and I graciously smile and thank them.

  “I get really stiff if I sit too long in one position,” I explain. “I’m in a bad pain cycle right now. They tell me that will likely get better over time. Not as bad as I used to be. At least I don’t need my cane today.”

  Although I had seriously considered bringing it, but didn’t want to deal with maintaining that level of commitment to faking it tonight. I need my focus on Owen.

  Plus, I would’ve been too tempted to whack Elandra with it.

  No, seriously.

  We survive dinner and have finished the dessert portion of the evening when Elandra is chatting with someone and hooks an arm through Owen’s, holding on to him as she talks.

  He cannot easily escape her.

  I’m standing across the room, listening to some old guy who’s a partner at Austin’s firm drone on about his glory days in Vietnam, which were apparently filled with beloved bouts of drunken debauchery, before he was wounded and shipped home. He’s also on at least his third glass of wine of the evening and looking a little unsteady on his feet.

  I watch as Owen’s gaze drops to the floor and his entire demeanor changes, tense and wary. Shoulders hunched.

  He looks terrified to move.

  Like he’s prey and a predator is about to strike.

  I’ve had more than enough, and I can tell Owen has, too. I’ve also seen all I need to see, have more than enough data to put to good use. We’ve done more than be social tonight. I know the narcissist will try to fault Owen for leaving early, but I’ll draw her ire onto me.

  I’d left my phone in the pocket of my blazer on purpose. I pat my pants pockets and interrupt Grandpa Blazing Guns. “I’m sorry, do you have the time?”

  The guy’s wearing a watch that’s probably easily worth what I made in five or six months in the Army. The kind of watch I one day want to be able to effortlessly afford.

  “It’s almost eight.”

  “Ah, thank you. I’m so sorry, I should have taken my medicine an hour ago. Please excuse me.”

  “Not a problem son.” He pats me on the arm as I limp past him, aiming for the spare bedroom, where our blazers are as we left them on the bed.

  I make sure to emphasize my limp even more than I have been, and to move slow and stiffly, so everyone can see the gimpy guy.

  I remain inside the spare bedroom just long enough to make it look like I’ve checked my pockets before I return to the living room, slowly threading my way around people to appear at Owen’s side.

  I lean in but make sure everyone can hear me. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Solemar, but I think I left my meds out in Owen’s car, and I’m overdue to take them. Owen, if you’ll give me your keys, I’ll go get them.”

  I’ve made sure to stand with my foot close to Owen’s, and I’m willing him to look me in the eyes.

  It’s almost like it takes him a moment to realize I’m there and talking to him. He makes eye contact with me as his mother releases his arm so he can retrieve his car keys. He looks close to panic and I feel him tap my foot with his.

  He hands over the keys and I offer him a smile and a subtle tip of my head. “Thanks.” I focus on his mother again. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

  “Oh, not at all, Carter.”

  Yeah, what’s she going to do? Bitch out a wounded vet who needs his meds?

  Riiiight.

  Despite how I want to grab Owen and get the fuck out of there, I keep my gait slow and pained, limping, taking my time. I make it look good, pausing at his car and sitting in the passenger seat with a pained grunt, in case anyone’s watching me from the house. I make a show of searching for something, including hauling myself out of the car and looking in the backseat, spending several minutes making this charade look real.

  When I finally return to the house, I immediately head directly for Owen.

  I don’t know if he realizes I’m keeping his keys, for now.

  “Man, I am really sorry. I think I left my meds sitting on the counter back in our room. I can’t find them. I could have sworn I’d put them in my pocket.”

  Owen’s a quick study, for sure. “Oh, we really need to get you back, then. How overdue are you?”

  “An hour.” Everyone’s already heard the story about how I was injured, so no one’s going to question me about that, or be so gauche as to ask me specifically what my meds are for.

  Hopefully.

  If they do, I’ll simply glare at them.

  “Yikes,” Owen says.

  I turn to Elandra. “Ma’am, I am so sorry about this. I feel like such an idiot.” I glance at Owen. “I mean, I could drive home and take them and come back to get you, if you’d rather? I’ll pay for the gas—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Elandra says. “It’s quite all right, Carter.” I’m sure there’s a flare of panic in her that perhaps someone went in to the bedroom and swiped the pills from my blazer pocket, but she doesn’t say it, and neither do I. The way she speaks just a touch faster than she was before betrays her.

  The last thing she needs is for anyone to think someone stole a wounded vet’s medication while in her home.

  “But I feel so bad about this. I know Owen was looking forward to tonight. He was so excited when he receiv
ed your text the other morning.”

  The narcissist is slick, but very predictable. Now she’s annoyed at me and not Owen.

  Which is exactly what I wanted.

  “We’re just very glad you were able to come with him this evening, Carter,” she says. Her smile looks right, but the arctic chill in her eyes tells the true tale. I’m not her favorite person right now, but she doesn’t think I did this deliberately. She also knows she can’t complain about it for fear of looking bad in the eyes of her friends, or without someone wondering if I did bring my medication, but now it’s disappeared.

  That would be more horrifying to her than someone spotting a cockroach in the middle of the dinner table.

  “I truly appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Solemar. I had a wonderful evening. It was great to get out of the dorm tonight. We’re usually busy studying and don’t get out that often. Especially with as badly as I’m usually hurting. Owen’s so nice, he hangs out with me, brings me food from the dining hall, runs errands for me—he really takes care of me.” I don’t want her to think Owen has a life—or fun—away from her.

  “You’re welcome back any time, Carter. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Oh, I’ve got a hot news flash for her—from this point forward, she’s never seeing her son outside of my presence.

  Not if I have anything to say about it.

  Frankly, she’s never setting eyes on her son in person again, if I have anything to say about it.

  I make a mental note to step up my contact with Gerard Taylor.

  Owen’s father.

  I friended him on Facebook a couple of weeks ago and was open about why I was approaching him on the sly—that I’m Owen’s friend and roommate, that I’m older than Owen, that I could tell Owen was troubled regarding his relationship with his mother, and because I want to help Owen.

  Fortunately, the man doesn’t strike me as an asshole, so we’ll see what happens there. I haven’t told Owen any of this yet. His father has agreed to keep it quiet, for now, knowing what a shit Elandra can be. The secrecy works to my advantage and gives me time to plan.

  We say our good-byes and Owen retrieves our blazers. Now it’s after dark, and I hold Owen’s arm as we make our way outside and down the front walk.