by BL Mute
The man pulls around the circle drive, not even bothering to put the car in park as I exit. I follow the curved walkway that leads to the steps. One by one, I take them slowly, only stopping when I reach the top and am met with the eight-foot mahogany door. I take a breath and close my eyes for a second, hoping to release some of the built-up tension in me before I open them again and push it open.
Once I’m inside, I try to close the massive door quietly. When it clicks closed softly, I lean against the back of it and slip off my heels, trying to let the remnants of my night roll off me. Outside of these walls, I’m no one but an heiress or Carmen’s friend, and inside, I’m the good girl my parents are proud of. There is no in-between. And making the switch back and forth is honestly exhausting.
A chill runs up my body as my bare feet hit the marble tiles, but I shake it away, then pad further inside. I pass the grand piano that’s positioned in the middle of our first living room, the staircase, and kitchen before I finally make it to the den hidden in the back of the house.
I can already hear the TV buzzing softly before I poke my head around the threshold, so I know Dad is awake. “Hey, Dad,” I say softly.
His tired blue eyes hit mine, and a smile pulls at his lips as he glances at his watch. “It’s almost 3:00 a.m. Did you have fun?”
I step further into the room. “Yeah, it was okay.”
He pats the couch next to him with his frail hand. “Did you drink?”
I almost roll my eyes, but I stop myself. I’ve had sips of beer and other alcohol before, but I’m not much of a drinker. I’m always more worried about watching my surroundings and being the good friend and daughter—everyone knows. And my dad knows that, but he still asks every time I come home. “I didn’t, and I got an Uber home because Carmen was wasted.”
He nods as I sink down next to him on the couch. “You’ve always been such a great friend to her.”
He knows exactly how Carmen is almost as well as me. I mean, she was the talk of the town for months, but she’s been my friend longer, and anytime I feel the need to vent or bitch about her, my dad is the one who listens. He’s not surprised by anything she does anymore and always remarks how good of a friend I am.
“I try.” I laugh.
“No, you do. But let’s not tell your mother. I know she worries when you’re out with Carmen.”
My mom is a saint in every sense of the word. She goes to church every Sunday, prays before every meal, and thanks God for all she has, which is why we don’t tell her exactly the kind of person Carmen is. She knows about the scandal—just like everyone else in Bexley Falls—but we keep me going out with Carmen a secret. As far as Mom knows, I only study with Carmen. She doesn’t understand like Dad does. He doesn’t care what I do with her because he knows I’m different. I’m his “good girl” who can do no wrong.
I guess maybe Mom is just scared Carmen will rub off on me and I’ll be the next talk of the town.
“You know she loves you, right? She just wouldn’t understand Carmen’s ways. I don’t want her to clump you together with her. You know, guilty by association,” my dad says, breaking my thoughts. I guess he could see I was lost inside my head for a moment thinking about Mom.
I give him a weak smile. “I know.”
“And I love you,” he adds.
“I know.” My smile grows bigger.
He kisses my forehead softly before lightly pushing me away, so I stand. “Go get some rest, and make sure you put that dress at the bottom of your basket. It reeks of pot.”
I laugh off his comment as I leave the room and head back to the front of the house, up the stairs, and into my room.
CHAPTER TWO
LYDIA
I can feel the heat from the sun beating on my face before I even fully wake up. I groan and throw my arm over my eyes, hoping if I stay locked in my position, it will go away, but I have no such luck.
I roll out of bed and start crawling to my right. Once I reach the bench of the bay window, I pull myself up, snatch the mulberry-colored curtains, and yank them shut. I fall onto the bench and look around my room. The curtains block most of the light, but it gives me enough to still see everything in its place.
My bed sits between my bathroom door and closet door with my dresser and TV on the opposite wall at its foot. Two six-foot bookshelves almost hug me on each side of the bench, and next to my door, across from where I’m sitting, just past my bed, is my small desk that houses my laptop, chargers, and phone with other small knickknacks.
Rolling my head from side to side, I stand and round my bed to my bathroom. I flip on the light, knowing the floors will start to heat since they’re connected, then tell Alexa to turn on my shower. When the water starts, I exit and head to my closet.
As soon as the door opens, the lights flip on and show me my entire wardrobe lining the walls. Everything is color coordinated, courtesy of my mother, which makes finding something to wear easy. I let my fingers brush all the different fabrics and colors as I walk further inside until I hit all the black. I’ve always liked to dress to fit my mood, and today doesn’t feel like I’ll be much happier than I have been recently, so I snag a black crew neck T-shirt, then reach into the drawer below all the lack of color and grab a pair of black leggings.
Being sad and almost angry is a new norm for me since Dad’s diagnosis. I know it’s just a matter of time before he’s gone.
Shuffling back into my room, I close the door and go straight to my dresser. I grip the handles and open the top drawer, grabbing a pair of panties and a simple bralette. When I step back into the bathroom, warm chills break out over my body from the tepid floors. I let out a sigh and continue until I’m in front of the mirror that covers the entire wall above my double sink vanity. This is a Jack and Jill bathroom shared with the guest bedroom, but luckily no one is ever in there, so I don’t have to worry. It’s only me, Mom, and Dad in this big house, and pretty soon, it’ll only be me and Mom.
I strip out of my oversized T-shirt, then stare at myself for a moment. My hair is a tangled mess, my makeup from last night is smudged and in places it doesn’t belong, and my eyes are bloodshot. I rub my forehead and turn to the shower. I move forward, even though my body is begging me to get back in bed. The hot water hits me, and automatically, my body relaxes. I let the water pound my face and head for a few minutes, then hurry and wash myself, talking a little extra time on my hair just to get the knots out.
I step out and dry myself quickly, then throw on my clothes. Back in my room, I grab my phone, then pad out of my door. As I walk down the stairs, I run my fingers through my hair, doing my best to tame it and eliminate any more knots.
I can hear Mom and Dad talking from the kitchen when I reach the bottom step, which piques my interest. Dad hardly leaves the living room anymore. He and Mom don’t even sleep in the same bed at night. Not because he doesn’t want to, but the cocktail of medicine he’s on has not only made him weak, but they’ve made him an insomniac too.
Releasing a breath, I continue until I hit the doorway to the kitchen. I put on a fake smile and draw their attention to me. “Morning,”
My dad spins on the barstool. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good morning.”
I take a moment to study his features as he stares at me with his fake smile. Normally, he’s happiest in the morning and I’m the only one who fakes being happy around here, but for some reason, he’s a faker today too.
His eyes are sunken in more than usual, and his clothes are hanging off his thin frame, but his dark hair is still neatly slicked back. Maybe to give the illusion he isn’t as sick, but we all know it’s a lie. A sad attempt to try and conceal the truth.
“Did you sleep well? I never heard you come in last night,” my mom asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I suck in a silent breath through my nose, then look to her. “Yeah, I was out later than normal. Carmen convinced me to stay with her after we finished studying to watch a few movies.”
As she nods and turns to the fridge, I wink at my dad. In turn, he finally gives me a genuine smile with a shake of his head.
“Well, I’m glad you came down. We need to talk.” She turns back around with a pitcher of orange juice.
As I slide onto the stool next to my dad, she sets a glass in front of me and fills it. “What’s going on?” I take a sip of my juice.
“The doctor got the results of my last MRI, and there is another mass.” Dad’s voice dips to a low, almost whisper as he says it.
“So, what does that mean?” I ask, almost positive I already know the answer.
“Another surgery,” my mom answers.
I nod and set my glass down, then bring my hand to my lips. I chew the side of my thumb, trying to think of something to say to help ease the tension. “When?”
I kick myself for the word because I would have rather said something inspiring or whatever, but my mind won’t help me. All I can think about is the fact my dad needs another surgery, and there is no telling what the result will be. He’s already had four in the past six months, and it never helps as much as all of us, and the doctors, hope.
“Tomorrow. I have to head in around 5:00 a.m. to be prepped. It’s a noninvasive procedure, so I can come home right after. They think this could be it.” Although he’s smiling, his voice gives him away. He’s just as scared as I feel.
I nod. “Okay. I need to finish studying for a test, so I’m locking myself in my room for the rest of the day, but make sure you come tell me goodbye before you leave tomorrow, okay?”
I know I should stay and maybe spend time with him, but all that does is prolong the torture we’ve already been through. At this point, we’re just trying to keep things normal. And normal is me sitting in my room studying, not dragging my dad even further down because I want to sit and mope next to him all day.
My dad grips my arm and squeezes lightly, I’m sure because that’s all he can do, and smiles. “I will.”
After another curt nod, I slip off the barstool and leave the kitchen. I maintain my composure until I’m safely in the wide hallway. I push against the wall next to the door and rest my head against it and close my eyes.
For months I’ve tried to tell myself I’m okay—that everything is okay—but in reality, my world is fucking crumbling, and I can’t do anything about it. Maybe that seems dramatic, but it’s how I feel. I’m a daddy’s girl through and through, and I’m about to lose him.
As I take in breath after breath and push back all the tears I haven’t let fall in months, I hear my mom start talking to my dad again.
“What I was saying is everything will be fine even if we don’t sell, Henry.”
“That isn’t the point, Claire. I know everything will be okay, but we’ve blown through our savings to pay medical bills. Right now, all we have is the income from the club, but if we sell it, by the time I’m gone, you and Lydia will be taken care of. You won’t have to stress and worry about running things just to have an income. It will just make everything easier if it’s sold.”
I can hear the frown in my mom’s voice when she speaks again. “But Malcolm won’t sell his half.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll work on Malcolm tomorrow.”
I shuffle down the hall before I can hear anything else. The thought of selling the country club I grew up in almost breaks my heart, but if it’s what Dad wants, I guess it’s for the best. But I know Malcolm won’t see it that way.
I hurry up the stairs and into my room. I close the door behind me, then bring my phone in front of me. Hitting Carmen’s icon, it starts to ring.
“Hey, whore.” Her face takes up the screen as she smiles at me.
I roll my eyes. “I need help.”
Her smile melts away as I settle into my bed. “Do we need to hide a body?”
I squint my eyes and let out a laugh. “Why do you assume I’ve killed someone every time I call?”
She shrugs and moves the phone closer to her face. “Because you’re bound to snap one day. I just want to make sure you know I’m here and will help with anything you need, even hiding a body. I’ve learned some interesting things from Deadly Women.”
“Shut up. I’m serious.” I laugh again.
She inhales deeply, then lets it out in an obnoxious sigh. “Fine. What do you need help with? It better not be math because the only way I look at numbers is in my bank account.”
“My dad wants to sell the club,” I say nonchalantly.
“What!”
“He wants to sell it. And I want to help him.”
It isn’t a lie because I do want to help him. I’m just not sure if I want to do it more for him or me. Selling would suck—like losing a piece of my past—but anything to keep my mind off the impending doom hanging over me is better than stressing.
Her face morphs into total disgust. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Why?”
“Look, I hate the thought of it too, but he’s going in for another surgery tomorrow, and I don’t feel he should have to worry about it. He said he wants to make sure me and Mom are taken care of and won’t have to worry about it when he’s gone.”
A frown pulls the corners of her mouth down. “Another surgery?”
I nod.
“Damn, babe.”
She’s completely silent after her statement, and I don’t blame her. It’s to a point no one knows what to say anymore. We’ve all gone through being scared, all the what-ifs, and so much more. And Carmen has got to experience it firsthand with me. She’s the one I always call—she’s the one who is always there.
“Anyway,” I say, breaking the silence, “if he wants it sold, I want to help him. Maybe he’s ready to live his life in peace without having to bark orders to people over the phone. Running that place has got to be exhausting since we all know Malcolm doesn’t pull his own weight.”
She purses her lips. “True.”
“With that said, I need to figure out a way to convince him to sell his half.”
“Malcolm?”
“Mhm.”
She lets out a barking laugh. “Look, I’m all for helping you with this shit, but trying to get a signature from him would be like trying to get me to become a nun.”
I hold back a laugh. “Carmen… I’m serious.”
“And I am too.”
I roll my eyes again. “I know there is a way. I just have to figure it out.”
We both stay quiet for a moment.
“What is something he loves more than himself?”
I look at her a shrug as she grins. “What?”
“Pussy.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“And?”
“And nothing. That’s it. Seduce him and blackmail him.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You know I don’t play when it comes to cock, Lydia. And I bet Malcolm has a nice one. I wonder if he would fuck the same as Carter. Like, what if ol’ dad gave him some tips.”
“You’re disgusting.” I laugh.
She shakes her head. “Nah. I just have a problem with saying everything that pops into my head. But seriously, if you want him to sign his part over, figure out what he likes and use it against him. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to resist a hot piece of ass like you.”
“So now you’re calling me a piece of ass too?”
“You know it, baby! But, hey, I have to go. I have a date in an hour and need to get ready. Love you!”
“Love you—” She hangs up before I can even finish my sentence.
“Ugh!” I throw my phone onto the other side of my bed and stare at my ceiling. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I can seduce and blackmail him, but what if it doesn’t work? What if he says no, or even worse, tells my dad?
But what if he doesn’t…
I push the thoughts away and roll back out of my bed and head to my closet to change. I need to get out of here and think.
CHAPTER THREE
LYDIA
I’ve been roaming around downtown for hours doing nothing important. I’ve stopped at a few boutiques, got some food—I just wanted out of the house. I feel I’ve concluded my dad will be gone soon, and I’ve kind of started my own mourning process in a way.
The doctor says that’s normal when dealing with a terminal illness, but it honestly doesn’t make me feel any better. I should be enjoying life, getting excited for graduation since it’s right around the corner, and loving my dad without the fear of losing him. But I’m not. Instead, my reality is sneaking out at night to still try and be a kid, then waking up the next day and wondering if it will be the last with him.
I move all the bags in my right hand to my left, then fish my phone from my pocket. I’ve been trying to stay away for as long as I can today, but now I’m out of shit to do. I glance to the top left corner and see it’s 5:00 p.m.
I make my way back to the street I parked on, then pile my bags in the back seat of my BMW before slipping inside. The entire ride home is silent, which I like. No one has tried to call me, and for once, I’m not complaining. I can’t do a pointless conversation right now. I have too much on my mind.
The feeling of being angry and sad all at once is still a new feeling for me. I used to be pretty happy, but ever since my dad’s diagnosis, everything is different. I can’t focus or relax unless I’m smoking—killing myself with cigarettes. I can’t think straight half of the time, and everything moves in slow motion. Nothing is fast and to the point anymore. Everything is long and drawn-out. And I hate it.
When I pull up in front of my house, I park in the drive without bothering to pull inside the garage. I gather my bags over the seat and step out.
I follow the same routine I have been for months. I stare at the house for a moment before I even walk up the rest of the drive. I’m not sure why I do. Maybe it’s because I’m hoping that homely feeling will hit me again, but it never does.
I push through the front door, then close it behind me. I take a few steps until I reach the piano, then drop my bags. The house is quiet, minus the low buzzing of the TV in the den.
