by K. Webster
“Please call me Thad. And that’s great. I want to get through all of the things on my list as quickly as possible. The less time we sit on this property, the better for the investor. I’ll let you guys get to work,” I tell him and then make my way back into the kitchen.
The kitchen is where I’ll be sinking a ton of the budget into. Thankfully, the house has good bones and just needs some cosmetic issues taken care of. The kitchen, on the other hand, needs all new cabinets, appliances, fixtures, and flooring.
I’m jotting ideas down in my notebook when my phone chimes, alerting me to a text.
O: Hi, Thad. Thank you for taking care of me last night.
I groan at the memory from last night. This thing with Opal is a fucking joke. I really like the girl, but her head is all over the place. In my fragile, post-rehab state, I can’t jump into a mess like that without making myself vulnerable again.
Me: It was no problem, although I hope to never do it again.
O: Listen, I really like you. As friends of course. Maybe we could hang out one day and talk?
I want to roll my eyes at the “friends” part. For a chick who hates that fucking word, she seems to use it a lot herself.
Can I allow myself to try a friendship with her?
Do I have that much self-control?
Romantically, we just wouldn’t work—especially if she is hung up on my brother. But friends I can do. I certainly don’t have many of those.
Me: Okay. Friends, O. Honestly, I could use a real friend.
O: Thank you for giving me a chance, Thad.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and hope I didn’t just make a big fucking mistake by agreeing to this.
The rest of the day goes by quickly as I am immersed in the plan of the renovation. Not once do I think about Opal or any of my past vices. I’m pumped to see the finished product of this renovation. I finish by locking up the house, and I’m heading to Dad’s Lexus when my phone rings. Seeing that it’s Kurt, I hesitate before foolishly answering my best friend’s call.
“Thaddeus! My man!” he greets when I answer.
His welcoming voice tugs at something inside of me. He’s my best friend and I miss him—drugs or no drugs.
“What’s up, Kurt? How are things?” I question as I fall into the driver’s seat.
“Dude, things are great. I’m dating this hot-ass chick named Rhonda. Sounds so fucking eighties, but this chick is fine. We’re having a get-together tonight. You should stop by.”
I wonder why I am even considering his invitation. But I do consider it. Can we hang without me giving in to his easy peer pressure?
“You know, Kurt, it probably isn’t a good idea. I’m just back from rehab, man,” I groan. Kurt has been my friend since middle school, so it is hard for me to tell him no.
“Thad, I know and I can appreciate you wanting to stay sober. But I really want to just hang out and shoot the shit. I miss you, man. Just come by the apartment. Nobody is going to pressure you to do anything. I just want to catch up,” he assures me.
We always have a good time together, but we were also usually high. I still miss my friend though, so I finally give in.
“Okay, but I’m just going to hang out for a bit. Fucking Whitney won’t be there, will she?” I growl.
Whitney is my ex-girlfriend who dumped me when I went to rehab. The relationship was a weak one to begin with, but the fact that she had been so quick to get rid of me annoyed the shit out of me.
“No. Now get your ass here and bring pizza. I have the fucking munchies like you wouldn’t believe,” he laughs and hangs up.
Sighing, I try to ignore the voice of reason in my head telling me that this isn’t a good idea and start the car to go see my friend.
“Thaddeus fucking Sutton,” Kurt laughs when I walk through the front door of his apartment.
His tall, thin frame saunters over to me and pulls me in for a hug. After he releases me, I set the pizza boxes on the kitchen table.
“Seems longer than two months,” I tell him as I hunt for plates. I used to spend most of my free time at his place, so I know where everything is. “Where the fuck are your plates? Did you move them?” I open a fourth cabinet and still can’t find what I’m looking for.
“Oh, Rhonda moved shit around. She’s been staying here, like, every night, but it’s cool. I really like her, man.” He moves past me and retrieves some plates from the only cabinet I didn’t look in.
I sit down at the table in the kitchen and start dragging gooey, steaming slices of pizza onto my plate. After working my ass off all day with no lunch or breakfast, I’m fucking starved. Kurt pops the cap off a beer he finds in the fridge for himself and sets a Pepsi down in front of me. I exhale in relief that I didn’t have to decline his offer for the alcohol. Maybe we can be friends without it impacting my recovery.
We’ve just started shoveling hot pizza into our mouths when a cute, petite blonde bounces into the kitchen.
“Babe, meet my best friend, Thad,” he says, introducing me to her.
I shake her hand and smile. She’s pretty but totally high on something. I suppress a groan as I wonder what it is.
“I’m Kurt’s girlfriend, Rhonda. He talks about you all the time,” she gushes and begins bouncing around the kitchen. The way she flits about makes me wonder what in the hell she’s on.
She grabs the counter spray from underneath the sink and begins cleaning the already spotless counters. I’m kind of in awe of her energy.
When I meet Kurt’s eyes, he points to his nose and makes a sniffing gesture.
Coke.
“She keeps this place fucking immaculate,” he laughs before shoving another huge bite of pizza into his mouth.
I’m trying not to appear uncomfortable, but knowing she’s high right now makes me feel uneasy.
“So, are you still working at Louie’s garage?” I question after swallowing down a bite.
Kurt is a master when it comes to rebuilding transmissions. Unfortunately, his problem is actually making it to work. Once he’s there, he is the best of the best. But his track record for reliability is pretty low.
“Yeah. Rhonda works next door at the diner. She has to be there bright and early, so she gets me up so we can ride together.” Over his shoulder, loud enough for her to hear, he adds, “I’m telling you, that girl is marriage material.”
She giggles but continues to scrub the fuck out of the sink.
“That’s awesome, man. I’m glad things are going so well for you,” I tell him honestly. And I am very happy. He and Rhonda seem to have a good thing going.
“Are you back working with Griff?” he probes as he polishes off his pizza.
“Yeah, and he has me heading up a renovation project. If I can do a good job, I could make some pretty good money at it.”
He nearly chokes on his pizza laughing, “Like you even need any more money, asshole.”
“You know I don’t touch her money,” I snap and slam my fist on the table.
Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he grins. “Dude, chill out. I was just messing with you.”
A knock at the door interrupts our conversation and Rhonda scurries away to answer it. Moments later, after a flurry of female chatter, Rhonda and Whitney walk into the kitchen.
Whitney.
Of course, Whitney looks like a perfect fucking knockout as usual. She’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans that hug every inch of her round ass and a tight, pink tank with a low-scooped neck that reveals the tops of her perky tits.
“Well, if it isn’t my boyfriend, Thad,” she purrs and strolls over to me.
I roll my eyes at Kurt as she comes behind me and wraps her arms around my body. Her nails dig into the flesh on my biceps, and I recall that, not long ago, I enjoyed those damn things when she clawed my back during sex.
“Hey, Whit. I’m not your boyfriend, remember? You broke up with me when I went to rehab,” I grumble and try to shake her off of me.
Even though I sound annoye
d, it really was for the best. Whitney is one of those toxic people who, if I have any hope of becoming a better person, I’ll avoid at all costs. She still hasn’t let me go though. No, she brings her lips to my ear instead. Her previously sexy scent just smells like cigarettes and cheap perfume to me now.
“Thad, let’s go to my place and I’ll show you how much I missed you,” she flirts, ignoring my earlier statement, and nips her teeth at my earlobe.
In the past, this sort of behavior would have had me yanking down her jeans and slamming my cock into her right across the kitchen table. It’s almost embarrassing how many times Kurt’s seen my dick. Whitney and I used to fuck whenever the mood struck—even in front of others.
Pulling away from her grasp, I abruptly stand up, forcing her to step away from me. “It was nice seeing you Whit. And, Kurt, I’ll see you again soon. Rhonda, good to meet you. I have an early day tomorrow, so I’m going to head out.”
I slip out of the apartment before I get too much of an argument from any of them. I’m really proud that I was able to see my buddy and not have the desire to do anything stupid. Hell, I even saw Whitney and wasn’t tempted to get wasted and fuck her until we both passed out like old times.
The trip home is uneventful, but I can feel my anxiety rise as I walk through the front door. I feel her presence. But when I attempt to make a beeline for my room, my mother’s voice halts me.
“Thaddeus darling, please come chat with me,” she calls from her sitting chair in the living room.
I stifle my groan because I am living under their roof for the time being and don’t need to mess that up until I get my own place. After walking over to where she’s sitting, I plop down onto the sofa. Once she realizes I’m still in my work clothes and sitting on her expensive sofa, she scrunches up her nose in disgust.
“Hey, Mom. Have a good day?” I inquire. My attempt at small talk is weak. I’m not sure why I even try. She clearly has something to say to me and it isn’t a friendly ‘how was your day’ sort of chat.
She purses her lips together into what she must think is a smile but is really just a grimace. “Yes, son. I wondered what your plan was now that you’re back home. Do you plan to go back to school? When do you plan on getting your own place? Your father and Trent have already stated that, if you want to go to work for them, they’ll find a position for you.”
I try hard not to roll my eyes. It would be a cold day in Hell before I would ever work with those two.
“I’m thinking in about a month I’ll have enough saved to move out, Mom. Griff has a new project and—”
She waves me quiet. “You have a trust fund, son. Why you never use it is beyond me. Whatever. Very well, then. Thirty days.”
I don’t know why I’m in shock at her words, but I am. I hardly ever touch the money in my trust fund. And I hate the fact that she thinks money can solve fucking everything. I’m about to storm off to my room, but she stops me with a little shake of her glass. The jingling of the ice gets my attention and I relax back into my seat.
“Friday night is the benefit for the foundation I started. You’ll be expected to represent this family. Dress is black tie. Do not show up in one of your ridiculous outfits or you’ll be right on the street. I will not tolerate disrespect. Let me know before Friday if you’ll be accompanied by a plus-one,” she instructs coolly.
I study her face for a moment, trying to remember if there was ever a time that she acted like a real mom and not some Disney villain like Maleficent. The best memory I can conjure up is one from high school.
My favorite class in school is shop, which turned out to be an unexpected surprise. I was supposed to take art, but in a last-minute overfilling of the class, I got switched. At first, I acted very much like the rich boy I am and snubbed my nose at the idea of taking the class. Building shit was something my family paid to have done. However, it only took a couple of days before I was hooked.
Now, here I am, putting the finishing touches on a bookshelf for my mother. I heard her complain to Dad several times that she needed a bookshelf for her medical books. Most books were tall or thick, which meant that the shelf needed to be deeper and sturdier than most. Mom has been searching high and low for exactly what she is looking for. She even mentioned that she wants it in a cherry finish to match the furniture in her office.
I begin stacking all of the books on the shelves and even take a few decorations throughout the house to add to it. My heart starts to race when I hear her heels clicking down the hallway toward her office. Seconds later, she opens the door and, at first, glares at me for being in there. But when her eyes flit over to the bookshelf, they widen in surprise.
“How did your father find exactly what I’ve been looking for?” she questions in disbelief while she hurries over to it. Her hand slides down the side as she observes the handiwork.
Before I can answer, she’s talking again.
“Oh, I see, Thaddeus. Your father had it custom made for me. It’s absolutely stunning. He’s good to me, you know,” she confides with a grin. My mother never smiles like this, so my heart is now pounding with pride.
“Actually, Mother, I made it. Everything I learned in shop class helped create the shelf from start to finish,” I tell her proudly.
Instead of pulling me in for a hug, she turns her smile into a frown. “You’re no longer in art class?” Her voice has risen a couple of octaves, making all the happiness I feel about the shelf fly out the window.
“No, but I’m in shop class, and it’s awesome because—”I begin but am cut off by a wave of her hand.
“I’ll go down to the school tomorrow and have it switched back, son. There’s no sense in you taking that dirty class.” Her tone is cool and mocking. She knows I enjoy the class and is eager to take that away from me.
“Mom, please don’t,” I beg, but she once again waves me to a halt.
“Darling, we are ‘haves.’ ‘Haves’ don’t build things—they have them built for them by ‘have nots.’ Once you accept the fact that you are a ‘have’ and not a ‘have not,’ you can enjoy life a little more.”
I feel defeated and blink back angry tears that are fighting to surface. Her eyes, in the rarest of occasions, soften their gaze.
“Thaddeus, don’t get upset. The shelf looks nice in here. I’m actually quite fond of it.”
And with that, my mother turns on her heel and leaves me alone in her office, still reeling from her compliment. My heart thumps against my chest as I bask in her words. Knowing she liked my bookshelf makes the switch back to art class the following day a little easier to bear.
“Thaddeus?” she snaps, jerking me from one of my only happy memories.
“Sorry. What’s that?”
“I said that will be all for the evening. Goodnight,” she dismisses me.
Rising to my feet, I start to leave, but she holds out her glass, which is still full of amber liquid. My throat squeezes as I realize she’s been drinking.
“Thaddeus darling, will you be a dear and run this to the kitchen for me?” Her expression is even, but I’ve known her long enough to see that she is testing my willpower. Just like last night. Sometimes, I wonder if she feeds on my failures.
Well fuck her. I won’t fail.
I clench my teeth and wrap my fingers around the chilled glass, taking it from her. Storming from her presence, I stalk into the kitchen. I’m about to pour it into the sink when I catch a whiff of one of my favorite vices. With my free hand, I clutch the edge of the sink. Bringing the glass to my nose, I inhale the scent. My mouth practically waters as it begs for a taste. Fuck my mother for putting me in this position.
Bringing it from my nose, I hold it over the sink again. My hand shakes as I try to force myself to pour it out. Before I can second-guess my reasons, I put the glass to my lips. I can taste the strong flavor just on the glass, and I want it so badly.
Fuck you, Mom.
Tipping my head back, I allow some of the liquid to pour into my mo
uth. It burns as I swish it around, not yet giving in to swallowing it. I can spit it all out and not undo two months of rehab. I’m strong than this.
In a dramatic spray, I spew it back into the sink.
I’m stronger than this—stronger than my mother gives me credit for.
So why am I bringing the glass back to my lips?
Why am I once again pouring the liquid into my mouth?
Why am I gulping until there’s nothing but ice in glass?
Fuck. Me.
I crawl into bed after a long and confusing day. Waking up late and hungover this morning sucked, but waking up with nothing but Thad’s soapy scent left on the pillow beside me was worse. Discovering that Dr. Ellis might be my father was shocking, and my mind is still reeling with the sad story he told me. And when Trent called to apologize for his behavior the night before, I calmly let it go to voicemail. He sounded sincere on the recording, but I wasn’t ready to deal with him just yet.
A knock on my door startles me from my thoughts, and I throw on a robe over my pajama pants and camisole. Who would be coming over unannounced this late at night? Peeking through the peephole, I’m pleasantly surprised to see Thad standing on the other side. After unlocking the deadbolt, I open the door to greet him.
“Have you ever heard of something called a phone?” I tease with a giggle. But the moment I speak the words, the laughter dies in my throat as I realize he isn’t okay. “Thad, what’s wrong?”
He palms his face and then runs his fingers through his hair before looking over at me with his soulful, green eyes—eyes that appear to be outlined in red possibly from crying.
“What did you do?” I question softly as I step into the hallway and envelop him in a hug.
The moment we touch, I feel the tension leave his body. My heart swells that I’m helping him with whatever’s going on in his head. With everything he helped me with last night, I’m glad to repay the favor. I bury my head into his chest and rub his back. Then his hands find my hair and tangle themselves in it.
“I fucked up, O,” he exhales in a rush. His tone is full of self-hatred, and it sickens me that he feels this way.
