Little Black Box Set

by Tabatha Vargo

  He glared, slamming his hand down on the bar. “I said ridiculous.”

  “I heard what you said. Now, listen to what I’m saying. You’re not adopting me, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

  “Frankly, son, I don’t really care what you have to say.”

  “I’m not your son, Clive. I’m no one’s son, and I never will be. I’m damaged goods. Consider yourself lucky we’re not legally related.”

  Other than my name, and my first name only, Clive knew nothing about me. He never asked, and I never told him anything, and that was the way it would stay. He was better off not knowing how damaged I really was. He’d be disgusted for sure.

  “I don’t share your opinion, Sebastian. You’re a hard worker, you show respect, and you’re a good kid.”

  Aggravated, I tugged at the ends of my hair.

  “I’ve done things, Clive; things in my past I’m not proud of.”

  And then he laid a grenade on me.

  “I know about your foster mom, Sebastian.”

  My tongue felt thick, my throat closing up with shame. An explosion went off in my brain the second his words registered.

  “What?” I asked, swallowing the shame and disgust of my past.

  “I said, I know about your foster mom. I know what—”

  “You don’t know shit,” I snapped, cutting him off.

  I had never spoken to Clive with so much contempt. Since the night I met him, something about him demanded respect, and after playing the part of the smartass kid for all my life, I stopped and gave him the respect he deserved.

  That changed the second he even mentioned the woman who fucked me up so badly.

  I moved to leave the bar, but he reached out, grabbing my arm and stopping me in my tracks.

  “You listen to me, Sebastian. There ain’t shit in your past that would make me turn my back on you now.”

  “How the hell do you know? Just because you think you know whatever it is about where I was before you. You have no idea, Clive. No fucking clue!”

  “I met the Jepsons,” he said, dropping another bomb right in my lap.

  I didn’t think he could top anything he told me he knew about Jane, but I was wrong.

  So fucking wrong.

  “What are you talking about? And no more bombshells. I want the truth. All of it.”

  He stared back at him, his yellowing eyes taking in my expression and seeing something that made him cave.

  He nodded and released my arm.

  “Fine. You deserve that much.”

  He moved away from me and slid onto the closest stool. I followed, being drawn in by whatever story he was about to tell.

  “A few months after you started working for me, I started looking into your past. It was clear you had secrets, and it was even clearer you weren’t going to tell me any of them willingly. So I needed to see how bad they were. I needed to know what I was facing.”

  I swallowed hard, worrying over exactly how much he knew about my past.

  Did he know I murdered a family?

  Did he know I ruined the lives of two small kids and left them parentless?

  “How did you do that when I didn’t even give you my full name?”

  He grinned and nodded.

  “I told you. I know people. A little DNA and I was able to find out your last name.”

  I was seething, but not because I was angry he had investigated me. I was angry because of how close I had come to losing my new happy life. There was no way Clive knew about the family—about the two people I had basically murdered—about the biggest regret of my entire life.

  He didn’t know because if he did, he would have put me out on my ass a long time ago.

  I didn’t say anything. Instead, I let him continue as my nerves ate away at my insides.

  “I was sorry to hear about Deloris,” he said.

  And just like that, my stomach bottomed out. Nausea swept over me, and I gripped the bar to keep from falling over.

  It had been so long since anyone had even said her name, yet the pain was just as severe as the night I had found out she was dead.

  “She seemed like the only real thing you ever had in your life,” he followed up.

  I nodded, too afraid that if I spoke, he would hear the devastation in my voice.

  “The ladies at the group home were real nice and thought highly of you. They told me all about Deloris and how she thought of you like her own son. They told me how you were moved from one foster family to the next, and then they informed me that you had run away from the last family you lived with.”

  He stood from his stool and moved closer to me. I wanted to step away from him—I wanted to run—but my feet were firmly planted on the concrete floor beneath me.

  “They wouldn’t give me names, but as I said, I have my ways. I contacted Mr. Jepson. He had little to say about the situation, but as I was about to leave, his wife came in.”

  At the mention of Jane, my head shot up and my eyes moved over his face.

  Did he think I was disgusting?

  Did he look at me differently, knowing the things I had done with the woman who was supposed to be like a mother to me?

  “Yeah. I figured that would get your attention,” he said, his grin melting into a frown. “She was a pretty little thing.”

  I nodded, the embarrassment of my situation choking me.

  “I don’t know the details,” he said. “But I’m not a stupid man. I’m guessing something happened between you two?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I couldn’t.

  Instead, I nodded and looked away in shame.

  He grabbed my face, his fingers pinching my cheeks until I faced him again.

  “You listen to me, son. You have nothing to be ashamed of. She was the adult. Not you. Whatever happened was on her. Not you. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t know the details.

  At least I had that.

  I nodded, trying with all my might to agree with him, but my mind wouldn’t process it that way.

  Suddenly, the bar felt too small for the both of us. My lungs felt deprived, and I sucked at the air around me only to feel nothing.

  I needed air.

  I needed to think.

  These were things I couldn’t do inside the small bar with Clive eyeballing me. Not when he knew that little tidbit from my past. The shame was too much. It was even worse knowing that he had known these things for months.

  I walked around him and to the door of the bar. He didn’t try to stop me nor did he ask where I was going. I kept going, holding my breath until I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Only then could I breathe. Only then could I think.

  I didn’t stop walking until the bar was far behind me and the shame had stopped burning my face.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “YOU SEEM OFF. WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND GORGEOUS?”

  Smurfette asked in her signature scratchy voice as she placed soft kisses all over my chest.

  Her voice was the reason I had given her the name Smurfette. That, and the long blond hair that hung loosely down her back.

  She was a sweet girl, always willing to give me anything I wanted, but she was my number three. The only reason I ended up at her place and not with Minnie Mouse was because I had called her at almost four a.m.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, running my fingers through her yellow locks.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to remain focused on her lips and the places on my body they were touching, but no matter how hard my cock got and no matter how sweetly she sucked at my balls, my mind kept wandering back to Clive and his words before I had left the bar.

  Having an old man in your mind made it next to impossible to fuck. I ended up leaving an hour later completely unsatisfied and marking a big black line through Smurfette’s name since she almost refused to let me leave her.

  Clingy was out.

  I spent the next hour walking the streets to get as much fresh air as I could.
Still, I hadn’t processed everything Clive had dropped on me at the bar.

  I started toward home about the time the sun began to rise over the city. I couldn’t hide from Clive any longer. He respected that I needed space to sort things out, but I didn’t want to push it. I knew him well, and I knew he would have no problem calling out an entire search party to drag my rotten ass home.

  Home.

  That was what I had with Clive.

  He was the closest thing to a father figure I had ever had. The tiny apartment above his bar was more of a home than the expensive brownstone the Jepsons had offered. Everything I ever wanted, Clive had given me without hesitation.

  Even going all the way back to the night I had broken into his place when he could have turned me in. He could have called the cops and had my ass thrown in jail, but he hadn’t. Instead, he gave me a job, a safe, warm place to sleep, and had filled my stomach and my life.

  Even after knowing what little he knew about Jane, he wanted to make me a permanent part of his family. That said a lot about the man he was, and I wanted nothing more than to be just like him when I grew older.

  I owed everything to Clive, and if his only request was to adopt me, then so be it. It didn’t make sense since I was old enough to be on my own, but somehow, it still meant the world to him. And if I was being honest, it meant the world to me. It might be just a piece of paper, but it was also my life. My chance to legally belong to a family—my chance to have love.

  Lost in my thoughts, the walk back to the bar flew by. Before I knew it, I was face to face with the door and breathing deeply as I talked myself through opening it.

  My family was behind that door.

  My life.

  And the future I had always wanted for myself.

  My nerves were on edge, and I felt sick to my stomach, but I knew I couldn’t run from this. Not when I spent all my life chasing after the very thing that waited for me behind the door.

  Pushing open the door, I crept through the closed bar and to the stairwell that went to our apartment. The place was dark and still, so I was careful not to knock anything over and wake Clive.

  Once I was on the couch, I was out like a light. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he was waking me and telling me to get my ass up and eat some breakfast. I fell asleep with a smile on my face and my stomach growling for bacon and eggs.

  When I woke, the sun was setting. I was surprised Clive hadn’t woken me up but appreciated it since my brain and body had needed the sleep.

  There was still time before we opened, which meant I still had time to talk with him.

  The shower water was hot and woke me as it splattered against my skin. After my shower, I dressed and made my way downstairs to the bar.

  Clive was bringing in a case of liquor, and when he saw me, he grinned up at me as if the night before hadn’t happened.

  I appreciated that about him even though I was ready and willing to have the talk now.

  “Don’t just stand there, son. Get the rest of the cases and bring them in.”

  I nodded and did as he said, keeping myself busy until the open sign was on and our regulars started to come in.

  An hour later, we were packed. The night flew by as I worked to clean and keep things moving so Clive could run the bar efficiently. Before long, Clive was shouting last call, and we were helping George, the resident drunk, into a cab.

  A few stragglers stumbled out into the night air, and I locked up behind them and went about cleaning while Clive closed out the register.

  “It was a busy night,” Clive said as he counted the money.

  He officially broke the awkward piece of ice that had formed between us.

  “Yep. Definitely busy,” I muttered.

  He took a deep breath and set the cash on the counter in front of him.

  “How do you feel about closing out by yourself tonight?”

  My confused look made him snicker, but Clive had never gone to bed without closing out. It made me worry.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked.

  “Actually, I’m a little tired tonight. I’m getting too old to manage a bar.”

  I chuckled, tossing empty bottles in the trash can beside me.

  “About time you admit it, old man.”

  He laughed and scratched at his beard.

  “Seriously, though,” he said, the smile melting from his face. “You’ve watched me close out the register enough. Do you think you can handle it?”

  Again, worry struck me deep.

  “Of course, I can.”

  He nodded and slammed the register before making his way around the bar.

  “Then it’s all yours. I’m going upstairs.”

  “Wait,” I called out, making him pause. “You’re leaving me here to do it alone?”

  “Yep. Don’t screw anything up.”

  “Damn, you really aren’t feeling well, are you? Old age is a bitch.” I smirked, trying to make light of the situation.

  He chuckled. “Watch it, son.”

  I snickered, running the cloth over the beer covered bar top.

  I watched him go upstairs without even the slightest bit of nervousness about closing out on my own.

  Clive was right.

  I had watched him close a hundred times. I could close his place in my sleep.

  Two hours later, I was exhausted. I climbed the steps to the apartment at almost five in the morning. Way more work was involved when you closed alone, but I wouldn’t dare tell Clive that.

  I could handle it, but it made me realize how hard Clive worked. He was too stubborn and controlling to hire help he could fully trust. He had done it all alone until I literally broke into his life.

  I could see why he wished he had a family to share the responsibility with. I could understand all his reasons because I wanted the same. Not for help around a bar, but for the support of another person in my life.

  I felt like a zombie when I opened the door to the apartment. I wanted to fall on the couch first thing, but I would never get back up, and I needed to piss and brush my teeth.

  “Holy shit, old man,” I cursed when I spotted Clive sitting at the kitchen table.

  A soft glow from the dim light above the sink shined across his wrinkled face.

  “Your first night off in thirty years, and you would rather sit at the table and watch the sun come up?”

  “Thirty years?” He scoffed. “Try fifty.”

  “Then what the heck are you still doing up? And why are you sitting in the dark?”

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “Why?” I frowned.

  “I forgot to tell you we have an appointment with my lawyer tomorrow to sign the papers.”

  My stomach flipped, and if I was being honest, a tiny bit of excitement settled over me.

  “You couldn’t just wait to tell me that later?”

  “Nope.”

  Of course not.

  “You had the papers drawn up before you even knew whether I would say yes?”

  He scratched at his beard and nodded with a grin.

  “It wasn’t a matter of if, son.”

  “Cocky old man.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

  I sat at the table in front of him, my chair scratching at the linoleum floor, and my heart began to race. I could wait until later to say what I needed to say, but there was no point in prolonging the conversation.

  I wiped my hands down the tops of my thighs, my jeans collecting the sweat from my palms.

  “Before we sign anything …” I paused, taking a deep breath. “There’s one more thing you should know about my past.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say. Nothing is going to change my mind, but if it makes you feel better, then go ahead and tell me.”

  I had a feeling he might change his tune once I said the wor
ds.

  My throat felt thick with emotion as I closed my eyes and remembered the look on the woman’s face as she handed over her locket.

  Death.

  All I could see was death.

  “About a year before I broke into your bar, I was breaking into houses.”

  Just saying the words embarrassed me. Clive believed in me. He thought I was a good person, and telling him these things could change his perception of me. I hated to lose that, but I knew it was something I had to do.

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “I wasn’t alone. I had a friend, and we would steal whatever we needed to survive. I didn’t like taking things I didn’t need, but sometimes, we did, so we could pawn them and get the money.

  “One night, I let my friend choose the place. It was her birthday, and I wasn’t thinking clearly because we had been drinking. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I went along with it anyway.”

  Unexpected tears clogged my throat, and when Clive reached out and patted my hand, I didn’t pull away.

  “The house was supposed to be empty.” My voice cracked with emotion. “My friend said the family was out of town, but once we got inside, we realized the family was still there.”

  Clive cleared his throat, his fingers growing tighter around my hand.

  “Go on, son. Get it off your chest,” he said reassuringly.

  And just like that, the flood gates opened.

  I told him everything.

  I told him that even though I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, I felt responsible. I told him about the young girl and the baby I had turned into orphans. I told him there was nothing I could ever do to make it right.

  I spilled my guts there at the kitchen table as the sun slowly rose to greet us. Tears I didn’t know I was crying ran down my cheeks as I explained all the reasons he didn’t deserve a piece of shit like me in his life, and when I was done, I looked up to find Clive—my father—looking back at me with a look of pure acceptance in his eyes.

  “What happened is definitely a tragedy, and nothing you can say or do will change that, but even though you were there, that doesn’t make you responsible.

  “You can’t control what another person does. I learned that a long time ago, son. And as long as you keep weighing yourself down with the guilt, you’ll never allow yourself to be happy.