by Tijan
He lost Daddy Dearest’s funding for college, so as of end-July, Zeke wasn’t sure if he was still coming to Cain University or not. And it wasn’t a bluff. He’d lost everything—his trucks, his room (he’d moved into a closet-sized bedroom on the same floor as his parents, and no one was happy about it) and all their house staff got a month’s paid vacation.
Zeke was the new household staff.
Turns out, his dad did give a shit, and Zeke had had no idea how much. So he was currently cleaning their house, not partying, and also working as an intern at his dad’s company to earn money for college. His dad had made it clear he didn’t give one iota if Zeke missed a year of higher learning or not.
So that’s where Zeke was, and that’s why I’d ended up getting an apartment by myself as close to Cain’s soccer complex as possible. I already knew Aspen wanted the dorm experience. She’d said she wanted to embrace what college was really about.
That was cool with me.
She’d meet people in her dorm, but I knew I’d be driving over to pick her up most nights and bringing her back early in the morning after my soccer runs.
So here I was. I’d not seen my girl all month, and my best friend was now a question mark.
This sucked was a gross under-exaggeration.
“This place is gorgeous, Blaise.”
I glanced back as my mom came through my new bedroom door. She went straight to the window.
“Oh wow. Look at that view.”
I looked. The view wasn’t anything great. It was the soccer field, which was going to be my home until January, but if it awed her, who was I to take that away?
“The place looks good.” Stephen came in next, not overly impressed, but still supportive. He nodded. “Smart. I can see why you picked it.”
It had no amenities, but I didn’t need them. I’d be using the college’s, and the rent was high enough that there were serious renters here. The management office said I was the only college student in the complex, and that made me happy. I preferred going to parties, not hosting them or living around them.
“They said a lot of professors live here, and some post-doc students,” I told my mom and Stephen. That translated to non-party people in my mind.
Stephen gave me the same look he’d been giving me for the last month. I wasn’t sure if it was respect, but maybe more of a re-assessment.
I’d been around nearly every night—except for the few nights Zeke’s parents had okayed me coming over to play video games. I was one of their only “approved” friends for him. Brian and Branston were out, so it was all me. I was actually the good guy in that situation. I’d also gotten serious about training, because I knew once Monday hit, and practices started, I’d be in sore shape.
Stephen had never seen me during soccer until this last month. I got real serious about my sport. Growing up, training had been another time Griffith mostly stayed away from me. Maybe because I was with coaches a lot, and he couldn’t get away with his normal punching since bruises would be visible. But ever since I was little, soccer came around and he took a hike, for the most part.
That was another reason I loved the sport. It’d been my only escape.
“How much is the rent?” Stephen asked.
Yeah. Neither he nor my mom was going to be privy since they weren’t paying. I had a trust fund from Griffith. He hadn’t taken it away, and we’d been assured by a lawyer that he couldn’t. I also had money set aside for me from my grandfather, my mom’s dad. She came from old money back east. When we went back to New York, that old money got even older, if that made sense. There’d been a fund for me, but it just grew. Though, I didn’t want to have to touch my inheritance from my grandfather, not if I didn’t have to.
And until then, I wasn’t going to sweat about it.
I grinned at Stephen. “It’s high enough that most college students can’t pay it.”
His mouth twitched, and he nodded. “Got it.”
My mom turned back from the window, a smile on her face. “So, have you heard from Aspen?”
I raised an eyebrow. “They’re heading back to Fallen Crest this weekend.”
Her smile faltered. “The same weekend you’re moving here?”
I nodded, my throat tight. I missed my girl. A lot.
Fucking parents.
My mom and Stephen shared a look, but I knew what they were thinking.
The timing was suspect for sure, but I didn’t know what podium her parents could stand on. They’d been reserved about me at first, but somehow that took a turn for the worse. They really didn’t like me now. When I asked Aspen if she knew why, she hadn’t a clue. They weren’t sharing with her or me, so I was guessing maybe they were just being hypocritical.
Aspen said they were repeating history, thinking I was a bad influence. I didn’t know what she meant by that, and she didn’t seem inclined to explain. She started cursing, swearing they couldn’t control her once she got to college, and I’d lose her for a while on one of those tangents. I learned to pick my battles.
Her parents weren’t going to get between us. I wouldn’t let that happen.
But, they were Aspen’s parents, and they were giving a shit about her, and since I was trying to be a better person, I refrained from raising hell in the Monson household.
I also didn’t mind in one sense because they were caring. They were doing their job.
Didn’t mean I didn’t dream sometimes about going in and rocking the boat. Or that sometimes I wanted to upturn it, fling them into the sea, and only offer a paddle if they got off their high horses.
I mean, I felt that way when they picked their weekend to come back to Fallen Crest.
Still. Good guy. I was trying here.
I shrugged. “They can’t lock her in an ivory castle once she gets here.”
Stephen studied me. “You know, your mother knows people who know the Monsons. We could talk to someone if you wanted us to pull some strings.”
I shot him a look. “You think I need your help to see my girlfriend?”
His face went blank. “No, of course not.”
He turned away.
Marie’s eyes narrowed, resting on him before turning to me. “I have friends. I have connections. I can say one thing to Malinda Decraw-Strattan, and trust me, she could turn the Monsons’ world upside down.”
“Don’t, Mom,” I growled.
This was going from decent to nasty in a heartbeat. We were past the unpleasant level, skyrocketing past it.
“But why?” She stepped toward me, gesturing to Stephen. “Your dad—”
“HE’S NOT MY FATHER!”
I’d been quiet.
I’d been silent when I first found out about my real father.
And maybe it wasn’t totally the father thing. Maybe I was more pissed about Aspen’s parents than I wanted to believe, but I was here.
My control snapped.
I didn’t know why. Well, that’s a lie. I knew, but now she was better. Mom was getting better. She wasn’t so broken now, and I wasn’t alone.
“Hey!” Stephen turned back.
“No! You too—shut up.”
“HEY!” He surged for me.
I locked down, flinching, but putting a wall up.
I couldn’t help myself.
Griffith had come at me with punches. He’d rain down on me until he got a good punch in and I saw stars, and then he’d ram my head into whatever was closest—the wall, the corner of a piece of furniture. It didn’t matter.
When I went down, the kicking started.
I was instantly ready for an attack, and they both saw it.
Stephen froze, drawing in a breath. Horror flared over his face. “Son.”
“Honey,” my mother whispered.
I was cornered.
I needed an out.
I looked, but Stephen was blocking the doorway.
He saw where I was looking and drew in another ragged breath before swinging wide, out of the way. “I�
�m not going to hurt you. I just didn’t want you to disrespect your mother.”
I laughed, and even I winced at the sound coming from me, ’cause that was no laugh. I didn’t know what it was. It was heinous. It was harsh. It was empty.
It was tortured.
But I made the sound anyway, and I couldn’t stop. I shook my head, moving out of the room.
The walls were closing in.
The ceiling coming down.
The floor rising.
I was going to get crushed.
I had to get out.
Get out, get out, GET THE FUCK OUT!
“Honey.”
I heard her behind me, but there was a rushing sound in my head.
I could see out the living room window into the parking lot, but I wasn’t really seeing shit.
I was seeing him.
Swinging at me.
Towering over me.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t handle it.
But then it got worse. I drew in a sharp breath, and I couldn’t breathe.
There was no more air.
I could feel it—kicking, hitting. And I could hear him—the taunts, the threats, the mocking. That fucker liked to tear me down in every fucking way possible.
The burns.
I could smell it. My skin.
Fuck.
I hadn’t smelled that smell in years. He only did it once, stopping because she caught me, seeing it. I lied, said it was a bully from school. He’d stopped doing it after that, seeing how pissed she got, how she tried to make me identify him at school.
But the scars were still there.
It was like he was still fucking with me. He was still in my head. He was still contaminating my life.
He could still take everything away from me.
“Blaise!”
I reacted.
I didn’t mean to.
Later I would understand that I’d been in a flashback, but in the moment, a hand touched my arm, and I turned.
I ducked. I grabbed the hand. I twisted, and then my fist was in his face.
It was Griffith I saw. It was Stephen I hit.
The screams didn’t penetrate, not at first.
Not until Griffith was on the floor. Even then I kept swinging.
My knuckles were red.
That got to me first.
They were red and bleeding, and I stumbled back. That wouldn’t be good, not for my first day of practice.
That thought gutted me.
I started laughing, and I fell to the ground.
I pulled my knees up, my elbows resting on them, and lowered my head to cry.
When was the last time I’d cried?
“Stephen!”
My mom’s voice filtered in, and I turned…I looked…I saw.
I felt nothing now.
I took almost a clinical assessment of the scene.
He’d been beaten to a bloody pulp. My mom went to him, and he pushed her aside.
His eyes were on me, or the one eye that could see.
Fuck.
Stephen pushed himself up. He crawled to me.
I watched him, detached from myself. What was he going to do? Try to hurt me? He was crawling. But then he moved to sit next to me, and he reached around me.
I tensed.
I was ready.
He could do it. He could hurt me. I deserved it this time.
He touched my shoulder and pulled me close—my head to his shoulder, his hand cupping the side of my face.
We sat like that.
No way.
I was frozen.
I was in shock.
I had no idea where my mom had gone.
This whole thing had happened in the blink of an eye.
I hurt him. Stephen. Not Griffith.
I’d hurt someone the way Griffith hurt me.
I was like him.
“I’m him,” I muttered.
“No, Blaise. You’re not.” Stephen shook his head, hissing from the pain. “You thought I was him, and you defended yourself. I shouldn’t have touched you. I should’ve read the signs, and I didn’t. I am sorry.”
No. I pushed him away, scooting over at the same time. “That’s fucked up. I just beat your ass, and you’re apologizing to me?”
“Blaise.” He started for me again.
I scooted farther.
It never occurred to me to get up, to stand to my feet.
He kept moving over, and I kept scooting away, kept shaking my head.
I stopped when I hit a corner and couldn’t go any farther.
He kept coming, though.
Finally, I folded in on myself, cowering, trying to hide.
I couldn’t hide.
I couldn’t disappear.
“Blaise.”
He was still here. Why wouldn’t the fucker go away?
“Blaise, you’ve been through trauma.”
He was still touching me, a hand to my head.
I wanted to shove him off, kick him away, but I didn’t have it in me. I was done. The fight was gone.
He could beat me now, and I wouldn’t raise a finger against him.
I heard crying —my mom. I recognized her voice.
And where was I?
Not a closet, or a room at the New York apartment.
I was in my apartment.
I was under the kitchen table, backed into the corner between the wall and the fridge.
Shit. How had I gotten in here?
“Blaise.” Stephen had crawled under the table with me.
“What are you doing under here?” My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was different, a stranger’s. I didn’t like it, instantly hating what I heard in my tone.
Weakness.
Stephen stared at me a second. “You came under here, so I did too.”
“Why?”
That shit didn’t make sense to me.
“Because you’re my son.” He said this like it made perfect sense. “Because you’re hurting, and I’ll heal from this—and I know you’ll never do it again—but you’re still hurting. Blaise.” His hand went to my ankle. “You need to see a counselor for what you’ve been through.”
“I have.” None worked. They all twisted shit so it seemed like my fault.
He gave me a look like he knew things about me I didn’t, and I hated that too. Who gave him that right?
“You saw therapists he paid for. They weren’t real professionals. It will help you, I promise.”
Promises meant nothing to me. They were just words, just something meant to manipulate, give you hope, and they were a weapon to take that hope away.
Promises could crush you, if you let them.
“No, thank you.”
“How about this?” His tone grew more assertive. “You see a therapist or—”
My nostrils flared. This was more like it.
“Or what?” I taunted. “You’re going to press charges?” I felt a cruel smile on my face. I felt it inside of me. “Surprised it took you this long to get to the threats.” Threats I understood. They’re what made the world go ’round.
Stephen seemed at a loss for a beat. Then his shoulders fell. His jaw slackened. He looked defeated. He looked sad. “I was going to say, if you don’t get help, you’ll do this to someone else. You could do this to Aspen.”
I felt a jolt.
The world spun.
Direct hit.
The fu—no. I was the fuck.
He was right.
Dear God.
I couldn’t hurt Aspen. Ever.
He nodded, his shoulders lifting. “That got in. Good.” He blinked back tears. “Good.” He crawled out from under the table.
I stayed, because if I could’ve, I would’ve stayed under that table forever.
I heard him cross the room and tell my mother, “I got to him.”
Whatever that meant.
48
Aspen
My phone woke me, and it took me a second to realize the
time.
It was four in the morning.
Shit.
Blaise calling.
He hadn’t called last evening, and we always did a video call. I looked forward to it every day, but he’d texted saying he’d call me later because something had happened.
My heart raced as I grabbed my phone and scooted up in bed. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
Oh God.
He didn’t sound good.
“What happened?”
He was silent a second.
“Blaise?”
His voice was strained, so strained. “I beat the shit out of Stephen today.”
“What?” I hadn’t heard that right.
I was about to laugh. What kind of joke was this?
But then he said it again, dull this time, as if he flipped a switch and turned himself off. He sounded like a robot.
“I beat the shit out of him.”
I’d heard right. This wasn’t a prank. “Are you—”
“I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m laying this out clearly. When you come here, I don’t think we should see each other.”
My mouth fell open.
I felt as if he had beat the shit out of me, a complete sucker punch to my throat.
I couldn’t—what?!
He continued, as if this was a business call, as if he was telling me my services were no longer needed. “I was having a flashback from Griffith, and Stephen touched my arm. I rounded on him until he was bleeding on the floor. Then I crawled under a fucking table and tried to hide.”
Now I heard emotion. I sagged with relief. He wasn’t totally gone.
My boy was still in there.
“I’m fucked up, Aspen. I—if I did that to him, I could do that to you. What if I’m in a flashback and you touch me? That can’t happen. If something happened to you—” He broke off for a moment. “I’d never get over that. Nothing can hurt you, especially me. We can’t—I gotta get myself together. I’m dangerous right now.”
“Oh.” My heart was still beating, but it was in someone else’s hands. His hands. “Blaise.”
“I miss you so much, so fucking much, but this shit in my head—I have to get it out of me. I can’t hurt you, ever.”
Damn him.
Damn him for making me love him even more.
“You’re going to therapy?” I asked.
“I’m going to, yeah. Mom and Stephen left earlier. I’m at the apartment, and I have practice in an hour. I’ve not slept all night. I knew what I needed to do, but it’s taken me all night to get the courage up to call you.”
