by Stella Rhys
“Huh.” I raised my eyebrows, trying to control just how big I grinned because I could feel Mia’s barely-contained giddiness as she watched me. “Never thought I’d hear you say those words,” I said to Iain, making him crack a smile.
“Yeah, well. You tend to get things out of me,” he said, his voice light but a look in his eyes that told me I’d be getting all his truth today. Everything I’d ever wanted to know.
But for the next few hours, we just sat with Mia and talked. About his job. Her job. The dirt on her coworkers. The scoop on his clients, and which of them he could realistically set her up with.
It wasn’t the most serious conversation, but it was a good laugh, and the whole time, I just sat back, pretending that this was just my life. Sitting around my apartment with my amazing best friend and the unbelievably beautiful man in my life. All of us just casually chatting and laughing. Having a good time. But then I broke into a big grin about an hour in, because that was when it struck me that I wasn’t pretending.
That this was actually mine.
36
HOLLAND
Apparently, during their hunt for a towel last night, Adam and A.J got into one of their customary blowout fights—just their usual airing out of the usual grievances that never lasted long or impacted how well they worked with each other after.
Predictably, they were all made up by the morning, but still, the argument seemed to be the reason for why Adam was now “hung over beyond repair” and needing to “stay in till further notice.”
Which worked just fine for Iain and me.
Our daytime wound up being spent around the city with me drifting repeatedly between fresh shock and warm comfort for the fact that we were strolling hand in hand.
Iain had never seemed like a hand-holding guy to me. I couldn’t imagine him doing it even when I was younger, and I’d imagined him a lot in all sorts of ways.
But despite the fact that it kept hitting me with awe, the hand-holding felt natural. Sweet. Perfect, even, because I needed this balance, so our touch wasn’t all or nothing. Just somewhere in between sometimes. A happy medium.
Since Mia had work, we wound up going back to my place for dinner, ordering a pizza and settling on the couch to watch an Empires game like we used to at my house back in Jersey.
The only difference now was that we were watching his friend Drew Maddox pitch, and instead of sitting at the very edge of the long end of the sectional—the only seat my nerves could survive with Iain’s long body stretched out on the couch—I was curled on my side right next to Iain’s warm body, my head nestled on his hard chest and his hand resting in the curve of my waist.
As the game played, I asked him to remind me about the rules, and as he did, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way soap smelled on his skin. The way our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces on the very end of my couch.
It wasn’t till the fifth inning that my mind drifted back to the morning.
“Was your mom the one who taught you how to make that coffee?” I asked, peering up at Iain. I watched his eyes go from the game to me, his gaze soft on me as he answered.
“Yeah.”
“Liv, right?” I asked.
“Olivia. My dad called her Livvie though. She hated it,” he said with something of a laugh. “And him. But we all did.”
I held my gaze on him for a moment, recognizing a flicker of something new in his eyes. Apprehension. And I knew it was because he wasn’t used to talking about this.
He was uneasy for once.
So I rested my head back on his chest, my hand next to where I lay my cheek.
“Who’s ‘we all’?”
“Me.” He answered that easily, but the rest took longer to say. “My mom. Her family. My housekeeper.” He was quiet for awhile. For the length of several pitches, which in baseball, was even longer than I remembered.
“My dad cheated on both his wives before my mom. And he only married her because she was young and beautiful and most importantly, she could give him children. In particular, a son to carry what he felt was his very storied legacy.”
His voice was quiet, but I detected the wryness and disdain. It made my nose crinkle as I remembered some of the nicer words that Adam had used before to describe Iain’s father.
Pompous.
Narcissistic.
“My mom wanted to enjoy her youth a little longer before she had kids, but my dad was older. He wanted one fast. So they had me. But he was offended by the idea that he had to raise me with her. All he wanted from being a father was the chance to mold another life to his exact liking.”
“I can relate to that,” I grimaced. And I knew he felt it because he rubbed my hip comfortingly.
“I know,” he said as I frowned.
“Why couldn’t you go with your mom when she left?” I asked.
“It was the original plan,” Iain said. “And I preferred her over him, but I was also twelve and I didn’t want to leave the States. I didn’t speak that much Portuguese. So I wound up staying in Scarsdale with my father. Telling myself I’d spend summers with my mom. Maybe learn the language well enough to move by high school if I wanted.”
My head, the whole upper half of my body rose with Iain’s chest as he took in a deep breath.
“But too much happened in the first few years of living with my father, and I just never recovered long enough to learn a language, let alone think about moving to a new country. I guess I missed my window.”
My heart ached as I curled up tighter next to him. It was starting to hurt so badly already, and I wasn’t even sure what the details were just yet. But all I could do was blink ahead, staring at the screen, trying to soothe myself with the sounds of the game, because I didn’t know this story, but I did know something bad was coming.
In silence, we watched Drew wind up for another pitch.
But once it was delivered for a strike, Iain spoke again.
“My mom left in January and I remember the first Thanksgiving without her, our housekeeper stayed to cook and prepare our dinner before she went to spend the holiday with her own family. But she wound up spending the whole day with me in the ER, just trying her hardest to take care of me while dealing with social services, because they wouldn’t stop grilling her. Or me. We just couldn’t get our stories straight.”
My eyes shifted and my pulse picked up as I lay on his chest, putting together the pieces, following what he was saying.
“She claimed I got into a fight with some older kids,” Iain said. “That I mouthed off and we didn’t catch them. They jumped me, broke my arm. Left me with a black eye. That was what she said, and I don’t remember what I said that didn’t match, but it felt like the whole hospital was onto us from the start anyway. Probably because one of the nurses recognized me from the last time I was there.”
I couldn’t stand it at this point. I had to look up at him and when I did, I found him staring ahead at the game. Looking at it but not really seeing it.
I’d never seen such calm agony before.
And while Iain knew I was looking at him, he didn’t meet my gaze. But what he did do was move his hand from the dip of my waist to my hair, ruffling it a little to let me know that he was still with me.
“My dad always had anger issues, but they got that much worse when he was left to raise me. When he was left to face the fact that his grand plan for his life had gone all wrong. If I asked him for help with anything at all, he asked why I couldn’t be more self-sufficient. That or he’d beat the shit out of me.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to sit up. To be closer to him.
I climbed into his lap as I cupped his cheek in my palm, turning his eyes to look into mine.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my heart breaking in half as I imagined little baby Iain asking for help. Needing someone, but having no one. Having to become unfazed by beatings so vicious they landed him in the hospital repeatedly.
I just wanted to cry but I refu
sed to let myself do it, forcing myself to be strong for him as I listened.
“I was going through these blackout fits by the time I was fourteen. Fighting at school. Damaging property. Wreaking havoc any way that I could. I was so angry all the time. Just like my dad,” he said, and when I shook my head, he just looked at me. “He caused me pain, and I caused pain back. I fucked things up. Partied too hard. Drove too fast. It just felt good when I did bad things. Like the adrenaline rush was the only thing that could soothe the constant rampage going on inside me. It was the only thing that could keep me still for a little while.”
He gazed ahead at my neck as I straddled him, his eyes burning greener than I’d ever seen them as they drifted somewhere else.
“I had a little cousin named Daniel,” he murmured softly, seeming to change the subject. But I could feel his mind traveling somewhere, getting lost in a memory, so I went with it.
“I remember,” I said. “You used to buy him all those gifts before you went to Brazil every summer. There’d always be sneakers and iPods and basketball jerseys,” I smiled, remembering Iain how that suitcase would fill up with presents for Daniel over the course of his stay at our house. I’d even gone to the mall with him, Adam and Dad once, just to buy some video game for Daniel that had just come out. “How much younger is he exactly? I always imagined from the way you talked about him that he was in like, middle school.”
Iain’s eyes were shining as he breathed out a soft laugh, his hands playing absently with the hem of my T-shirt.
“He was only four years younger than me, but he was the baby of the family,” he said quietly. “I saw him every summer since he was born. That kid just had a way of making me feel like a rockstar. I was five when they started bringing him straight to me when he was crying, because I was the only one who could make him laugh anytime guaranteed. The first time he walked, it was to me. When he was in middle school, he talked about me enough that when I visited, his friends I’d never met would just start talking to me like they’d known me forever. Asking questions about my car. New York. Which movies I liked.”
I broke into a laugh, smiling for the story until I realized it wasn’t a tangent. Not some random memory that had popped up to give Iain a mental break from talking about his dad.
Suddenly, dread filled me, because while his faraway expression didn’t change, I suddenly felt Iain’s heart beating faster under my palm.
“He kept a picture of my Bonneville in his room like it was a sports poster,” he said, referring to the famous Bonnie. His beloved motorcycle. “His mom cried for weeks when he moved to California to go to school just so he could be close to me.”
His eyes were down at his hands now, which stayed busy with the hem of my shirt, thumbing along the seams. It seemed like a harmless distraction but then I saw his knuckles were white.
“I told myself to be a good role model for him. To try to keep him safe. But I was twenty-two and he was eighteen, and it was fun getting trashed with him. Racing down closed roads with him. Your brother wasn’t a motorcycle guy, but Daniel bought one as soon as he could. And we’d just ride together. The only difference was I did this shit to placate the demon inside me. And Daniel did this shit because he loved me. Wanted to be just like me. He always had.”
I knew what was coming now and my heart was racing like it was trying to escape being ripped in half. I knew it was going to happen. But all I could do was just nod and listen, because I knew this was the reason.
The reason he left.
The reason he refused to do any of the same things he once did.
His motorcycle. His car. Any form of thrill or adrenaline was discarded from his life because of what happened to Daniel.
Fuck. Tears jumped into my eyes when I saw them suddenly glisten in Iain’s. I wasn’t ready for this sight, didn’t know what to do. So I held his face in my hands and murmured close to his lips.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, believing it despite the fact that I didn’t yet know what happened.
Iain took in a single shaky breath that tore me apart.
“It was,” he whispered. “I was going fast on the highway one night. Angry about calls from New York. My uncle telling me it was time to come home. To see my dad. I hadn’t talked to him in a full year by then. I was ready to cut him from my life. I was working at Engelman with your brother by then. Telling myself I was never going to go back to New York.”
“I remember,” I murmured, collecting his hands in mine when I heard the tearing of seams on the hem of my shirt. “I remember you saying you’d never take over your dad’s agency.”
Iain’s eyebrows pulled tight as he shut his eyes for a moment.
“I think we were at a dinner. Your brother was there. I left abruptly because of the calls. I didn’t say bye to anyone and I didn’t realize Daniel got on his bike to go after me. Just to see where I was going. But I was going so fast…”
Iain’s voice broke and when I felt his body trembling, I wrapped my arms around him fast, hugging him as tight as I could.
I lost track of how long we sat there, both of us with tears as I held him against my shoulder, resting my head on top of his.
It took awhile longer before he was able to say the rest. That Daniel lost control of his motorcycle on the Pacific Coast Highway. That he died in the hospital the next morning.
That same day, Iain went home to the house he shared with my brother, took a shower and walked out the door with just his phone and his wallet. He went to the airport, bought a one-way ticket and flew to New York, spending a week in his childhood home that he couldn’t remember a detail of to this day.
It was like I blacked out. And when he woke up, he was taking a car into the city to take the spot at Thorn Sports left behind by his father.
It finally made sense to me.
His sudden departure. His overnight change. I understood it now. The fear of the rage coming back since it was so hastily buried. With every bit of work, every new client, he threw dirt over the demon. But considering the demon had been buried alive—considering he knew just how powerful it was—he lived in fear of its return.
Like me, he lived without closure. But unlike me, it ate at him every day. Fueled the anger that lived inside him, always threatening to come back.
“You were never able to tell him what he did to you,” I said, sitting sideways on his lap now, gazing at him as he gazed forward, shaking his head.
“It’s like everyone suffered but him. He never had to answer for his sins. His mind went away before I could tell him any of the things I had saved up in me,” Iain said. I frowned.
“What do you mean his mind went away?” I asked.
Iain swallowed. “He had Alzheimer’s. That was why my uncle kept calling me to come home. My dad couldn’t do his job anymore. He was slowly losing himself. Crying at work. Confused about being confused.”
Don’t, I warned when I found myself feeling instinctively sorry at the thought of an old man crying.
“When was it that he passed?” I asked softly, prompting Iain drop his eyes from mine to my legs in his lap.
“I should tell you who Camila is,” he said suddenly.
I blinked, just trying my best to keep up. “Tell me,” I said.
Iain brought his eyes back to me. “She’s my dad’s aid. She’s been taking care of my dad for six years.”
I stared. “I… what?”
“Well,” Iain corrected himself with a little frown. “Before everything, she was our housekeeper.”
“The one who took you to the ER?”
“Yes.”
I could only stare, my mouth parted and unable to choose which of my many questions to ask next.
But Iain explained before I had to.
All this time, I’d assumed from hearing the way Adam talked that Iain’s father was gone. But he was only gone in the sense that he was no longer the man who raised Iain. In his sickness, he became an entirely different person. Docile and needy.
Unable to remember who Iain was all the time, but always desperate to see him.
In the big Scarsdale house Iain grew up in, Camila lived with his father. She and her family all lived there now, and they would live there after Iain Senior died.
She was good with him in a way that other nurses and home aids hadn’t been.
But in the past six months, his condition had begun to deteriorate. He asked more desperately for Iain. Still had his fits of rage when he didn’t get what he wanted. Of course, he was fragile and weak, so they didn’t have quite the same impact.
But it still helped to have Iain there.
“I know it’s fucked up,” Iain breathed, closing his eyes as I brushed the wetness from under them. “I know it poisons my soul a little more every time I go see him, because I was already angry that he never faced what he did to all of us. And now I have nowhere to place my rage, because I can’t even hate him anymore. I feel so fucked in the head every time I see him, and I didn’t want you to deal with another twisted, fucked-up soul hurting you, Holland.”
I couldn’t help but kiss him now. His forehead. His cheeks. His lips.
“I understand why you would feel that way, Iain,” I murmured, making sure he knew how valid it was for him to feel the way he did. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling another tear fall down my cheek. But then I wiped it and tipped his chin up so he’d look into my eyes. “But you’re a good person. I know you’re hurting all the time but I swear it doesn’t have to be like this forever. I promise. Please believe me when I say this, but you deserve happiness. More than anyone I know. And there’s a reason I say this, Iain.”
“What is it?” he asked, his eyes wet, shining up at me with curiosity.
And a glimmer of hope.
But just as I opened my mouth, I heard Mia’s footsteps coming up our stairs. Iain did too, so swiftly, he took in a deep breath. And by the time he let it out, he looked okay again.
