by A. J. Logan
Exiting the car, I glance around the garage lined with no less than five lavish vehicles, but the most lavish of them all is missing from the lineup, confirming what I’d hoped: my father hasn’t returned from one of his many business trips. He’s always traveled a great deal, but the trips seem more frequent and extended recently, especially since my mom hasn’t been around, not that her being here ever stopped him from staying away before.
“Get your behind in this house this instant.” Susan stands at the door with a stern expression.
“Susan, did you really miss me that much?” I tease, receiving a scowl that’s reserved for the moments I screw up the worst. I’ve seen it plenty times over the years, and it’s in full force at the moment. Yep. She got a phone call about my day at school. I doubt my dad batted an eye, but he was sure to instruct our housekeeper to parent me. It’s sad when the housekeeper does more parenting than your actual parent but that’s nothing new. Susan has always made a point to pick up where my dad left off, which has been quite a bit. And honestly, it’s nice to have one of Susan’s reality-check lectures because there’s something genuine about them; they make me feel like she cares about my well-being. Luckily, there’s not a time I can recall when she hasn’t been around. She might technically be a part of the staff, but she feels more like family than my actual family. And one of the few people who haven’t flaked out and left me behind, willingly and without a second thought.
She doesn’t say a word, because she doesn’t need to, I simply follow behind her, resuming my usual spot at the kitchen table. I recline back in my chair as she pulls one out beside me. Sitting, her glare remains on me, and she finally speaks after a few more moments of fuming. “The second day of school, Elliot?”
“Yep. It was a fun one.”
“Cut the crap. How did you manage to get into a fight on the second day of school? You’re lucky Principal Huntington didn’t kick you out.”
“Not likely.”
“One day you’re going to dig your hole deeper than you can handle and nothing, including money or your granddad’s name, will be able to help you climb out of it. Besides, don’t you want to do better? Be better than that? It’s your senior year. It’s time to start considering your future.”
“My future is decided,” I huff, recalling the conversation that drove my father even further away, severing what little relationship we had. In it, my grandpa had informed me of his intentions—Lawrence Bass Industries wouldn’t be passed down to my father. Instead, it would bypass him and be handed to me directly. It was as much of a shock to me as it had been to my father, but since that day, my father has taken it out on me, making any excuse to stay as far away from home as possible. I’d never anticipated the company would be handed to me on a silver platter, so I hadn’t thought much about it at all, but my father absolutely had that expectation; he’d never doubted the company would end up in his hands. Now everything was turned on its ear. I was expected to follow the Bass tradition of attending Vanderbilt, and that part I didn’t mind so much. But being responsible for the company my grandpa built from the ground up, that was more than I’d bargained for, even if he said it would be years before the official transition.
“Your future is what you decide it to be; no one can make that decision for you, Elliot.” Susan’s sternness fades with each word, knowing the resentment I’ve dealt with from my father as she places her hand over mine. “What does your future look like to you? When you think of yourself five, ten years down the road, what do you see? What do you want it to be?”
“I don’t know what I want.” It’s the touchstone of my life lately. I’ve had a hard time thinking about the future since the moment I found my mom facedown on her bedroom floor in a pool of her own blood, wanting to end her life. And she’d nearly succeeded. Thinking she was alone in the house for the night, she hadn’t anticipated that I’d return home to grab a basketball. That last-second decision led me home, and I’d had the feeling that something was off the moment I stepped into the house. It had been eerily still. My mom always had music or the television on, saying that the silence was deafening, and she needed background noise to keep her mind busy. And thankfully the unnatural muteness was so deafening that it caught my attention because the only thing worse would’ve been leaving the house unaware she was slowly bleeding to death. And at first, I’d thought she already had; I’d thought I was too late. A rush of panic surges through me as I recall the horrible memory in extensive detail, just as I have in my nightmares almost every night since.
“Elliot,” Susan’s soft voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “It’s okay to ask for help if you need it.”
I force out a laugh, attempting to joke. It’s my go-to for masking the true torment inside. “Nah, there’s no improving on this perfection.” My million-dollar smile has no effect on her because she’s never bought into my bullshit, and it doesn’t look like that’s changing anytime soon.
“Asking for help takes courage. Even if you don’t think you need it, maybe it could help you sort through everything; give you a real shot at a happy future, not just pretending to be happy.”
Damn it. I hate when she does that, knowing exactly what to say that I don’t want to hear. “There’s nothing to sort out. My grandpa appointed my future. My dad hates me for it and my mom wanted to end hers. That about sums it up … nothing left to sort through.”
“Just promise me one thing, please. If there’s something that seems too heavy to sort through, you call me.”
“I got this. Weight lifting is my specialty.” My humor is lost on her sympathetic stare.
“Promise me, Elliot. If you ever feel like not having a future is the solution, you’ll call me, text me, anything so we can sort through it together. You might be a little pain in the rear at times, but I love you just as I do my own children. I couldn’t imagine a future without your lame attempts as humor.”
“Ouch, Susan. Lame, really?” I genuinely chuckle, knowing that she’s trying to lighten the mood after basically telling me she fears I’ll make the same decision as my mom.
“Promise me, Elliot Bass, or we’re not getting up from this table.”
“I promise,” I utter, intending to keep that promise to her.
Susan pats my hand, happy with my declaration, “I was just about to head out, but I can hang for a while.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m good. I promise,” I reassure her with a sincere smile. “Doesn’t Ava have Meet the Teacher tonight?”
Susan nods. “You actually do listen to me,” she teases, giving me another loving pat on the hand as she stands from the table. “There’s supper in the fridge if you want to heat it up, or you can join us if you’d like. Ava always loves seeing you.”
“I’ve had enough school for the day, but tell her I’ll stop by soon.”
“Will do. She’ll be happy to see you.”
Susan leans forward, giving me a motherly kiss on the forehead before leaving the kitchen to head home to her husband and the grandbaby they are raising. Their cozy home would fit inside of the kitchen I’m sitting in alone. There have been more than a few times I’ve had supper at their house, wishing it was my home instead. I loved sitting around the table having supper as a family, teasing Ava about having a crush on the little boy she was playing basketball with in the driveway, much to Susan’s horror and the delight of her husband. There are times where I feel bad for Ava for being so unlucky in the parental department, but having Susan and Joseph makes up ten times over for it. Oftentimes, I find myself wishing that I wasn’t just at their house as a guest but as an actual family member. It was easy to do though, since that’s exactly how they treated me every time.
Hopping up from the table, I hurry upstairs, stepping into the en suite connected to my bedroom. Tossing my clothes aside, I step into the shower, and let the hot water pelt the tense muscles of my shoulders. I stand under the steaming spray, enjoying the sting of the water as it distracts me from the thoughts swarming my m
ind. I don’t want to sort through any of them, so I remain in the same position, losing track of time.
7
Victoria
Every single hallway I turn down throughout the school day, Elliot’s there, happy and smiling, joking until he looks at me with disdain. I’ll gladly return it. This time, as I walk past him toward the parking lot, I’m irritated that he’s casually dressed in a dark-gray school T-shirt bearing the Golden Olympus crest and maroon basketball shorts, yet still pulls at my desire to strip the clothes off of him and enjoy what’s beneath. Damn it. Thankfully, my back is to the taunting jerk, so I don’t have to worry about him reading my explicit thoughts. Hard as it might be, nothing about him should be anywhere near the forefront of my mind, neither should his fiercely dark brown eyes, vivid in my thoughts. I shake my head, slide into my car, and make a quick escape before spotting him and his stupid enticing face again. Surely, it’s just a side effect from the brief yet arousing kisses, and the stupidity will wear off soon, at least I hope so.
Heading out of the parking lot, I drive across town to the local art studio that always has an abundance of the best supplies readily available. It’s a place I’ve spent tons of time browsing, and that’s what I’m doing, attempting to clear out my head but it’s useless. Stopping at the window, looking in at the art class in progress, my eyes study the painting of the student nearest. He’s seated at the back of the enormous room as the instructor, Mr. Maynor, walks around glancing at each painting, pointing here and there before moving to the next student.
“There’s still some openings available.” A deep voice startles me, and I spin to find a guy I’ve seen around the studio a good bit but have never spoken to. “Or there’s another one starting up next month, if that works better for you.”
“Oh, no. I’m not here for class.” I look away from his charming smile, having enough to think about already.
“Are you sure? My dad is the best instructor around.”
“Mr. Maynor is your dad?” Didn’t see that coming, but even so, I don’t want an instructor. I already have the only person I trust to guide me.
“Yep. Dalton Maynor.” Holding out his hand, I place mine in his.
“Victoria,” I respond back, purposely leaving off my last name on the slim chance he’s familiar with my father. For once, I’d like someone to base their opinion off of me, just me and not who my dad or brother are.
“Nice to meet you, Victoria.”
Yep. There’s that charming smile again. “I’m just here to pick up some supplies.”
Dalton falls into step beside me as I walk to the back of the studio where the supplies are housed. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m just grabbing some pastels.”
“Ah, so that’s your weapon of choice.” He reaches down, selecting a box before passing it to me.
“No, this is for a friend. I prefer charcoal pencils. What about you?”
“Yeah. No. I can’t draw a straight line to save my life. Unfortunately, the artistic talent passed me over, but my brother was lucky enough to catch it. Art history is my wheelhouse. I’m going into my second year at UT this fall. Are you an art major?”
“No. I’m not majoring in art.” It’s a hobby, my release, I don’t want it to become something that I’m required to do. I reach down, grabbing two sketchbooks before looking back to Dalton. “I’d better get going.”
Motioning to the front register, he rings up my purchase, placing the books in a paper sack before I swipe my card. There’s an awkward silence as he hands me the receipt before he speaks. “It was nice to meet you, Victoria. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Nodding, I give him a half-smile and walk out of the store. His charming smile is in my mind, but it’s overpowered by a taunting smirk, and I curse under my breath. Even when Elliot isn’t around, he still manages to drive me insane.
Dropping into the driver seat, I crank up the car quickly, darting out of the parking lot. Upon arriving at my destination across town, I pull into the same spot I’ve parked in the last five Wednesdays. Each time I’ve visited, guilt weighs heavily on me. If Elliot hated me before, he is sure to hate me when he discovers this one.
Removing one of the sketchbooks from the bag, I toss it onto the passenger seat. The guilt lessens when I envision my old one floating in the murky pond water. Dickwad.
Throwing the car door open, I try to shake off the feeling of losing countless sketches. Letting out a frustrated breath, I step through the entrance as the automated door whooshes open, the familiar receptionist eyeing the items in my hand.
I set the art supplies on the counter, signing in as I ask, “Are these okay?”
She looks over the items, giving me a nod of approval. “Yes, those should be fine, but they’ll double-check everything upstairs.”
“Thanks.” I reach for the visitor sticker, placing it on my shirt as I make the agonizingly slow ascent to the fourth floor. Stepping out, I walk to the counter where an unfamiliar nurse watches my approach.
“How can I help you?” She gives me a warm smile.
“I’m here to see Olivia Bass.” Emptying my pockets and setting everything on the counter as I speak, I unfortunately know the drill all too well.
She nods, approving the items. I put my key fob back into my blazer pocket, tuck the pastels and sketchbook under my arm, and she motions to the door behind her. Signaling to the man behind the glass, they both press a button to buzz me into the next room.
“Who are you here to see?”
“Olivia Bass,” I repeat Elliot’s mother’s name as I look around the room.
“She’s only allowed immediate family.”
“I’m her daughter,” I lie. It’s the same lie I’d told every time in order to see her. I know Elliot hasn’t visited and neither has Richard, so I couldn’t just leave knowing she hadn’t had anyone check in on her. She confirmed as much when I told her how I’d gotten in to see her. Only thing that hadn’t made it through last time were the art supplies. She prefers pencils like I do and a spiral sketchbook, but both were on the unapproved list since they contain sharp items and metal. I hadn’t given it much thought, I’d only wanted to bring something to hopefully brighten her day, but that was the moment it dawned on me the seriousness of her being here.
The employee picks up the receiver, speaking into the handset. “Olivia Bass has a visitor.”
He buzzes me through the next doorway as yet another person escorts me to the small visiting room where I have a seat at the table. Looking around, I spot two other patients talking with family. My fingers tap against the table as I take in the room. It appears to be made for comfort with bright décor and serene music, but nothing feels comfortable about it.
I recognize the guy walking through the entryway, having a seat at the table beside me about three feet away. Jack rests his hands on the table as he says, “Back again too.”
“Yes.” I nod, recalling our brief exchange while we’d sat waiting last week. The facility only allows visitors on Wednesday afternoons, so it’s not odd for us to be here once again at the same time. I wonder how long Olivia will be here and how often I’ll see him.
We make small talk until the side door opens and Olivia walks through, greeting me with a smile and a warm hug as a nurse watches us closely.
“It’s so great to see you again but I said you don’t have to come every week.” Olivia gives me a weak smile as she glances around the room, pushing her hair behind her ear. I notice the bandages have been removed from her wrists for the first time, and my eyes look to the wounds before I can stop them.
Quickly, I reach for the pastels and sketchbook, sliding them across the table. “I want to visit, and I wanted to bring you these.”
Her face lights up as her hand brushes over the box of pastels. “I know it’s not what you normally use but it’s all that I could …”
“It’s all they would allow in.” She gives me a knowingly smile, placing her hand over
mine as she clutches my fingers in hers. “And I love it. Thank you so much.”
I return her warm smile. I don’t understand why we are sitting here, how it has come to this, but more than anything, I don’t want to make things worse. Aching to ask her so many questions but not wanting to upset her, I remain silent until she speaks.
“How’s everything going? Didn’t school start back this week?”
“Yes ma’am. It’s going good.” Besides her son starting a fistfight, but I’m leaving that part out. She doesn’t need any bad news, so I’m keeping it positive.
“How’s Elliot?”
“He’s Elliot,” I joke, attempting to avoid actually answering because he’s not good.
“That’s good to know,” she looks to her hands before looking up to me. “Has he said anything to you yet?”
“No, he still doesn’t know I’ve been visiting you,” I admit, guilt rising in me. Even though I’ve been close to Olivia since I was a child, it’s his mother and I shouldn’t be here.
“It’s okay. It’s for the best. As much as I want to see him, I understand why he can’t and really shouldn’t come by.”
“I’m sure he will come around in time.” My heart aches for her and her son. I don’t know all the details, but I know enough to know it will be a long journey to mend their relationship.
“It’s fine if he doesn’t. I love knowing that he’s happy and safe.” She plasters on a smile that reminds me of her son. “So, tell me all about school. Did you sign up for art this semester?”
Shaking my head, I look away as I respond. “No ma’am. I signed up for swim.”
“Well, maybe next semester.”
I give her a smile, but I already know that won’t be the case. Having her as my only mentor is perfectly fine by me. She might not have her artwork in a fancy museum, but she loves the process as much as I do. She has so much talent, I don’t understand why she never made a career out of it since she is insistent on me doing so.
