by Ivy Fox
Even at death’s doors, my father found a way to force me to swallow my disdain for him. I always assumed the day I’d be rid of the bastard—who did everything in his power to torment us—the world would learn his true colors. Yet here I am, preserving the fucker’s pristine image. The irony is not lost on me, how this city will probably proclaim him a saint upon his death, even though the reason behind his departure from this world would reveal just what type of devil lived inside him all along. And here I am, keeping silent and continuing on with this deplorable, disgusting charade.
I’ve never hated him more.
And that’s fucking saying a lot.
“If you have any questions, day or night, give me a call. I understand how overwhelming this all must be for you, so I’m sure right now it’s a bit much to process,” he says, handing me a card with his contact details. “Your father has always been a great benefactor to this hospital over the years, and we will strive to do our best to get him and your family through this misfortune,” Dr. Nasir adds warmly, unaware he’s poking at the puss-ridden scab on the edge of my mangled soul.
“My mother,” I bite out, grinding my teeth.
“I’m sorry?” he questions, confused by my random statement.
“It’s my mother’s organization that’s been a benefactor to this hospital—one that I go to great lengths to honor, as I do with all the charities which were dear to her. My father has nothing to do with it,” I grunt, doing a piss-poor job at hiding the bubbling fury coursing through my veins.
“Oh. I see.” He chokes, eyes wide, realizing that he’s put his foot in his mouth.
“Still, whether it’s my money you get or his, it shouldn’t matter when a life is on the line. I’m positive any staff member of this prestigious facility takes care of all their patients in equal measure. I’d hate to think otherwise,” I can’t help but add, the asshole in me shining through.
Dr. Nasir instantly grows crimson red with my backhanded comment, and I curse myself for losing my cool so carelessly when I know better. I can handle keeping up appearances so no one suspects what really brought my father to the brink of death, but like hell will I ever let him take credit for what my mother has accomplished, even beyond the grave.
Fuck that!
“Yes, of course,” he mumbles timidly, bowing his head down to his chart so he can hide his embarrassment.
I inwardly count to ten, knowing I’m going to need this man to recite to anyone who interrogates him how forlorn we all are, especially if the detective shadowing Ollie’s side is the one doing the questioning. Me being a dick won’t win us any brownie points. She’ll be able to read the doc’s expression as clear as day. He’s that fucking transparent.
I take advantage of this little reprieve from our discussion and look to my right to check on my brother and how he’s dealing with his own problematic conversation. The corner of my lip is tempted to lift as I watch the detective place her hands over Ollie’s, giving them a gentle squeeze, trying to comfort him in his grief. I know he would hate me for saying it, but Ollie is a natural in deception, even if every fiber of his being is sickened by it. But my elation is short-lived when I turn back to the doc to see that his eyebrows are now pushed together, his lips thinning at whatever he’s reading.
“Did you say Judge Grayson hit his head on a table’s edge?” he asks out of left field, and I feel my nostrils beginning to flare on their own accord.
“No. I said the police found blood there. I have no idea how my father got injured. I just assumed he had a little bit too much to drink, lost his balance, and hit his head. Why?” I state coolly, measuring my every word so as to not give any room for doubt.
“Oh, yes. Here it is. The toxicology screening already came back, and we did observe a high amount of alcohol in his system,” he proclaims, his eyes never leaving the chart in his hands as he flips one page after the next, scrutinizing every word.
The test results aren’t news to me, even though this is the first time the doctor has mentioned it. I figured they would attribute the alcohol in his bloodstream to his accidental fall. Actually, I counted on it.
Our father has always been a creature of habit. He hardly sleeps, and when he does, it all comes down to how many glasses of whiskey helped him get there. By the time we got home from Trevor’s party, I would guess he was at five, give or take—enough to show on any blood panel the hospital ran.
However, they could perform all the tests they wanted, and they would still be oblivious to one fundamental fact—it would take a tremendous amount of booze to make him impaired. In all my life, I can count on one hand the times that ever happened. My father can drink anyone under the table and still be able to carry on a conversation with poise and eloquence.
“The wounds, however, don’t correspond with an off-chance hit. The brutal trauma indicates a deeper, repetitive impact,” he summarizes, chewing his pen in deep concentration.
I shrug, unaffected by his statement and dismissing any theory he might be toying with. If he sees I’m not concerned, maybe he’ll take the hint and follow suit.
“As I said, Dr. Nasir, I have no idea what happened. I’m just dealing with the aftermath. As should you, seeing as my father still needs your help to survive. Once you save him, I’m sure he’ll be able to tell us, with his own words, what happened.”
“Oh, yes. Of course, of course,” he repeats, finally unlatching his eyes from the chart. “Again, I’ll keep you and your family updated.” He smiles, timidly.
“Thank you.”
He begins to turn around, heading into the room my father is in, but then reconsiders, shifting to his side to face me once more.
“Would you like to see him?”
Hell no.
Yet I nod with a thin smile just the same, knowing that’s the acceptable answer Dr. Nasir expects to get from me—not the one banging away inside my head. This doting-son act is fraying on my nerves, but I follow the doctor inside the room as if I’d been waiting to be ushered in all along.
The first thing that grabs my attention is the tubes coming out of his nose and mouth. He looks pale, covered only in a white hospital sheet and blue gown. He hardly looks like a nemesis worth his salt, completely disconnected from the living world, oblivious to his surroundings. But even in such a vulnerable, vegetative state, he’s still a pain in my ass.
“I’ll give you a few minutes of privacy,” Dr. Nasir whispers behind me and beckons the nurses around to follow him out of the room.
The instant I’m alone, I let out the infuriating growl I had been holding back all this time. The sterile, empty room doesn’t echo my frustration since it’s too busy playing his vile heartbeat. The rhythmic, beeping sound coming from one of the fancy machines circling his bed is intent at making every effort to keep this prick breathing.
I walk nearer to the head of the bed and feel my lips curl in disgust. This piece of shit doesn’t deserve anyone’s care. What he deserves is to be dead and gone. I take a long, hard look around the VIP suite the hospital has put him in and think about how the money that is being spent on his comfort and survival is a deplorable waste. Poorer men with better hearts have died in worse conditions. Yet here lies my father, sucking the benefits that should go to someone more worthy.
They say that coma patients can hear what is being said to them, and I’m just in the mindset of putting that theory to the test. I lean into his ear, making sure not to touch his clammy skin, and whisper all the venomous hate I have inside. Every last thought that has been plaguing me since I came home and saw how he tried to ruin another life.
“It’s over. You’re done. Think long and hard before you even consider waking up, asshole. If you do, I promise you will regret it. I won’t rest until the whole world knows what a piece of filth the honorable Judge Grayson truly is. She was just a girl. An innocent girl, you cunt!” I spit into his ear, my aggravation getting the better of me when Holland’s traumatized face comes
to the forefront of my mind.
“What happened, huh? You thought you could treat her like all the others that willingly open their legs for you, and got your ego offended when she turned you down? Was that it? Couldn’t take no for an answer? Was it too much of an insult, having your fucking seventeen-year-old stepdaughter telling you she was sickened by the mere idea of you touching her? Was it too much for your wounded pride to take?” I snarl, hoping there is some truth to this ‘coma patients can hear’ bullshit and that he’s taking in every hateful word.
“You repulse me. Do yourself and the world a favor—just die already. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you wish you had.”
I want to say more, so much more—list every reason why he should just go to hell and not come back—but my cathartic exercise is quickly put on hold when I sense someone stepping inside the room. My father and son heart-to-heart has come to an end, but without risking being caught, my lips find themselves glued to his ear, uttering one more defining sentence. One that I have been repeating nonstop since I was just fourteen years old. “On my mother’s soul, I will make you pay for this.”
“Rome?” I hear Ollie call out behind me, and I instantly straighten my spine and school my features, cloaking the evil that dwells inside of me.
Unfortunately, when I turn around, he’s not alone. The detective is still with him.
“Mr. Grayson, I hate to impose on such a devastating time, but I have some follow-up questions I’d like to ask you. Is that alright?”
“Detective…” I begin to reply, already summoning an excuse to avoid dealing with her and the investigation she is so adamant in concluding.
“Gomez. Detective Gomez,” the stern-looking brunette interjects, assuming a conceited prick like me to have already forgotten her name.
She’s not wrong.
“Yes, Detective Gomez. I am more than happy to oblige and answer all your questions, but if I can ask for us to discuss it another time, I’d be grateful. Both Ollie and I have been up the whole night, and we would both like to go home, take a shower, and come back with my brother and sister.”
“Actually, Ash and Elle are already here,” Ollie interrupts sheepishly, and I curl my hands into fists behind my back, away from the detective’s astute eye.
“Then the more reason to postpone our talk. I really must join my siblings and give them an update on our father’s condition. I’m sure you can understand, Detective,” I state with an exaggerated, solemn frown.
“Of course. I’ll drop by later when you aren’t so… busy,” she counters, the last part annoyed.
Ollie gives her an all-American smile as she reluctantly bids us farewell. That smile can break hearts as easily as it can get mothers to promise him their firstborn. Her flawless brown skin can’t hide the flush on her cheeks with my brother’s megawatt grin launched in her direction, and she rushes her step out of the room, so her unprofessional lapse in character isn’t noticeable.
“You know something?” I mumble, aggravated, the minute she’s out of earshot.
“What?”
“You and Ash can’t take orders for shit.”
“The hell did I do now?” Ollie bellows, throwing his arms in the air.
“Didn’t I say I would deal with this? That includes giving the news to Elle.”
“Not our fault. Her BFF, Chad, blew up her phone, worried about her when he heard the news about our father on TV. News of what happened is everywhere, Rome. TV, radio, social media, the works. No escaping it now,” Ollie explains, taking a peek at the man of the hour who lies behind me.
I watch how his hazel eyes, usually so calm and tranquil, take on a whole new distorted glow, increasing my uneasiness.
“And what about Ash?” I ask, taking two steps to put myself in the line of sight and forcing Ollie’s lingering stare to look elsewhere.
This shit is hard enough on all of us. I don’t want Ollie to break down and draw attention to himself by going ballistic on a man who is too out of it to be a danger to anyone right now. If our father does make it out of this alive, then I’ll be the one to deal with him.
Ollie still has a pure soul. I won’t let him lose it just because he feels vindictive. It’s a passing emotion for him that will not withstand the test of time.
I’m a different story. I’ve lived with the thirst of vengeance for most of my life. My soul was bargained off long ago to taste the sweet nectar of retribution. I just never expected this would be how I got it.
“He had a job to do. If Ash is here with Elle, then he’s not doing what I told him,” I add, bringing Ollie’s attention back to me.
“You’ll have to deal with him.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“Like always.”
I bridge the gap between us, putting a hand on my younger brother’s shoulder to try and ease his tumultuous thoughts.
“You did good with the detective,” I praise, trying to divert his attention onto something else, but unfortunately it falls on deaf ears.
“Like it matters. I failed her, Rome. Doesn’t mean jack shit what I do now,” he murmurs hoarsely.
“Hey, look at me,” I snap, pulling both his shoulders to face me. “This is not your fault, Oliver. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“You sure about that?” he questions, guilt bleeding out of him.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end with his whispered insinuation. The hushed, veiled remark feels like a poison seeping through my pores, coalescing into a rigid mass that pivots fully inside my hollow chest, taunting my conviction.
We didn’t know.
How could we?
But its venomous barbs continue to provoke me, intent on scratching at the cluster of doubt until it disappears completely. I try and shake the foreboding feeling away, not comfortable with the aftertaste it leaves in my dry mouth.
“Let’s go,” I order, putting an end to this castigation. I usher Ollie to step back with me into the hospital corridor, where a visibly shaken Elle stands as straight as she can muster, and a hungover Ash slumps on a wall by her side, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here.
She closes the gap between us in a dash, and I’m not sure if she’s going to slug me or hug me. Thankfully she goes for the latter, and I wrap my arms around her, trying to comfort my little sister.
“Is it true? He’s not going to make it?” She whimpers, and it hurts to hear the pain in her voice when the fucker doesn’t deserve an ounce of it.
“The doctors don’t know yet,” I explain, kissing the top of her head and brushing her long brown locks with my fingers.
“Rome?” she hushes, wiping the tears away from her eyes.
“Yeah?” I ask, pushing us just a few inches apart so I can lean down to cup her face in my hands.
“When Chad called me and told me what happened, I felt… relief. I know he’s been nothing but awful to us. Emotional abuse is still abuse. But what kind of person does it make me, when I wished that Chad’s next words were that my father had passed away while I was sleeping? What kind, Rome?” She cries softly, making sure that only I am privy to her honesty.
“Human. It makes you human, Elle,” I reassure her, gently clearing her tear streaks with the pads of my thumbs.
She lets out a forced laugh and wraps her delicate arms around my waist once more.
“I always saw the monster in him. As much as I tried to see him as just another dad, with his own flaws and limitations, I couldn’t. No matter how many excuses I made for him, all I saw was evil. That’s what he was to me.”
“Is, Elle. Is. He’s still alive.”
“Right.” She swallows dryly, taking a step back from our embrace, her spine back to being ramrod straight. “So what do the doctors say? Any update?”
I explain to all three what Dr. Nasir had told me twenty minutes ago, and watch how the news of our father’s possible recovery creeps up on them like chilled, ghostly fingers strangli
ng my siblings’ throats. As nurses and doctors alike pass us in the halls, they send us pitying glances, oblivious to the fact our mournful states have nothing to do with our father’s frail condition, but more to do with him possibly outliving his current predicament.
“So what do we do now?” Ollie asks, and I raise a reprimanding brow, silently ordering him to measure his words around Elle.
If this is to go as I’ve planned, then my sister can’t find out what happened last night. Not the truth, at least. Ollie may be good to his core, but Elle is just like my mother—she is light. Her confliction about my father’s well-being is just another bit of proof of the pure heart that beats inside of her. If she knew what happened, she would demand justice be done. In her idealistic world, she still believes that good will always prevail, no matter the circumstances.
I might have done a lot of shitty things in my life, but preserving Elle’s rainbow view of the world—seeing it for all its possibilities—is the one thing I’ve done right. I tried to shield all of them as best as I could, but Elle was always my priority. I won’t have all my sacrifices be in vain if she learns the truth.
“You all stay here for a few more hours for appearance sake. Ollie, once you have introduced Elle and Ash to Dr. Nasir, go home and get some sleep. For the next couple of days, consider Liberty General our new home.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Ash yawns, rolling his eyes. “And where are you going to be?”
“Picking up your slack. Thought I gave you a job to do.”
“Guess I forgot. Everything is kind of fuzzy, you know?” my brother replies, unrepentant. “Guess it’s too much crap for one person to take.”
Dick.
He left her alone. Probably didn’t even tell her where he was off to.
“You mean a lesser person, don’t you?” I provoke with a scowl and get his middle finger stuck in my face as a reward.
“Do what you have to do, Rome. I’ll do me.”
“Don’t you always, Ash?” I tut, turning my back away from him before I’m tempted to slap him across the face with a dose of reality.
