We’d only known each other for a little while, but she’d already taken over my life. I was always so guarded, never letting people come to my house, pushing them away before I could even slide off my condom. I usually fled and forgot people.
But not Vera. I wanted her under my skin. I needed her in my life completely, staining my existence. I grabbed a pair of black sweats and put them on before finding a shirt. “I just want you to be happy, Hamilton.” Jess sniffled. Yeah, I wanted that too. “You know what Joseph is capable of. I really want you to consider that maybe you could protect Vera. Maybe you’d be really, really good for her.”
Fuck yeah, I knew what Joseph was capable of. Jess knew about my broken arm.
And the broken nose.
The chipped tooth.
The kick to the balls.
The pillow over my face.
The bleach on my skin.
The burn marks on my thigh.
Joseph needed an outlet for his insanity, and I was his own personal punching bag. My mother couldn’t protect me, and my father didn’t care.
I chewed on my battle scars. Broken homes started wars if you weren’t careful.
Jess continued, “And I don’t want this to make you spiral. I’ve seen how you cope, and I don’t know how you’re going to react to a full-blown broken heart.”
I fought the urge to scowl. I knew Jess was coming from a good place, but how I coped wasn’t as big of a deal as she made it out to be. I was fine. On the anniversary of my mother’s death, I didn’t want to think about my family’s shitty past. But with Vera? I wanted to feel every ounce of this pain. I wanted to sit and absorb what I’d done. Last night, I’d gotten drunk, but it didn’t numb me. I just wanted to…sit. I wanted to settle in and not leave my fucking house.
“Want to go to the gym? Or maybe we could…”
“I don’t want to do anything, Jess. Actually, I kind of just want to be alone for a little while.”
Jess reared back and placed her hand on her chest as if I’d slapped her. I might as well have. We did everything together. When shit went down, she was my rock. But not right now. I just wanted time to myself.
“Oh,” Jess said in a dejected tone. “Okay. Are you sure? We can veg out and order from your favorite Greek restaurant—”
“I just want to be alone,” I repeated.
“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” Jess asked, unconvinced.
“I’m not going to leave my fucking house. Just go. Please. Thanks for taking care of me last night. I just need time.”
Jess let out a shaky exhale. “Okay. But like if you go anywhere—”
“I won’t.”
“If you want to do anything—”
“I don’t.”
Jess nodded. “Oh. I took Little Mama on a walk earlier, but she’ll probably need to go outside again soon... Want me to stay until then?”
At hearing her name, my dog got up from her bed in the corner of the room and padded over to me. “I’ve got it,” I replied before patting Little Mama on the head and settling in on the couch.
Jess silently stood there for a moment before sighing in defeat and excusing herself.
My father taught me that we were all born with hearts made of glass. Delicate, murderous little tools pounding in our chests. I just needed to take some time and toughen it up with a bit of fire and agony. After all, I was a Beauregard. And Beauregards didn’t suffer from empathy, remorse, and guilt. We stepped barefoot on the shattered shards like little psychopaths, proving to the world that we didn’t need pretty emotions to survive.
2
Vera
My mom’s designer luggage was weighed down with clothes, regret, and empty promises. I struggled to carry each bag by myself, but I managed.
I brought the heavy suitcases into Jack Beauregard’s home as my mother stood on the porch. Her black cardigan was wrapped tightly around her body, and she had her chin raised in indignation, looking down on the property like a scorned queen. Mom’s sunken-in cheeks hollowed as she chewed on her thoughts. Though she was silent, her body language screamed at me.
I knew she was mad. I’d broken the cardinal rule: I interfered in her happily ever after.
“Jack should be home later. I have a roast in the crock pot. I thought maybe tonight we could bake cookies,” I offered on a grunt before dropping one of her particularly heavy suitcases. She stared at the tree line in the distance, not bothering to respond. “We used to bake cookies all the time. Remember, Mom?”
Nothing. No answer. The silence stretched like barbed wire between two fence posts. Pulled tight, sharp with guarded intent.
Mom wasn’t happy about being away from her husband and back in Connecticut. And from what I gathered, Joseph wasn’t happy about Jack’s meddling either. I didn’t get to listen in on the negotiations, but it took some finesse to get my mother on a plane. Why my mother didn’t jump at the chance to get the hell away from her husband was a mystery to me. I saw the painful bruises. I knew what my stepfather was capable of. But perhaps she sensed the same uncertainties about Jack as I did. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, but I didn’t really have any other options.
My grandfather claimed that he was done covering up his oldest son’s sins, but I didn’t feel comfortable trusting his sudden change of heart. And until this morning, I wasn’t even sure he was capable of keeping up his end of the deal. It had been four days since I agreed to his little arrangement. Four days since I found out my relationship with Hamilton was nothing but a lie. Four days of embarrassment and regret. Four days to get lost in my thoughts and come up with a game plan for saving my mom and abiding by Jack’s terms.
He wanted me to mend his relationship with Hamilton, but I wanted nothing to do with the man who broke my heart, then disappeared. Hamilton had completely ghosted me. No calls, texts, or emails. I should have been pleased by that, but the selfish part of me had hoped that he would at least try to reach out and apologize. My ego wanted him to grovel. But in the last four days, I’d gotten nothing but radio silence.
I really did mean nothing to Hamilton Beauregard.
Even though it broke my heart to think that he never cared, I knew that this would make my job much easier. Jack’s plan hinged on the idea that Hamilton loved me enough to mend their relationship. Little did my grandfather know his son didn’t even like me enough to send a text.
Maybe Hamilton took my words in the woods to heart. In the midst of my pain, I begged him to never speak to me again. But I suppose a part of me pushed him away to see how hard he would push to get back to me. It was wrong and immature, but I’ve always been the person fighting for the relationships in my life. Just once, I wanted someone to fight for me.
At least my mother was here, safe and sound.
When I picked her up at the airport earlier this afternoon, I had to force myself not to sob at the sight of her. While clenching my teeth, I ran my eyes up and down my battered and beaten mother. Her make-up was caked on, likely hiding the bruises littering her swollen face. She looked half starved to death and downright miserable. The first words she said to me were, “I hate it here.” I didn’t understand what was so bad about being back in Connecticut. I was here, wasn’t I? That had to count for something.