Page 18 of Privilege

One Year Ago

Dane

My stomach is in knots. The last time I was here, I came all over myself watching my little brother jack off.

It’s been a weird year. The number of times a day I went to text him, call him, tell him I’m sorry for fucking off and leaving without a word, was immeasurable. But what was I supposed to tell him? Sorry bro, your balls get me really hard?

I close my eyes and clench my fists and try to take a deep breath. I’ve missed him like crazy.

He won’t be home until late. The water polo team is out celebrating graduation and I didn’t tell him I’d be coming home tonight, just in case I bailed. But I find myself wandering around Blackstone with a tumbler of whisky in my hand, marvelling at how fucking soulless this house is.

I’ve spent the past year with little more than a backpack to my name. The hotels—mostly hostels—aren’t generally more than a bed and a toilet. I’m lucky if there’s a shower. But it’s all I can afford to spend, and I’ve gotten used to it.

Some of the guys have met up with me and put me up at some nicer places, let me rack up a decent room service bill. But more than I thought joined me in the trenches, keen to have the ‘authentic’ backpacking experience.

Most of them assume I’m doing the budget thing for the shits and giggles. None of them know the truth.

I swirl the ice cubes in my glass, the clink echoing inside the marble foyer of Blackstone. This place is perfect for my dad. And for Evelyn. Cold. Expensive. Empty.

I breathe out a long sigh, guilt curdling in my belly. I should never have left my brother. I should have waited for him. Or brought him with me. Or something .

Images of his hand wrapped around his thick shaft poke at my peripheral vision and make me want to gauge out my eyes.

I need to keep this in check—because I finally have my shit together.

I finally have a plan. And I need to have a cool head when I tell Rich that I want him to come to Europe with me after he graduates.

Better late than never.

I don’t know what it means for his athletic scholarship to Harvard. I’m not sure if he can, or even wants, to delay a year. But the entire time I’ve been gone, all I’ve been able to think of is how much better this freedom would taste with him by my side. And how much sweeter revenge could be.

I wander on over to the sideboard and pour myself more whisky from the crystal decanter. I’m swaying a little but I don’t care. I can’t fucking wait to see my brother.

“Dane,” comes a voice from behind me.

Right on time. Evelyn has arrived to ruin the mood.

“Evelyn,” I say coldly.

“What do you want,” she says.

Oh great. No preamble.

“World peace. ”

She glides towards me, the click click click of her stilettos on the marble floors like a ticking landmine. She stands in front of me, hands on her hips

“You will not ruin Richie’s graduation,” she hisses. “Tell me what you want so I can arrange for you to have it and get out.”

I’m not sure if it’s her or the whisky that’s set my whole chest on fire.

I stare her down and say nothing. It’s none of her business why I’m home. It’s a free country. I don’t need to explain myself, especially not to this bitch. We’ve happily survived the past twelve months without exchanging a word. She can survive the next ten minutes.

She pokes my chest with her pointed, blood red nail and leans in threateningly. “I’m warning you Dane. You will not fuck this up for us. Do you understand? He’s got Harvard, and your dad’s business, and an entire future that I’ve sacrificed for. And you are not in it.”

Evelyn made me nervous, once upon a time.

She reminded me of a viper I’d seen at the zoo once.

But I’m not nine years old anymore. She’s not the new step-mother I’ve been hounded to be polite to, with the terrified-looking eight-year-old in tow.

All I see is the tightness around her eyes from her recent botox, the falsely plumped bottom lip full of injections, the hair, and the makeup, and the nails, and the dress.

All window dressing to hide that everything she has is a result of life insurance money.

Laughter bubbles up on my lips and I can’t hold it back. It pries open my jaws and frees itself, explodes out of my belly and echoes throughout the house.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” I say. I start to walk away but she grabs my arm, digs her fake nails into my skin so hard I’m pretty sure I’ll bleed.

“Richie is going to live with Jamie. He is going to marry her, and live up to his father’s name, unlike you did to yours,” she hisses.

Fucking. Richard. Van der Beer. The wall street mogul. The tycoon. The darling of Manhattan. Until he gambled it all away and jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. Left Evelyn and Rich to fend for themselves.

Some fucking legacy.

I grab her upper arms and almost lift her off the ground, leaning in so we are nose to nose. “Enough,” I grit out.

That’s it. No other words. I stare at her for an eternity, chest heaving, and watch the fire in her eyes sizzle right out and fear creep in. She tries to wriggle away but I don’t let her, hold her in place without a word as she starts to panic and tries to scratch at me.

I let go and shove her away, discard her like used athletic socks. She wobbles in her stupid shoes, falls sideways and catches herself on the wall.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” I say over my shoulder.