Page 2 of The Substitute (New York Gods #4)

TWO

AMbrOSE

The guy hesitates for a moment, and I hold my breath. I don’t want to be the reason he jumps. Maybe I should have left him alone and minded my own business, but I wasn’t lying when I’d said I’ve been up there on this very bridge.

But then he gives me a snort laugh. “That was really cheesy.”

“Did it work?” I grin, glancing over at him like it would be that easy to get him to go back to solid ground.

“Do dad joke level fate quotes make you want to live or off yourself harder?” he quips back sarcastically.

“Harder…that’s better, right?” I laugh, already feeling at home in the dark humor.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t allow the smile to take. “I guess it depends on what’s hard.”

“Touché. There are plenty of things I don’t want hard.”

We fall into silence, and I don’t know what else to say to him.

What would have gotten me off the ledge a few years ago?

I’m not sure there is a right or standard answer.

Wanting to die isn’t rational, so it can’t be fixed with logic or even feelings.

It’s a crisis of your own brain lying to you, one I know all too well.

I’m not sure it’s something someone ever fully recovers from, either.

I haven’t actively wanted to kill myself in a while, but passively, if the sun exploded tomorrow, I wouldn’t be all that mad.

Maybe when I figured out how to get away from my father, that would get better.

Or it never would. Maybe we’re all doomed to suffer through the concept of life.

But I couldn’t leave this guy to the suffering alone, and I guess that is the part of me that wished I had someone who cared enough to talk me down when I was there.

“You know, even if you don’t know it, there will be people who will miss you.

” I cringe after the words are out. Could I be any more cliché?

If only I’d taken Psych 101 instead of that humanities course, I might be better at this, but talking someone off the ledge isn’t something we ever fucking talk about.

“But even if you don’t, or you feel like you don’t, I care, and you should too. ”

The second part makes him look at me. “Why should I care about myself when no one else does?”

“Spite?” I’m grasping at fucking straws here. “It’s a great reason to live. Prove all those motherfuckers wrong.”

He lifts his shoulders. “I’m not sure it’s worth it. They don’t notice me anyway, so they won’t care.”

“Who’s not going to care?”

“My former best friend and my brother,” he mutters.

“Why wouldn’t they care?” My brows pull, but I can’t say I’m unfamiliar since a lot of my own problems involve my step-brother.

“Because they get everything they want. Hockey, money, success. I’m just the idiot who was in love with him for years, wasted the last four years of my life, and for what? He never saw me. Not really.” He blows out a breath, making his dark hair fan over his forehead.

“It’s kind of unbelievable anyone would pick your brother over you.” I mean every word of it, too. He’s gorgeous, like his delicate features came straight out of vogue or an otherworldly painting.

He scoffs. “You haven’t met Teddy. You’d probably prefer him, too. Not only do people love a sports ball player, but they find his himbo-ness charming for some fucking reason.”

I wince at his words and just skip over the sports part. “I think you’re looking at the wrong guys then. It’s way better having a partner I can talk to—at least in my opinion.”

He gives me a hard look. “You probably play sports ball, too.”

“I’m wounded. You’re only looking at me for my body!”

That earns a laugh from him. “Well, do you?”

“Yes.” I didn’t want to lie to him.

“Ugh.” He sighs dramatically. “I’m surrounded.”

“Can I make it up to you?”

He narrows his eyes. “How?”

“Buy you dinner?”

He wavers. “Fine, but I’m not really hungry. And no promises on not coming back another day.”

“Deal.” I offer my hand, and he takes it.

I’m riding a high when I get back to my apartment.

It’s not the nicest place, but Morning Heights is expensive, and I want to take as little of my father’s money as possible.

I toe my shoes off, kicking myself for not getting his name or number.

But maybe it was meant to be one night only, and we’ll never see each other again.

I exhale and toss my keys on the sideboard before flipping the light on. I immediately jump and grab my chest. “Fuck.”

If there was ever a scene to haunt my nightmares this would be it. He doesn’t say a fucking word, just sits there with his fingers tented, elbows on the table, staring at me.

“Why are you here?”

He lets me sweat before he finally speaks. “I do a lot for you, and this is the way you repay me?”

I search my mind for what he could be talking about. This is a game he loves to play. He wants me to confess, and when I was younger, I often did, my conscience weighing too heavy. But I’ve long learned my lesson and don’t speak before I find out what he knows.

“Nothing to fucking say to me?”

“I have no clue why you’re here, Father.” I squeeze my hands into fists, hoping he won’t notice, but it’s better than letting them shake.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he screams. “I didn’t pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for you to go to boarding school and fix this little issue of yours, only for you to still end up sucking dick.”

My brows pull together. I’ve been so careful. He can’t have seen me. I’ve barely had any time to even hook up with guys. It’s not exactly easy to keep up with practice, school, and secretly date. Plus, no one in my generation wants to be in the closet, and I don’t really blame them.

He picks a manila envelope I hadn’t noticed before off the table. Out of it, he slides a single photo I’m sure I don’t want to see. He holds it up, sneering in disgust before setting it down.

“Are you fucking having me followed?”

“Someone has to make sure you’re not making a fool of yourself.”

“By bringing us the first good press our name has had in at least three generations, if not longer. They fucking love me compared to whatever dark shit you’re currently dragging the name through.

I’m sure Grandfather would be proud.” I’ve really lost the damn plot.

Yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed someone if they told me I’d drag all this shit up from the dark recesses of my soul.

“You know that’s the only reason I agreed to even let you play hockey so publicly. We had an agreement.” His face gets redder by the minute.

“Fuck your coercion. I’m not playing this game with you anymore.

” My mind reels, but I don’t have the energy to argue with him anymore.

He pays for everything in my life to keep me under his thumb, and I can’t do it anymore.

Hockey is the only thing he doesn’t own.

I know I can rely on that, but what am I going to do for the rest of the semester?

Not like colleges keep empty dorm rooms open in case someone’s parents kick them out.

But my mouth is writing checks I can’t cash.

“You are here by the grace of my fucking purse strings, and you better fucking respect me.”

We have fucking weeks left in the season and two months left in school. If he tells me to get out, I have nowhere to go tonight.

I look at him as he spews shit in my direction, telling myself to just say what he wants to hear. Apologize. That’s all he wants. Be fucking celibate until you graduate. Do fucking something! But my lips won’t move. I can’t bring myself to swallow the abuse anymore.

“…we have an agreement!”

“I don’t have any fucking thing. I’m not doing it.” All the emotion has gone out of my voice.

“You are my only son. You have a duty to this family and our name.”

“You have my step-brother for that. Go bother him.”

He scoffs. “That fool wants to work a blue-collar job.”

“He’s going to be a doctor. That’s hardly blue-collar.”

“He’s going to sacrifice his body for hardly any meaningful money, just like his father did. Is that what you want for yourself?” He says the words like it’s some gotcha moment.

“I’d rather be happy and poor, sacrificing my body, than under your thumb for another goddamn day.”

My father sputters.

Did I say that out loud?

Fuck.

I’ve spent twenty some years biting my fucking tongue and finally snapped.

He’s yelling, but I’m not listening. I walk away, grab a backpack, then shove a few things in it. He’s still yelling now at the doorway to my bedroom.

“Can’t step foot in here? Worried my gayness will rub off on you?” I’m laughing—maybe I’m fucking losing my shit.

He flexes his jaw, and I almost flinch. It’s been a long time since he’s hit me, but I’m sure I’ll never stop expecting it.

I finish throwing shit in my bag and walk up to him, squaring my shoulders.

I’m not the little kid he used to beat the shit out of.

I’m taller than him and in much better shape.

He stands his ground but only for a minute before moving. “If you leave here, you are not coming back.”

“I don’t want to,” I say, reaching for my keys, but stopping myself and leaving them. This isn’t my place. It’s his.

I step out into the night, no idea where I’m going to go.