Page 60

“No,” I heave in deep breaths, the world blurring around me.

I feel lightheaded, my heart spasming out of control. I feel like I’m standing at death’s door, for nothing could feel as horrible as this. “No, no, no. You’re lying. It’s a mistake. It can’t be.”

I stand up slowly, my legs shaking as Mother grabs my jacket. “I wish I were, Steven.”

Father. I need to talk to him. He’ll tell me this is all a lie.

Wrenching myself free from her, I stagger toward the front door, then throw it open and storm back inside, not caring I’m tracking dirt into the house.

I need to talk to him.

My vision blurs at the corners and I can hear the harsh sounds of breathing in my ears.

My strides quicken, and I turn into the dining room.

“Father, is Grace the product of your affair?”

Father freezes, his complexion whitens. His hand clutches his chest as he wheezes, “Y-You found out? You know about her?”

Nausea makes its way up my throat and I stalk toward him. “I-It’s true?”

It can’t be. I refuse to believe it.

Father trembles, sweat gathers on his forehead, and he opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“Father, tell me this is all a lie! How could you do this to all of us? To me? ”

My mind spins as I shake my head in disbelief. “I finally found the one woman I care about more than anything in the world, the one person who makes me feel happy and whole and y-you…you’ve taken her away, your actions have destroyed us, destroyed me. How could you?”

Father’s face is as white as a sheet of paper, his breathing coming out in harsh pants and he gasps, “S-Steven, I-I’m sorry. I…”

His eyes roll backward and he collapses face forward on the dining table.

“Father!” I reach him and clasp his shoulders, pulling him back up.

His head lolls to the side, his body lax and unresponsive.

“Robert!” Mother screeches behind me, and everything descends into chaos.

“He’s sedated right now. I’d recommend letting him rest and not stressing him out further,” the doctor instructs before exiting the private suite at the hospital.

I bury my face into my hands at his bedside as Mother cries next to me.

Apparently, father experienced something called a vasovagal syncope, and the fainting was caused by a myriad of factors—his lack of sleep, overworking and overexertion, not eating or drinking water enough, and emotional upset most likely from TransAmerica and…

What I asked him this morning.

My mind is swirling and blurring and the world doesn’t make sense to me anymore.

Grace, my sister.

Father all but admitted it before he passed out.

When he came to a few times in the ambulance and in the hospital, he started thrashing and uttering nonsense and the doctors had to sedate him again while they ran a gamut of tests on him to make sure nothing else was amiss.

I did this to him .

My question was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ignored his pallor, the sweat beading on his forehead, his rapid breathing, because I was consumed with the need to find out if Grace was related to me.

A chain binds around my lungs, restricting my breath, and my vision blackens.

The door to the room bursts open and I hear the sounds of my sisters running to the bedside.

“How is he?” Jess asks as she pulls my head to her side in comfort.

“How did this happen?” Emily clutches Father’s hand in hers as Mother sniffles in the background.

“The doctors said he was overworked. They sedated him so he could get some rest.” My words sound robotic in my ears.

I can’t bring myself to tell them I did this to Father because I fell in love with my sister. I swallow as another bout of nausea hits.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

Pushing back the chair, I stand up. “Doctor said he’ll be fine. But I need to go back to New York. The FBI is waiting for me to meet with them over some additional inquiries for TransAmerica.”

My pulse rings in my ears, and my feet move of their own accord toward the door. I can’t talk to them and tell them the truth. I can’t face Father after knowing how his mistake in the past has changed the course of my life in more ways than one.

I know I should stay behind and be with my family, but I. Just. Can’t.

Ignoring their questions and Mother’s pleas, I stagger out of the room, my body and mind not mine, my heart irrevocably broken.

A flight and several hours later, which included a long discussion with the Feds, I find myself swaying at the edge of a sidewalk, so close to being three sheets to the wind.

The skies are dark tonight. A brisk night breeze blows by, but I can barely feel the chill.

My mind is still reeling from the events of this morning, and after using the last of my willpower to answer the remaining questions the Feds have on Voss, I needed to escape. Rational thought is a foreign language to me right now and all I feel is pain.

So. Much. Pain.

I wanted to call Grace. So many times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. To blow her world up just as mine did. And like a coward, I’m burying myself under the haze of alcohol, trying to delay the inevitable.

I keep hoping this is all a dream, and when I wake up, perhaps everything will miraculously be a nightmare, a fevered hallucination.

The imagination of a sick, twisted mind.

“Give me the bottle,” I lunge toward Ryland, who holds the top shelf whiskey above his head out of my reach.

Maxwell grabs onto my waist and holds me back. I should be honored. His Majesty is making an appearance from his Upper West Side mansion for me.

To witness the King of Wall Street bleeding on the ground, his crown in the sewers, his body flayed by a thousand whips, blood draining from every orifice.

My head is woozy. Heavy. The world spins around me in a tempest of darkness and dim lights. The smell of gasoline and screeching of tires skidding on asphalt reach my ears, but they sound faint. I wish the world would burn and take me with it.

I’m once again underwater, the hole in my chest cavernous, as if a shotgun blasted pellets at point blank repeatedly over my heart. Unlike a year ago, this time, everything hurts. The crippling agony robs me of my breath, strangling my lungs in a tight grip, squeezing, twisting, pulling.

“I can’t let you drink anymore,” Ryland murmurs, his voice sounding far away as I sway and topple sideways, and a flash of blond hair and light eyes appears in front of me, strong arms stopping my face-plant to the ground. Charles.

“How did you guys find him?” His voice is gravelly. Worried.

“I saw him at the race, attempting to get behind a car while looking like this. Fucking asshole has a death wish. He gave me a right hook as I dragged him out of the driver’s seat.” That was Maxwell…I think .

“Rex and the others are on their way,” Ryland adds as he tucks his arm around my waist and, along with Maxwell, carry me to the sidewalk and slumps me against a building.

“Fuck, you’re heavy,” Maxwell mutters.

“He’s dead weight right now. I doubt he even knows his name.” Ryland lets out a ragged sigh.

I laugh at that, my shoulders shaking, tears streaming down my face. My cackles sound loud in the night. I grip my stomach, curling over my body as I bury my face between my knees.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with him?” Maxwell sits down next to me.

My body trembles, my breathing coming out in heavy pants as my tears wet my trousers, my nose running, but I couldn’t care less.

“I-I’m Steven fucking Kingsley…” I laugh again, my voice delirious, sounding far, far away.

“I wish I could forget my name. I wish I could forget me. I wish I was anyone else other than Steven Kingsley.”

My sobs blend with my chuckles and I’m sure I look like a madman.

Deranged. Someone who should be committed to a mental institution.

I wrench the bottle of whiskey away from Maxwell and take a big swig—it’s my second or third bottle for tonight; I lost count—the burn barely registering. It can be water for all I care.

It’s not working. I’m still awake. I’m still here. I’m still living this farce of a life.

My phone buzzes once again.

Maxwell tears the bottle from my grip as I retrieve my phone, swiping it open, and stare at the text notifications.

Thirty missed calls from Jess, Emily, and Mother. I don’t want to talk to Mother and hear her sad, pathetic attempts at consoling me after her and Father failed me in every way that matters. I don’t want to face my sisters, who I know would cry alongside me when they put the pieces together.

Ten missed calls from Grace .

The remnants of my heart spasm in agony as I think about my beautiful girl with breathtaking eyes and the warmest soul. The person who brought me back to life.

I read through my darling’s messages again, my chest heaving and clenching in pain. I’m a masochist, intent on snuffing out the last bits of life within me. There’s no way out of this swirling madness, this pitiful existence.

I can never forget her. I can never live without her.

I can never be with her.

Grace

I got a call from Emily. She got my number from Millie.

She said your father is in the hospital and you didn’t seem right when you left.

But you aren’t picking up her calls. I went to your apartment; the doorman said you weren’t there.

Please tell me what’s going on. We’re a team. I’m worried about you.

Grace

Please answer my calls. Please talk to me. I saw the light on in your apartment. You’re there. Please, just tell me what’s going on.

Grace

I love you so much, Steven. Something happened, didn’t it? Please don’t scare me. I’m terrified. Call me.

Grace

Steven Kingsley, don’t make me come over to The Orchid and find you. You’re there, right?

Grace

Whatever is going on, I’ll always be by your side. I’m worried sick about you. Please let me in. Whatever it is, we’ll get through this. I love you.

There are dozens more messages just like this one, each one angrier, more desperate, and terrified.