Darker Water (15 page)

I wouldn’t have touched my father’s money
even if I was homeless and lived in a shopping cart. It was blood
money, tainted by the bastard it belonged to. Now it was helping a
lot of kids who my father would’ve— Well, who my father would have
treated a lot better than he did his own.

Because he didn’t
love
those other
kids. Which meant he didn’t hate them, either.

Ironically, a year later my aunt, the poor
woman who’d grown up in the same house as my old man, died and left
everything to her nephews. She’d had more cash than my dad had.

“Carson’s father would’ve been proud of him,
too,” Renee said, calling up a few of those fake tears she had an
endless supply of. I doubted she could even make the real ones
anymore. “He’d want both of us to be happy, which is why, in just
over a month from now, I’m getting married to a wonderful man.”

And there it was. My abs clenched, shooting
the breath out of me but not letting any back in. Another marriage.
Another asshole. Another chance for Renee to ruin her life. Good
for her, but I wasn’t going to fucking watch it happen again.

As the other people at the table
congratulated her, all I could be thankful for was that I hadn’t
eaten anything. I pushed my chair back from the table and stood,
not caring how it looked or what anyone thought. I walked blindly
for the exit, hearing someone call my name. She was next to me
before I knew who it was.

“What just happened?” Lane asked. “I thought
I
was the one who was supposed to pretend to throw up.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“But”—she motioned back to the dining
room—“you don’t want to say…anything to them?”

“No.” I wasn’t nearly as good at faking it as
Renee was.

The woman had always been gifted at that.
Smiling without wincing even when under her expertly applied makeup
was a split lip. Coming up with new lies every time she couldn’t
hide the damage my dad or any of her other asshole husbands did to
her.

And to me.

Now she was heading back in for more. I
didn’t need to meet the guy to know exactly what he was. Renee
would never be with someone who didn’t treat her like shit. I
shouldn’t have been surprised, either—the last one had thrown her
out over a year ago. And a year was way too long for her to go
without being smacked around.

“Carson.” Renee’s voice was piercing. Even
though it never rose in volume, I could always hear it from fifty
feet away. Every lie she told, every emotion she faked, every
excuse she gave.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Now or
ever.

“You will talk to me because I am your mother
and I deserve respect.” She was only a few feet away now.

“Respect? For what exactly? Name one thing
you’ve ever done that deserves my respect.” My mind was on a train
to totally-fucking-useless-ville and picking up speed. She wouldn’t
answer and she’d never change, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut
anymore. “Why should I be the only one?
You
don’t. None of
your ex-husbands did, so I’m pretty sure your newest fiancé doesn’t
either—why break the loser streak, right?”

“If you have a problem with me, then we can
discuss it.” She glanced back towards the dining room and then at
Lane. I guess to remind me I needed to lie. “But not in public, not
in front of people we know.”

“How well do they know you if they don’t know
you like being hit?”

“Carson, stop right now!”

“Isn’t that kind of a fundamental part of
you?” We spoke over each other without raising our voices in the
slightest. If anybody was looking at us, they’d be able to tell our
conversation was heated, but wouldn’t hear a single word.

“Why are you ruining what should be a
wonderful day, Carson?”

“Not in a kinky way, though. Renee can’t go
very long before she needs it. Like a drug. She’s an addict.”

“How dare you call me names? Tell awful lies
about me?”

“Lies, right.”

Lane stepped backwards, practically cowering.
The look on her face quelled the fire in me, made me regret an
argument that had never really started because it would never
really end.

“Whatever ridiculous things you might think
about me, they are wrong. Situations misconstrued by the
perceptions of a child.”

“You’re right—I was just a child.” It had
never mattered that we lived in the same houses and felt the same
fists. Because no two people ever punish themselves in the same
way.

I handed Lane the valet slip. “Can you get
the car while I finish congratulating Renee on her good news?”

Lane was silent for a minute, staring up at
me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“I’ll be right there.” As soon as she was out
the door, I turned back to Renee, but my anger was gone. I even
followed her when she stepped into a small alcove where no one
would be able to overhear proof of our familial dysfunction. “Who’s
replacing Dad this time?” Hopefully she was smart enough not to
marry a boxer.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,
Carson. You never did. I loved your father with all my heart.”

“I know that. Every time we left him, you
told me. I know you loved him because what other possible reason
could you have had for dragging your son back for more?”

She turned on the tears like turning on a
fucking faucet.

“And I guess you’ve loved every man who’s hit
you since. Because what possible other reason could you have for
continually picking them? You’ve got some kind of radar, Renee. Or
maybe it’s a magnetic pull to any man with good enough fists.”

She slapped me across the face, and all I
could do was laugh. She reacted with violence. Understandable, but
still surprising. She’d never hit me before, maybe because she
always made sure someone else was there to do it for her.

Obviously, all that experience being on the
receiving end had taught her something. I rubbed my cheek and jaw
to lessen the sting and get the blood moving. “It hurts even more
than the hit does, but if you rub the area right away, you don’t
get as much bruising.” My next words were soft. “My mother taught
me that.”

“Carson, I’m—”

I stopped her by putting my hands up at two
and ten. Three words, when put in the right order, have the power
to maim or to heal. Same words, same order. The only difference is
what’s behind them—truth or bullshit.

I couldn’t count how many times I’d heard
them.

“I am sorry.”

The only thing I could count was how many
times it was the truth.

As for those other three words—the really
famous ones—well… I’d heard them countless times, and I knew they
were true. Just like I knew the pain of the beating that came with
them.

“I’m probably not going to make the wedding,
but I’ll try to send you something.” I didn’t ask her if she would
keep cashing my checks, because it wasn’t about money. It had never
been about money. Or about self-respect or protecting her kid or
finding someone who could show me the right way to be a man.

“Good luck, Renee.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do. Because whoever the fuck this
guy is, you’re going to need it.”

When she moved to slap me again, I reacted
instinctually. I caught her wrist, stopping her hand a few inches
from my cheek.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re hurting me.
Let go of me right now.”

“What did you say?” I’d heard every word, and
they’d stung so much more than if her hand had actually made
contact. Because she’d told me to stop. She’d told a man to stop
hurting her, probably for the first time in her life.

But the part that didn’t let go of me was
that
I
was the man she was talking to, the one whose fingers
were digging into her flesh, whose entire body was tense with the
potential for violence, who couldn’t find a way to release her,
whose hands were both fisted—one at my side and the other around
her thin wrist.

I focused on relaxing, letting her go, coming
back from a place I knew I’d end up if I ever let myself get too
close.

I left Renee standing there. It wouldn’t be
long before she wiped her eyes and went back to the table to lie
about why I’d left. She’d probably go with something like me being
upset that my father didn’t have a chance to see me succeed in
something so worthwhile. She’d used that one before and, from what
I’d heard, it worked pretty damn well.

The next time I saw the Curtises or Windhams,
they’d tell me how proud my dad would’ve been of me. And I would be
silent, unable to say anything to keep up the farce but knowing I
had to. Not for myself. Not for my family, either. I kept my mouth
shut for families who had all the reason in the world to be screwed
up, but who actually loved and took care of each other.

If people found out about my parents or any
of my mother’s rich, powerful, and abusive ex-husbands, it would
probably suck for a while, but we’d live. The problem was that no
one would donate money to a nonprofit named after an abusive
husband and father. Run by his fucked-up kid. I hadn’t realized it
until the name was too much a part of the foundation. If I changed
it now, donations would plummet and people would want to know why
Bennett’s kid didn’t want his name attached to it anymore. They’d
find out why because people care about that kind of shit. It’s
entertaining.

So I’d pay people to keep quiet about my
fuck-ups and I’d keep my mouth closed until I found somewhere to
get drunk and get laid and forget everything for a little while.
All things I was good at. The only things I was good at.

Since Lane was in the driver’s seat, I got in
the passenger side. “I shouldn’t have brought you.”

She shrugged. “Aside from not knowing what I
was actually getting into or understanding whatever just happened
between you and your mom, I thought it was great. I had some fancy
water and a piece of bread. And…” She waited until I stopped
staring at my hands and looked at her.

“And what?”

“That champagne was really, really good,” she
said. “Thanks.”

I should’ve thanked
her
. “We left
before the check came, so it was someone else’s treat.” Although,
knowing Renee, she’d talk the restaurant into sending me a
bill.

“What now?” she asked.

“Normally after I spend time with Renee, I
get loaded and fuck someone to take my mind off it. You interested
in doing either or both of those things with me?”

“Let’s start with the drink.”

“I guess I’m coming out of the closet today
after all. Take me to the nearest bar.” This was the first time I
didn’t want to get her naked. Renee would taint it somehow, and
even though sex with Lane wouldn’t be emotional, I didn’t want to
use her to forget something shitty. I wanted to remember her for
something great.

Carson ordered whiskey for both of us,
ignoring my pleas for something tamer. “Okay, fine. Jesus. The lady
wants a beer to go with her whiskey. Make it a double, though.” We
took our drinks to one of the many empty bar tables.

I let him lead the topics of conversation,
knowing that if he wanted to vent or share, he would. We didn’t
talk about his mother or what he’d said at all. After I forced down
the whiskey and he’d had another, I stopped drinking, knowing one
of us should be thinking clearly or both of us would be in
trouble.

“One night when I was about eight,” he said
after I came back to the table with a glass of water, “my dad
dragged me out of bed by the ankle. Scared the shit out of me, but
I knew it would only be worse if I cried. When he took me into the
garage, I think I stopped breathing.”

I think I did, too. And I almost started
crying, imagining Carson as a child, terrified of his own father.
The argument between Carson and Renee had been impossible to
follow, but I picked up enough to understand a little about why
Carson was the way he was.

“There are a lot of tools in a garage. Metal
and wood tools, you know?”

I nodded, knowing I should stop him, so he
wouldn’t regret opening up to me once he was completely sober. But
I wanted to know. I wanted to believe he was choosing to trust me
with something he’d probably only told a few other people. So I
didn’t stop him.

“When he told me to get into the car, I was
just confused. Scared too, but that was more of a perpetual thing,
so it wasn’t that big a deal. We drove two hours to the boarding
school my brother Hayden went to.” He looked at me. “You’d like
Hayden. He’s a good guy. Quiet, though. Needs to relax, misbehave a
little. Kind of like you.”

He pushed his drink away and pointed to my
glass. “Can I have some of that?”

“How about I get you one of your very own?”
Before I’d even stood up all the way, he’d taken my glass and drank
half of it. “Carson!”

“I only have so much patience,” he said,
smiling.

When I came back, he started talking as if he
hadn’t stopped. “Dad told whoever was on duty in Hayden’s dorm that
there’d been an emergency, so he could take Hayden out. Want to
know why?”

Thank god the question was rhetorical because
honestly, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to know or not.

“All so the motherfucker could take us
fishing. Fishing. Something he’d probably never done in his life.
He didn’t even know how to put the worm on the hook. Hayden and I
had to teach him. That part was kinda nice—teaching him something.
We sat on that fucking dock all day long. Probably the only time in
history anyone had their fishing trip catered, but my old man
didn’t know another way to be. Nature and nurture.”

He picked up his drink and took a sip. “I
still don’t know why he did that. Maybe he knew he was dying and
wanted to give us one good memory before he croaked. The next day,
shit went back to the way it’d always been, as if that night had
never happened. Don’t talk about the good shit ’cause then somebody
might accidentally mention the bad shit, too.”