Rich Prick – Tijan Page 0,83

that, so that makes me think your real brother’s given you that complex, not me.” I gave her a dark look. “Stop putting your brother issues on me. I’m not your twin’s replacement.”

Her boyfriend started coughing and shot me a look.

I smiled at him too.

His name was Race, and he seemed like a decent guy. He came from money, and he was part of Roussou’s underground fighting ring, but that was all I knew about him.

“You’re a dick,” he told me.

I shrugged. I was. It’d been a dick thing to say. “Honesty. It can be a weapon.”

My mom looked down, her eyes closed. I could almost hear her counting for patience.

And Stephen just looked at me. His eyes were clear, no judgment, nothing clouding them.

So why not? “I have to ask, Stephen. Did you divorce your wife in the hopes of starting a new family with my mom and me?” I gave him a questioning look. “Because you missed the boat with us. I’ve met your other son. You’re better off with him.”

“Blaise!” My mom’s chair scraped against the floor, and she grabbed my arm, yanking me out of my seat.

I was more surprised than anything.

I went with her, and she dragged me to the back hallway, toward her room. Deviating to the basement, I jogged down the stairs and veered into my room.

She trailed me. “I don’t understand why you’re always so mean. That man upstairs stood up for you—”

I gave her a scowl, rifling through my drawers. “I don’t need anyone standing up for me.” I grabbed a bag and began filling it with clothes and shit. “And if he hadn’t beat the shit out of Griffith, I would’ve. Learned how to fight back in New York out of necessity, Mom. You were just usually too baked out of your head to notice.”

Toiletries.

What else would I need for tomorrow?

A suit.

Crap. Had I even brought any suits from New York?

I headed for the closet.

She followed me, standing in the doorway. “I was not baked out of my head.”

“You were—stoned, wasted, drunk. Does it matter? I don’t blame you.” I tempered this with a smile as I put my hands on a suit I hadn’t remembered I even owned.

Shit. Would I actually need this? I should take it, just in case. I moved past her, tossing it on the bed and headed back to the closet.

“He was abusive. He was verbally and emotionally abusive to you, and he was verbally, mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive to me. That’s the way the cookie crumbled. It was life. We dealt with it. You divorced him, and now he’s out of our lives. So yay you, Mom. You did stand up for me. You don’t have to have any guilt there anymore.” I grabbed a bunch of clothes and paused to pat her shoulder, giving her a wide smile. “Thumbs-up, Marie.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed.

I was being a dick, such a dick, but I was numb to it.

I wanted distance.

I wanted away.

I wanted Aspen, but I couldn’t have Aspen so I’d pack, go to Zeke’s, and get wasted. When Aspen called, I’d get a ride to her or I’d sober up so I could drive to her, and then I’d be okay again.

“What is wrong with you?” my mother asked.

I smirked. “Lots. We know this.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, and I saw the tears.

Hell. I hated when she cried. I really hated it.

I tried to tune her out, but I heard her say, “I am sorry, Blaise.”

I paused, not seeing what I was stuffing into the bag.

She kept crying. “I didn’t protect you from him, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, for everything. I wanted you for myself. I was scared Stephen would take you from me. I’m…” She hesitated. “I went to see a therapist this past week.”

I stood there, holding whatever was in my hand, and I didn’t move.

I didn’t dare move.

“It felt good, talking about everything. I’m going to go again. I actually—” A sad laugh came from her. “—have it set up for the next six months. She thought I needed that many sessions considering what we left behind, you and me.”

I closed my eyes.

“Stephen’s the one who suggested her. He said he went to see her right after he left his ex. He said Taz is thinking about seeing her too.”

She was going to take a knife and drag it across my chest. I was just waiting…

“I can’t control you. You have your own money. You’re eighteen. You