staring back at you. He notices it too when he pauses mid-stride a few feet away. His features pinch together at first, and then, quiet panic washes over him.
“What are you doing here?” he grits out.
He knows exactly who I am.
I choke down the hostility I’m tempted to spew at him because what’s the point? Did I expect anything else?
“Is it a crime to enjoy a nice day in the park?”
He glances over at his wife and waves and then bends down to retrieve the ball, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
“Suzy and I had a deal. Did she send you? Is this about money?”
I close my eyes and drag in a deep breath. He’s a fucking asshole, but he has a good point. What the hell am I doing here?
“Just tell me where to send the check,” he clips out. “Don’t make a scene, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I stand and meet his gaze. “I guess she was right about one thing. You really are a fucker.”
His wife calls out to him, and he looks at me pleadingly.
“I don’t want anything from you.” I let him off the hook. “I’ve survived eighteen years without you in my life. I’m sure as fuck not going to expect you to care now.”
I leave him standing there and walk into the park. He’s trailing me, probably about to piss himself when I pass by his wife and kids. I’m sure he expects me to say something, but I wouldn’t—not in front of his children—because they don’t deserve that shit. I don’t have anything to gain by destroying his family. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I can see it on his wife’s face when she looks at me and gasps.
I’m a younger version of him. She can see it, clear as day. That seed is in her head now, and it’s up to her what she decides to do with it. But this will be the first and last time I ever see Lane Silvestri.
26
Landon
Sometimes, life is like an Alanis Morissette song.
“Ironic.”
When I called Carson’s father from the beach house in Florida, we argued over his son for a good twenty minutes. He didn’t want to believe Carson needed help, but when the school told him the same, he reluctantly caved. I offered to pay for the treatment, but being the proud man he is, he refused. When the upper crust sends their kids to rehab, they don’t just send them anywhere. They send them to the best of the best. In fucking Malibu, of all places.
Carson’s rehab facility happens to be a couple of miles from the condo I bought my mother. I wonder if she ever came back here, and then I remember her shouting something at me from my doorstep before I left. I was so out of it I couldn’t be bothered to deal with her on top of everything else, but as I’m sitting here waiting for Carson, it pops into my head out of nowhere. She mentioned something about a letter.
Was it in my bag? I don’t recall seeing it, but I never really bothered to look for it either. How many ways could she ask me for money? It didn’t matter if her message was through text, mail, or blood. It was all the same.
Carson appears on the patio, pausing when he sees me waiting for him on the wooden bench. The rehab center asks their clients to visit with friends and family outside in the garden. From here, it almost looks like a luxury hotel.
“Hey.” I nod at him, standing up to greet him when he doesn’t move. I wouldn’t blame him for being pissed at me. I’m expecting it.
“Hey.” He nods back, scrubbing over the stubble on his chin.
He looks different than the last time I saw him. He looks better than he has in a long time, actually. His eyes are clear, his body looks healthy, and he isn’t limping around on his knee anymore. He’s bulked up a little, and there’s a new quiet peacefulness in his features.
He comes to sit beside me before thinking better of it and opts to pull a chair over instead. We both take a seat, our bodies mirroring each other as tension bleeds into the space between us.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” I start. “It was bullshit for me to leave like that. I should have talked to you first.”
“My dad told me about your conversation.” He rubs the back of his neck