“So, you boys already have dates to Homecoming?”
Mom’s smile is bright when she asks, contrasting the tension at the dinner table tonight. It isn’t often we actually join her and Dad for this Brady Bunch bullshit, but she asked nicely, so …
Not to mention, I figure she needs a break, after dealing with my father on a daily basis.
“Dates?” Sterling counters with a laugh. “Nobody really does that anymore, Mom. You go alone, then hook up with friends when you get there”
Our mother’s tiny, manicured hand slams to her chest. The southern belle of the family seems genuinely horrified by that answer.
“Are you kiddin’ me? Part of the fun of going to these things was waiting for ‘the boy’ to finally get up the nerve to ask,” she shares. “Can’t believe your generation’s done away with all that. Some traditions are worth keeping.”
“And some are nothing but pretty little fantasies that twirl around inside you women’s heads,” Dad interjects with a gruff laugh. “It’s nonsense. You, of all people, should know this.”
He barely notices that we’re all staring as he stacks potatoes on his fork.
I’ve never known him to miss a chance to belittle her, the woman who bore his sons and stood by him while he built his empire from nothing. Seems like, to him, she’s only an armpiece these days.
You know, when there’s not some underage gold digger swinging from his nuts.
“Well, just seems like a missed opportunity is all. It’s the perfect chance to show whatever young ladies you three have eyes for that they’re special to you,” Mom adds. After speaking, her gaze lowers to her plate and she leaves it at that.
“Pam, please. These boys are star athletes. They can have any girl in this damn city. It’d be stupid to walk into some dance with chicks on their arms. Talk about taking sand to the beach,” he barks out with a laugh.
There’s an uncomfortable silence that follows, but my dad seems to completely miss that he’s killed the vibe as usual.
“What’s the verdict on South Cypress?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass of wine while changing subjects.
“We’re solid this year,” Sterling answers. “We pulled out the win against them a couple weeks ago, like we knew we would.”
“Barely,” Dad shoots back. That one word is spoken sharply, and a displeased look passes over my brothers and me.
“It was a clean win and—”
“You’re Goldens,” he says, cutting off Dane. “You boys are good. Damn good,” he adds. “It’s the reason each of you got a full ride to NCU. So how do you think the coach over there feels about his future stars narrowly stealing a win against a poor, gutter-trash school like South Cypress?”
Mom glares up at him but doesn’t dare interrupt.
“Whoever this punk kid is that they’ve staked everything on, squash him,” he declares. “The next time you go up against him, show him why he should’ve stayed in Ohio. Or wherever the hell he came from. Understood?”
Dane and Sterling pass one another frustrated glances, but don’t speak or agree with his B.S. logic.
I, on the other hand, am in no mood to keep quiet or play pretend. I know who and what he really is, and I know so many of his secrets.
“We won. Get over it,” I grumble. “For someone who hasn’t shown up to a single game in three years, you sure have a lot to say.”
A hush falls in the room and I feel my father’s gaze locked on me. Still, I don’t look up to confirm that I have his full attention.
“What’d you just say to me?”
“Vin, honey, relax,” Mom says sweetly, trying to diffuse a situation she doesn’t realize is already beyond her control.
He doesn’t speak directly to her, but holds a hand up, which silences her instantly. I swear, I hate that he’s broken her down to nothing, made her so weak. It’s not unlike the control he’s tried to place over me, Dane, and Sterling. We’re just all too pigheaded to be ruled by anyone.
Just like him.
“There anything else you want to say to me?” he asks, staring me down again. “Now’s the time to get it off your chest.”
“If I did, you’d know.” I stuff a forkful of green beans into my mouth and don’t bother softening my tone.
If I cared to look at him, I’m sure his face would be bright red right now. His tolerance for disrespect is uncommonly low, which is why I’m only mildly surprised when my plate is snatched from in front of me.
“You’re done. Come with me,” he asserts, being the supreme dick he is.
“Vin, he’s barely even touched his food,” Mom jumps in.
Another of those cocky laughs leaves my father’s mouth.
“Then, worst case, I just saved him from having to choke down the rest of that tough steak,” he adds callously, and then stands, leveling another glare on me. “We’re leaving. Now.”
I could fight him on this, but I know it’s no use. The guy has a way of getting what he wants out of people.
So, hungry and pissed off, I oblige. Within minutes, we’re seated in his SUV and I’m staring up at the bright lights of the high-rises as we drive past. At first, there’s no conversation, but then that all changes.
Unfortunately.
“Do you even realize how much I do for you boys? Do you realize the sacrifices I make to ensure you three and your mother have everything you want and need? Meanwhile, you’re bitching about me not showing up at your games,” he rages. “Tell you what. Do well, get drafted, and you have my word I’ll be at every single game.”
He goes from trying to draw sympathy to just being a dick. Neither action is surprising. So, unfazed, I stare blankly out the window.
“You’ve really got balls on you to disrespect me after that pricy little toy I spotted on my credit card statement this month.”
I should feel guilty knowing I’m caught, or at least worried, but I don’t feel either of those emotions. Only empty, hollowed out on the inside.
“Where’d you stash the car? Some hole-in-the-wall garage again?”
Actually, I stashed it in Trips pole barn for now, douche-knuckle, but you’ll never know that.
His gaze volleys between me and the road. “Still nothing to say? No, ‘sorry I screwed up again, Dad’?”
“Goldens aren’t big on apologies,” I say dryly. “But you already know that.”
In my peripheral, I see his grip on the steering wheel tighten. Next thing I know, he’s pulling over on the side of the road. Traffic whizzes past and I feel the weight of the statement that follows.
“You used my card,” he states, “which means you got into the safe.”
And there it is. Asshole knows he’s busted. He’s trying to sound cool, calm, and collected, but he’s anything but that. In fact, I’d bet money this little drive is only about what I might’ve found in that safe. My smart comments just made it easy for him to get me off by myself without Mom getting suspicious.
With him, there’s always an angle.
“How’d you crack the code?”
I shrug. “You’re smart when it comes to business. Not so much when it comes to common sense.”
He snorts a laugh. “Fair enough.”
The long, awkward silence that comes next only means there’s more he wants to say but hasn’t quite figured out how to go there.
“Son, you know there are a lot of layers to my business,” he begins. “Which means there are bound to be aspects of it that you don’t quite understand. So, if you—”
“I saw the phone,” I reveal, putting him out of his misery.
“…And?”
It’s rare to humble Vin Golden, but that’s exactly what I hear in his tone right now. Humility.
“I didn’t look through it.” This lie is particularly easy to tell because it suits me to have him think I’m in the dark.
“It isn’t that there’s anything on it worth hiding. I just—”
“Save it.”
He drops his sentence at the sound of my voice, and I’m relieved not to have to listen to his bull anymore.
A heavy hand falls on my shoulder and I glance toward it, choosing not to make eye contact with the man I just lied to.
“I love you and your brothers equally,” he shares, “but I’ve always held you to a bit of a higher standard, West. By you being older and all.”
“Didn’t realize being born two minutes earlier than them granted me infinite wisdom,” I snap.
He doesn’t immediately react to the tone I’ve taken, probably because he’s on super thin ice right now, knowing I at least know he keeps a secret phone.
“It’s more than that,” he continues. “You’re just a natural-born leader. I’ve seen that in you from day one.”
My focus is honed in on the sleeve of the dress shirt he wore home, and I barely hear what he says next.
“You do know that everything I do is for you boys and your mother, right?”
The question echoes in my thoughts, and his brow tenses when I reach toward the studded cufflink on his wrist. His gaze follows me as I pull a long, blonde hair off him.
“What about her?” I ask, placing the strand on the dashboard. “You do her for us, too?”
His hand falls away from my shoulder and he slumps in his seat.
“Guess I know why you were an hour late getting home,” I add.
Of all the reactions the man could’ve had, he laughs. Because our family is such a joke to him. The sound of a defeated sigh follows, which means he’s about to forego the obvious route—lying—opting instead for the truth. So, I brace myself.
Here it comes.
“Listen, I never pretended to be perfect, West. None of us are perfect. I’m a man and I do what all men do,” he claims. “Is it right? No. But it’s just the way things work. Live long enough. You’ll get it one day.”
A memory flashes in my head and I’m forced to close my eyes. It’s a vision of the time I wanted to spend his fortieth birthday with him—back when I still thought he was the greatest dad in the world. I was only eight, but remember it plain as day. Down to every detail. Even the moment I climbed into the back of his truck, smelling his cologne still clinging to the interior. But what’s most important is that I remember the chick he drove to see, not realizing I hid in the back.
They talked for a little while. Long enough for me to gather they’d been involved for a while. Long enough to know she was an attorney somehow associated with my father’s firm.
Too shocked and emotionally raw to turn away, I sat by as she proceeded to suck him off in the front seat.
I watched in silence from the shadows, listening to the combination of his lust-filled moans and her loud slurping. All the while, eight-year-old me was trying desperately to wrap my head around how he could do something like that. Mom loved him so much, and always had.
Naturally, I never got that explanation.
When the woman finished, she spit his remnants into an empty fast food cup she grabbed from the cupholder. Then, after attempting to kiss him and getting rejected, she climbed out and disappeared inside a tall office building.
I got found out when I moved and accidentally kicked the windshield scraper into the side panel. Suddenly, he realized I’d been there the whole time, realized I’d seen him cheat on my mother with my own two eyes. And maybe he even knew he didn’t deserve the pedestal I put him on.
His response to this flagrant fall from grace?
His response to seeing me bawl my eyes out?
A lecture.
Mostly, he insisted that me telling my mother would ruin our family and break her heart, convincing me that her pain would be all my fault. According to him, our family dynamic was a bit more complicated than I understood, and me telling what I’d seen would cause it all to fall apart. At eight, I believed that shit, and the bastard bought me ice cream before taking me home. As if that fixed everything.
To this day, I’m still broken in places no one can ever possibly repair, carrying the guilt of not doing more back then. But one thing my father said that night was not a lie. My mother is every bit as fragile as he said she is. Only, that doesn’t change the fact that someone deserves to pay.
So, if not my father—for fear of it inadvertently breaking my mother when his indiscretions come to light—it has to be the women.
Every single one I’m made aware of if I can help it. Now than I’m older, I can at least do that. My mother deserves that much.
“Tell you what,” he pipes up again. “How about we resolve this whole thing right here, by just calling it even. You keep this whole little talk between us, and I don’t raise hell about you using my card. Sound like a plan?”
I say nothing because I have nothing for him.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he concludes. I don’t miss the confidence in his voice, either.
Like nothing happened here tonight, he reaches to turn up the radio. Then, after checking for traffic, we merge back onto the road.
He was with Southside tonight, before coming home to sit at the dinner table where he pretended he’d done nothing wrong. Pretended to be some kind of family man. An act I never bought.
I could only imagine what kept him so long, what kept him out an hour late tonight. I know I’m not wrong. Especially with what I know about south side girls.
They’re only good for one thing.
And, apparently, my father knows this all too well.
