"You don't know anything about what happened. Besides, he would've dragged you down with him." He batted my hand away and shook his head. "It was apparent he'd already begun leading you down that path. I did what any father would do."
"We were two sixteen-year-old lonely kids. Yeah, we fucked, but so what? It happens all the time."
His brow furrowed. "There is no need to use such crass language in this house."
A bellow of laughter burst from my mouth. I stepped back and bent over, guffawing and gasping for breath.The nerve of this man to pretend he cared about me.Wiping tears from my eyes, I stood and put a hand on my hip.
"You're worried about my language? You should be more concerned about going to the pen." I took a deep breath and steadied myself. "You know, I used to despise both of you for your pettiness, your money obsession, your cruelty." Giving a shrug, I shouldered my way into the hallway and turned to give them one last look. "But now? I only have pity." I pointed to Dad. "You're probably going to die in prison."
His mouth pursed and he narrowed his stare, but I didn't give him a chance to speak as I turned to Mom.
"And you'll die a lonely old crone, scraping and scrounging to make ends meet because you pushed away those you should've been embracing."
My mother's high voice floated from the kitchen, but I couldn't make out the words she spat in a hiss.
A great feeling of lightness soared through my body, as if finally saying my piece snapped the last tether between me and my past.
I lifted my head and walked out of their house, wondering why I'd waited so long to cut the cord.
The sun warmed my skin. Emerging from that dilapidated, sad home felt like being born from a dark, dreary world into a realm of warmth and light.
Now to help the one person in the world who has never expected anything from me, who has never belittled me, who never stopped caring for me.
Chapter forty-three
Paxton Ross
"Whatthefuckisgoing on here?" Viktor's shit-eating grin stretched from ear to ear as his gaze moved over the room.
Besides me, four other residents also stood on their yoga mats in mountain pose. Five baby goats meandered between us and bleated. Shorty, a tiny tan-colored kid, pawed at my thigh.
"It's called goat therapy." I broke my form to give the animal a gentle pat on the head.
Viktor bent at the waist and laughed, his long blond hair hanging around his face. "Mate, I know I put you in a luxury rehab facility, but this is bonkers."
I shrugged and followed the instructor's directions. She gave Viktor a glare. "I know it sounds kind of stupid, but between the yoga and the goats, it's relaxing."
"Well, do you think you can get away from your goat friends for a moment to speak about something?"
"I'm not sure I'm allowed to leave with you."
"I'm your sponsor. Not to mention the sorry bloke who's paying for all this..." He stood and tilted his head as he watched Shorty wander over to another resident. The goat gave the lady a gentle butt with his head.
Viktor snorted. "I don't even know what to make of this." He chuckled once more, then turned and pulled me by the elbow. "I know we celebrities can be a strange lot, but fuck, mate. Goats? Really? You couldn't have picked music therapy or some other creative shite?"
"Hey, don't knock it, man. Science has proven that animals can lower people's stress levels and give them a center of calm."
"Unless they're little fucking demon cats who like to piss on clothing," Viktor grunted while pushing open the door leading to the cafeteria.
"What?" I stretched my arms toward the ceiling as we walked. I'd been in rehab for two weeks. Detox had been rough, but the medical team on site had made it bearable.
"Nothing." He pointed to a table in the corner of the bright, airy room.
Along the windows grew herbs, which gave the area a fragrant scent and the feeling of being in a garden. Above, the ceiling had circular skylights spaced every two feet or so. Hidden speakers played the sounds of trickling water and softly trilling birds.
Secretly, I was relieved I had a visitor, even if it was surly Viktor Farrow. The other recoverees were interesting enough, but it was nice to see someone I knew.
"What brings you here?" I asked, pulling out a wooden chair and sitting across from him.
