“That wasn’t a choice I could make.”
He sneered. “You think I didn’t pay your mother to keep you fed after I left? Things may not have worked out between us, but the food on your table was bought bymyhard-earned money.”
Again, a familiar sinking feeling settled in Winter’s stomach at his father’s disappointment in him.
“You weresupposedto take care of us,” Winter said. “Spending money to feed me isn’t a loan I need to repay.”
He made a disgusted sigh. “Your mother never taught you to be grateful.”
Winter recognized the mind-games part of his father’s personality. “At least she was there.”
“I think you’re giving her more credit than she deserves.” He tilted his head mockingly at Winter, challenging him in the way that used to make him feel so small. “I remember calling the house and getting no one but you on the line. Her being gone for days while you were home alone. Is that what you callbeing there?”
Winter could feel his temper boiling over. “And where were you? Mom was buried in those pills and struggling, and no one helped her. The government didn’t; we had no relatives; we were alone.” His voice hardened into steel. “Mom needed help. Sowhere. Were. You?”
His father’s eyes remained cold, sly, cruel. “Why didn’tyouhelp her?” he said mildly. “Surely you have the resources now?”
Winter swallowed hard, trying to contain his fury. He knew his father wanted to see him explode now, was using that manipulation again. “Pull the book,” he said.
“I see you’ve learned to raise your voice.”
Winter’s lip curled into a snarl. “Pull the book,” he snapped.
“Or you’ll do what?” His father regarded him coolly. “Send your lawyers?”
“Every last one of them.”
At that, his father’s lips tightened. “Do you think you deserve this life, Winter?” he asked.
It was a simple question, said in a simple tone. But his father had always known how to push a needle into his heart, and Winter felt the stab now, felt himself wince at the hit.
When he didn’t answer right away, his father smiled, knowing he’d struck true. The man leaned against his table and regarded Winter closely. “Why do you strive?” he asked.
“What?”
“Ambition tends to be fueled by something lacking in you. So what’s yours? What’s lacking?”
Winter didn’t answer. He could feel his father’s probing questions surrounding him, suffocating him with their accusations.
“Do you strive because you have something to prove? Because you’re trying to cover up for your inadequacies? Do you strive because you feel like the world owes you something, like you somehow deserve better? Do you strive because you think so highly of yourself that you want everyone to acknowledge it?”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Winter snapped.
“Is it because of me?” His smile turned cruel. “Am I the reason you strive?”
Winter refused to give him that satisfaction. “I never think about you.”
“That so?” His father leaned closer to the camera. “Let me enlighten you. You’re nothing but a lucky boy. You don’t work any harder than anyone else. You certainly aren’t more talented. You don’t deserve to be here any more than the rest of us. You’re only famous because you got my face and your mother’s voice, and you didn’t work for any of that. So why do you get to have millions, when everyone else who works just as hard as you doesn’t? What’s so great about you?” He raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I right?”
Yes.Winter could feel the insecurities that haunted him being dragged to the surface, his father pulling just the right strings to haul them up.
“Call me if you have something to add to the book,” the man said as he straightened. “Otherwise, put your feet back on the ground, kid. You’re just smoke and mirrors. You’re nothing.”
Winter opened his mouth to reply, but his father had already hung up. He found himself staring at his own face again, pale and stunned in the darkness of the room.
He threw the phone at the couch and squeezed his eyes shut, raking his hands through his hair. Sickness roiled in his stomach. The world around him felt like it was spinning. What the hell was he doing, cold-calling his father like that? Did he think it would have done any good, that making demands of him would somehow make his father change his mind?
You’re just smoke and mirrors. You’re nothing.
