one
LOCKE
Actions have consequences.Irrefutable knowledge taught at a young age, to counteract delinquency. I’ve never worried about those lessons. Before I understood consequences and karma, my father drilled discipline into my head.
Spine straight. Shoulders back. Chin up. Eyes avoiding him at all costs.
That last one I learned on my own.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you these last few months, but you’re pissing me off, Locke.”
The tidy, nearly untouched space of his high-rise office is familiar with this monologue and every other criticizing word he’s said to me in the last few years. The large VK Corp logo mounted above his desk chair probably knows my face as well as I know its. If his floor wasn’t meticulously cleaned every night by specialized staff, I’m sure there’d be prints of my heels digging into the tile. Pushing my feet further into the ground, hoping it’ll swallow me while my father tosses unforgiving words my way.
Like usual, I’ll berate myself on the car ride home. I’ll create a bulleted list of things in my head to get back on his good side.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Dad’s frame feels bigger than mine, despite the three inches I have on him. His green eyes have a menacing glare I hope I haven’t inherited. His presence is dark, despite the sunlight creeping through his floor to ceiling windows.
Emotionally, I want to curl into myself and move as far away from him as possible. But I’ve been taught better.
Voice stoic, I reply, “I apologize, sir.”
“Apologize?” He chuckles, laced with disbelief. “Your apologies were worth almost nothing when you charged my card with a private jet in June. Do you think they’re of any value now?”
The memories of that night linger. Dad might expect me to regret defying him, and I hope my face makes it seem like I do, but it’s the opposite. That night was the first time Grant and I truly felt like brothers.
He’s been my brother my whole life, but only by technicality. My father kept Grant’s existence under wraps for too long. Two decades of only knowing he exists through the whispered conversations my parents would occasionally have when they thought Billie and I weren’t listening.
A few years ago, after Grant’s mother passed, Dad thought it’d be appropriate to shove us into his life. It was understandably awkward. I couldn’t blame Grant for having strange, negative feelings towards the siblings our father chose to raise, while he and his mom were left in the shadows.
He pushed us away for years. I’ll never fault him for that.
It wasn’t until a few months ago, in June, that he decided to give my sister and I a place in his life. There’s so much we don’t know about each other—too much, considering we’re brothers,but we’re learning. Our lives are intertwining with one another, bit by bit.
Even if he hadn’t considered me as family until recently, I’ve always seen him as my older brother. The cool one, who does what he wants and says what he wants because it doesn’t matter to him how much power my father holds. Grant doesn’t care about Dad’s opinion of him. He makes snarky comments when Dad throws him too much attitude, and is strong enough to ignore phone calls when he doesn’t feel like talking.
In a slightly embarrassing, younger brother sort of way, I idolize Grant and how strongly he sticks to who he is. Not who our father wants him to be.
I knew Dad would be fuming when I charged his card with a private jet. I knew he would scream at me over a phone call when he realized Grant and I went for a late night joy ride.
I don’t regret doing something so reckless, but I’m paying the price for it.
He keeps a sharp glare pointed at me, and I slowly speak. “No. My apologies are worthless.”
“Exactly.” He paces in front of his dark wooden desk two, three times, before pausing and placing his hands on his hips. I know the next words before he inhales to say them. “All you do is disappoint me.”
It stings. My whole life, from the first breath to this very moment, has amounted to making my father proud. I don’t know anything else. As far as I’m concerned, I’m only as valuable to him as I am dutiful. That’s my purpose—to wordlessly follow him, as his son.
When my father inevitably becomes unhappy with one of my choices, it burns to hear him scold me. I’m not perfect, but I try really hard to be.
“First, the jet in June.” Dad holds up his hand, one finger extended in a count. “Then you disappear for a whole weekendwith your sister—missing one of the company’s biggest dinners—and now your university calls to tell me you switched out of the classes I specifically chose for you. I pulled strings so your professors would be personal friends of mine, and you ruined it. Do you think I’m just going to let this shit slide?”
I keep my mouth shut. Reasoning with him doesn’t work. There’s no reason to waste my breath reminding him that Billie and I were set for our vacation long before he changed the company’s dinner plans. I wouldn’t dare say I didn’t know he chose my classes because the professors were his friends.
After twenty-four years of this being my constant, I wouldn’t risk something like that.
“I’m so close to being done with you, Locke.” He waves his hands again. My face stays stoic, but the tips of my ears start to heat. “From now on, you’re walking a fucking line. Every time you mess up, I cut something off.”
