Twenty
Damn butthe neighborhood hadn’t changed much. Shards of ice formed in Henri’s belly when he pulled his car into his parents’ driveway. He’d never thought of this stucco monster as home, with its professional landscaping and chilly stainless steel kitchen. Home had been a three-bedroom duplex in a rundown neighborhood, which Margo couldn’t leave fast enough once fortune started smiling on them, as she’d put it. No, not fortune, but Henri working his ass off.
He needed drugs in the worst way. If he made it through today without help, he’d have set the bar pretty damned high. “Wait here. If I’m not back in a half hour, come in and get me.”
“Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Arnulfo glanced at the house and back at Henri.
Actually, Henri wouldn’t mind backup. But for a showdown of this magnitude, the gunslinger must go alone. Only, what role did Henri play? The good guy or the bad guy? But if things turned to shit, he didn’t want witnesses. “I’ll be fine.” Liar.
Even dragging his heels he made it to the front door before he was ready, and took several deep breaths before pressing the doorbell. From inside the house the door chime played the opening strains of “A Matter of When.” How fucking depressing.
Henri gazed back toward his car. If he ran, he could be safely inside and down the street before anyone noticed he was here. Arnulfo gave him a friendly wave. Oh, right. A witness.
“Hen…. Henri?” Margo stepped back from the door, her face paler than Henri had seen it in a long time. The woman who’d said plenty during their last face-to-face didn’t seem prone to talking now.
“Are you gonna let me in?”Say no. Give me an excuse to leave and never come back.
“Um… oh!” The woman he’d once called “Mom” stared at him as though he’d suddenly materialized from thin air. She gestured down the hall.
Henri spared a glance toward the car and his waiting escort. Margo peeked around the door, following his line of sight. “Tell your friend to come in.” For a moment, for one split second of a fraction of a heartbeat, she sounded like she had back when she’d been “Mom,” he’d been “Henry,” and he’d trudged through the front door to hugs, kisses, and questions about his day.
The fame, the wealth—sometimes he’d give it all for a few moments back in those simpler days. But then he wouldn’t have met Sebastian. His chest tightened. He couldn’t think about Sebastian now. One step at a time, on the road back to where he belonged.
Hey! That was pretty good! He needed to write those lyrics down.“He’s not a friend, he’s my security. He stays where he is.” Would Sebastian be proud of Henri for taking this first step toward peace with his family?
It shouldn’t have been possible, but her face paled further and she slammed the door shut the moment Henri stepped through.
Murmuring voices pointed him toward the family room. Good. The rest of the family was home.This show is one night only, folks.His father and sister shut up the moment he set foot in the room. So much for a hero’s open-armed welcome. Well, he’d come here to make some changes, might as well clear the air in the process.
Jenni gave him startled eyes and jumped up. A cutting glance from Margo returned her to her seat on the couch.
His dad lounged in the recliner, as he’d done throughout most of Henri’s childhood—the illusion of the breadwinner relaxing after a hard day at work. Only,
Henri’s dad hadn’t often held a steady job and had never in Henri’s life been the breadwinner. Not even close. He almost felt sorry for his mom. Almost, but not quite. Yes, she’d done what she’d had to to get her kids raised. Yes, she’d worked her ass off and managed to make ends meet. No, she didn’t have to let her heart shrivel into a dried-up prune in the process. And she didn’t have to start treating her kids as a means to an end.
But why did Henri have to be the spitting image of his dad? Jenni looked like Mom, with dark blonde hair and light brown eyes, even if her tresses did defy gravity and fluff out like Henri’s had until recently. She’d also been blessed with honey-gold skin, several shades lighter than Henri’s but still exotic, and a few extra inches in height. Yeah, he could understand why she’d be in demand by fashion designers. Jenni hugged a throw pillow to her chest, darting glances from Henri to Margo, and then to Dad.
Henri’s blood boiled. They controlled her much as they controlled him. She’d be eighteen in a few months. Then he’d see to it she made her own decisions.
“No, no, don’t get up.” He glared at his father. “It’s just the prodigal returned home.” And bringing vengeance. “I’m not here because you deserve an exclusive. You, the ones who should have been there for me, deserted me when I needed you the most.”
“But…,” Margo began.
Henri cut her off. “Start talking—” If looks could kill, Henri would now be the relative of two melted piles of goo. “—and I’ll walk out the door and never look back.” Damn, how he hated having to blackmail them for a few minutes of their undivided attention. But if threats got them to listen, so be it.
The only sound came from the big-screen TV. Henri grabbed the remote and clicked it off. “First off, my ‘episode’ as you put it in the media, was not me strung out on drugs.
“Yes, I’d taken my pills that night, like I did before every show, and another for the party.” Margo slid down on the couch next to Jenni. Henri paced, ignoring the burning in his throat. Dammit! They should have been there for him. It’d be easy to leave. Sebastian appeared in his mind.“I’d love to have a family. Any family.”Henri stayed.
“And I foolishly accepted the drink a fan kept forcing on me, mostly to get him to shut up and leave me alone. When the drink hit me he tried to take me to my room, acting concerned. I went up with a member of the security team instead. He’s the one who spotted trouble and called an ambulance.” They didn’t need to know how Henri begged the man to hold him. How in that moment, he hadn’t cared if he lived or died. He hadn’t attempted suicide, but he hadn’t wanted to live much either.
His parents sat motionless as statues. Shock? Or did they truly not give a shit if Henri lived or died? “When the cops searched my room they found a video camera, rope, and duct tape. Whatever the asshole at the party had planned for me, it wasn’t going to be pretty.” Normally, he wouldn’t talk harshly in front of his sister, but he’d never lie to her. And if she was slated to live her life in the public eye, she needed to know the types she’d be up against. The good, the bad, and the hopelessly insane psychopaths.
“Are you—?” Margo blurted.
“Not another word. I’ve got the floor. After I say what I have to, you can have your turn.”
She nodded, emitting a tiny squeak.
