Chapter Nine

Bree

“I can handle myself!” I scream as we enter the house.

“Yeah, looked like you were handling it just fine to me,” Clyde growls, slamming the door behind him.

Our parents are sitting in the parlor together, and stand up as we come inside. My mother, with her perfectly styled French twist and designer pantsuit, is taken aback by our loud arguing as we step into the room. Her hands rest on her hips and she shakes her head at us in disapproval. I know that her biggest worry, however, is whether anyone else saw us engaged in such an unseemly argument. After all, appearances are all that matters with the Longstreets. My father appears unmoved, his face as stoic and neutral as ever, as he stares at us from across the room.

“What in God's name is this all about?” she asks.

“We ran into Milo Sheridan downtown,” Clyde grumbles.

He curses under his breath and wipes at the blood still trickling from his nose, smearing it all over his face. He grimaces – either from the pain or the fact that there's blood all over him.

“Bree here thinks she's tough shit too,” Clyde says. “Thinks she can stand up to him.”

“I was doing just fine on my own, Clyde,” I snap, struggling to keep my voice down. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We were just talking, I swear. There wasn't going to be any fight until you showed up and started waving your dick around like you did.”

“Bree,” my mother gasps, a horrified look on her face.

“Didn't look like you were just talking to me,” he says.

Clyde crosses the room to the mini bar and pours himself a glass of whiskey. Mom rushes to his side, grabbing a handkerchief and starts wiping away the blood. She dotes upon her little boy – just like she always has – tending to his smashed-up face while I'm left standing in the doorway.

My father, Clyde Sr. – or just Senior, to most everybody – still hasn't said a word, but his hazel eyes do all the talking for him. His brows are furrowed, his lips compressed in a straight line, his face tight. Fists balled up at his side. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's on the verge of letting loose on me too. Sure, why not. Everybody just pile on Bree, the more the merrier.

Instead of fighting for even a second longer, and unnecessarily subjecting myself to their bullshit, I head for the stairs.

“Owen’s lessons should be finishing up soon,” I mutter as I walk out.

No one stops me as I leave the room. Mom is too focused on Clyde, while my dad watches my every move, saying nothing, as if there is going to be a quiz over what I said and did later. He studies me carefully, reading me like a book. When dad gets this way – silent and contemplative – it's best to stay out of his way. Like Milo, he can be a ticking time-bomb, just waiting to explode.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn down the hallway toward Owen's room. I stop right before entering, feeling the tears begin to sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I don't want Owen to see me like this. I turn away and head for my room instead, the next door over from his.

Matilda's sudden voice behind me causes me to jump.

“Bree, is everything okay?”

I freeze in my doorway, unsure of how she managed to sneak up on me like that. I glance over my shoulder and see that she didn't come from Owen's room, but from the hall bathroom. Owen's door is still shut.

“I'm fine, Matilda,” I say, wiping at my eyes.

Mascara comes off on my hand and I curse myself. I turn around and try to act as normal as possible – which probably isn’t going to convince her, especially since I must look like a raccoon now.

“How was Owen today?” I ask, deftly changing the subject.

“He was good – as always,” she says, a warm smile on her face. “He might complain a little when you're around, but when it comes down to his lessons, he actually takes to them very well. He's such a bright boy. He loves to learn.”

That warms my heart to hear. I know he's a good kid. It hurts me that he has to be locked up in this house, shut away from the world, with no friend but his cat. It can't be easy for him. In fact, I know it's not. I know he's an inquisitive boy and that he must wonder about the world beyond the family estate.

But still, despite all the difficulties, he's managed to grow into such a good kid. One that I'm proud to call my son. Soon, I hope he will be able to attend school with others his age, make friends and have a normal, carefree childhood. That's what I'm working toward and what I'm determined to give him.

“I'm glad to hear he didn't give you too much trouble,” I say. “I really should get myself cleaned up.”

“Wait,” Matilda says.

She steps forward, resting a hand on my arm. Her brown eyes are sympathetic, and I know she's someone I can trust. She's the reason I was even able to create an escape plan in the first place to put an end to this madness. It was her idea from the beginning. Still, I keep my emotions in check around her, and if I’m being honest with myself, really, around anyone. It's necessary to survive in this house.

After a second, Matilda continues. “Do you need someone to talk to, Bree?” she asks, her voice soft and gentle. “I'm always here for you. I hope you know that.”

I sigh, and tears start building up in my eyes once more. Thinking about the run-in with Milo, as well as how my parents and Clyde treat me, hurts more than words could possibly explain. My first inclination is to stuff it all down. Ignore it and hope that it goes away. It never does, but eventually, the pain becomes manageable.

Still, it might be nice to share what happened with someone. “Do you have time?” I ask. “I know you're finished with work for the day, and I'd hate to keep you –”

“Nonsense,” she says. “This isn't for work. You're a friend, Bree. This is what friends do.”

I motion for her to step into my room, and I close the door softly behind her. I'm not even sure where to start. She, along with most everyone else, has no idea who Owen's father is. If I'm to open up to her and tell her about my day, it might come out. It probably will come out. Matilda is a very smart woman and I know she'll be able to put two and two together.

It's been such a closely guarded secret, I'm not even sure I can say the words. At least not his name. Not really sure where to start, but feeling the need to talk, I open my mouth and let spill, the first thing that pops into my head.

“I ran into Owen's father today,” I say at last.

It feels like a weight is lifted off my shoulders just by uttering those words aloud. I don't know why, but it does. I feel the physical pressures of anxiety and dread on my shoulders and chest lighten – if only a little. Matilda's eyes grow wide. We're standing in the middle of my bedroom, even though there's a small sitting area over by the patio window. Smiling sheepishly, I walk over and take a seat, Matilda following slowly behind me.

The sunshine streams through the curtains and illuminates the room, making it warmer than ideal. Or maybe the heat I’m feeling is because I’m talking about everything that has happened over the years.

Matilda asks, “Does he know? The father, I mean. Does he know about Owen?”

I shake my head, staring down at my fingernails. My French manicure is starting to peel at the tips, and I focus on peeling the polish off instead of looking at Matilda. I don't think I can bear to look her in the eye right now. Not with my heart and emotions as raw and exposed as they are. Seeing judgment in her eyes, as unintentional as it may be, would devastate me right now.

“He can't know,” I say with a shrug. “Because it was a one-night thing, and a mistake – not that I regret it since it brought me such an amazing little boy. But this man – he's rich, powerful and dangerous. His entire family could take Owen from me and turn him into – well, turn him into a monster. Just like them.”

I finally bring myself to meet her gaze, and she looks pained to hear my confession. Not that I blame her. Thankfully, I don’t see the slightest hint of judgment in her eyes. And that makes me feel so much better.

“Owen's father wasn't exactly honest with me when we got together. I found out later that I was just a joke to him,” I say.

I don't need a mirror to know that my cheeks are flushing a deep scarlet – I can feel the burn in my face. I know Matilda has heard about the infamous video, and sooner or later, it will be obvious what I'm talking about here.

“He's not a very nice man – Owen's father. Not in the least bit.” I say. “He and his brothers are horrible, horrible men. And I can't have my son grow up in that kind of toxic environment.”

Matilda nods, and leans over the small table separating us to take my hands in hers.

“Bree, I understand why you feel like it has to remain a secret,” she says. “And I'm sorry it has to be this way.”

“Thank you,” I say, barely choking the words out. “My parents don't know who the father is either. I can't tell them because they'd – well, they'd disown me and throw me out on the street. But, I'm convinced that they would keep Owen from me. They have the money and lawyers that I won't have access to if they kick me out. Which means that I have to play by their rules. Only Clyde knows who the father is. He recognized the guy's voice on the video and he's been holding it over me ever since. He threatens to tell my parents who it is if I don't do what he tells me to do. I've basically been his slave for the last eight years.”

Fire rages in Matilda's eyes, and her hold on my hands tightens. I stand up, pulling myself free, and pace the room as anxiety grips me. Wringing my hands, I let it all out. Matilda is the first sympathetic ear that I’ve had in eight years, except for Elizabeth, and now that I've started talking, I can't seem to stop.

“We were so careful that night too. Or, at least I thought we were,” I mutter. “He used a condom and everything, which in my naivete, I thought was enough. I never even considered the possibility that a condom could break. Just one little hole in the rubber and my life was changed forever. I was so dumb. A sheltered little Southern girl. I was just a stupid, stupid kid – even though I legally became an adult that night.”

Matilda stands up, walks toward me and grabs my shoulders, stopping me in place. She stared deep into my eyes as I let the tears fall freely.

“You were not stupid, Bree,” she says, her voice earnest. “Listen to me – the circumstances surrounding Owen's conception were truly horrible, but that doesn't mean good hasn't come from it.”

I nod. “I know. I love that little boy more than life itself,” I say. “Even more than I love my family. That's why I'm willing to walk away from them forever. I'll do it in a heartbeat if that's what it takes to give him a good life.”

“And you too,” Matilda says. “You deserve a good life too. Which is why we're going to get you away from here, once and for all. You're going to go back to school, get your degree and leave all this behind – including Owen's father.”

“Thank you,” I say as Matilda pulls me into a hug. “You have no idea how badly I want out of here.”

And I hope to never, ever see Milo again. No matter how much he drives me crazy, and makes me weak in the knees, I know that he's a horrible human being. My son deserves better than having a man like that as a father.

I deserve better than that.