Page 79 of One More Time

I hung up the call and stood, shaking off the nerves. I shimmed the handle and went to pull, only for it not to budge. I frowned and tried again—nothing.

My brain registered that it was locked, but I continued to try as the panic set in. I rested my head against the hardwood and listened to the distant clinking of glasses, knowing that no one would hear me if I called out. My father’s soundproof office was designed that way and could only be locked on either side by a key—that my father kept on him at all times. I gritted my teeth, looking around even with the knowledge that the room had no windows. All I could do was wait it out. I considered messaging Tyler, but I didn’t want him caught up in that mess. If there was nothing else, I learned from an early age, it was to never get anyone else involved.

I tried that once—and instantly regretted it.

My head began to pound, and not from the alcohol.

I slid down the wood until my ass hit the ground, dropping my head into my hands as I fought off the memories.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“Sorry for what? Huh?”

I stood in the kitchen, legs shaking nervously. I fiddled with the sleeves of my black suit, fighting the urge to loosen the tie that was getting tighter around my neck by the second.

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t! But he was saying horrible things about mama, and I couldn’t take it.”

The replay of my grandfather calling my mother a pathetic, useless drunk made me snap. I remember the looks on everyone’s faces as I called my grandfather a fucking asshole—but it was my mother’s funeral.

“You never ever, talk to your elders like that. Show some respect!” His hand slapped the bench in warning.

“He called Mom a drunk!” I yelled, forgetting my place.

“Your mother was a drunk, she killed herself because she drank too much and decided to drive! We have drivers for fuck’s sake, son. Your mother was a stupid woman! So, you have no right to call out your grandfather for telling the truth!”

His hand came across my face hard enough for me to fall to the ground, clasping my face, tears falling in a mixture of hurt and hatred. I didn’t want to believe a thing coming out of his mouth.

“You’re wrong! She was side-swiped coming to pick me up from hockey!” I yelled, the fire in my body too hot, the fury having my mouth running despite knowing the consequences. I’d never believe them…She loved us, she loved me. She’d never have driven drunk. My father’s leather shoe dug into my exposed ribs, stopping me from saying another word. I coughed and spluttered, vomit creeping up the back of my throat.

“You will not speak to me like that! You never yell at your father!”

He kicked me again. I saw the black shape come in. Kaiser—-my driver, and more of a father than anyone had ever been—swung his fist, connecting with my father’s jaw. Despite the pain, adrenaline had me sitting up, watching with wide eyes as I watched my father figure defend me against my actual father.

“Hunter, leave. Now!” Kaiser called as he swung again.

I backed up, but I didn’t leave, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of me. Kaiser wasn’t a big man, much smaller than my father, but he defended me like a heavyweight champion going for the gold.

Until he took a single hit.

One hit of my father’s fist to his temple had his eyes rolling back in his head, then he hit the corner of the counter. Somehow, I knew he didn’t feel its impact.

I was frozen in my spot, looking at Kaiser’s chest, and praying to anyone listening that it would rise. I prayed and I prayed, and I prayed and. When I realized that my prayers were going to be unanswered, a broken sob tore through me.

“See that as a warning, son. You will toe the line, you will never make a scene in front of colleagues and family, ever. Because it’s not only you I can put in place.

My father stood tall and after shaking out his bloody fist, he left the kitchen. I sat sobbing in the corner, watching as security guards took Kaiser’s body away.

“Fuck.” I swore, looking into the empty fireplace. I took out my phone and fired off a message to Tyler.

Hey baby, sorry I won’t be able to make it there tonight. Don’t worry, I’m fine, but I need to show face. I’ll just stay here tonight. Merry Christmas, Baby.

Aussie Baby: What? You’re serious?! I don’t like this. I’m coming to get you out of there. I don’t like you being around him, Hunt."

All I could do was turn my phone off and watch the clock.

I’d moved to the wingback chair and didn’t realize I’d had fallen asleep until I felt a foot roughly knock mine. I briefly opened my eyes, taking in the mahogany wood that closed in around me, the large body of my father in the center of its walls. He undid his suit jacket with calm indifference, rolling his sleeves up and transforming into a much less professional version of himself. I swallowed hard, knowing it was in my best interest to stay quiet.

He walked to the drink stand, pouring himself a whiskey before leisurely going to the front of his desk, leaning against it, and lifting his glass to the light, admiring the golden liquid swirling against the crystal.

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