Page 89 of Gilded Fake

“So that’s why you’re so fucked up? Your parents didn’t love you the way you wanted?”

“I don’t think there’s a right way,” he says. “Everyone has their own way. Maybe it’s not the way you think it should look, so you don’t recognize it. Doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

I give him a look. “You’re really going with this? Fuck. If that’s your version of love, I can see why my sister would rather jump off a bridge than accept it.”

“You can’t see shit.”

“Maybe not,” I agree, watching him finish off the bottle of whiskey. “It’s hard to see straight when you’re fucked up all the time. We both know that.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve got to do something. I fucking asked a girl to marry me, Duke. I don’t even remember wanting to.”

“Maybe you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I did a lot of dumb shit to make her happy.”

“See, that’s your problem,” he says. “I never do anything to make someone else happy. I do want I want. If people don’t like it, there’s the fucking door. See yourself out.”

“Not everyone can be that selfish.”

“Why not?” he asks. “How happy did all that dumb shit make her in the end?”

“Not very,” I admit, reaching for the pack of cigarettes.

His hand closes over mine, and he gives me a little smirk. “Aren’t you going to ask?” he says, stroking his scarred thumb over the stump where my middle finger was. “Maybe say please?”

“That’s your job,” I remind him, smirking back. I draw my hand from under his, take out a cigarette, and light it before tossing the pack back on the ground between us.

“You gotta do what you want, or you’ll never be happy,” he says, pushing up and swinging himself forward on his hands a few paces, until his legs are hanging over the edge of the pit. “Anyone who doesn’t like you doing what you want doesn’t want you to be happy, so they’re not the right person.”

“Lean wrong and that gravel slides,” I warn. “It’ll dump you a long way to a bloody death.”

“Told you I was going to die anyway,” he says, patting the space beside him. “Come sit.”

“Weren’t you just lecturing me to do what I want instead of what other people want?”

“Yeah, but you gotta face your fears,” he says. “I don’t like the dark, but here I am, sitting on the edge of a black hole. You don’t like high places, so come sit next to me and we can face our fears together.”

“Duke Dolce, afraid of the dark,” I say, shaking my head. But I approach the edge, a little more cautiously than he did, and lower myself beside him. My stomach drops, but I get my ass planted before I can pitch over the edge. Slowly, I lower my legs into the pit, but I have to lean back on my hands so more of me remains on solid ground. My heart is jackhammering in my chest.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” he says. “I just don’t like not knowing what’s out there. Anything could be hiding there, just waiting to grab our legs.”

“You sleep with a nightlight too?” I taunt, flicking an ash into the quarry.

“My fear is rational,” he argues. “We can’t see if someone with a gun is standing there, ready to pull the trigger, or a kidnapper’s waiting to grab me and drag me to hell. You’re literally afraid of a distance to the ground. Or are you afraid the ground is going to jump up and bite you?”

“Why are you up here, again?” I ask. “I mean, you said it was to fuck, but you’re not fucking the girls you brought, and why do it in your car anyway? You don’t have parents to stop you from bringing girls home.”

“Asshole.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye while I take a drag. “And?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t feel like my house. Not since Dad died and Baron left. Now it’s like I’m living in a honeymoon resort—all these fucking couples. Plus, all these kids. It doesn’t feel right to bring girls home.”

“That’s surprisingly decent of you.”

“And?” he asks, mocking my earlier tone.

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