Page 45 of Forged By Shadows

“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” Nixon releases my hand and his posture instantly straightens. The smile he gives is one full of pride. “You’ll have to let me know the date. I wouldn’t miss my little girl’s first public performance for the world.” The scowl I give Wyatt should be enough to set his hair on fire. Starters are served; Wyatt’s smelling so strongly of fish, I know he’s toying with me. I chew on a bread roll, trying to ease myself out of the remnants of my hangover. Once Nixon has poured and drank half a glass of wine, I huff and try again.

“Please Nixon.” I try again, tucking my long blonde hair behind my ear and lean in closer. “I don’t…I would feel safer at the manor. Let me return home.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” he shakes his head. I feel the anger tears building up behind my eyes. “You’re not to return to the manor. Not even for Thanksgiving break.”

“What? Why?!” My cheeks redden at the attention I attract and I quickly lower my voice. “I was planning to catch a flight in the morning and spend the break with Meg.” I turn whiny and I don’t care. Dropping my bread roll onto the plate, I cross my arms. I can’t understand why Nixon is punishing me like this. Wyatt is there with a quip to seal the deal.

“I’m sure you and Meg had some more of those wild parties planned. What was it you mentioned about screwing guys in my bed?” His face cracks into the most cunning grin, while my eyes prepare to pop out of my head. Nixon has gone still, his wine glass halfway to his mouth. The waiter who comes to retrieve our small plates cleverly does so without making any fuss. The restaurant is buzzing with noise, whereas our table couldn’t be more silent. Finally breaking the tension, Nixon moves on.

“The manor is having renovations done.” He eyes me and Wyatt in turn. Wyatt’s smile falls away, his eyes narrowing. “There is asbestos within some of the walls and ceilings. I’ve commissioned a full repair to clear it out. Neither of you are to return there until I tell you it is safe to do so.”

“Why are we here?” Wyatt suddenly interjects, his face tight and body turned towards Nixon. I shrink back, feeling like a fly on the wall. I’ve heard of the screaming matches the two of them can have, but usually only from Nixon’s end of the phone call. I can only imagine how venomous Wyatt can be when the mood strikes.

“It’s important that we talk. There are matters the three of us must discuss.” Nixon swallows hard and it’s the sight of his nervousness which causes my stomach to twist.

“Out with it then,” Wyatt rolls his eyes. If I could pulverize him with my stare, I would. Nixon doesn’t have the same notion, his head lowering for his hushed tone to be lost beneath the restaurant’s clamor.

“It mustn’t have gone unnoticed that I’ve been distant lately,” Nixon begins. Wyatt snorts and I kick him under the table. “After Cathy’s death, I started receiving…letters. Threats. And there were photos.”

“What kind of photos?” I frown. Nixon touches his jacket, as if those very images are burning a hole through the cashmere, but he doesn’t remove them.

“Pictures from the crash. Angles I haven’t seen in any of the police reports. I believe they were taken before.”

“Before the police showed up? What are you saying?” I shake my head. The ground is slipping away beneath me and when I look around the table, I have nothing to cling onto. Not the man delivering me news he’s kept hidden, and definitely not the younger man who’s gripping his knife too tightly. A shrill ring bursts from Nixon’s pocket, and he promptly excuses himself to take it. More like rushes out of the booth and slips into the back of the restaurant.

“What is he saying?” I ask Wyatt, expecting some sort of answer. In the spiraling confusion, I’d forgotten how much of an asshole he is.

“Don’t tell me you nearly fell for that?” He chortles, reaching for his wine but I saw the effort it took to unfurl his fingers from around his butter knife. How white his knuckles were before they disappeared until the table. “Nixon has other interests, and he’s willing to create any fiction in which to make himself feel better.”

I blink once, my brows raised. Wyatt searches for patience on the ceiling and finds none.

“He’s got someone else, you moron. He’s moved on, probably even before my mom died, and now he’s palmed you off onto me so he can run away into the sunset. He’s always been a selfish bastard obsessed with appearances. He wanted to be the charitable foster parent, and when the novelty wore off, he found another focus.” Spearing a piece of his fish, Wyatt pops it in his mouth and chuckles to himself. “You really can’t keep anyone’s attention for long, can you?”

I sit back, opting to tap my foot in irritation rather than launch myself across the table and gauge Wyatt’s eyes out. No one so cruel should have eyes so beautiful. My jaw aches with the telltale sign that I might cry, so I push all emotion aside. Wyatt will not get the satisfaction of seeing me hurt.

“What the hell is your problem?” I whisper-shout across the table. “You say I’m this terrible burden in your life, yet you’ve done everything to ensure Nixon won’t let me go home. I don’t care who he has or what he’s doing, I just want to leave you as far behind as possible.” Wyatt rests his elbows on the table, his shirt sleeves stretching against his biceps. He’s so brutally handsome, it’s hard to look at him.

“Nixon was never going to change his mind, although it is comical watching you try. I figured I’d knock you down from your Golden Girl pedestal instead.” Wyatt’s shoulder raises in a shrug as he drinks from his glass. His throat bobs, his fingers toying with the glass’s stem when it touches back down on the table. All the things I don’t want to notice, and shouldn’t, I do. “You’re not the only one who can fuck with people’s heads.”

A small laugh bubbles from me. Oh, so this is a twisted type of punishment. I want to leave Waversea, and as much as Wyatt wants the same, he’s willing to suffer at my expense.

“This isn’t part of the twisted game you like to play.” I retort, my eyes rolling as I cross my arms again. “This is my life.” Wyatt continues to toy with the glass stem, his gaze flickering between the wine and me. He smirks, but there’s no kindness behind it.

“Isn't this life we’ve been thrown into together just one grand circus act? Sure feels like it most of the time.” I frown at him across the table. Around us, one table starts singing happy birthday and a round of cheering follows, glasses clinking, hands clapping. At our table, it’s more akin to a funeral. Death glares and unspoken words. Nixon reappears in a flurry, his eyes wild and cheeks puffed out.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. It’s urgent.” Collecting his jacket from the chair, he hastily puts it on.

“Already? We didn’t even get to catch up properly.” I stand, trying to still his arms. He drags me into a quick hug and presses a kiss to my head.

“I know, darling. Stay and enjoy the meal. It’s nice to see the two of you together for a change.” There’s a sudden feeling of churning in the pit of my stomach.

“Wait, what about Thanksgiving Fest?” I complain. Fuck, I’m really coming off like a whiny bitch, but I can’t help it. Thanksgiving Fest is an annual tradition for the Hughes’ to celebrate their staff. Every year has a different theme and is outsourced from external companies to give every employee at the manor a lavish night off. Mom always planned it months in advance, meaning this is the last time we would get to enjoy one of her dinners together. My last chance to feel like she’s still with us in spirit.

Nixon simply shakes his head. Wyatt steps forward and takes his turn to be stonewalled.

“You were supposed to be explaining some invisible threat of Avery’s that I was supposed to care about. Not running back to your-.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Wyatt,” Nixon spits so harshly, I flinch. All of the tension around our table rushes into Nixon’s posture, the worry in his blue eyes turning glacial. I reckon if we weren’t in public, he’d have throttled Wyatt and thrown him across the room. “I expect you to take Avery’s safety seriously. Her wellbeing is paramount. Do you understand?” Nixon’s voice drops to a threatening level. Wyatt doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes narrowing once more.

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