Page 40 of Bona Fide

“Because you were fucking her. I don’t want to know how you kept her around for so long before she wanted to come back.”

A wall of silence fills the space between us, probably sprinkled with confusion and contrition.

I used to think my father could do no wrong. That he stood over everyone and everything because he fed me lines upon lines of bullshit and lies.

His confidence, though, was always on point. The way he went about it, however, wouldn't put him in the book of "World's Greatest Dads."

“You ignored all of my siblings,” I carp. “While shoving your face so far up my career that you left a drunk of a mother to raise them. She couldn’t handle herself, let alone her own kids.”

“What the hell do you know about it?”

“I know how many people you paid off when he fucked underaged girls?”

“Stop.”

“Then you have Camila who wanted to stop doing drugs. We both failed her on that one. Phoebe was always the follower but—”

“Wade.”

I strum my fingers along my glass. “Don’t worry about me, old man. I’ll dig myself out of my own grave...or go down trying.”

“You need to get rid of her,” he upbraids. “That’s my only advice.” I cross my arms and study my expired idol.

Time hasn't been kind to him, he's not as lively or good-looking as he used to be. Must be all the stress from his job or my mother's constant complaining about figuring out something to do with my brother and sister.

God forbid she sent them to rehab and have the key locked away, that would be inhumane in her eyes. Instead, she lets them walk around free, endangering themselves and others.

"This isn't a joke," my father stresses, raking a hand through his peppered hair. He hasn't stopped fidgeting for the last two minutes, and I've never seen him not calm and collected.

This is bigger than me.

“What does she have on you?”

His brows snap together. “What?”

“What does Demi have on you? You wouldn’t be this adamant if there wasn’t something that she could destroy you with.”

With a newly straightened spine, he replies, “You’re my son and—”

“Cut the shit, what is it?” In the dim light of the restaurant, I swear I see my father's face pale. Which is absurd since I know that he doesn't scare easily.

Unless it comes down to his congressman position, then he loses his absolute shit behind closed doors.

I reach for my glass again, giving him some time to decide if he’s going to loop me in or sink on his own. And depending on what it is, will I decide if I even delve into possibly letting my father in on taking Demi down.

“There is quite a bit,” he vows. “But the biggest one is...you think I forced her onto you because I wanted to." He shakes his head. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I fucked up, but you paid the price. It was either that, or we both fell on our asses."

“For what?” My father pulls at the collar of his shirt with his index finger. “If you want to help me, I need to know everything.”

“It’s beyond anything you’d ever forgive me for or want to help me with, Wade. I know how you are because I know what I’d do.”

“I’m not you.”

I am him.

No matter how much I deny it, I've fucked over someone I genuinely care for out of my own selfish need.

Reagan deserves better than me. I don't know if I would be able to forgive her if the tables were turned. Somehow I want to say if it was Reagan, I would. My need for her is too strong. The demand is just too overwhelming because I'm having a hard time with daily shit when I know what I've done. My guilt, it eats me alive. It suffocates me because I took a beautiful thing and shit on it.

---