Page 10 of Sweet Nothings

“If you came out here looking for me,” he grunts, the sneer on his too-perfect mouth deepening. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

My hammering heart screeches to a halt. Staring at Lennon with this much anger and disgust burns. My eyes and my soul. A soul that’s been marked far too many times already.

I hate him.

Forcing myself to breathe, I finally gather the strength and spin on my heels.

Tears sting the corner of my eyes as I stomp my way back to the funeral.

I wish my parents were still here, I wish my brother wasn’t a fucking asshole, and I wish I knew why Roe suddenly looks distant and tired all the time. Most of all, I wish I could forget Lennon fucking Harding and his cold, black heart.

THREE

The hate I have for my father is as deep as the love I have for my mother.

It’s a shame she died before him. Infinite doesn’t begin to describe how much better of a human being she was than him.

I remember the second I was told my mother took her last breath. A tight ball of emotion solidified in my chest as if it were forcing all the emotions to pour out of me without hesitation. It was the first time I cried since I was fifteen, when my father forced me to go to one of the strip clubs he frequented. The image of him snorting a line of cocaine off one of the dancer’s bare backs will forever be stained in my memory.

I didn’t cry when my father died. I didn’t shed a single tear when I found him passed out on his balcony surrounded by shattered glass, spilled whiskey, and a bag of cocaine in his hand.

He died the way I’d always expected: alone. I should have felt sad. The panic and grief should have set in, but as I watched him be wheeled out of his penthouse in a black body bag, I felt nothing.

I’d lost empathy for him long before that day.

The thoughts in my head are harsh and visceral, but that’s what you get when you’re James Harding’s eldest son. Raised tobe ruthless and unfeeling. I’m convinced it was in his blood from the moment he was born. And his father before him, and so on, and so on. Each of us Hardings come from a long line of money hungry, corporate pricks.

The Hardings have had a long history of keeping up the thin veil of what’s hidden underneath. Scandal and greed. My father went to great lengths and used whatever means he felt necessary to not only line our pockets, but stuff them as well.

Ten thousand black roses. Ten thousand people dressed in black. Ten thousand bodies pretending to care they even remotely loved my father. The sympathy in their eyes when they hugged me and my brothers, sharing their deep condolences for our loss. The way Jude’s neck bobbed up and down every time he forced himself to utter the words ‘thank you.’ I was convinced he was going to vomit all over the Italian marble we were standing on more than once. I don’t blame him. Out of the three of us Harding brothers, our father fucked Jude up more than Micah or me.

While still working on wrapping my head around the damage my father has done to our family, I haven’t been able to bring myself to a place of forgiveness. Not even remotely.

But despite all the ways I disagreed with him, we only shared one love.

Our family company.

And continuing to keep up with the Harding image was crucial to our status in the city. I didn’t agree with the way my father handled himself, but I understood to a degree.

The image of our family to the eyes of the city and the world mattered.

It still matters.

Which is why I’m making it my number one mission to run the firm in the legacy he built. In fact, I plan on running it better than he ever did or could.

“Coming from the person who picked on me for edibles, you might need to look in a mirror every now and then.” Jude moves to stand beside me. “Maybe consider switching to something a little less harsh.”

“I’ll quit smoking.” I argue. “Will that be enough?”

He spins around and rests with his back against the wall, his hand shoved into his pockets. He doesn’t answer my question. His light brown hair is slicked back and cut short at the sides, reminding me of how he used to be. Jude backed out of any involvement in the company a while ago. The longer he’s been away from our world, the more he’s changed, and for the better.

I laugh and shake my head, pouring myself another whiskey. I’m already bordering on being too drunk for public, but I don’t give a shit. Days like today call for this level of drinking.

“Come on.” I shake my head and gesture toward Jude with my now-full glass. “One more for good measure. You know Dad would have approved.”

His smile immediately turns to a frown. I feel like a dick for being the cause.

“Whatever.” He sighs heavily, pushing himself off the wall. I don’t miss the way his eyes roll as he steps away. “I just hope we can get this shit show over with quickly so I can go home as fast as humanly possible. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

---