Page 12 of Bound By Obsession

I can’t imagine Nixon at my age. The image Ray is painting of a reckless, young man who parties and laughs the nights away is a distant cry from the graying man I was raised by. He’s always seemed so stern, his mouth turned down into a frown whenever he looked at me. Nothing I did was ever good enough, so I learnt very young to stop trying. Ray coughs, gearing himself up for the rest of his story.

“My Rachel and Catherine Hughes fell pregnant at almost the same time. The two became just as close and we went out for dinner to celebrate. That was the first time I noticed Nixon seemed distracted. Or perhaps distanced is a better way to describe it. He didn’t eat a bite and refused to join our toast. It got worse over the coming months, his mood swings were volatile and the distance grew larger. A form of depression I thought. Pre-baby blues, perhaps.”

“Did you find out what was causing them?” I sit forward, hanging on Ray’s every word. He nods gravely.

“Only once it was too late. Rachel gave birth first, and a few days later, Catherine had her twins.” My jaw clenches on instincts. I don’t want to hear this as much as I need to know. I must have the full story. Reaching over the covers, Ray hands me a photograph of my mom being wheeled into the labor unit, her face contorted in pain and hands on her stomach. The angleis askew, the edges of the image darkened as if taken from a distance. A paparazzi shot I quickly realize.

“The Hughes had been so careful to keep their pregnancy hidden. I thought it was to give them privacy, but Nixon confessed everything to me in the waiting room. He’s infertile, and Catherine’s twins weren’t his. She’d been having an affair with a man called Fredrick Walters.” I have to release Ray’s hand before I crush it. Bile rises in my throat, my stomach rolling.

“No, that’s not-” I hug my sides. I’m going to throw up all over the expensive carpet. Huxley showed me the news reports I purposely avoided. I knew a fraction of what happened to Avery during her childhood but I never wanted to face it. Knowing the full history and bullying her for it anyway would have made me another level of evil. Feigning ignorance was the only way I could keep living with myself. But I can’t be ignorant now, not with what Ray is implying. “That bastard is not my father,” I ground out.

“No, he’s not.” Ray shakes his head in the low lighting. I peer up, the room spinning around me. My breath is raw, all of my focus on not passing out and Ray’s hoarse voice. “Catherine Hughes had twin girls. Rachel and I,” he pauses, a tear leaking from the corner of his creased eye. “We’re your parents, Wyatt. You’re our son.”

“I don’t understand. I… but I’ve always…” My brows crease. It’s a lot to process, but strangely not as far-fetched as it would have once been. I can see the truth in Ray’s pale green eyes. “Did you not want me?” Ray’s hand reaches out once more and this time, he squeezes me tightly.

“There hasn’t been a single day we haven’t prayed for you to come back to us. Rachel couldn’t speak without crying for years. Everything we’ve built has been with the idea of you returning home.” The weight on my shoulders shifts. It doesn’t lessen, but becomes displaced. Those words are all I’ve ever needed. To feeltruly loved, to be wanted. I knew there was a disconnect in the way Cathy and Nixon treated me. Like a shiny object, a stand in for the cameras. I knew it instinctively when they brought Avery home. How they doted on her, the love they had for her. It was different, special. And exactly the way Ray’s glazed eyes are looking at me right now.

“I need you to tell me everything,” I say, the connection through our hands becoming increasingly tender. This is my father. My old man. The beep of the machine beyond his bed becomes louder in my ears, like a gong counting down. What if they hadn’t come for me? Would I have been too late?

Ray reaches a shaky hand for the decanter on his side table. He almost knocks it flying, his eyes too glazed with tears. I stand, rounding the bed and easing the glass from his fingers. After pouring the amber liquid into an empty tumbler beside the ashtray, I hand it to him and resume my seat. Ray manages to offer me a small smile, lifting the glass to his aged lips and downing the liquid.

After he gives a stiff nod, he starts talking. A tale of blackmail and kidnapping. Fredrick Walters isn’t only an abusive father, but a psychopath. When Cathy refused to acknowledge him as the real father and her lover, he stole Avery from the hospital. The other girl was ‘hidden’, as Ray describes it, for her own safety before Walters could return. And me? Nixon wove a lie about the Perelli’s which saw both Ray and Rachel spending time in federal prison and I became a ward of the state. Nixon paid off the right people to have me, placing me in his protection. I was their stand-in for the media. A poster child for those asking what happened to Cathy’s baby bump.

“I’ve always known.” I have my own whiskey now. I down it, but I don’t taste it. It’s so obvious now. How Avery was instantly welcomed and showered with compassion. Even though I received anything I desired, it was only material objects. Shegot Cathy’s sole affection. Nixon’s undivided attention. I was the fraud. “Instinctively, I always knew I was for show. They dressed me in the best clothes and paraded me around for the cameras. And for what?”

“To distract anyone watching.” Ray’s body is slumped now, his energy quickly waning. I see the affect this talk is having on him, and why it took so long for him to be able to face it. Standing, I place his hand over his abdomen gently. I tower over the bed, a stoic statue of muscle in the shadows. Ray, my father, is a fraction of the man I wish I could have met. He drank himself to death waiting for this day.

“What if Walters decided I was his other child and tried to abduct me too?” I breathe, my head swimming with questions I’m running out of time to ask. Ray smiles weakly, his low laughter quickly becoming a cough.

“That’s the beauty of their plan. You were never theirs to lose.” It is genius. Swallowing hard, I lean over to place a kiss on Ray’s forehead and leave him to rest. My feet are wooden as I cross the room and slip out . Rachel is waiting in the hallway, not having moved a muscle. One look in her brown eyes and I crumble into her embrace. I cry into her shoulder as if I’m not at least a foot taller, holding her rounded body as tenderly as my shaking arms will allow. For Ray, I can be strong, but with Rachel, I just want to be held.

The tightened grip on my pencil isn’t enough to keep my eyes from drooping. We’ve been at this for hours. Listing all of the places Wyatt might go after Dax’s cousin was unable to trace his phone. Either it’s off or Wyatt’s fiddled with the location settings. Huxley’s in the process of enlisting a PI, but strangely no one works this close to midnight. Working at the table beside me, Garrett is leaning his cheek on his palm and doodling on the edge of my page. Avery fell asleep a while ago, collapsed in a heap with Dax idly playing with her hair. It takes effort to hide my jealousy, wishing I was on comfort-Avery duty.

“How come she didn’t go to college with Meg?” Garrett mutters and my head jerks upright. I follow his eyeline, noting the gray sweatshirt pooling around Avery’s body. It must be a special edition for the team, given the pair of crossing lacrossesticks and ball beneath the college logo. I offer Garrett a half-assed shrug.

“Would you pass up the chance to do classes in your sweatpants?”

“I already do classes in my sweatpants,” Garrett huffs through his nose. If he was expecting a more in-depth answer, he should ask me in the morning. “Do you believe she liked being alone, or do you think she didn’t realize she was being isolated? She sure seemed to warm to us quickly.” I frown, no longer seeing the list on my page. The words blur into one large smudge. Maybe Garrett actually has a point…

“What’s happening in that head of yours?” I look him over, not liking the dazed expression on his handsome face. His hair is scruffy, hanging low over his forehead.

Garrett finally takes his eyes away from Avery and smooths a hand over my thigh. “Just thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” I snort. But now Garrett has powered up the train of thought, I struggle to rein it back into the station. Could it be true? Everything Avery thought was her choice, her preference, was actually part of some plan? Nixon makes the rules and she’s blindly followed them. I have no doubt that her safety was paramount, and that he must have been backed into a corner to put her in Wyatt’s care, but the gravity of the situation starts to dawn on me. Just how long has Avery been in danger, and if Fredrick Walters was just released from prison earlier this year, who or what exactly was she in danger of?

Tossing the pencil aside, I give up. Wyatt isn’t in any of the hotels we’ve called, the places he used to visit with his mom on rare weekend trips, any of the police stations or hospitals in the state and definitely not back at Hughes Manor. The gates are still being watched by the press, waiting for any sign of activity. There’s a webpage dedicated to live streaming it. Wherever he is, Wyatt doesn’t want to be found. I sigh, lowering my head ontothe desk. All the while, Garrett absentmindedly strokes my leg, lulling me into a sense of solace.

The next thing I know, a firm hand is nudging my shoulder. My breath catches and I quickly wipe away the drool from my mouth. It’s seeped into my page, smudging the little progress I had made. Or lack of progress, I suppose.

“Hey,” Huxley shakes me a little. “Wanna grab some ice cream?” I smile lazily, shifting the heavy weight of Garrett’s body leaning against me. He continues to flop onto me until I lift and carry him over to the bed. Within seconds, he’s nuzzled in behind Avery, who’s still folded over Dax’s sleeping body. I shake my head, wondering how many kinks I’ll need to massage out of how many necks in the morning. Huxley is waiting for me in the hallway and hands me a bundle.

“What’s the occasion?” I yawn, dragging the hoodie over my shaved head and stuffing my feet into the sneakers. Whether because I’m tired or just because I’m me, Huxley tucks my arm into the crook of his and walks me to the elevators.

“No occasion. Just need some air.” True to Huxley’s words, the fresh air is just what we needed, despite the city fumes and never-ending ruckus of noise. The ice cream parlor is down the road and conveniently, open all night. It’s a quaint little spot, apparently frequented by lovers huddled at tables for two against each wall. No one spares Hux and I a second glance as he opens the door for me, our arms still linked.

At some point over the years, I think the guys went from humoring my need for physical touch to enjoying it themselves. None of us have any other family. Not a mother waiting with loving smiles, not a father to throw a ball around and share a bear hug and drink with. We only have each other and the blurred lines I’ve thrown us all over.

Stepping up to the waiting assistant, I’m distracted by the colorful decor, a mural spray painted by a street artist behindthe counter. A sweet, sugary scent of ice cream mingles with the faint aroma of freshly baked waffle cones, making my mouth water. We’re worlds away from the heavy tension of the hotel room we were in not even ten minutes ago.

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