Page 53 of Hollyhocks

He can fool everyone else with his kindness, but it’s only armor to cover up how broken he is on the inside.

“You’ve burdened yourself for so long. It’s okay. Let me have your burdens. I’ll carry them from now on.” I lean forward, pressing my lips against his. I close my eyes, relishing in the soft give, the sweet taste of wine still lingering on his breath, and his stubble scratches my chin.

I press my forehead against his, holding my breath when I sink deeper into his dream.

I’m inside a mansion. It’s one of those houses that swallows you whole with how big it is. The ceilings are high. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the wall to give a gorgeous view of the gardens.

It’s pouring rain. No lightning. No thunder. Just rain beating against the windows.

The same man who came to visit him at the shop is yelling at Fitz and if I could kill him right now, I would.

People in dreams can’t be killed. In real life? His father is on my list along with the list of women who dared to touch Fitz.

“You’re nothing to me. Do you hear me?” his father yells at him, towering over him in height since Fitz wasn’t done growing. His dad’s hair is slicked back with streaks of black and silver. His eyes are a cold dead blue, nothing but bad intentions fill them. “You’ve never had what it takes to be a Wallsworth. You’re weak.” He shoves Fitz in the chest before rearing his fist back and punching his own son in the face.

I growl so loud that if Fitz wasn’t locked in my succubus trance, he’d wake up.

Fitz takes the hit and barely moves. He stands strong like a statue. He wipes the blood from his bottom lip and scoffs, throwing his own punch so fast, that his dad couldn’t prepare himself.

He hits his old man so hard, he stumbles, trips over a very modern coffee table, and lands on the couch.

“Fitsgerald!” his mother scolds, holding her husband as if he is a baby. “What has gotten into you? How dare you hit your father.”

“How dare I hit him?” A manic laugh leaves young Fitz. “You are just as bad as he is. You can’t even see how terrible of a man he is. He has his venom injected so deep inside of you, that you can’t see him for what he really is. He shoved and punched me. Over wanting to protect Heather, you know, your daughter!” He points to a girl behind him who is sitting on a recliner.

She’s sobbing quietly. Her cheeks are wet with tears. Her brown eyes match Fitz’s with the same dashing of freckles across her nose. This must be Heather. The two took after their mom because they look nothing like their father.

Small favors I suppose.

“She is no daughter of mine,” his mother hisses. “She’s nothing but a wild whore. She knew better than to get pregnant. We taught her better than that. We have rules. We have a reputation to uphold. Do you know what it would look like for us to go into society with a pregnant sixteen-year-old daughter?”

“Because then you’d see how much you failed at parenting,” Fitz shouts. “How dare you—”

Heather sniffles, grabbing his hand. “It’s okay, Fitz.”

“It isn’t okay. It isn’t okay,” he repeats, taking her hand in his. “Accidents happen. I don’t care what these uppity fucks say, you aren’t a failure. You aren’t a problem. You’re my sister. I’ll take care of you.”

“Take care of her? How the hell are you going to take care of her and a baby at your age? Do you know what people will think?” His dad blubbers, wincing when his wife places a handkerchief against his lip to stop the bleeding.

“That’s the difference between me and you. I’m willing to be what you two aren’t. Good. And I don’t care what I have to do to make sure Heather is okay, but I’ll do it.”

“You won’t make it a week without us.”

“Go pack your bags, Heather.” Fitz helps Heather to her feet.

“Fitz, I’m scared,” she says, sounding so much younger than sixteen.

He wipes the tears from her cheeks, giving her that familiar charming smile I love. His dimples show, making him appear so much younger than eighteen. His hair is shorter than it is now. His face has a youthful plumpness to it that doesn’t stay as humans age.

“I know. Everything will be okay. I’ll make sure of it. Go pack your bags. We are leaving as soon as possible.”

“She isn’t going anywhere. She is a minor. You can’t take her, or I will report you for kidnapping,” his sorry excuse for a father sneers. He laughs from the couch, pushing himself up to stand. “You have no power here. You have always been weak. You’ve always been a doormat. You’ll be nothing without me. People will walk all over you until you are pressed into the fucking dirt. Your kindness will get you nowhere in life. Kindness doesn’t make money.”

Fitz steps into his father’s space, narrowing his eyes at the older man. “Kindness builds community, loyalty, and love. Everything good comes from that. You can keep your wealth when it is attached to such evil and stupidity. Go ahead and call the cops. I’ll tell them everything illegal you have ever done. I’ll take you to court for custody.”

“You couldn’t afford it.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can afford. Fucking test me and see. Stay the fuck away from me, from Heather, and from her child. You are pathetic. You’ll never get to know your grandchild.” Fitz shakes his head with sadness and disappointment in a slow gesture as he steps away from the man he called his dad. “I know you don’t care and that’s fine. Maybe that’s why I care so much because I grew up in a home where nothing—not even your own children—were cared for. Have a good fucking life you sorry piece of shit, human being.”

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