Page 58 of For The Record

“Sure, buddy, thanks.” The rage has died down somewhat, but it simmers on low, still ready to boil over at any moment. “Tell your wife I said hi. How old is your kid now?”

“Three,” he says, his chest puffing up like the proud father he is. Tattoo sleeves cover both his arms, winding up to his neck in tribal patterns. “And he speaks Russian and English.”

“That’s great,” I say, clapping him on the back as he gestures for me to go in.

Whatever he says to me next vanishes amid the hollering voices and thumping music of the club. I pause at the doorway for a moment, thinking that it isn’t too late to go back. It’s not too late to turn around, go home, call Skye or my sister or my dad. It’s not too late to let this rage loose in a more productive way.

But I’ve been holding back for so long, for so many years, that I don’t know what else to do but to let go. I don’t know what to do but stop being who I am, and, at least for a moment, try to be someone else. After all, my reputation is tarnished. I’m not who people think I am. But in a world of illusions and cover-ups, no one will ever really understand me.

And right now, I’m okay with that. I have to be.

I let the crowd pull me forward, and I throw myself into the tempo of the music, the smell of alcohol and perfume floating in the air, the sound of the bass and the rhythm of bodies all around me, all dancing to the same electronic beat. It feels empty. Meaningless. Soulless.

Maybe I just need a drink.

I head to the bar and sit down when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Swivelling my head, I see Naoya Sugawa, dressed head-to-toe in electric blue. Even his leather jacket is a shade of navy close to black and the tips of his hair are dyed bright blue.

A sigh escapes me. I should have just gone home. Called Skye. Or went to her place. But I didn’t, because this seed of jealousy, of fear, sits in my stomach and grows every second, flowering into a toxic weed. It threatens to consume me alive, swallow me whole every moment that I sit on this barstool and wonder:what if she doesn’t believe me? What if she believes Alina?

What if she thinks I’m just like my father?

“What’s up, man?” he says. Then, seeing my face, which must look like he drove the car that ran over my entire family and our dog, he adds, “Oh, right. I heard about your company. And your dad.”

“My dad?” I repeat. What the hell does he know about Ricardo? “Yeah.” He nods, throwing back a vodka shot. “Your father, Antonio Perez. Is that ringing any bells?” “What about him?” I steel myself for the one-two punch, but even when it hits me, I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready, it feels like.

Not for any of this. I wasn’t born into this life. What right do I have to take it?

“He’s being accused of sexual assault,” he says. “Didn’t you hear?”

The way he says it like it’s just another news item, just another piece of gossip for him to throw around - it breaks something in me.

“Yeah,” he continues, taking in my expression. “He got MeToo-ed. By none other than your girlfriend’s sister.”

Isabelle Holland.

Raina’s favourite actress. The words coming out of Naoya’s mouth sicken me more than usual, not just because he’s bringing up people I know. Skye’s family.

Naoya continues, as though he’s trying his best to provoke a reaction out of me. Like every other schoolyard bully. “Didn’t know he was your dad, though. I guess like father, like son.” He laughs. “Both getting hit with this crap at the same time. What a move on Alina’s part, right?Hostile work environment. Yeah, I bet it’s pretty hostile working with your ex and his new girl.”

He says it like it was his idea. Like he’s the one who told her to do it. “Did Alina work on the song?”

His brows furrow. “What song are you talking about, Leo?”

“You know what I mean,” I say, knocking back two of his shots before he can protest. “The one that you stole from Ryder Black. The one we could sue you for.”

Naoya throws his hands in the air. “So what if Alina did, man? She was doing you a favour.”

“How was she doing me afavourby sabotaging my company?” I say, rising from the stool somewhat unsteadily. Stars swirl in my vision. I haven’t drunk this much since college.

“Oh, like you sabotaged my career?” Naoya demands.

Silence hangs in the air between our declarations. My fist clenches around the air, wanting to break something. Before I know it, it’s flying straight into Naoya’s nose.

Screams and shouts erupt all around us. I’m focused only on the words and accusations that Naoya levels at me.You sabotaged my career.I rack my mind for a clue, too tired to remember or to notice the punch that he throws back at me.

A right hook makes my eye sting, swelling up almost immediately. I shove at Naoya’s chest with both hands, taller than him and with at least twenty pounds on his lean build. The blaring music thumps in my head, urging my movements onward. Aggression pumps through my body, fueling every hit and kick. He returns my anger in a swift, retaliating move.

Seconds or lifetimes pass in the moments that two of the bouncers separate us. Luka’s tattooed hand lands on my shoulder and he shakes his head sadly, but the fact that he doesn’t condemn me tells me he’s letting me go. Because we’re friends.

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