I hear Hawk scoff quietly beside me. “Neither of you have ever acted like parents. You put in the bare minimum of effort when I was growing up. You did just enough to make me believe you gave somewhat of a shit, but nothing more.”
The last of Barton’s energy seems to drop right out of him, and he hangs his head. “You’re right, son. You deserved so much better. I have no excuse for my behavior, and I can’t speak for your mother, but she loves you in her own way.”
She’s got a funny way of showing it, but then what do I know? Just because she’s been a complete bitch to me, doesn’t mean she’s always been that way to Hawk. She’s always seemed distant, yet somewhat fond of him. It’s possible Barton is right, and she just has a hard time expressing how she feels. She and Hawk have had nearly twenty years together, developing whatever sort of mother-son relationship they can, whereas I have absolutely no relationship with her at all.
I catch Hawk’s eye, and I can tell he’s not sure what to think. “So why is Mom staying in the city, when you’re staying here?” he asks, moving the conversation along.
“Your mother and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a long time.” Barton looks at me with a hopeful expression. “Now that you are back, I want to work on restoring our family…” he trails off, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to continue.
“But Mom doesn’t, right?” Hawk finishes for him.
Barton grimaces. “No. All of her focus is on the company, especially now, after the attack on the compound. We’ve never agreed on the direction of the company, and I’d hoped now Frank and Lawrence were gone, and with the compound destroyed, I would be able to talk her around to abandoning the whole idea. Between the legitimate side and the adult mercenaries we inducted, we were doing more than well enough for ourselves. We never needed to bring children into any of this.”
“So why did you? How did all of this even start?” He’s piqued my curiosity, although I’m probably better off not knowing. Just picturing these assholes sitting down over cognac and cigars, casually discussing the destruction of children’s lives for their own gain, makes my blood boil.
He runs his hand through his hair, unable to meet my eyes. “We’d been losing clients for a while, to Onyx, our primary competitor, who claimed they had the most highly trained, ruthless assassins in the business. We were just spitballing ideas when Frank mentioned using kids. I didn’t take him seriously at first, but the others were intrigued by the idea.”
A cough interrupts our conversation, and I look over to find a butler standing at the entrance of the room. “Mr. Davenport, dinner is ready, if you and your guests would like to make their way to the dining room.”
“Ah, yes, thanks, Geoffrey.” Barton gets to his feet, gesturing for us to follow. “The chef’s pot roast is delicious.”
We move the awkward conversation over to the dinner table, and as the food is set down in front of us, Barton changes the subject.
“So, uh, how are you liking Pacific Prep?” He’s staring right at me, and I have officially decided having his attention is way more unnerving than having him ignore me.
“Umm, yeah, it’s good.”
I side-eye Hawk, not entirely sure what to make of this change of conversation. I’d almost prefer we went back to talking about assassins and mercenary companies than have him prying into my life.
“You’ve made friends okay?”
I slowly nod my head, saying, “I have,” which earns a beaming smile from Barton.
“That’s great! Hawk and the guys have been doing well there. They have bright futures ahead of them. I’m sure you’re the same...do you have any plans for next year?”
What the actual fuck? He’s acting as though everything is normal, like he and his scumbag associates haven’t been forcing the guys down a future they don’t want, and he didn’t try to marry me off like I’m a fucking possession.
“Uh, no. I’ve been a little busy, what with having Lawrence trying to kidnap me again, and helping the guys escape the clutches of your company. Simply making it to graduation alive is about as far in the future as I’ve gotten.”
My snarky words seem to bowl right through Barton, knocking the wind out of him, and the congenial expression he was wearing crumbles, devastation marring his face.
No one seems to know what to say as it looks like Barton mentally falls apart in front of us. Eventually, Hawk sets down his cutlery and I notice a flash of regret cross his face before he asks, “Why did you invite us over tonight, Dad?”
Barton blinks a few times, struggling to re-orientate himself. He clears his throat and reaches out a shaking hand to lift his tumbler of whiskey, taking a large gulp.
“Uh, right. I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any other hairbrained ideas like the one you had the other day.”
I scoff. Is he for real? “At least we’re trying,” I sneer. “Unlike you. You claim you had nothing to do with any of this, that you were just going along with everyone else, but what have you done to try and stop any of it from happening? To try and get yourself, or Hawk, or any of the other guys out of it?”
He has the good grace to look thoroughly chastised, but it means nothing.
“You’re right. I haven’t done nearly enough, but threatening Maria and Wilbert isn’t the way to go either.”
I share a look with Hawk, neither of us willing to share anything with him regarding our plans. If he doesn’t approve of our unexpected visit to their office, he definitely won’t approve of the next step in our plan.
We don’t respond, and with the remnants of the shitstorm that is our current situation sucking all the oxygen out of the room, none of us seem to know what to say and an awkward silence falls over the table. In fairness, Barton appears completely lost in his thoughts. I’m not even sure if he’s aware we’re still here.
After what feels like fucking ages, but is probably only five or ten minutes, Hawk jerks his head in a let’s get out of here gesture. More than happy to comply, I jump to my feet, and the scraping of the chair legs on the wooden floor jolts Barton out of his trance as he looks up at us.
“We’ve gotta go,” Hawk explains.
“Oh, right. Of course.” Still looking dazed, Barton gets to his feet, showing a lot more grace than I did. I make a move to head toward the door, but Barton stops me. “Before you go, I just…” He holds up his index finger, indicating for us to give him a second, and he darts out of the room quickly.
I quirk an eyebrow at Hawk, silently asking where the fuck he’s going, but Hawk just shrugs. A minute later, Barton returns, holding a wooden box in his hand. The way his palm is placed flat on the bottom, his other one wrapped around it, he carries the box like it’s important to him; a priceless possession.