“What do you want me to do?” I say in a soft voice.
His eyes blaze at me. At first, I think he’s going to be mean and cruel. He catches himself. Instead of breaking me, he crouches down and hugs me. “Visit me in fucking jail.”
Sloane
Secrets have a way of revealing themselves in the harshest ways. It was Ben Franklin who said, three can keep a secret, if two are dead.
After all my weeks of rejecting her in front of the guys and demanding Kiln to look after her, it comes to this. I’ve gotten her pregnant.
Poetic justice, if there ever was.
Or, maybe, it’s the inevitable tie that binds. Only morons fuck women without protection and don’t expect some type of ramification. So why’d I do it?
Was I looking for a way to keep her? Helen had already warned me what would happen if I touched her.
Did I hope to leave her with something to hold onto and live for? I have no answer for that question.
Or is this a means to my ultimate rebellion? The fuck-you of all fuck-yous where I’m the one who’s now fucked up the ass?
Jesus.
I don’t know. My only certainty is Georgie’s pregnant, I have a goddamn army of people who know of my association with her…how many bodies do I have to leave in my wake to keep this secret…and…Georgie’s pregnant.
I escort her back to our—my—bedroom and race down to my office. The moment she wailed for a fucking pork chop with potatoes and gravy at one o’clock in the fucking morning, I knew.
Zelda thought I was insane, but the good thing was she believes that anyway.
Georgie’s pregnant. I’ve finally gotten burned by the fire I love to fucking antagonize.
As much as I loathe it, I pick up my phone and dial Helen Sanderson’s number. I fucked up, and hiding will only hurt Georgie and…and our baby. Before I allow that to happen, I’d prefer to pay the consequences of my stupidity.
Georgie
My heart is breaking. My grandmother is…devastating me, and Sloane isn’t saying anything. Not a word to tell her we can be together some kind of way and she won’t press charges.
No, he’s stoic and silent. My father and another man are in the room with us. We’re sitting in the receiving room. The resemblance to Sloane, Kiln and Jaeger, leads me to believe the second man is their father.
My dad looks old and haggard, drawn. Each time Grandma drums her fingers on the table, Dad winces. I sense that she’s brought him through hell and back.
“If you utter her name, think to say it, you’ll pay,” she says coldly.
“No, Grandma,” I blurt, leaning towards her with raised hands. “Please. It isn’t his fault.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’ve given yourself to another man?”
“No.”
“Then it is his fault.”
“I don’t mean that,” I cry in frustration. “I wanted him, too.”
Dad turns red, but Grandma just turns evil.
“You don’t know what you want. You’re not old enough.”
“That isn’t true! We reach the age of reasoning at seven.”
“So you’re Catholic now?” she spits at me.
“I don’t know! I can’t remember the last time I went to church, so you tell me.”
“Great work, Sloane,” she says sarcastically.
I swipe at my tears. “What does that mean?”
“It means your father is the catalyst that drove Cassandra completely insane.” Grandma straightens her spine and sends my father a look that makes him hunch his shoulders. “She should’ve had enough regard for herself to deny him his requests when he first began to bring younger women to their bed.”
“Dad?”
“Do you know why you met Sloane?” she continues.
I start to shake my head.
“Helen—“ Sloane begins, standing. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Does she?” Grandma says coolly and rounds on me. “Tell me how you believe you can live happily-ever-after—“ she smirks at Sloane—“in a pretty stone tower?”
Sloane growls and balls his hands into fists. I want to know what’s going on. But it’s a give and take thing with Grandma. She has to take first before she gives.
“We can get married. Without anyone’s consent in Nevada and with parental approval everywhere else.”
“You want to marry this boy?” she asks for clarification.
“I thought you said he was a man,” I retort.
Grandma shoots Sloane another filthy glare. “He’s a boy to me and a man to you.”
“Fine,” I relent. “Yes, I want to marry the person who’s a boy to you and a man to me.” She’s about to blast me, but I’m tired, and I want peach cobbler with whipped cream mixed with strawberry ice cream. “I love him, Grandma,” I whisper. “Please, don’t send him away from me. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Georgie,” Sloane begins and his voice cracks.
“You love him? The man who fucked your mother so his aunt could get into your father’s bed without suspicion?”
A cry escapes my lips. I shake my head in horrified denial.
“Fuck, Helen. Stop—“