72. Matthias

72

MATTHIAS

D ad's steely eyes practically drilled a hole into my skull as he glared at me. Ciaran and Theresa had just left the room and I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for his bride to be out of earshot.

"You seduced Ciaran, didn't you?" Dad accused in the same tone he might use on someone who'd just been convicted of first-degree murder.

"Dad—"

"I'm not blind. I saw the hickeys. Ciaran's your stepbrother and…and…" It wasn't like Dad to be flabbergasted. "What the actual fuck, Matty?"

"It's not like that, Dad." Dad crossed his arms. "Okay, maybe it is like that."

"What do you think Theresa's going to do once she realizes?" My dad's face crumpled in utter despair as he collapsed into the armchair Theresa had just vacated. "She will leave me and my life will be over."

I'd never seen my dad so distraught before. His eyes were glassy, his skin flushed, and his fingers kept tapping his knees, as if he were already thinking of a future without the magnificent Theresa Vaulteneau at his side.

I'd also never understood that feeling…the anticipation of losing someone important to me. Until now. When my mom died, it was sudden, so it wasn't like I knew it would occur.

This, though, was so foreign that I wondered if we were both miserable for no reason at all.

"Theresa's not going to leave you, Dad."

Dad's disheveled head snapped up. I flinched at the heartache etched in his expression. His shoulders slumped beneath his rumpled suit and he looked like a man in desperate need of a strong drink. "I hope you're right…for your sake, too, because?—"

"Yeah, I know Dad. Because you'll chuck me off the cliff yourself." Standing, I went to the minibar to pour him a small glass of scotch. "Here," I said, handing him the tumbler.

Dad took it and knocked it back in one go. "Thanks."

I took the glass from him and placed it on the coffee table. Dad gave me a scathing look, so I placed a coaster beneath the tumbler.

"I know you hate the idea of me and Ciaran together." Dad tried to interrupt, but I added, "Let me finish, please." Dad nodded. "But Ciaran's unlike anyone I've ever met. He doesn't take my crap, he calls me on my bullshit, and frankly he inspires me to become a better person."

"Like his mother," Dad whispered.

"Yeah," I agreed, because Ciaran had to get it from somewhere. "He's probably the most authentic person I've ever met, hands down. The most creative, too. You should ask him about the plot of his novel. It's clever!" I knew I had a dopey smile on my face, but I didn't care. "The way I see it, if mother and son love us , a pair of cretins, then we're the luckiest sons of bitches in the country."

"I don't disagree," Dad offered. "But love?" His forehead puckered. " You? "

It was my turn to sit down.

"It came on gradually," I admitted, scrubbing my face. "I mean, Ciaran intrigued me, of course, especially when he wasn't bowing down to me like everyone always does. Ciaran wasn't—and isn't—impressed by our wealth. If he had his way, he'd give it all away. It made me take notice and wonder why. The more I tried to resist him, the more I was drawn in. And it wasn't like he was trying to entice me or anything. We had a fight in my closet, of all places." I laughed and Dad looked amused. The memory lived rent free in my head. "I kissed him, he pushed me away, and then kissed me back. And since then, well, I haven't…" I trailed off, wondering just how much to tell my dad.

"You haven't what?"

"I haven't wanted to kiss anyone else since. Just Ciaran and only Ciaran. He's annoying and bratty and sarcastic and just so wonderful. And those freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks, geez, Dad, I'm fucking nuts about his freckles. And," I said, taking a deep breath, because I could go on forever, but I needed my dad to see that I truly loved Ciaran, "I understand now what you meant about handing over the knife used to cut out your own heart just so they'd own a piece of you."

Dad knew me well, so he knew just how much of a big deal that was for me, a notorious playboy who often fell into—and out of—lust and casual hookups pretty quickly.

Dad's lips twitched with amusement. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd be a goner for someone."

"Trust me, me too. And…" I ventured, wondering how to approach this part. "When Dante and I were younger, you told us that the true measure of a friend is someone who helps you but doesn't expect anything in return. Well, you were right about that, because Ciaran really helped me out of a jam with Coach Anderson."

There was a slight hesitation before Dad asked, "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the next words that come out of your mouth?"

"Yeah, you're not."

I told Dad about Coach's blackmailing activities and how Joan, Filipe, Ciaran, and I deleted the videos and protected the swim team.

When Dad's face darkened, I tried to lighten the mood by telling him how the team called my video a Cockaine Party . Dad snorted, as expected. "I could probably sell a movie script based on that title alone."

Groaning, I muttered. "Dear God, please don't." I did not want my antics immortalized.

"Thanks for telling me, Matty. It's been a hell of a day and I'm still trying to wrap my head around this, but as your father, one thing certainly jumps out at me… I think it'd be a good idea for you to check into an outpatient rehab program."

"Rehab? What?" Coming from a man who used to host drug-fueled orgies, Dad's assessment felt like a double standard. "I haven't done the hard stuff since then, Dad. I swear."

Dad arched an eyebrow, which told me I should stop while I was ahead.

"Are you telling me that snorting cocaine off a sex worker's dick means you do not have a problem, Matty?"

"But—"

"Were you drunk?"

"Yes," I conceded in a low voice.

"How drunk?"

I gritted my teeth because I really did not want to admit it.

"I, uh, don't actually remember the event, Dad. I know about it only because of the video."

Dad blinked a few times. "Jesus, Matty."

"No, I know?—"

"And you still don't think you have a problem? How about this," Dad continued. "How about the fact that your swim coach—whom I will deal with in my own way—filmed the act and then successfully blackmailed you over it?"

"Dad—" I tried to protest, but he kept going. Dad's face was getting pretty red, too.

"How dare you put yourself, and the Vaulteneau reputation, on the line like that."

My stomach sank once he put it that way.

"I— fuck —you're right, Dad." I rubbed my face, which stung when I grazed the cuts and bruises on my face. I chanced a glance at him. "I'm…I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about the consequences or how it might affect the family."

I must have looked contrite enough because Dad's face softened even as he blurted out, "Clearly."

That was fair.

"I know I can be a selfish prick sometimes." Dad lifted an Is that so? eyebrow at me. "Okay, most of the time." I smiled. "If it's any consolation, Ciaran has been helping me see the error of my ways. I don't think I'd ever felt such shame until I told him about the video."

"I'll have to thank the kid for unlocking your conscience." Still, he looked a bit puzzled. "I'd wondered why you were dating Coach Anderson's pasty-looking daughter, who I am sure is a nice girl, but not someone in our sphere, son."

Strangely, I felt somewhat defensive of Zoey. "Zoey came through in the end when it came time to delete the videos."

"I'm sorry, did you say videos, as in there were more than one?"

"Yes. Coach recorded other guys on the swim team."

"Jesus, this is messy. Your coach is going to wish he was never born."

I wouldn't be surprised if Coach Anderson would be packing his bags and looking for a new position before the sun rose tomorrow.

"I guess I'm still confused," Dad continued. "Who are you really dating?"

"Ciaran. My agreement with Zoey is purely a business transition through the remainder of the year."

"Spoken like a Vaulteneau. Listen, Matty." Dad sighed and I got the sense he was going to force me to end things with Ciaran. "You and?—"

"I know Ciaran's my stepbrother," I interrupted. "But look at it this way: we just met, so it's not like we think of each other like siblings or anything."

"Matty…"

I threw down the gauntlet. "Ciaran's worried you'll divorce Theresa because of our unorthodox relationship."

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. "Every word out of your mouth tonight has been unorthodox, but I'd sooner fling myself into the sun than divorce Theresa," Dad said. "The boy has nothing to worry about on that front. But," Dad added, sobering, "you're right. I'm not thrilled at your actions while we were away. I trusted you to befriend the boy, not bed him."

I shot up from the couch. "I promise you that nothing like that happened until last night."

Not if you don't count the groping and making out.

"And probably today, from the looks of you two," Dad speculated. I didn't have to actually answer that. The blush spreading across my face was evidently proof enough. "Thought so. I'll do my best to get used to you being romantically involved with my bride's son, provided Theresa is also on board, if you agree to the outpatient rehab program."

"Deal!"

That stopped Dad short. It was clear he expected more of a fight out of me.

"I don't know how that will impact your upcoming swim trials, son. I'd say ask your coach, but that fucker's all but dead."

"I'll talk to the athletic director," I offered, even though there was a new sinking feeling in my gut.

I might get disqualified from competing this year, which meant I'd have to wait four years before I could qualify for the US Swim Team and have a chance at competing at the Summer Olympics.

It was a dream I'd been chasing for years.

But the last few weeks with Ciaran had me seeing things a bit more clearly.

Becoming a healthier version of myself would make me a better boyfriend to Ciaran and son to my father, both of which sounded like much more important goals.

"So," Dad began, his eyes bright and earnest. "Let's talk about why you and Ciaran drove to Vegas last night."

It was casually asked, but I wasn't fooled. Dad could tell it was all connected in some way. It wasn't up to me to reveal Ciaran's secrets, but I could disclose a few facts that would be of interest to my powerful father.

"You're probably not going to believe this, Dad," I started, "but Ciaran's high school guidance counselor is none other than Andy Jones. I can't get into all the details, but Andy's been manipulating Ciaran for years, especially about college. Andy revealed last night, before I beat the shit out of him, as you can see from the bruises on my face, that he kept dangling mentions of a lovely woman named Theresa to you for three years."

"True, Andy infrequently mentioned Theresa." Dad's eyebrows furrowed. "But I'm not sure I follow. I'm pretty much indebted to him."

"Andy was lying to you. Theresa was single the entire time. He was bidding his time until it suited him personally. Let's just say Andy had designs on Ciaran that were less than platonic."

Dad's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Like I said, he was manipulating Ciaran, and you, too. Theresa was clueless, but once you met Theresa, Andy figured you'd fall for her, and set her up as a girlfriend for a year or two. If that happened, it meant you'd visit Theresa in Vegas and probably offer to pay for Ciaran's college."

"I did one better." Dad chuckled. "I married the woman as fast as she'd let me."

I wanted to laugh, but it was too serious a situation in my mind. "But Andy didn't anticipate that. He didn't plan for you to move them to Malibu. He wanted Ciaran to stay in Vegas, to be close to him."

"Wait." Dad's brows snapped together. "Are you saying?—"

"It's not my story to tell," I cut in, "but Ciaran needed to confront Andy about a few things, to gain closure, so to speak. So I drove him there and Andy got what he deserved. He won't be bothering Ciaran ever again." I could have mentioned the business about the artifacts, but that'd open a can of worms I wasn't interested in discussing with my father tonight, or ever. If Ciaran had his way, that part of my life was over. "That's why we were in Vegas last night. I'm sorry we ignored everyone's calls and texts, but it was late and we slept in before we started driving back. For what it's worth, I'm sorry the staff contacted you. They were concerned about us."

Dad was silent for a moment, taking it all in.

As late as it was, my body felt as tight as pulled wire even as I yearned to climb into bed next to Ciaran and sleep for twenty-four hours straight. But Ciaran was upstairs talking to Theresa. Part of the worry zipping around in my chest was the outcome of that conversation.

As I was speaking, Dad's expression darkened as his jaw ticked. No one liked being made a fool of, and my father was no different. The difference was, Stefon Vaulteneau had the means and power to make others pay for their actions.

Dad stood and paced before the doorway that led to the foyer. "Ciaran is my family— our family —and no one messes with my family." His voice was low but tinged with muted amounts of danger. Thankfully it was not directed at me. "Andy will be dealt with."

I knew better than to ask for details.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Come here, kiddo." He motioned for me to join him. He surprised me by enveloping me a fierce hug. I fell into his strong arms, feeling like a kid again, which, in this case, wasn't a bad thing. Dad kissed the top of my head like he used to do when I was much younger. He wasn't the most affectionate of fathers, but there'd never been doubt in my mind that he loved me and Dante. "I'll smooth things over with Theresa about you and Ciaran. And," he said, ruffling my hair, "I want to see proof of enrollment in rehab within a few days, Matthias."

Stepping back, I gave him a sheepish grin. He only called me by my full name when he meant business. He put his arm around my shoulder as he led me out of the formal living room.

"You got it."

We stopped in the foyer and I looked over. Theresa and Ciaran were coming down the stairs.

Given the red rings around their eyes, I could tell it had been an emotional conversation. My heart ached for my boyfriend.

I desperately wanted to go to Ciaran, to comfort him, and realized I could do that. There was nothing to stop me.

Four steps later, I stopped at the bottom of the staircase and stretched out my hand for Ciaran, "Let's go to bed, babe."

I didn't miss how Theresa's expression softened toward me. Hope bloomed in my chest when no one objected as Ciaran's warm hand slid into mine.

"Good night, boys," Theresa said, her voice tender.

As I looked at her beautiful, though tired, face, I hoped that my eyes conveyed that I'd take care of Ciaran tonight.

That I'd take care of him forever , if he'd let me.

Theresa offered me a slight nod.

I called out a good night for the both of us as I led Ciaran outside. It was well past midnight. The evening was cool and breezy, the threat of rain thick in the air. The moon was hidden behind fast-moving clouds, so Ciaran's face was swathed in shadows.

He didn't seem to want to look at me.

"Hey," I said, pausing our progress toward the guesthouse. "Look at me, babe." I tipped his chin up. The shadows on his face revealed just how tired he was. But it also told me he was content, like he'd gotten everything off his chest. I was so damn proud of him. It would be too much to ask about tonight, of course. Ciaran needed TLC, not a hundred questions.

"Hey," he said through a small smile.

"I love you," I blurted. "And I dare you to love me."

That garnered a surprise laugh out of him. "W-what?"

"I dare you to."

Ciaran crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a once-over, like he was checking me out for the first time.

When we first met, Ciaran told me that he didn't do dares or promises. But that was a lifetime ago.

Ciaran knew what I meant.

I dare you to accept me for who I am.

I dare you to believe in me.

I dare you to have fun with me.

I dare you to build a future with me.

"I, Ciaran Liam Galbraith," he said before placing the gentlest of kisses on my lips, "love you and accept your dare, Matthias Vaulteneau."

My heart soared.