Page 102 of The Sculptor

He grunts a sound that resembles something close to a laugh, and I inject him again. This time, the area is numb enough that he doesn’t feel it.

“How do your patients feel when you ignore their wishes?” He tries a different tactic—one where we’re simply avoiding the gigantic elephant in the bathroom.

I shrug, numbing the more minor gashes on his knuckles. “My patients have sense enough not to forego pain relief.”

“They sound like pussies.”

He doesn’t flinch or curse when I grab the antiseptic and pour it over his hand again, looking for embedded glass. “They might be pussies, but at least they didn’t cry when I cleaned their wound.”

That gets a better reaction from him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Dick. You will never make me cry. When you sold me in an underground adoption ring, you made sure you burned that emotion from my list of amazing qualities.”

My body tenses at his reception of the events. “We never sold you.”

Remington laughs. “Okay, fine.” He taps out another cigarette, puts it between his lips, and lights it one-handed. “You made the ultimate sacrifice and gave me to someone who would treat me better. Spoiler alert, Daddy Dearest, but Congressman Tooney hated me with a fiery passion. Especially when his wife died, and his mistress preferred a house in Tahiti instead of being a mother to his adopted son.”

Tooney. The last name of the couple who adopted him. It’s burned into my memory. Seeing them listed as his parents. Their deaths. “So, he left you? After she died?”

He makes a tsking sound. “Now, that’s not how this conversation works. It’s your turn to share.”

I nod, beginning to dig out the remaining glass. “Your mother and I were teenagers when we found out you were on the way.”

He blows out a puff of smoke. “I’d give you a high-five, but…” His gaze drifts to his injured hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say flatly. “I’d hate for you to put out your cigarette.”

He grins around it. “That would be terrible.” He takes another drag and, surprisingly, blows the smoke away from me. “Finish my bedtime story, Pops. Daddy Vance likes me to be in bed by ten so I don’t walk in on him ‘stretching’ with ‘Mommy’ on the living room rug.”

I rear back. “They stretch?”

Remington rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t have a kink, Dr. Vanilla. Keep on with your story. You’re already boring me.”

Yet, he hasn’t demanded I leave.

He’s curious, and curiosity will keep him still, at least long enough for me to finish.

“Your mother and I had influential families,” I start, just as he interrupts me again.

“Skip to the part I don’t know. Harrison Potter is scum—even the squirrels that raid Halle’s bird feeder know that.”

Such a fucking smartass.

“Well, since you know about politicians and influential families, you should be able to understand that those families need to appear perfect to the public. When we found out Ray was pregnant, we knew her father would want to do damage control immediately, so we told him.”

“And he threw her out of the house? Yeah, yeah. I’ve seen sadder Hallmark movies.”

I ignore his eye roll. “No, he didn’t throw her out. He demanded she have an abortion. She disagreed. So, she planned to run away—it was the only way she thought she could keep you.”

His face softens at that, so I keep going. “We made a plan to leave before she started showing. We lied and told our parents we had the abortion. Meanwhile, I picked up a part-time job after school and saved every dollar I made so we’d have starter money when we left.”

“You left Vance and Astor?” He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

I understand his confusion. He’s always known my brothers and me to be close. “Now you’re trying to skip ahead in the story.” I pluck another shard of glass from his hand, dropping it into the bowl on the counter.

“Yes.” He yanks his hand away, frustrated and impatient. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Speed the fuck up. I don’t have all night.”

And he’s lying. He wants to know what happened—just on his timeline, like a typical Potter.

I take his hand back, continuing as if he didn’t just have an outburst. “No, I didn’t tell Vance or Astor,” I admit. “I couldn’t risk my father or Ray’s finding out about you.” I don’t say it, but nothing is too sinister when holding on to your position in the elite world. Congressman Ford would never allow Ray and me to ruin his image.

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