Page 30 of Attractive Forces
“Oh no, you bloody well don’t get to act like that.” I storm after him.
I reach him when we get inside and grab his shoulder before he makes it to the stairs.
Aaron whirls to face me, his face like a feral cat caught in a trap.
I’m only vaguely aware of Logan hovering on the doorstep as I stare Aaron down.
“Seriously, do you think Mum needs this right now? After everything she’s been through? You’re going to end up in serious trouble if you don’t stop this shit.”
A sneer overtakes Aaron’s face. “Like father like son, right? Maybe they’ll do a two-for-one deal for me with Dad in prison. House us together to save money.”
Shit. Heat invades my face.
I glance at Logan, but there’s no way he missed hearing that.
Sure enough, his eyebrows have risen to his hairline.
Panic floods my throat, building up a wall so large I can barely swallow.
“Don’t be an asshole,” I finally manage.
“What’s wrong? Did you not tell your friend about Dad? Not proud of having a jailbird father?”
Looking at the taunt twisting his face, I can’t help remembering Aaron as a kid. When he was little, his cheeks were so chubby that our sister Annaliese and I used to call him chipmunk, and he’d do this scrunchy nose thing that used to make us all laugh. He’s still got slightly chubby cheeks, although the rest of his face is slimming down, and there’s no trace of that laughter on his face anymore.
“Just go upstairs, Aaron,” I say.
He thumps up the stairs, the vibrations making the painting on the wall shake.
I close my eyes and wait for it. Sure enough, the slam of Aaron’s door echoes through the house.
I open my eyes to see Logan watching me.
“Your dad’s in prison?” His voice is low.
“Um…yeah.” I rake my hands through my hair.
Shit. I really wanted to control the way I told Logan. I mean, I was definitely planning on telling him. I almost told him a few weeks ago at the party.
But it’s an ugly truth.
Son of a convicted felon. I mean, it’s got to change the way he views me, right?
Back in Wellington, as soon as Dad was arrested, everything changed. People who’d been my friends my entire life suddenly avoided me.
I remember seeing my friend Marty and his mum cross the road to avoid my mum and me. That was Marty, who was in the chess club with me, who I used to stay over at his house at least every second weekend.
“What’s he in prison for?” Logan asks.
“Fraud.” The word feels dirty in my mouth.
Logan’s eyes widen.
“He was a financial adviser, and it turned out he’d embezzled a whole lot of other people’s money to fund our extravagant lifestyle.” I try to keep my voice neutral.
“Fuck,” Logan says.
“Yeah. That’s a pretty apt description.”
