Page 46 of Lords of Misrule
He shrugs. “My dad’s parents. Yeah.”
“And you don’t speak to your dad, but you speak to them?”
“Yes. They weren’t involved in my dad’s scheme, and they always hated my stepmother as much as I did, so… we make it work.”
“Does your mother still live up here?”
“No. She moved to California a long time ago. I still visit her occasionally, but once she and my dad were done, she took the money and ran. I don’t blame her.”
“You didn’t go with her?”
“No. I was young and stupid at the time. Thought my dad was a god. He seemed like he was. All the money and famous people who flowed through our house. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized who he really was. That there was something that didn’t make sense about how the two of them were making money.”
“And your stepmom talked him into it all, or what?”
“Nah. I’m positive she contributed to it. But he was a greedy asshole all on his own. She just helped grease things for him because she knew so many people.”
“Do your grandparents still talk to him?”
“I think they send him money and letters for the holidays. But they’d rather pretend their son wasn’t locked up, so they mostly act like he doesn’t exist anymore. Focus on their respectable children.”
“Do you count?”
“I’m… a mixed bag, I think. I remind them of him. We look a little alike. I’m his only son. But they know I didn’t have anything to do with it, and they’ve always been good to me.”
“Gotcha. But be on my best behavior.”
“Yeah. No pointing guns at anyone this weekend, okay?”
We both laugh, and I punch him in the arm.
“I think I can refrain from putting a gun to your grandfather’s head. I mean unless he pulls some Rowan shit. Then I can’t be helped.”
“Nah. Nothing like Rowan. Pretty decent for a rich old guy. He just likes playing golf and having his whiskey while he reads the financial news at night.”
“Fair enough.” I stare up at the house as we get out of the car and pull the wool coat I have on a little tighter around me. Hudson walks around and pulls our suitcases out of the trunk, placing one of them in front of me. One that’s way too huge for what’s supposed to be a weekend trip but contains all of the clothes, makeup, and hair stuff I need to look like I fit in here. Enough to make me look like I might have a wealthy great aunt who passed away and left a painting like this to me.
Hudson took me on a quick shopping trip before we came here. Apparently, my wardrobe, which consisted mostly of jeans and tees with a few dressier items for when I had volunteer activities and cute tops for going out, wasn’t going to cut it for a weekend at his grandparents. So I bought two new dresses, a pair of pants and a couple of tops, this coat, and two pairs of shoes. It felt a little ridiculous, but Hudson assured me it was necessary. He sat patiently with me while I picked things out and tried them all on, giving me the thumbs up on things he thought would work best. Then we went to get burgers and fries while he gave me a brief overview of his childhood growing up. All the details of which I was trying to quickly test myself on again with mental flashcards.
* * *
Late that afternoon, after I met his grandparents and we had cake and coffee, we head over to his family friend’s house. Hudson’s grandfather spoke to him on our behalf earlier in the week and he told us to stop by when we were in town. Rolling down their driveway after we enter the gate, I feel like I’m having déjà vu. Only this time the house is even bigger, and the grounds are even more expansive than the place we just left. A wide swath of snow rolls over the front lawn, decorating the trees like it’s been painted there.
“Jesus Christ. Why did you leave all this again?”
“To play hockey and get away from all the bullshit.”
“Right.” I forget sometimes that Hudson has his own damage. He handles it so much better than the rest of us, but it doesn’t make it any less painful for him.
“Yeah,” he says softly in return.
I don’t point out the obvious. That now we’re here doing this which is also illegal and potentially fucking over a family friend. Not that they know it. The painting is real. They just won’t know we stole it instead of inherited it. But hopefully if it ever comes to that, they’ll have ignorance as a defense.
“I’m sorry. It must have been hard to leave all of this.”
“Not really. Seeing how people reacted. Treating me like shit just for being his kid, I was ready to leave. I wanted to play hockey instead of work in finance anyway. So, just one of those situations where it is what it is.”
“But you had to leave your girlfriend behind too.”
