Worlds Collide (Fan Service #6)

18. Wolf

EIGHTEEN

WOLF

“Honestly, Jerry, you’ve embarrassed us enough, and now this?” the woman who I’m assuming is CJ’s mother says, like CJ’s a little kid who misbehaved.

I feel the need to stand in front of him and snarl at the botched-plastic-surgery walking. But I refrain. These are CJ’s parents. They’re not my problem.

And though I’ve started to feel like maybe I could share my problems with him and the world wouldn’t end, I don’t know what he wants me to do in this situation, so I just ball up my fists and stay silent.

Rich stands stock-still on the other side of CJ—and I’m thrilled he still has the gun he may have smuggled illegally into Italy in his hand—so at least I feel like we can protect him. These are his parents though, and they look pretty pissed.

Then again, I know better than anyone that words can hurt more than anything physical, so maybe not.

“We raised you better than to involve yourself with such a...” CJ’s father whisper-shouts with a disgusted look thrown my way. “Disturbing character.”

“You didn’t raise me at all,” CJ says through clenched teeth.

“Don’t talk back to your father,” the woman snaps with venom in her voice.

And that’s enough for me. I take one step forward, and it’s not like I’d ever resort to violence here, but I do take a lot of pleasure in seeing her step back in fear.

“I really don’t like how you’re talking to CJ,” I say, almost conversationally. “So how about you apologize and then get the fuck out?”

“You can’t speak to her like that, you deviant.” CJ’s father steps up and I feel Rich do the same behind me.

“Actually,” CJ pipes in. “He can speak to her however he likes. You’re nothing to me, not anymore, and unlike you, he’s actually welcome here.”

“That’s absurd,” she says, pulling her coat together like this is the eighteen fifties or something. “This is my house.” She tilts her chin up, and I’d really like to snarl and see fear fill her eyes again. She needs to be taken down a peg or two.

“No, it’s not.” CJ’s voice carries through the huge foyer as he steps up to stand next to me. “This is my house and you’re not welcome here, just like you’re also not welcome in any of my other properties.” I can tell he’s enjoying saying all of this to them, but it surprises the fuck out of me. Why are they so hostile? They come in here, insult me, basically dismiss CJ altogether, and CJ doesn’t even bat an eye. Like this is nothing new to him.

I never thought this is what CJ’s parents would be like, never in a million years.

I heard her scream at him over the phone in that hotel room when the pictures came out, but I thought she was just elitist, that she was mad because I’m not a socialite like CJ, not that she was criticizing him.

“You sold it all!” his mom explodes suddenly. “You’re giving my things and my money away!” It’s getting damn close to being a temper tantrum. “You can’t kick us out you ungrateful, selfish bastard?—”

“Watch it,” I snap, point-two seconds away from losing my shit on this woman.

“Oh, I’m definitely ungrateful to you.” Now it’s CJ getting all up in her face. “And you bet I’m selfish when it comes to everything I inherited—which, might I add that I only exist because you two concocted this delusional plan so you’d get your greedy little hands on your daddy’s money? You always planned for me to inherit everything, so don’t act like you’re actually suffering, okay?

“If there’s one thing I’m not, Mother ,” he says with derision. “Is a bastard. You of all people should know that. You made damn sure I became the perfect heir, didn’t you? Right down to the name. Well you and every Clemson in the world can go straight to hell because I’m not a Clemson. I changed my stupid-ass name, legally , and I really hope dear ol’ Grandpa is rolling in his grave and rotting in Hell!” CJ basically screams the house down. “You should actually go join him.”

CJ huffs and puffs out each breath as he walks over to the front door and holds it open for them. All the while his parents stare at him with absolute rage in their eyes.

“You’re such a waste,” his father whispers, and fuck, that’s... heartless. Then he goes to the little table by the entrance and grabs a car key.

“That’s my car, and you don’t get to use it,” CJ snaps, and takes the key from his father’s hand before he can react. “Rich, would you mind helping me bring these bags out to the street?” He’s back to speaking normally. “They’re not very agile, my parents, and I don’t want them trying to sue me because they fell on their asses dragging them through the gravel.”

“How do you expect us to get anywhere if we can’t take a car?” his mother screeches while Rich and I move forward to push them out without actually having to touch them. “And you,” she says, looking at me now. “You’re going to regret it if you keep hanging around our son, wanting to get your hands on our money. There’ll be consequences if you don’t stay away.”

I just ignore her, and CJ does the same with her last statement.

“You have a phone,” he tells her simply when they’re right outside the door. Rich walks past them with the bags and then just keeps walking. “Use it.” Then he slams it in their faces.

I stay still and quiet for the whole ten minutes that CJ spends glaring at the closed door.

What the fuck was that?

Rich comes back in eventually, but through the kitchen, so we both turn around quickly when we hear his footsteps from behind us.

“They got picked up by a taxi.” Rich shrugs. The gun’s nowhere to be seen and that makes me feel better but I’ll definitely have questions for him later. “I’m gonna go,” he says slowly, and points his thumb behind him to where his room is.

I nod and he just gives CJ one of his barely-there smiles.

CJ looks lost inside this house, looking at the far wall like it’s going to explain what just happened.

All I know is that just beyond this room, there’s a fancy-ass sitting room that has a little cart fully stocked with all the drinks I could possibly want. I don’t think I’ve actually ever wanted a drink more than right this second.

Because if what I just witnessed is true.. .

Fuck, how did CJ ever forgive me for saying all that shit about him? My lame-ass apology was definitely not enough to make up for the fact that I mocked his relationship with his parents. A relationship that’s clearly nothing like what I thought it was.

The unforgiving twist of guilt in my gut is painfully familiar, and it only makes me want to drink more. But I can’t. I won’t let myself drink, because the way CJ’s eyes are fixated on something I can’t see has a more vicious effect inside me than the guilt.

“I don’t know what to do.” I whisper the truth. My words echo in the room like a shout. “Or what to say.” I keep going when CJ doesn’t react. “Or how to make things better.” That last one gets me a reaction, but not the one I ever expected.

CJ snorts and turns to look at me with the saddest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Not to worry. You can’t possibly make things worse.”

He’s just saying that because he didn’t know me a year ago. If there’s one thing I’m better at than anyone else it’s my capacity to always make things worse. I’ve been a pro since I was a kid for fuck’s sake. But CJ doesn’t need to hear about any of that right now.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask gently. The best way to get out and through this is for me to shut up and listen.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, again with that sad smile.

“Come on.” I hold out my hand for him, and the butterflies in my stomach are terrified when he takes it. This is definitely not the good kind of nerves.

I lead CJ up the stairs and into the bedroom we’ve been sharing. Then I take off his clothes, methodically, and grab his pajamas—because the man has them and wears them every night. Something I teased him about of course. He’ll like wearing them and maybe draw some comfort from that .

After he’s dressed again, I lead him to bed and climb in behind him after taking off my own clothes except for my briefs.

My heart melts when he rolls around and buries his face in my chest and throws his arm over my waist to hold me tight.

We stay like that for a long time. So long that I think he fell asleep—that is until he starts speaking out of the blue.

“My mother’s father is pretty infamous. I don’t know if you’ve heard about him.”

I think hard about it but come up empty. “I don’t think I have.” My voice comes out scratchy.

“Well, he was already rich, already an asshole, and already the biggest racist and bigot alive, but then he went ahead and got into oil.” CJ lets out a big breath while I process what that must mean. “The Clemson’s have always been shitty people as far as I know. Their business has always been someone else’s suffering for profit, and that didn’t change with Jerry Clemson. He had a daughter and then had a son so he could have a real heir .” He sneers the last words. “But my uncle is even more of a piece of shit than Jerry was. Jerry got his son’s charges dropped countless times. Assault, sexual assault, rape, whatever you can imagine, he did it before he was twenty-five.

“That’s how my mother and father came up with this plan. They would have a son and convince Jerry to give the trust to them to keep safe until I was twenty-eight. They got pregnant, had me, and then named me Clemson Jerry Sounders all to get that blood money.” He takes a very deep breath and lets it out slowly before he keeps talking. “I found out when I was seven, I think, what that name meant. A nanny told me. Jerry died like six months after I was born, so I don’t have any memories of him that are my own.

“But the nanny told me about the war for oil, and about—” A ragged breath cuts him off. “Well, you can imagine the rest. So I knew what my name meant, but I didn’t understand why my parents would give me that name. I asked them.” Another pause for a sigh and I can’t help but squeeze him tighter in my arms. “I asked them and that’s when they told me I only exist so they could have that house and go on those trips.”

“Assholes,” I can’t help but spit out. Who tells that to a seven-year-old? I mean doing it is one thing, but to actually tell him?

“They had never been loving parents. I’d always had nannies, and I barely talked to them anyway, but as I got older they wanted me to act like I was their son in front of other people. At certain dinners or events. When I turned sixteen, they took me to a meeting with the lawyer who handled the trust and I learned what I needed to do to take it away from them. They tried to take Adam away from me by shipping me off to some boarding school, but I managed to get them to let me stay by quitting the football team.

“All the years since, they’ve threatened not to pay for my education if I didn’t go to all the galas they told me to. I would’ve never been able to get a scholarship you see. Universities run the family’s bank accounts and they would’ve never given one to me. I did think I could get away with getting loans and just paying them off when I got the trust, but I didn’t want to give my parents even a hint that I was planning to give it all away.

“I did my best to act like I was happy to never see or talk to them and only be their pawn, so that they wouldn’t try to find a way to take the trust away. Until this February, when I told them they could go fuck themselves after they tried to make me go to a charity gala the same day of the Super Bowl. They spent the next six months trying to find a loophole in the trust but I’d made sure there wasn’t a way for them to get the money. I became a doctor just like the trust said I had to and I didn’t have any scandals.

“The fact that I’m bi certainly wasn’t public, and I have a great reputation with all the damn socialites. I can’t tell you how many creepy old men tried to get me to marry their daughters or how many women wanted to take advantage of the docile Clemson heir.”

Rage boils hotter inside me with every word that comes out of his mouth.

How did I get this so wrong? Why would CJ ever give me the time of day, let alone sleep with me when I’ve been nothing but mean and rude to him since the second we met?

I can’t possibly speak. If I do, then I’ll have no control whatsoever over what comes out of my mouth—and I’d definitely make things worse then.

I accused him of being money hungry when he admitted to not coming out as bi before in order to get his trust fund. Then when the pictures of us came out I said he only did it to get his parents’ attention like he was a whiny, spoiled brat.

All the while, what he’s been trying to accomplish is to separate himself from his parents and help people. Help the world in the same way the Clemsons have historically made it worse.

I’m a worthless piece of shit.

Fuck, what is he doing with me? What’s his end goal here? There’s no way in hell any man or woman alive is good enough for him and I consider myself to be lower mid-level on a good day.

If I take into account the way I’ve treated CJ then I’m the lowest scum imaginable. As bad as his parents really. I’ve only been thinking about how he’s affected me and the way I’m inconvenienced by the way he makes me feel—that’s all I’ve cared about.

I stay stock still, with my arms still around him, until I’m sure he’s deep in sleep, and then I untangle myself from him and go downstairs.

I need to move, to get away for a bit, so I think to go out to the garden and look at the Italian night, enjoy the wind on my face or some shit, honestly anything to get out of my head for at least a few minutes.

The pressure of ... everything is too much. I need to distract myself. I need?—

The cart full of booze.

I did fine by only taking a sip of champagne at my brother’s wedding, and if there’s ever a time to make myself a drink, it’s now. So I walk over, get a glass, pour three fingers of whiskey into it and go out to the patio table where we’ve eaten almost every meal at this place.

I stare out at the lake and the huge mountains, but unlike every other time I’ve stared at them, the smallness it brings only makes me feel panic. Not peace.