Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)
Butterflies & Vicious Lies: Chapter 28

THERE ARE eight pieces of cutlery sitting in front of me on the table, and I can’t decide which one I’d prefer to stab myself with. I would figure out how to use the teaspoon as a weapon if it meant I could leave.

I don’t usually mind these dinners with my grandma, but I’m not in the mood to talk about my future at The Wilde Corporation. Or any future for that matter. How can I discuss what I’ll be doing in seven months when I graduate when I barely have a handle on what I’m doing now?

When my grandfather passed two years ago, his majority shares of the company were passed down to me. While on paper, I’m the president of the company, I’m not allowed to officially take the reins until I’ve received my degree. It was a stipulation in his will that has been strictly enforced despite my arguments. One of my grandfather’s most trusted men has been handling things while I’m being lulled to sleep by my econ professor.

Pax will receive our parents’ shares of the company when he turns twenty-five, but he has shown zero interest in working for the family business. Which isn’t a huge shock. His mind is more artistic and imaginative. He would die a slow death if he had to sit in on board meetings and schmooze politicians in DC to ensure we get the defense contracts we want.

That’s the reality I’m looking at for the next fifty or so years. The only thing that’s keeping me from leaving it all behind is knowing there are priceless secrets coming my way. My poker games and business here are lucrative as hell, but my income now will look like pennies once I get to the big dogs in the capital. Those connections will then branch overseas, and I’ll have enough debts and dirt on our world leaders to do whatever the fuck I want.

That is what excites me.

“It’s a shame that Paxton could not join us,” my grandmother, Claire, comments from across the grand dining room table. “Was he not feeling well again?”

When Mom died and Dad was sentenced to fifteen years in prison, we were forced to move in with our grandparents. They were kind and generous, and best of all, they didn’t hover. As long as our grades remained steady and we gave them a courtesy heads-up so they wouldn’t worry, they didn’t care if we stayed out late or didn’t come home at all. Grandma Claire, who had long stopped working as a lawyer for the company, stepped up in all the ways we needed her. While she took on our mother’s role, she never tried to replace her.

I can’t very well tell her that her grandson was too drunk to come with me, so I simply nod my head. “Yeah. I think it’s a virus or something.”

Claire, who looks so much like my mom, furrows her graying eyebrows at this. I know she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push the subject any further. “Very well. Perhaps next time.” She takes a bite of the small starter salad the chef made that just tastes like raw kale. “Is there anything new in your world, Rafferty? How is your last year of college going?”

I should lie and tell her nothing new and exciting is happening. Instead, I stupidly open Pandora’s box and tell her, “Posie is back.”

I’m not entirely sure why I’m opening the door for us to talk about her. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t gone a second in the past week without thinking about that night and the way she left bleeding.

Her head cocks to the side. There’s so much hairspray in her coiffed hair that it doesn’t shift on her head when she moves. “Posie? You mean the young girl who turned your father in?”

“Yes.”

She doesn’t react to this with any malice or contempt, as if Posie turning my dad in had zero consequences in her eyes. “How is she doing? She was always a very sweet girl when she was young. If I recall correctly, she was quite smitten with you. My goodness, she looked at you like you hung the moon.” She smiles over her wineglass. “Have you two reconciled?”

I stare at my grandmother through narrowed eyes. “How can I reconcile with her when she’s the reason Mom is dead?”

To my dismay, she scoffs dramatically at me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rafferty. Your mother’s death was not Posie’s fault.”

“How can you say that?” My hand tightens around my fork. “Had she kept her mouth shut like she promised me she would, Mom never would have been as depressed as she was. The fallout of Dad being sent to prison put her in that bathtub.”

Claire sits up straighter in her chair and calmly folds her arms over each other on the table. “Do not blame that young girl for the tragic decision your mother felt she needed to make,” she pauses, eyes falling to her hands. “And do not be angry at Posie for doing something your mother should have done herself.”

“What should Mom have done?” I ask.

“Protected you.”

“You say it like it was that simple.”

Her head shakes once, and she frowns. “You’re right, the situation was anything but simple. It was complex and a very difficult place for you all to be in. That doesn’t change the fundamental fact that a parent protects their child. It should never be the other way around. You were unfairly put in a place where you felt you needed to do that for her, and because of it, you feel like you have failed her.”

I swallow hard, hand flexing on my fork again. “I did fail. She died.”

Standing from her chair, she comes around the table to stand next to me. “Look at me, Rafferty.” Doing as she says, she holds my face between her wrinkled hands. “You need to hear me when I say this; Mollie’s death was no more your fault than it was Posie’s. It was devastating and heartbreaking, but it was no one’s fault. She was my daughter and I miss her greatly, but it isn’t doing anyone any good pointing fingers and placing blame. She wouldn’t want that for you.”

“What do you think she’d want me to do?”

“She’d want you to let go of it all. The anger, the guilt, the blame. It’s only hurting you now, my boy.” Bending down, she kisses my forehead, no doubt leaving a mauve kiss print. “Now, I’m going to go ask the chef if the next course is ready. I don’t know about you, but I can’t eat any more of that kale.”

I’M DRIVING down the highway with my windshield wipers going at full speed and weaving between cars in my Jaguar F-Type when Rome’s name comes across the car’s Bluetooth system.

Pressing a button on the steering wheel, I accept the call. “Hey.”

“Did Pax end up going with you to see Granny W?” Only Rome can call her that. If anyone else tried it, she’d probably whack them with one of her books. She pretends to just tolerate him, but everyone knows that she has a soft spot for him.

“No, he was staying home tonight. He didn’t look like he’d make it through the car ride there without passing out.” Something is wrong if he’s calling to ask me that. “What’s going on?”

“I’m over at the house because I’m avoiding my father as per usual, and I just checked everywhere. Pax is gone again.”

“Goddammit!” I shout, slamming my palm against the steering wheel. “Did you call your cousin?”

“Vinny knows if he sells to Pax again, I’ll make him wear his balls as a necklace,” Rome assures me.

I don’t want to be angry at my brother because I know this isn’t his fault, I just wish he’d stay in the fucking house so I didn’t have to keep hunting his ass down.

“Who else would he go to?”

“Hold tight, I’m going to make some calls.” Rome ends the call, leaving me with only the sound of the engine roaring and my thoughts.

I thought I could handle Pax on my own and that he didn’t need to go to some rehab where they have sharing circles and shit, but I’m starting to worry that it’s spiraling further and further out of my control and capabilities. I just don’t know how to have that conversation with my brother. How do I tell him that I can’t help him anymore and we need to send him somewhere? It feels like yet another way I’ve let down my family.

My grandmother’s words echo in my head. Let go of it all. The anger, the guilt, the blame.

It’s the last part I’m struggling with the most.

Blame.

For the longest time, I could only blame her. In the red mist of rage that consumed and blinded me, Posie was the only viable culprit I could see. It wasn’t until recently, when the fire that has been burning below my skin started to dim, that I started to wonder if I’ve misplaced some of my own blame onto her.

I know I’ve been alone in blaming her. Everyone else around me seems to not hold her accountable in any way. My grandmother sat across from me with a hopeful look in her eye while she asked if we’d gotten back together. If she believed Posie was to blame, she wouldn’t want her grandson anywhere near her. The way she sees it, Posie’s actions were a kindness.

And then there’s Pax, who apologized to her as if he’d been the one to do something wrong. His emotions have been numbed for years and yet, when he looked at her, he cried. He cried and begged her to stay with him.

Stay with him…

Keeping my eyes on the road the best I can, I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone. The app Rome had put on my phone sits right there on my home page, and when I open it, I replace myself relieved at what I replace on the live footage of Posie’s room.

Weeks ago, I would have been livid to see my brother with her but knowing he’s there—safe—is all that matters to me now.

They lie together on her bed with a blanket thrown over them. It looks like Pax is already asleep, but Posie is awake, gently stroking his hair. She brings him a level of comfort and peace I haven’t been able to give him, and for that I’m thankful for her.

I redial Rome as I shift gears and speed faster down the highway.

“Did you replace him?” he asks as a greeting.

“Yes, he’s with her.”

There’s a long pause before he asks, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m headed there now.”