Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
September 15th
Dinner with Father and Patricia. Lilian wore a blue dress. It matches her eyes in a way that makes it difficult to look away. Had to excuse myself early, claiming a headache. Ironically true, though not for the reasons they assume. The longer I stay in her presence, the harder it becomes to maintain distance. The careful boundaries I’ve established feel increasingly fragile. For her safety, I must be stronger.
My heart pounds as I turn the page.
October 3rd
Found her crying in the garden today. Some argument with Patricia about college applications. Wanted to comfort her, but what comfort could I possibly offer when I’m the one who needs to stay away? The space between us is the only gift I can give her. If she knew what I am, what I’ve done...
He breaks off there, the entry incomplete. I flip forward, my hands trembling.
December 24th, Christmas Eve.
Family photo session for the Hayes holiday card. Patricia positioned us side by side. Lilian’s hand brushed mine, a casual touch that shouldn’t mean anything. I’ve spent the hours since in cold showers and punishing workouts. Father’s suspicious glances suggest he notices more than I’d like. Must be more careful.
I can’t do it. I close the journal, emotion tightening my throat. All this time, I thought his distance was indifference, even cruelty. These entries suggest something else—a purposeful separation, a protective measure. It doesn’t make sense.
What is he protecting me from?
I don’t know what comes over me, but instead of stashing the journal back into its hiding spot, I slip it into my backpack. There’s more I need to know, and I’m willing to face the consequences if he figures out I took it. But, really, how would he find out?
With the journal secure, I continue my search. Where would a person hide things they want no one to see while still keeping it in plain sight? I scan the bedroom. There’s nothing under the bed. No more drawers on the desk.
My gaze falls to the closet door. Bingo. I pull the door open and flick the light on. Ten minutes later, I discover a shoebox that’s been pushed to the back of the highest shelf. Nothing says secrets like that. I pull it down, brushing off the thick coating of dust on the top that tells me he hasn’t opened the box in some time.
I flip the top of the box off. I’m not sure what I anticipated finding inside that box, but it isn’t the watch I had given him two years ago. I don’t know if I should be angry or melt into a puddle over the fact that he’s kept it this whole time.
It’s in perfect condition, and looks just as it did the day I gave it to him. Unsure of how I feel, I shove it into my pocket and move onto the numerous newspaper clippings, the paper yellowed with age.
LOCAL TEEN SENT TO TREATMENT FOLLOWING BOATHOUSE INCIDENT reads the headline. The article is sparse on details, mentioning only that a Hayes youth had been transferred to a specialized facility following an unfortunate accident at the family’s lake property.
No names. No specifics. This isn’t a news story, it’s a cover-up. Made to be deliberately vague so it can be quickly buried.
There’s another clipping, this one from the financial section:
HAYES PHARMACEUTICALS ACQUIRES NORTHSTAR FACILITIES.
The acquisition date is just weeks after the boathouse incident.
At the bottom of the box is a photograph—two identical boys, perhaps seven years old, standing with an older man I recognize as Aries’s father. Both boys are wearing identical swim trunks and smiles. It would appear you couldn’t tell them apart if you tried, but there’s a subtle difference in their posture.
One stands straight and attentive, while the other leans slightly, as if resisting the formal pose. Maybe it’s a cousin I never met.
That would be possible, but Aries’s dad doesn’t have any siblings, so how can these two look so alike? Some part of me wants to hold on to these thoughts, these conclusions, to just keep lying to myself because it’s simpler than facing the truth.
There’s a thunderous crash, the sound coming from downstairs. It jolts me back to the present. Voices approach—one of them raising in anger. I recognize it immediately, though it’s harsher than Aries usually sounds.
Shit.
I panic, switching off the light and retreating to the closet, pulling the door nearly closed but leaving a crack to see through. The room door bangs open seconds later, and a figure storms in, rage in every movement. I’ve seen Aries angry, and I know from personal experience how monstrous he can be, but there’s a menace to this prowling.
He’s on the phone, stalking back and forth with agitated energy.
“I already told you, I’m not your errand boy,” he snarls. “I don’t work for you—this arrangement was supposed to be mutually beneficial.”