Bastards and Scapegoats Read online

  Hamilton’s townhouse was nice. It was impersonal, though. Despite the high-end accents and expansive kitchen, there was nothing personal about the place. No pictures hung on the walls. No decor to personalize the space. It was an open concept but a bland execution.

  There were, however, some parts of it that told me about Hamilton. There was an overflowing ceramic bowl sitting on the countertop full of seasonal fruits and vegetables. A banged up wooden cooking block with kitchen knives and shears looked well used. The pantry was stocked, and he had a calendar pinned to the oversized stainless steel refrigerator, with meals written down for every day he was home. Hamilton liked to cook. High-end pots and pans hung from a rack on the ceiling, and he hummed while he cooked a simple recipe from memory.

  “So where is your roommate?” I asked as we sat down at Hamilton’s wooden kitchen table to eat the taco casserole he’d made.

  “She’ll be home later,” Hamilton replied before shoveling food in his mouth. “Jess works late most weekends. She bartends at a local spot. I sometimes try to stay up so I can visit with her when I’m home.”

  I took a dollop of sour cream and put it on my plate. “How’d you meet?” I asked. I wanted to learn more about Hamilton.

  “We both went to school together. I’ve known her since I was in eighth grade. We were both outcasts in our families. Her father was a wealthy preacher that directed a local mega church. When she came out, it was a whole scandal.”

  “Ouch,” I replied before taking a big bite of food. Flavor burst on my tongue, and I nearly died from bliss right there in my seat. “Fuck, this is good,” I moaned.

  Hamilton grinned. “Thank you.”

  I continued to chew. Little Mama was lying at my feet, and Hamilton had poured me a glass of red wine that I hadn’t touched. “So how many years of friendship is that?” I asked, hopefully sounding casual as I asked his age. Hamilton was definitely younger than my stepfather, but he carried himself in a way that felt more mature than most. It was like he’d seen the world. I once read a book that said trauma aged a person. Bad experiences had the power of maturity.

  “Is that your way of asking how old I am?” he teased.

  “I’m just curious. I’m going to be almost nineteen years older than my younger sibling. You both seem to have a similar age difference.”

  “I’m twenty-eight,” Hamilton answered before taking another bite.

  “Not too old,” I replied before reaching for my glass of wine. He clicked his tongue and reached over the tabletop to grab the glass before I could. Our fingers brushed in the process.

  “I didn’t realize you were underaged. Would you like a juice box? Fuck. I could have gone to prison for the stunt I pulled at the wedding. Thank hell you aren’t a high schooler.”

  “I don’t need a juice box,” I snapped back.

  “A bottle of milk then?” he teased.

  “Hilarious.” My dry response had Hamilton laughing. Sure enough, he got up and dumped the contents of my glass out and pulled out some cranberry juice from the fridge. I watched him pour some in my glass and shook my head in amusement when he set it in front of me.

  “Here. You can pretend to be a big kid now.”

  “You do realize you gave me whiskey earlier, right?”

  “That was before I realized you were barely an adult,” he retorted.

  “The legal drinking limit is a joke. I can sign up to go to war, but I can’t buy a beer?”

  “You’re too pretty for war,” Hamilton whispered before going back to his seat. His lips formed into a slow, building smile as he stared intently at me. I met his gaze head on as he licked his lips. My heart pounded, and he took a sip of his drink. “Besides, I don’t take you as much of a drinker.”

  I shifted my weight on the hard wooden kitchen chair. “I’m not. I never really had time for wild teen acts of rebellion,” I admitted before scraping my fork across my plate.

  “My entire life has been one big act of rebellion,” Hamilton replied with a laugh before leaning back in his chair. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done then, hmm?” His question made me blush. I knew my answer almost immediately. The memory that bombarded me was both intrusive and dirty. I had to fight the smile begging to cross my face. Hamilton’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

  I licked my lips and averted my eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Compared to what you’ve probably done.”

  Hamilton leaned forward. “It’s all relative. Don’t compare your wild to someone else’s.”

  “The comparison trap is a slippery slope,” I agreed.

  Hamilton bit his lip and folded his hands under his chin, as if preparing to listen intently to me. “Now tell me what has those pretty cheeks of yours turning pink. Give me your worst.” I let out an exhale and tucked a stray hair behind my ear while looking at the kitchen. I inhaled the smell of our dinner while prolonging the inevitable. “I’m waiting.”

  “Fine,” I replied before dragging my eyes to his. The intensity that met me made me gasp. “I had sex with the quarterback of our high school football team in a science lab. It was my first time, but he was gentle with me. We’d been flirting a lot,” I said before stopping to pick at my nails. I hadn’t orgasmed, which wasn’t a deal breaker in the moment. It was raw and passionate and…quick…

  “Naughty,” Hamilton replied. “Were you dating?”

  “Not really. I was helping him study for our chemistry exam.”

  “You know, I think I saw a porno like that once,” he replied cheekily while running his hands along his thighs.

  I ignored his comment. “It was fun. I felt wild and wanton. But then he texted me about it, and Mom went through my phone,” I admitted. “She freaked. Made me get Plan B and then grounded me. She said she didn’t want me ruining my life like she did.” I never told my mother that I hated feeling like her mistake. She took my first time and twisted it into something that made me feel inadequate and wrong. “She also made me look at photos of STDs and threatened me with all kinds of punishments. She told me that my body was like a delicate rose, and every time I slept with someone, I was plucking a petal off.”

  Hamilton pinched his lips together. “That’s kind of toxic,” he replied, his face serious, those dark eyes of his wide in disbelief.

  “I get why she is the way she is. She wanted me to have all the things she couldn’t have. I think when you’re coming from a place of resentment and fear, it’s hard to say or do the right thing. I just feel like I’m supposed to do everything she missed out on, you know? Anyway, he and I hooked up in secret a couple of times after that when Mom worked late. But it wasn’t anything serious. I ended things when the guilt got to be too much.”

  Hamilton’s face twisted into anger, and he stood up, grabbing his plate as he did so that he could put it in the sink. “I guess he wasn’t good enough to make you stay, hmm?” Hamilton asked, his face turned away from me. “And I suppose that makes sense. We try to be everything our parents aren’t. It’s why I’m determined to be happy.”

  “Happy?” I asked as he rinsed off his plate in the sink.

  “It’s the one thing Jack Beauregard isn’t,” Hamilton answered before turning to face me.

  “Jack seems plenty happy,” I countered.

  “Seems is the key word, Petal. It’s easy to look one thing and be something completely different.” I nodded, understanding Hamilton but not quite wanting to believe him. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get the pull-out couch set up.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.” This conversation was getting heavy.

  We made our way to the living room, and Hamilton found some spare sheets and an oversized fuzzy blanket for me to use. I got ready for bed in the spare bathroom and thought over the conversation I’d had with him. I was desperate to figure out the family dynamics. I knew in my gut that their strained relationships started the day his mother died. But why?

  Hamilton was setting a glass of water on the cof
fee table when I made my way back. “I’ll be gone in the morning before you leave. Lock up for me, yeah?”

  He started walking away, not even giving me a chance to reply. “Thanks for letting me stay!” I called at him. My only answer was the sound of his slamming bedroom door.

  What made Hamilton run so hot and cold?

  5

  I woke up to the sound of Little Mama whining and an unfamiliar voice chastising her. “Hold on, you needy little brat. You’ve already had three treats today, and if I give you any more, we both know it’ll go straight to your hips. Your metabolism isn’t what it used to be.” I sat up on the couch, my threadbare sleep shirt hanging off my shoulder. I smacked my lips and looked around the dark room, trying to remember where I was.

  Hamilton.

  “Good. You’re up,” a raspy voice said. I looked over the edge of the couch and was greeted by a beautiful woman. She was wearing a gray tank top and ripped jeans. There was a lip ring in her plump pout, and her dark skin was smooth. She was tall and toned. “Hamilton left already but explained the situation. I’m Jess.”

  Hamilton left? I stood up and nervously walked over to her. “Hey. I’m Vera, it’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand for her to shake, and she simply raised her pierced eyebrow.

  Up close, I could see specks of gold in her brown eyes, and a shaved line in her eyebrow. She had a slim gap between her front teeth and smelled like cigarette smoke. “Sorry, hon. Any family of Hamilton’s is an enemy of mine. Feel free to freshen up and see yourself out. Oh. And fuck you.”

  My brows shot up. I wasn’t prepared for such anger this early in the morning from a complete stranger, but at the same time, it spoke volumes about her devotion and loyalty to Hamilton. I shrugged. I wasn’t really the type of person to get offended if someone didn’t like me.

  “Okay, no problem,” I replied while holding my hands up. “I’ll go get dressed.”

  Jess squinted at me as I turned around and made my way to the bathroom. I took a quick, hot shower, not bothering to wash my long hair. After brushing my teeth and putting on deodorant, I got dressed in a pair of high-waisted shorts and a black crop top. When I made my way back to the living room, Jess was sitting on the recliner with a cup of coffee in her hands, looking me up and down with scrutiny.

  “How are you and Hamilton related again?” she asked. Oh, so now she wanted to know about me?

  I started folding the blankets on the couch. “My mom shotgun married his older brother,” I admitted. The honesty dripping from my tongue felt good. “I met Hamilton at the wedding. Well, meet is a really loose term for our first introduction. I walked in on him fucking the bridesmaid.”

  Jess broke out into a smile, showing off her bright teeth. “Classic Hamilton.”

  I, too, grinned. Looking back at it, seeing Hamilton fuck a bridesmaid was fitting for our strange dynamic. “It was pretty memorable.” I kept replaying what I saw on loop in my mind. I bit my lip while shoving my pajamas in my duffel bag before checking my phone. Jack had sent a text an hour ago saying he was leaving soon.

  “I feel bad for your mom. Joseph is a dick,” Jess said before taking a sip. She was testing the waters with me, I could tell. I knew Jess for all of thirty minutes and could already tell that she wasn’t discreet, she didn’t bury her disdain deep in her chest. She wore her opinions like a badge of honor. It was endearing, and if one of those opinions wasn’t hatred of me, we’d probably be friends.

  “I don’t really know him, and I don’t make a habit of judging people I don’t know.” I gave Jess a pointed stare, letting her know with a single look exactly what I thought of her snap judgment of me.

  “Fair enough.” Jess seemed soured but still determined. She set her cup down on a side table and crossed her arms over her chest. “Hamilton brought you here, though. I’m trying to decide if it’s because of his tragic guilt that seems to dictate every decision he makes, or if there’s something special about you.”

  Tragic guilt? I wanted to know what she meant by that, but I kept my curiosity to myself. “It’s probably neither,” I answered. “Maybe he just was trying to be nice.”

  Jess cackled dramatically, her raspy voice wrapping around me like smoke. “Hamilton isn’t nice.”

  “He was nice to me,” I admitted.

  “Fine. Let’s see if you’re worthy,” Jess said while looking me up and down. “Rapid fire friendship questions. One round. Don’t think, just answer. I like to get to the nitty gritty right off the bat. Favorite alcoholic drink?”

  What did this have to do with Hamilton? “Not much of a drinker. I don’t smoke weed either.”

  “Perfect. Hamilton has an addictive personality, so you have to be careful. Women’s rights?”

  “Well, duh. I’m a woman. Of course I want women’s rights.”

  “I love a strong woman. Hamilton needs someone that doesn’t accept less than what she deserves.” Jess rubbed her hands together before continuing. “If you had to choose between good sex with a bad partner or bad sex with a good partner, what would you choose?”

  I swallowed. My first instinct was to say good sex, but then I thought of roses with plucked petals and said something else. “Neither. I don’t settle.”

  “Pro-choice? I volunteer at a woman’s center, so I like to make sure the people I surround myself with aren’t going to shame me for that.”

  The answer spilled out of me before I could stop myself. No one had ever really asked me that before. “That’s tricky. My mother was fifteen when she had me. I’m thankful she kept me, because I kind of like being alive, but she shouldn’t have had to. I’m not sure if it was guilt that made her go through with the pregnancy or if she just didn’t have access to the services to terminate. I know she didn’t want to be a mother, but she didn’t want to give me up for adoption either. I think she was just too young to make those decisions and didn’t have someone in her life to help her through the process. She just did what she thought she was supposed to, and we both struggled needlessly.” I slammed my lips closed. I’d never admitted that before. Time seemed to stop, and I pressed the pads of my fingers to my mouth. Was that truly how I felt? Did I wish my mother would have gotten an abortion? She was so young. So vulnerable. “Why are you asking me all of this?”

  “Because it’s fun.” Jess shrugged before pressing on. “Who do you love most in the world?”

  “My mom.”

  “Why?”

  I opened my mouth, trying to come up with a list of reasons I knew were appropriate. Because she was family. Because she always took care of me. Because loving her was this instinctual thing children were hardwired to do. “I just do. I don’t have to explain why I love someone to you.”

  “Amen to that. Trying to explain to my conservative parents why I loved women was obnoxious. Fuck them.” Jess yelped before fist pumping the air. I noticed a tattoo of Ruth Bader Ginsburg on her arm. “If you could eat anything for the rest of your life, what meal would it be?”

  “I lived on cheap mac ’n’ cheese for a majority of my childhood, so I’d probably pick that.”

  “When was the first day of your last menstrual period?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I like to know if we are in sync.”

  “I’m not answering that,” I snapped.

  “Fine. Is it more important to be a good person or be a liked person?”

  I scowled. “Good people are generally liked,” I replied.

  “You’re so naïve. It’s cute,” Jess replied while cocking her head to the side. “Are you religious?”

  “I think there’s a god up there. I’m not really a churchgoer.”

  “My dad is a pastor and kind of an asshole,” Jess explained. “Are you attracted to Hamilton?”

  “He’s my uncle,” I stammered.

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  I straightened my spine. It was my turn. Ignoring her question, I then spoke. “If you found someone’s wallet on the ground, would
you return it to them?” I asked.

  Jess tilted her chin. “Of course.”

  “If you had to give your kidney to one person in the world, who would it be?”

  “Hamilton,” she replied, squirming. “Definitely Hamilton. But he’d be stupid and not accept my kidney, then make me plan his fucking funeral.”

  “Would you rather be rich and miserable or poor and happy?”

  “I’ve been both, and I like myself more when I’m poor,” she admitted. “Maybe you’re not so terrible. You seem like the type of person I could potentially not hate. Down to earth. You aren’t chronically privileged like the rest of the Beauregards, too. I volunteer with a few nonprofits. You should check out my blog, Activist Bitch.”

  I eyed Jess. “That’s great,” I began dryly. “I’ve benefitted from quite a few nonprofits over the years. Most of the volunteers liked to take photos with my mom and me when we were at our most vulnerable. Then, they’d plaster it all over Facebook so they could brag to their friends about how generous they are.” She stared at me with her brow arched. “For the record, I prefer to get to know people organically and not through some really invasive rapid-fire interrogation, but I’m glad we could get the major topics out of the way. Since you want to know all about me, I’ll tell you some more.”

  Jess laughed, but I wasn’t trying to be funny. Teen moms were constantly scrutinized, but even more so, people liked to pity their children and judge their successes and failures based on the shortcomings of their parents. I spent my entire life trying to prove that my mother was worthy and good. I couldn’t slip up once, because I was a direct representation of her. People already had a lot to say about a fifteen-year-old girl raising a child. I never wanted to add to her problems.

  I continued. “I was born in Atlanta and lived on food stamps most of my life. I always lived in the bad part of town until we moved here five years ago. I graduated top of my class because until now, my only hopes of attending college were dependent on whether or not I could get a full scholarship. I’ve got a teen mom who loves me but also kind of resents me.” Jess’s smile faded a bit, and I continued. “Despite this, I had a really good life. I’m out of my depth here. I feel like everyone is judging my mother and me, which we’re both used to. I’m not looking for anyone’s approval, least of all some bitch I just met.”