Egotistically Yours by Hayley Faiman

Chapter Twenty-Six

LAURENT

I standin the middle of the parking garage, my phone to my ear and my mother’s voice in the background. I don’t know what to even fucking say or do. I’m just in so much shock that I continue to stand in the middle of the garage.

“I heard you had a baby,” she announces and she sounds almost accusatory.

Clearing my throat, I pinch my eyes closed. “I did,” I admit.

I did not want to get into this with my mother … ever. I don’t even know how she’s allowed to call me this late in the evening, but I don’t want to deal with her. She doesn’t say anything right away, then I hear her voice again and if there is one thing about Susan Astor, you always know how she feels.

Right now, she is fucking pissed.

“Yes, I got a file on the woman. I cannot believe you disrespected me by procreating with someone so much less than you. Really, Laurent. You have shamed me and your entire family.”

I don’t respond, mainly because I’m still so fucking shocked that she actually called me, let alone scolded me over shaming her. If I were more on my toes, I would ask her how she didn’t shame us? She has done some much shit that there is no way she has not put a stain on the Astor name.

I’m not on my toes though. I’m still just so shocked that she’s called me that I can’t even say anything in response. I’m shocked fucking silent and I think it’s the first time that’s ever happened in my entire life.

“What are you going to do to fix this?” she demands.

“Fix this?” I ask.

“You cannot have a bastard from trash carry on the Astor name, your father has already fucked up part of the family, you can’t do it too, not my Laurent.”

Licking my lips, I pinch my eyes closed and try to calm down. Anger flows through me at her words and I wonder how a woman sitting in prison has the right to say a fucking thing to me about someone else being trash and tarnishing the Astor name.

“My baby is mine. I’m not doing anything,” I state. She doesn’t respond immediately, and I’ve suddenly found my voice, so I continue to speak. “You have a lot of nerve calling me from prison to tell me how to live my life and who to fall in love with and create life with.”

My words must strike a chord. She growls, then I hear her shout into the phone. Her words are almost unintelligible. But I understand them just fine. I let her say her peace, then I end the call calmly or as calmly as possible.

“Love?” she snorts. “You better fix it, Laurent. It doesn’t matter where I am or what little nitwit your father is fucking. You, your brother, and sister are the true Astor heirs and you will procreate accordingly. You will be with someone of your status and you will do the right thing, always. Pay the bitch off, send her and that thing that came out of her far away.”

Deciding that I cannot contribute to the toxic conversation that is my mother, I end the call. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I head toward my car. Using my key fob, I unlock the car and open the door then sink down inside of the front seat.

Gripping the steering wheel, I gnash my teeth together and try to calm myself down. The anger doesn’t dissipate though, it continues to grow and fester. It fills me and I know that I cannot go home right now.

It’s late and that’s exactly where I should be—home. I promised myself that I would not stay out late for no good reason again, but I cannot go home to my family feeling this angry.

Touching the start button, I inhale a deep breath, then let it out slowly before I shift the car into reverse. I’m still not calm enough to head home, so I do something really stupid. I drive to my bar, my bar, the place I always found some hot piece of ass to fuck, not even necessarily take home.

I know I shouldn’t go there, but I do. I cannot go home. I just fucking can’t.

Pulling into the parking lot, I climb out of the car and I send a text to Lawrence. He probably won’t join me. He never really did when I was a regular here, but maybe he can join me tonight. Tonight, when I really fucking need him.

My phone dings with a notification instantly.

LAWRENCE: Why are you there and not at home?

I snort as I find a seat at the end of the bar, as far away from the crowd as possible.

MOM CALLED ME. JUST GET YOUR PANSY ASS DOWN HERE.

LAWRENCE: I’ll be there soon.

I can’t deny that I’m surprised he’s agreed to come down. Maybe because I’m not hunting for easy pussy, maybe because, as the practical son, the one who always wants to fix and help, he sees this as an opportunity to do what he loves.

Whatever the reason, I don’t really care. I don’t want to hear any psychobabble bullshit, but I need someone I can trust to talk to, someone who knows my mother just as much as I do, just as deeply as I do. Someone who will look at the big picture and tell me what he thinks.

I could ask my father, but I already know that he’ll tell me to ignore her. Is that the right thing to do? My mother may have been a shit mother and a shittier wife, but she’s still my mother.

She has always wanted what was best for us, even if she didn’t know how to do that—how to give it.

Ordering a whiskey, I know without a doubt that I won’t be driving home tonight. I’ll have to get a taxi or something. It doesn’t matter, right now, the only thing I can think about are the words my mother said to me. They play on a repeated loop.

Lifting the whiskey to my lips, I take a large gulp, shooting the whole thing in one drink then lift my hand and tap the glass on the bar. The bartender refills me and I tell him to keep them coming. He doesn’t respond with anything other than an acknowledging nod.

I’m three whiskeys in when a figure appears at my side. Expecting it to be Lawrence, I look over and blink twice at the sight of Abbie, the coffee cart girl, sitting next to me. She gives me a flirty smile, her hand extending and her fingertips running down the length of my arm.

“Well, if it isn’t Laurent Astor, in the flesh. It’s been a while,” she whispers.

Visions of fucking her come to mind, then they are replaced by the visions of the way that Bethie looked when we walked into the office together and I made a show out of kissing and groping Abbie in front of her. She was so hurt. It was a direct hit, it accomplished what I wanted it to, but the guilt has never left.

I can’t do that to Bethie again, not ever again. No matter what. That’s what I tell myself as she talks to me and her fingers explore my arm, then my shoulder, then my side. I continue to drink as I wait for my brother.

I can’t stop my mind from wandering. I can’t stop thinking that maybe this isn’t right. Maybe Cody is right, and I’m just telling myself a lie, that I can’t change that much.

Seeing Abbie next to me, knowing that I could fuck her in the back if I wanted to, I’m not stopping her from touching me. I’m not going home. I’m just fucking sitting here. I’m not pushing her away the way that I should.

Then I wonder if maybe I should let Bethie go? After all, she shouldn’t have to deal with my mother, nobody should. I’m not willing to commit to her in a marriage, either. I know she wants that, too. No matter what she says, I know that deep down, Bethie wants to be Mrs. Astor.

“Laurent,” a deep voice grunts.

Turning my head, I look back at Lawrence, who is watching this scene with clear disapproval in his gaze.

Abbie looks behind her, then back to me. “Your brother is gorgeous too,” she whispers. “I’ll be over at that table, when you’re ready to go just come and get me. I’ll be waiting.”

Abbie stands and walks behind me toward an empty table. I don’t watch her go, instead, I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek and wait for Lawrence to begin berating me.

BETHANIE

The stranger leavesmy door after standing there and waiting for me to answer for far longer than is necessary. I stand on the other side of the door, staring through the peephole until my legs grow tired and my back starts to hurt.

By the time I force myself away from the door, it’s well past ten in the evening. My stomach growls and I realize that I haven’t even eaten dinner.

Making my way into the kitchen, I try not to think about my silent phone, my unreturned texts, and the fact that the man I’m supposed to be sharing my life with has essentially disappeared.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic. I don’t want to be clingy or too much, but as I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I watch the clock and wonder where he could be. I’m past being angry at this point. Right now, I’m worried. Each minute that passes is nothing but another question mark.

Once I’ve cleaned up the kitchen, I head upstairs and get ready for bed, then I check on Tucker, who is still fast asleep. Grabbing a blanket, I make my way back downstairs, my phone clutched in my hand, I make myself comfortable on the couch.

I can’t sleep, and I definitely won’t be able to even rest upstairs. I don’t know if that man is going to try and break into this house, if he’s going to attempt to take Tucker or hurt me or whatever it is that his purpose entails.

So, with my phone in my hand, I turn on the television and wait for Laurent to walk through the door. I don’t know what he’s doing or when he’ll be home, but I do know that this isn’t anything like how I imagined my first day home from the office, especially after the epic start to the morning.

I watch a couple episodes of an old sitcom and wait. Every now and then, I glance at my phone, but the only change is the time.

A minute turns into thirty, then each thirty turns into an hour and I check the time around three in the morning and my heart breaks. This isn’t like a client dinner, this is Laurent running scared, pushing me away, doing God knows what.

This is not good, not in the slightest.

My dream life, though it only lasted a few weeks, is crumbling all around me and I can’t even cry about it. My eyes aren’t wet, my emotions aren’t really even all over the place. I just feel sad. Incredibly sad and lost. So lonely, sad, and lost.

When my alarm for work sounds, I turn it off, then stand and fold the blanket before I place it on the cushion and head upstairs to shower for the morning. I go through the motions of getting ready for work. I dress, do my hair and my makeup, then when Tucker wakes I feed him.

I am a zombie. I’m exhausted, but more than that, I’m heartbroken. When Tucker is finished eating, I change him and pack his diaper bag for day care. I try not to think about my position. I gave up my apartment only a couple of weeks ago, I don’t even own furniture anymore.

I have absolutely nothing. Then I look down at Tucker, but I also have everything. I have him. He is all that I will ever need. I could be living in my little car and still be happy, because I have him.

If Laurent is suddenly running scared, if he isn’t ready for us, that’s fine. I was going to raise Tucker on my own from the beginning, and I’ll do it now. It will break my heart because I’m truly in love with Laurent, but sometimes love just isn’t enough. Even when we really want it to be with everything that we have.

By the time I’m ready to walk out of the door, my chest starts to ache, it starts to hurt and I lift my hand to the center and try to rub the ache away. It doesn’t work. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out and do it again, then a third time.

Gathering all of my strength, all of my dignity, I leave the condo. I’ll be back after work, but this is only temporary and I know that now. Though I always knew that deep down, didn’t I? I was hopeful that it would have lasted longer, but I knew we were only temporary, deep down. I need to start looking for something else, because I have a feeling when Laurent decides to reappear, he’s going to want me gone—want us gone.

Making my way toward my car, I forget to check my surroundings, I forget a lot of things, like the man that followed me yesterday. Placing Tucker in the back seat, I strap him in, then stand and shut the door before I reach for my car door.

That’s when it happens.

I feel heat at my back, then breath against my cheek as an arm clamps around my waist and a hand grips the front of my throat.

“I’m watching you, bitch. Your time is coming,” he growls.

Then he’s gone. My entire body trembles. It shakes and I grab the door, ripping it open and practically jumping into the car, locking it immediately. I don’t know what to do. I’m in shock as I sit there, shaking uncontrollably.

Then my phone rings.

Stupidly, I expect it to be Laurent. I can’t see anything, my eyes won’t focus, so I just slide my thumb along the screen and answer it.

“Hey, it’s Melody. I’m going to be in the city and wanted to know if you’d like to do lunch today? I can meet you close to your office.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Are you okay, honey?” she asks sweetly, though I have no idea why she’s being nice to me, it’s not like we’re friends.

“I’m okay,” I lie, my voice trembling, no doubt showcasing that lie and making it beyond obvious.

She doesn’t say anything right away, then I hear her hum. “What time do you have lunch, honey?” she asks her, voice softer and almost kinder.

I don’t quite buy her nice act, especially since she keeps adding the word honey in there. It seems a bit over the top, but I’m too shaken up and worried about this stranger to give a shit what Melody’s intentions are at this point. I’m completely worn out.

“One,” I breathe.

“I’ll be at your office at twelve thirty. I’ll hang in the lobby, people watch and take a load off.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. Instead, she ends the call and I notice that I’m not as shaky as I was just a few moments ago. I look down at my phone and then debate attempting to call Laurent again, but I decide against it.

Instead of calling him, my mother, or anyone else, I start the car, shift it into reverse and head toward work. Fuck all of this. All of it.