VEGAS follows you home (33 page)

"What's this about?" I stand to walk around my desk. "I've been following my treatment plan to—”

"This isn't about your sessions, Damon." Dr. Strikner puts his hands out in front of him, palms facing me. "You are doing excellent. I'm only here for support."

Pausing at the corner of my desk, I study his face for something, anything that will give away their intentions.

"It's best if you sit and keep a calm head about you."

I hesitate for a moment before retaking my seat.

"Now, remember all the progress you've made." The doctor moves to the wall on my right and leans against it.

"What is this about?" I growl from annoyance.

"It's about your mother," my father states as he takes a seat in front of my desk.

"What about her? Is she ill?" My spine stiffens. Not because of fear, but because I feel nothing.

Heidi places herself on the arm of my father's chair. Hugh and Scarlett mimic their position in the opposite chair.

"Damon," Scarlett's voice wavers, "your mother, she…"

Scarlett looks to Hugh. He gives her a small nod. With a deep breath, she turns back to me.

"Your mother knew Vivianne."

Her eyes search mine and confusion furrows my brow.

"I know that. Mother was very familiar with VMG, of course she knew her."

"No, she knew her before the night Rebecca and DJ died. They were very well acquainted before that night."

What she says isn't processing or making sense.

"What are you trying to say, Scarlett? I'm well aware my mother knew of Vivianne and may have met her before…that night. Why does that constitute some sort of..?" I pause and wave my hand toward all of them, "intervention."

I see something flash in Scarlett's eyes.

"Damon, she set you up that night. Your mother knew Vivianne very, very, very well. Well enough to set you up. To set you and Rebecca up."

Slowly, the realization of what my mother has schemed washes over me and I feel as if I'm drowning.

Olivia

Alfonso calls the night I return to discuss my request and to get further details about the visit. After telling him about the texts and voicemails, he wants copies of my phone records. A shiver creeps up my spine as I begin to understand how ugly this could get with Damon.

During the week after my return, Alfonso stops by twice for signatures. Felicity and Mercedes take turns staying at my apartment with me to provide emotional and moral support if Damon were to show up. However, there hasn’t been word from him since the day of my flight — no more texts, voicemails, or unannounced arrivals. As the days pass, I feel more and more confident he's leaving us alone. A smile graces my face while there is a small, painful twinge in my chest.

Two weeks since leaving New York, I find myself in a familiar routine — lying in bed, struggling to fall asleep, followed by restless and vivid dreams about Damon. What pisses me off the most is that they aren't angry dreams. These dreams are of us together as a family, sitting in his living room with Alex. Or of just the two of us in his bed, sweating, naked, and out of breath.

The lack of sleep, on top of unwanted dreams, has me tossing my alarm clock off the nightstand when it begins to announce four in the morning. Climbing from the bed, dizziness assaults me, causing me to flail my arms for something to hold onto. My butt hits the bed with a bounce and my stomach churns. Quickly lying back, I inhale through my nose to ease the queasiness.

My body is protesting my lack of slumber.

With my stomach calm, I slide from bed and to the bathroom. A hot shower helps to wake me. A quick braiding of my wet locks, oversized jeans, and t-shirt in place, I follow the scent of fresh brewed coffee.

In the kitchen, I grab my favorite mug and pour the caffeinated goodness. On my third sip, Mercedes appears in her full rainbow of quirk.

"You look like hell," she blurts as she reaches into the refrigerator.

"Thanks. Good morning to you, too," I reply, sarcastically.

"Still not sleeping well?" she asks, pouring a glass of orange juice before propping against the counter next to me.

I shrug.

"Is it anxiety, the bad dreams, the stress...?"

"I'm pretty sure it's everything."

I sigh, not correcting her about the dreams. There's nothing bad about them, other than I'm obsessing over my soon to be ex-husband.

"Hmm." She eyes me for a moment before finishing off the rest of her juice. "Alright, time to make the donuts." She giggles and gives a light nudge to my arm.

Groaning at her crappy joke, I follow her to the bakery kitchen, my coffee still firmly in my hand.

Damon

The moment they tell me my mother was the mastermind behind Vivianne, embers of fury begin a slow burn in my gut. My family's faces all hold the same expression — fear and expectation. And they have every reason to feel this way. Urges to scream, throw, rage, and strangle my mother lie right beneath the surface of my calm facade.

With a deceiving composure, I excuse myself from the group. In the restroom, I splash cold water on my face and breathe deep. Droplets of water spray from my nostrils with each forceful exhale. Patting my face dry, I stare at myself in the mirror. Angry eyes stare back, but this time, there is a control containing the rage.

Taking quick, determined steps, I walk through my office and out the door.

"Damon, wait!" Hugh's footfalls follow his shout.

"Son, don't do this!" my father calls.

"Kick her ass, Damon!" Scarlett cheers, causing a twitch of amusement to lift one side of my mouth.

Without knocking, I enter my mother's home. Her servants look alarmed at my intrusion and hurry out of my path. I stop before the large woman who raised me when my mother was too busy to interact with her own child. Now the caregiver to the woman I want to throttle stands at the mouth of the large living room she used to sneak me in to play when forbidden.

"Virginia." I nod.

She stares into my eyes. Unlike the rest of the staff, I only see curiosity and hope on her face.

"Damon," she sighs. "I suppose you are here to speak with your mother."

It's not a question and takes me by surprise.

"You know about—?"

She shakes her head.

"No, baby boy, I have no idea why you are here to see her, but I've known this day would eventually come."

"What day?" I swallow, touched by the childhood endearment but unsure of whether I really want the response.

"The day you finally figured her out. The day you entered this house as a man determined and not the easily manipulated boy she's worked so hard to force you to be."

"How do you know I—?"

"Don't you forget who raised you, baby boy." She smiles, knowingly.

I return the smile for the briefest of moments.

"Where is she?" The darker urges to shout and attack deepen my voice.

"The study." She motions toward the stairs before cupping my face and retreating into the living room, closing the door behind her.

I inhale through my nose and hold the air inside, hoping to bring a sense of calm. It only takes the edge off the anger. Turning, I take the stairs two at a time and walk in long strides until I reach her door. Without pausing or knocking, I propel my body through the door and to the center of the room.

Her head snaps up from her desk, shock painting her face.

"Mother," I seethe, every bit of the anger and repressed frustration evident in one word.

"What's the meaning of this outburst? You don't just barge into—"

"How could you?" Stalking forward, I lean over her desk, pressing my palms onto the dark wood of her desk. "Do you hate me so much you would destroy my life?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Calm yourself." She leans back in the tall back leather chair.

"You can honestly sit there and pretend? You're okay with all the pain and loss you've caused?"

Tears form in my eyes. The night I lost my family flashes through my mind. The gurneys, white sheets, ambulances, police officers…all the loss and tragedy is like a slideshow of anguish. Something buried deep down within me snaps.

In four long strides, I round her desk and grab her chair. Spinning the chair toward me, her body jerks first to the right and then the left.

"Damon!" she cries.

Leaning down, I grasp her shoulders in my hands and shake.

"How can you live with yourself? You killed my son, your grandson!"

"Damon, stop it," she pleads, smacking my hands from her arms. "Please, stop!"

"Give me one goddamn good reason why I shouldn't wrap both my hands around your neck and squeeze the last lying, manipulating breath from your body?"

My hands slide toward her neck.

"Stop!" she screams, grabbing my wrists.

The flesh of my hands feels the fragile paper-thin skin of her neck. My fingers flex and she stiffens. I drop my hands, running them through my hair.

She slumps into her seat, sobbing.

"I can't. Believe. You. Were. Going. To—"

"Shut up, you aren't hurt," I spit.

"Damon, I don't know what has caused this break, but I didn't kill your son. You're delusional and—”

"Don't you dare!" I shout. "I can't believe you can sit there still lying about everything you’ve caused."

"Let me call the doctor,” she hiccups.

"I'm done. I quit this life with you and your company."

Her eyes round, panic flushing her face.

"You can't quit. This is our family's company! You are my legacy!" she shouts, standing with perfect ease, her fragile façade fading away.

"I hope you live forever in this lonely hell you’ve created for yourself, Mildred! I never want to see you again. And if you come near my family, I will make you regret it."

She gasps.

"Walking away from this company and our family is not an option, Damon! I'm your mother. My blood is in your veins." Her hands clench at her sides.

Shaking my head, I let the disbelief wash over me. All she cares about is her family's legacy, losing her son means less than nothing.

"I. Hate. You," I say, accentuating each word.

She blinks, pressing a hand to her chest as if she'll find a heartbeat there. We both know she won't.

"You don't mean that," she whispers, almost convincing me that she may actually feel something.

"Oh, Mildred, this is the first time in my life I've ever truly and irrevocably meant those three words." The admission slips through clenched teeth.

"I'm your mother." She hits the desk with a small fist.

"You are nothing."

With those final words, I turn and leave her standing there, mouth gaping.

She yells for me on what sounds like a real sob, but she's always been an amazing actress. I refuse to look back.

From the moment my driver closes me in the back of the car to the time we park in the underground garage, my phone rings non-stop. Without looking at the screen, I know it's my mother or someone calling on her behalf. I'm also sure it will be a scheme or manipulation to get me back to the house.

When I arrive to the executive floor and the small lobby, my phone finally falls silent. The security guard nods as I pass through groups of employees waiting for the elevator or at the front desk. Just outside my office, Mrs. Shaw's blue eyes lock onto me and her spine straightens.

Poor woman. I have not been easy to work for.

"Mrs. Shaw, please follow me."

I don't stop to make the request; instead, I walk into my office and take a seat behind my desk.

"Yes, Mr. Knyght?" Her voice wavers with nerves and her fingers tighten on the pencil and pad in her hands.

"As of an hour ago, I resigned from my position here."

Her eyes widen and mouth parts.

"I don't want you to worry about your job. I'll be discussing everything with my brother and ensure you will be kept on at current compensation and benefits."

Her mouth opens more, but nothing comes out. She snaps it shut and swallows.

"I'll need your help to finish a few things as well as to take some notes and get you up to speed with some situations. It will be for your benefit, so you are able to assist whomever replaces me."