Free Antitype by M. D. Waters Page B

turn her over in my hands. “They’re gr—”
    The bottom-heavy rock falls from my hands and shatters the glass table, startling the room. Shards scatter all over the carpet. I bend quickly to pick up the sculpture and nick my middle finger.
    Dad retrieves and inspects the stone, while I apply pressure to my small cut with my thumb. With the lift of his brows, lines crease from one temple to the other. “Well, that was money well spent. Not a scratch.”
    â€œSorry about the table,” I say, moving for the housekeeper.
    â€œDoesn’t matter.” Dad pulls me aside and sets the stone on another table. A waitress passes by with champagne flutes and he takes two. “To you, and the performance you gave me over the summer.”
    Tension flowers open in my chest and breathes in relief. I smile. “Thank you.”
    â€œI have to admit, I didn’t expect you to do so well.”
    â€œDespite what you think, I’ve actually paid attention over the years.”
    He holds up a hand, palm facing me, his mouth set in a line. “I didn’t expect Jacob to do so well either.”
    It’s as if I’ve dropped the second sculpture right into my stomach. “You’re actually considering . . . Dad,” I gust out on a breath.
    What am I doing? Fighting for a company I don’t want? Because this no longer feels like fighting to keep Jacob out of it. I killed myself this summer to prove my worth. For my father. A man lost his restaurant. Jacob and I sacrificed what little of our friendship there was to lose.
    Dad sighs and glances around. He lowers his voice to say, “You’re the man I wanted. But Jacob’s the man I want. I’m sorry, son.”
    He pats my arm and shoulders past me.
    I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I’m an iceberg breaking from a centuries-old home in a calm sea. My arm falls and my fingers let loose the full glass of champagne. The flute
thunks
on the carpet.
    I lost everything.
    Mitch appears to my right, thick brows pinched. “He didn’t choose you, did he?”
    I shake my head, my jaw clenched too tight to respond any other way. My body temperature rises and my tense muscles vibrate more with every passing second. I need to sink my fist into something solid.
    Mitch glances around the room. “You know what would make you feel better?”
    â€œJacob,” I say, following his train of thought. I have frustrations like I’ve never experienced before, and I know just where they should land. That motherfucker played dirty. Why shouldn’t I, now that I have nothing left to protect? “Where is he?”
    Ella appears behind Mitch, apparently having heard every word. “I saw him go upstairs right before the toast.”
    Mitch slaps my shoulder and nods toward the staircase. “Give him a good welcome-to-the-company greeting for both of us. Unless you want some help?”
    â€œFuck no. He’s mine.”
    He nods. “Want us to pack you a bag or anything? You’ll need to leave right after. You can stay with us.”
    â€œNo, but I might take you up on that offer. Dad’s going to kick me out for this.”
    Ella smiles. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
    â€œGo,” Mitch says. “Enjoy.”
    Several guests try stopping me with birthday wishes as I walk past, but my rage is too focused. I can’t hear anything other than the heartbeat thrumming past my ears. I think Dad calls my name, but I can’t be sure.
    I don’t remember making it up the stairs, or how many steps I take down the hallway until sounds finally start to register. Familiar sounds. It’s the ball all over again. Muffled cries. Sobbed pleas. Cursed threats.
    Each step forward lengthens in stride until I’m running into
my
home office.
My
personal space. The last thing I expect to ever see behind that door is a woman bent over
my
desk. She’s one