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Joq flicked to the article, a weird ringing in his ears.
He scanned it and got the gist—Chris was Christopher McLachlan, sole heir to the fucking McLachlan fortune. Joq had heard of them, of course he had, they were one of the wealthiest families in Australia, more in name than actuality in recent years, until Chris had leveraged some of their assets to launch one of the biggest tech platforms in the world. The article was about his refusal to accept an eye-watering sum from an American tech company to take them over.
Joq closed the magazine carefully, stood up, pressed his hand to his jaw and walked out.
Delia was on one of his pillows when he opened the door to his bedroom. She gave a low growl.
“You’re going to have to deal,” he said and approached the bed slowly, lay down like a plank, his head on the other pillow, and prepared to have his face ripped off by the still growling cat. He was in so much pain, he almost welcomed it.
He closed his eyes and receded into the throbbing in his tooth, a touchstone at the centre of whatever this numb feeling was. Delia’s growling stopped and he felt her relax and sink into the pillow beside his head.
Well, progress, he thought amidst the shock.
He didn’t give a shit about the money, though it was hard not to think about the money—that was a lot of money, like, fuck you and fuck everyone and fuck the next few generations money—he was more alarmed by the celebrity aspect, the potential spotlight, which meant the potential hiding.
Never again.
Not to mention the fact Chris had never told him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d put it on silent since it started ringing on the tram on the way back and hadn’t ceased. It fell still and he breathed through the pain. It was a lot of pain.
He wriggled until he could get his phone out, ignored the missed calls and clicked over to his remaining two favourite contacts since he’d deleted George’s number as his third after George had blocked him. He hit call.
“Joaquin, how are you? Everything alright?” his dad asked, sounding more curious than surprised—it made sense, Joq always called his mum, his other favourite contact.
“Not really, I need your help. I’ve got this toothache, I think it’s an abscess and I need—”
“I’ll be right there,” his dad cut in. “Need me to bring anything? Maybe some of your mum’s painkillers?”
He could hear him moving around and for the first time in a long time, he felt his eyes heat. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Hey,” his dad stopped. “You alright?”
Joq cleared his throat. “Yeah, just,” he coughed to stop whatever the fuck that was. “Yeah.”
“Alright, hang in there, I’m on my way.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
He hung up, closed his eyes and focused on breathing.
Delia started purring.
Joq smiled. Maybe she just wanted some company after all.
“Come on,” his dad said when they pulled up at his place after Joq had his tooth extracted by his parents’ dentist. The man was ancient, but he was ‘the best,’ his dad had told him and then asked why Joq hadn’t just gone to him in the first place.
“Good question,” Joq replied around the pain.
But it was done. His jaw was so swollen he could barely speak without sounding like he’d had a stroke. At least he was blissed out on painkillers.
Then he saw the car. A latest model BMW SUV.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbled, but it came out garbled.
“Alright?” his dad asked as he got Joq’s meds, juice, ice-cream, and a heat and ice-pack he’d insisted on buying at the chemist.
