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“Yes,” I finally reply.
His lips twitch. “You’re not going to like this.”
“I’m listening.”
He leans back, breaking eye contact. “When I was thirteen, I got kicked out. My brother and I are only a year apart—we grew up mostly sharing the same milestones, being in the same schools, that sort of thing. But our experiences were always widely different. Alexander was the golden child. I realized it pretty early on, but it wasn’t until that incident that that it finally stuck with me,” he says, getting a sort of faraway look in his eyes.
“He and I were participating in some sort of competition in school. Trying to invent something. My family is particularly gifted when it comes to technology, so Xander and I each decided to build something to submit for the competition. We worked on our projects for weeks, the two of us. And then, a few days after the competition, we decided to show each other our inventions. Which was a tremendous mistake.”
“What happened?”
“He’d made some sort of robotic pet feeder. I had made a smart home security system, one that used facial recognition technology and would alert homeowners of any potential security breaches.”
“Yours sounds better,” I murmur.
He grins at me. “You think so too, right? Well, my thirteen-year-old self was sure of it. I told him his invention was stupid and mine would win for sure. I taunted him, made fun of his. You know how kids can be. Anyway, Xander got mad and we got into a brawl. Unfortunately, we had chosen the wrong location to show off our inventions—right by the pool outside. He ended up pushing me at one point and I, with my amazing invention, took a tumble in the water. It didn’t survive.”
My eyes widen.
“Yeah, I was completely distraught. Xander was, too. He apologized, tried to help me fix it, but there was no point. I was so angry. Our parents got involved, but they didn’t really do much to assuage my anger. My father practically told me to suck it up and that accidents happen,” he says bitterly. His jaw is clenched now. “But I’ve never been good at sucking things up or being the better man. That night, I snuck into Xander’s room with my father’s lighter.”
My hand goes over my mouth in surprise. Graham glances at me and smiles bitterly.
“He was asleep in his bed. And I just watched him for a long moment. The robot was on the floor right next to his bed.”
“Did you do it?”
“I almost lost my nerve. Almost. But I’ve always been someone who follows through with his plans, despite how catastrophic they could turn out. I only meant to damage the robot’s engines. But Xander must have painted the robot with benzene or some other flammable compound. It went up in flames in a manner of seconds. I panicked, hurriedly waking him up and dragging him out of the room, screaming for help. They got the fire out, but the room… well, let’s just say it didn’t survive. My mother spent the better part of that summer redecorating that wing of the house.”
“What happened after?”
“I got in trouble, obviously. I tried to explain that I didn’t mean for things to get so out of control, but they refused to listen to me. My father was furious. Xander was mostly in shock. He didn’t even speak to me. I felt bad, but not nearly as bad as I did when my father told me I’d be leaving as punishment. I had to spend a year in London with some of our relatives. I was kicked out and my mother just stood there. Nobody stuck up for me. That was the first of many times I got kicked out over the years.”
“You kind of deserved it.”
Graham’s head snaps up and his gaze meets mine. “What?” he says, laughing in disbelief. “Did you not hear the part where I was punished for what I did? I lost my invention and no one was on my side.”
“Were you expecting them to? Your brother could have been seriously hurt,” I scold. “I get that you lost your fancy invention, but it was an accident. He didn’t mean to do it. Your actions were premediated. You went into that room intent on ruining his machine because he ruined yours. It was wrong. Do you even feel guilty?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw and he looks away.
“Probably not. You thought it was unfair. You were facing the consequences of your actions and you hated it,” I state.
“Shut up.”
I exhale. “Why did you tell me that story? Did you think I would feel sorry for you? How many women have you told that to who immediately said, ‘Aw, poor baby. You didn’t deserve that,’” I say mockingly.
Graham gets to his feet, running a hand through his hair. “That’s enough!”
“No,” I say, standing as well. “You justify it in your mind, don’t you? A part of you knew what you were doing was wrong. But you probably thought to yourself that if you had to lose something, then he did, too. It made you feel good, didn’t it?”
“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” he snaps, fuming.
“I do. I actually really do. I was surrounded by men like you for most of my life. Men who like to talk a big game, who made themselves seem like the victims when really they had been the problem all along. So what? Your parents preferred your brother over you? Did you even try to make up for it after? Or you decided to become exactly what they thought of you. You became a coward.”
He moves closer until he’s standing right in front of me, green eyes filled with rage. “Get out,” he growls.
I blink once. Fuck, how did I let the situation get this volatile?
