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I don't respond. I can't.
He swivels around, flaunting his Armani suit. "You got something you'd like to say?"
Yes—DAD IS USING YOU!!!
But the truth lodges in my throat, caught between guilt and the fear of his reaction.
"Ohhhhh, I get it. You just want to stand there and judge, huh?" He encircles me, his steps unsteady, but his gaze piercing. "Seeing that you eavesdropped on my conversation, you damn well know some of us have responsibilities to uphold. So what, if I need a little help? Everyone does it. Who the fuck are you to judge me? Are you some saint, all of a sudden? You don't have the right, and you definitely don't have the experience to understand what it's like to be in my shoes. The things I've accomplished for our family's company."
"At what cost?"
"At what cost—at what cost...?" he grumbles, pacing aimlessly, cursing up a storm. "That's how you cope, isn't it? Oh, poor Elias. He's just soooo miserable. Did you ever stop and think, for one minute, that I could want this life? That I want Kingston Entertainment, the titles, the corporate lifestyle, everything. Well, I do. It makes me feel—"
"OOF." He slams into a corner of the wall, buckling at his knees. I rush over to help, but I'm met with his outstretched hand. "Don't touch me."
"You need help, Elias."
"Spare me." He dusts off his sleeve, turning to leave.
Tell him, tell him, tell him.
"Wait!"
He doesn't.
"Dad's overworking you!"
He grips the door handle as a sarcastic laugh rips through him. "You don't say."
"No. I mean, you work more than him. A lot more."
He freezes. For a moment, he's just silent.
Thank God. Maybe I'll get through to him, after all.
In a flash, he whirls around and bounds toward me, his lips coming an inch from my ear. "YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS!"
I jerk away, cupping my ear, knocking into a stall. I can hardly hear his next words as a violent ringing blares through my senses.
"You always have been. Need to invent fucking lies to help you sleep at night." He paces, faster than before, clutching his chest as he wheezes, emotions caught in his throat, enough that I wonder if somewhere, deep in his consciousness, he senses that I'm right. "You're jealous Dad picks me over you, that he sees something in me. Now you're just trying to get between him and I—the good thing we've always had going..."
I grapple for the stall door, nearly sliding on the tile as it swings on its hinges.
"Pathetic," he spits.
"Elias..." I groan, meeting his eyes.
He hesitates, a flicker of regret crossing his expression. Rolling his lips, I can almost make out their apology—or perhaps that's just wishful thinking. With a curse, he aims for the door.
Guess I'll never know.
THIRTY-TWO
HAYDEN
My head is a fucking mess.
I can't unsee the bewildered expression Juliana's been wearing since I left that bathroom—which is a whole other problem. She hasn't spoken a word to me, not on our drive to the airport or since takeoff, a half hour ago.
