Page 53 of Fueled Fury

32

Austin

The longer I sit in the chair, the more restricting it becomes.

“Yes, I understand,” my uncle says into the phone, his exasperated glare flicking to me again before continuing the conversation. “Yes. He knows. Just handle it.”

Dropping the phone to his desk, he remains silent, waiting on me to speak.

But I have nothing to say. There’s nothing I want to say. Every decision I’ve made in my life has been a mistake; I’ve made them thinking it would bring me closer to her. Except what I did today—burning the life I’d hoped to have to the ground was the first thing I’ve done right. That was all bullshit.

My eyes study the tight skin along my hands where I can still feel the heat of the flames when I dropped the lighter into the fuel, igniting the blaze to match the fury I feel inside.

“Austin, are you hurt?”

“No.” There’s pain. But not from the fire, not from pounding my fist into Eli’s face, not from any of the physical actions. Only from the moment she made her choice. Then I made mine.

“Okay.” He shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“You were right. The dragon grew two heads, and I was blindsided.”

“So, you set your house on fire?” he asks with confusion as he leans back in his chair.

“Yes.”

“Alrighty. Well, our lawyer said there are no injuries being reported. Firefighters were able to contain the fire. No damage was caused to the surrounding properties, but your house is a total loss. But my guess is that was your intention.”

I nod in agreement. “It was already a total loss, I just lit the match to finalize it.”

“Well, thankfully the money and lawyers should be able to contain the remnants of the damage and arson investigations that are certain to follow.”

I nod again, not giving a shit about what remains. I just want out of here. “I want everything transferred to a shell corporation. All of it. Every deed, every title, every piece of documentation.”

“You could’ve done that at any time. Been done with your parents and Eli years ago. Why now?”

“Because I discovered there’s nothing worth the pain.”

“You sure endured a lot over the years to give up on her now.”

“I didn’t give up. I finally saw past her and realized that my parents and Eli weren’t causing me the pain. I was. I’ve been so fixated on that blinding halo that I thought was healing me, but it was really burning me alive.”

He knowingly raises his whiskey-filled glass, holding it to me. “I’ll have everything taken care of. Just contact me if you need anything.”

I rise out of the chair and walk to the elevator as Waylon calls out my name.

“A final piece of parting advice.” He downs the whiskey, dropping the glass on the desk. “Be vigilant with which flames you ignite. Some can never be extinguished.”

I hear his warning, and should pay attention to it, but it’s too late. There is something I have to ask though. “Everything you’ve done for me over the years. Why? Why’d you do it?”

“Because of him.” Waylon points over his shoulder at the painting of my grandfather.

“He died when I was so young that I can’t even remember him.” I wish I could for some reason. Maybe because everything Waylon’s said about him over the years has given me the impression he was a completely different man than the one he raised, the one who raised me.

“He died for you,” Waylon says with what I interpret as a sense of pride in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” The painting has my full attention as I stare at the gray-haired man in a suit with a smile on his face.

“We were out on the lake. Your granddad had a big pontoon boat that he loved taking everyone out on. That particular day, he’d hitched up in arguments with your parents constantly, mainly about you. How they were falling down drunk, just letting you go all over the boat, refusing to put a life jacket on you. Every time Dad put one on you, Clyde would take it off just to prove the point that you were his child and he had all the power.”

Waylon looks down to his feet, and if I had to guess by the look in his eye, I’d say my uncle is reliving the story as he tells it. “The last time your father did it, you got past your granddad, but he saw thrashing in the water. He jumped in after you. He lifted you up out of the water, handed you to me. When I wrapped you in a towel, you weren’t breathing, so I began performing CPR. When I looked back, my dad was gone. He’d slipped under the water and never resurfaced.

“Your parents were so wasted they didn’t understand what was going on even as the paramedics arrived to take you to the hospital. So, I climbed in the ambulance and went with you. My dad gave his life to save yours. He wanted you safe. And I vowed in that moment to protect you at all costs. My brother didn’t even bat an eye that he was ultimately responsible for our father’s passing. He said it was your fault. You were just a child. Clyde was the reckless adult.

“My old man left the company completely in my control, only leaving an allowance to Clyde, and your father blamed you.” Waylon walks in front of me, stops, but doesn’t put his hands on me. “So just remember, your father might be a wretched piece of shit, but my father—your grandfather—was an admirable, honest man who sacrificed everything for you. He was a smart man too. Neither of us would be where we’re at without him. He came from nothing and created everything you see.” Waylon waves his arm around the enormous room as he turns to look back at the painting of his father.

He built everything. The family. The company. All of it. Even me. He wasn’t my dad, but he created me, and he loved me.

Looking to the painting, I tell both my grandfather and Waylon, “Thank you.” Both are responsible for me standing here.

As I walk out of the house, I think of Frankenstein’s creature walking into the woods after losing his father, his creator. The main theory was the creature went off to kill himself, or just die alone. I always thought he probably wanted to get away from the pain of grieving for someone that didn’t give a shit about him, for the freedom from pain because that’s all he knew, even though he still blindly searched for a light in the darkness that never existed.