Stepdaddy Savage (12 page)

“But what about my mom?” I stutter, and again, hate myself for how insecure and out of my element I am.

“She’s getting the deal of her lifetime. A free apartment and to walk out of this marriage after spending my hard earned fortune. Annabelle will be fine. She’s got Julio to keep her warm at night and enough cash to buy another three Julios if he ever gets tired of her.”

“This is harsh,” I sigh.

“Yes, that’s how you know that it’s the truth. It’s necessary. Come on. Dress up. We’re going out.”

“Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all morning. It’s noon. You’re going to eat.”

“Everybody’s looking.”

“That’s because we’re two hot motherfuckers.” Graham takes a sip of his Americano completely at ease, sprawled on a chair in front of me in the coffee shop we sit in. It’s a small place full of hipsters just across from Princeton University. I can see the lush grass of the campus from across the road and my heart pinches when I think about the fact studying in an Ivy League university is not something I’ll be able to do. Throughout my teenage years, I was so focused on just trying to get by and making sure my mother was off drugs, that studying was a luxury I didn’t have much time for. Of course, some will say it’s just a poor excuse but for me it’s the truth. I couldn’t multi-task. On days Graham was at work, which was always, and I heard my mother throwing up in the bathroom, knowing exactly why she was sick, I couldn’t focus on anything else other than the fact that I needed to make sure that she’s okay.

Sure, she’s a lot better now, but I didn’t know she would be.

“Maybe people just assume that we’re having lunch as a father and daughter,” I mutter, trying to distract myself from the fact that everybody is looking at us, they know our sob-story, the poor stripper who married the wealthy NYC-based businessman, and wonder how come we’re together without my mother. Graham and I have never seen together before in public. Hell, mom and him were never seen together before, either.

In response, Graham reaches from across the table, the BLT sandwich he ordered for me and our two, hot and sweet coffees, tugs the collar of my lacey baby-blue shirt and jerks me until my nose meets his. He places his big palm on my cheek, brushes his nose across mine and plants a wet kiss on my lips. When our warm lips touch, I gasp, and he uses this opportunity to insert his tongue into my mouth, deepening our kiss. After a few seconds in which I feel everything tingling, he breaks the kiss. I stare at him breathlessly while he brushes his dress shirt with his palm, unfazed.

“Yeah, well, if they thought we were having lunch as father and daughter, I fucking doubt they still do.”

I look around me and feel my face reddening to a point I can barely breathe. Everyone is now blatantly staring at us, some of them with their mouths agape. A group of senior girls I don’t know very well from my high school are texting furiously while chuckling, I saw them at my party, I can’t believe they don’t even wait until I look the other way, and two preppy women in their fifties, with bleached blonde hair and pastel cardigans, whisper loudly. Something about morals and how the rumor mill has always said that our family brings shame to the neighborhood.

“I need to get out of here,” I push the BLT sandwich aside, I never touched it anyway, and swallow the gulp of shame in my throat. Even the kiss tastes bitter on my lips, and it’s Graham’s kiss. They usually light me up and make me feel alive. He grabs my hand and drags me closer to him, my chair scraping the floor noisily. The chatter in the coffee shop stops, and other than my pounding heart, the silence is almost deafening.

“These people”—he lifts his free hand, pointing at all of them nonchalantly—“they never gave a shit about you, Dolly. These people frowned when you moved into my house because your mother had to work as a stripper to pay for your bills. These people talked behind our backs even before they knew our names. These people
don’t matter
.” God, he says that loud enough for them to hear, and I see eyes widening and hear gasps that don’t belong to me.

And I get him.

I get Graham.

Because he’s right.

I never belonged, and I never really cared up until now. I’m owning up to this relationship, because he is the man who brought me here and didn’t even flinch when people talked about mom and me like we were trash.

I squeeze his hand in mine and nod. “You’re right.”

He rewards me with another kiss, after which he gets up from the table and cocks his head to the door. “Let’s give them some space to talk about us. It’s not like they have anything else to do with their useless lives.”

Again, I find myself grinning like an idiot. He’s such a badass for saying these things right to their faces. We walk out hand in hand, leaving my sandwich and our coffees behind us, almost untouched. For the first time since I moved here three years ago, I feel proud.

“Remember, kiddo, gossip says a lot about people. But not the people who are talked about. Only the people who do the talking.”

The drive to New York is surprisingly pleasant. I say that because Graham is not a pleasant man, and he is not a very chatty guy, either. But if we’re really going to do this, be a couple, I need answers and a ton of them. I ease into the creamy leather seat of his vehicle and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

“What have you done to Shawn? This is the third time I’m asking, so please just give me the whole story.”

I can feel Graham shifting slightly in his seat, but I know it’s not because he is uncomfortable with my question. Mostly, he doesn’t give a damn. If he’s not intimidated by Shawn’s father, he is not intimidated by an eighteen-year-old blonde chick.

“I may have added some color to his face.”

There’s a brief silence before I ask, “Aren’t you afraid about him telling his dad?”

He chuckles softly next to me, and my body melts in my seat. His voice gives me chills.

“He’s not going to say a word.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he doesn’t have any teeth to say it with,” he deadpans dryly. I twist my head to look at him in shock, but his facial expression is still relaxed as he stares at the road ahead of us.

“I scare people, Dolly. And when people are scared, they lay low. Don’t worry about Shawn.”

This brings me to my next question, though to a slightly different subject.

“Are you a mobster?”

Deep down I already know the answer. The number of weapons he has in the safe in his office; I’d sneaked a peek a few months ago when his back was to me when he opened it. The cash, the car, our house, his shady joints. He’d been arrested twice before he married Annabelle and I’m not sure what for, but I have a feeling that it wasn’t for jaywalking while hurrying to save a puppy.

“Do you really wanna know?” His jaw clenches now, and I take a moment to admire his strong profile again. I nibble on my lower lip.

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He takes a sharp inhale of breath, throws me a glance and goes back to fixing his gaze on the road.

“I do what I have to do to take care of my family.”

“Do you even consider us that?” I snap at his vague answer. “Your family?”

“I consider you my family,” he says curtly and cocks his head to his window like he is trying to show me something. This is the first time I actually realize where I am. Deep in Brooklyn in front of a cemetery. Tombstones everywhere, and it’s not a pretty well-kept one either. My mouth goes dry instantly. “Your mother, not so much. But you? You’ll always be my family. But you’re not the only family I was referring to. Unbuckle yourself, Dolly. We’re going for a walk.”

When we get out of the car, I hug myself protectively. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s really cold and dry outside or because of the graveyard. I feel uncomfortable but strangely enough, I’m not scared. I should be. He’s told me what he did to Shawn, and even though he dodged my mobster question, I know it’s only because the truth is ugly. Now he brings me to a graveyard, but I’m still not terrified of this man. Eerily, I am intrigued.

Graham links his arm in mine and we start walking toward the black iron gate, which is spikey and scary, toward the cemetery. It’s open and with a light push, Graham opens the gate and tilts his chin toward the entrance. I walk in, and he does the same, closing the gate behind us.

It seems like he knows where he’s going while he strolls up the narrow path of a small hill, littered with tombstones. It looks like a regular Catholic graveyard, full of Irish names like Donovan, McDonnell, Murphy and O’Shea. We spend the walk to the mysterious destination in silence and my heart pounding so fast and loud I can feel it in my toes. I have a feeling he is about to share something important with me, and I don’t know what or how I’m going to react. We pass another chunk of tombstones until we get to a smaller lot, one that looks remarkably taken care of in comparison to the other rows of gravestones. These look bright and new, smaller and most of them have fresh flowers on top of the stones.

Children’s graves.

This is where children are buried.

Violent chills attack my spine and I hold back a sob. What’s going on? Graham stands above a small tombstone with pink flowers on top and points at it. It reads Kathleen O’Horn, so I know she is not a relative.

Then who is she?

“Kathleen was only twelve,” he starts, swallowing while staring at the tombstone. He looks so far away. Not physically, but mentally, he is not here. It scares me.

“Her mother worked at my strip club. She was addicted to blow, just like your mom. But unlike Annabelle…she went the extra mile to get her fix.”

I suck in a breath and close my eyes.
Poor Kathleen
.

“Chrissy pimped her daughter. Kathleen was manhandled and abused. It went on for months until I found out. This was before your mom even started working for me, and I wanted to save Kathleen, but I didn’t know how. I gave Chrissy money, I even threatened her, but she always resorted back to using her daughter to get her next fix, until…”

I touch his shoulder and even though he doesn’t shake me away, I know that he’s way too lost in his story,
in his soul
, to appreciate the human touch.

“Until one of Kathleen’s clients got too rough, and that’s how she ended up here.”

I close my eyes, feeling a fat tear rolling down my cheek. This makes sense. So much sense.
Too much sense
. Is this why Graham married my mother? So he can protect me the way he never could when Kathleen was alive? I open my mouth to say something, but he shuts me up by continuing his line of thought.

“I brought Chrissy here from Ireland. We grew up in the same neighborhood. She was poor and didn’t have a job. I thought it’d do her good. But the guilt….” He shakes his head, turning around to look at me. His eyes are sad. For the first time in my life, I see Graham Savage’s sensitive side, and I have a feeling this is not going to repeat itself anytime soon. “The guilt ate me alive, Dolly.”

“So you wanted to save me,” I finish softly, and he lifts his hand, caressing my cheek gently.

“I can honestly say in good faith I walked into my marriage with your mother with semi-good intentions. To take care of you both and to get that green card. But you weren’t Kathleen. You were…stronger. The reason why your mother never sent you to work the streets is because she knew you never would.”

I don’t want to think about it, but maybe it’s true. Annabelle used to get mad at me when we were still living together, just the two of us. She got mad at me when she needed to feed me and wanted to spend the cash on drugs, and she used to get really pissed when I asked for new shoes or textbooks for school. But every time she tried to coax me into helping her out, she didn’t even say what she wanted me to do, I just had a gut feeling it wasn’t right, I shook my head violently and said that I’ll have to ask Nana if it’s something worth doing. That’d shut her up right there. She knew my grandmother would never let these kind of things happen to me.

“I wanted to save you, but then something weird happened, Dolly. You turned into someone I never expected you’d be, especially with your kind of upbringing. A good girl, who doesn’t fuck around, who is interested in dancing and dreams about going to a good college. You looked at me respectfully, but never tried to get too close. Not a gold digger, and not someone who cares about my money too much. I started noticing you, and it was terribly inconvenient, both for my mind and my cock. I wanted to fight it, I didn’t want to be the guy who fucks his step-daughter, it’s bad for business this kind of reputation, but then I realized that you were never actually my daughter. You refused to accept me as your father and I…I never really looked at you fatherly either.”