Letting out a humorless laugh, I said, “Yeah, well, I’m sure Charles Manson’s family thought the same about him too. Some folks are just born to be bad and no one can stop them.”
Uncle Gabe’s brown eyes glistened, a tortured expression on his face. “I should’ve done more for you, took you away from it all… fought for you harder. I’ve let you down.” There was a pause in his breathing before he whispered, “I failed you so bad, son.”
Shifting out of his embrace, I replied, “No, you didn’t. My bastard parents keep getting away with this shit, everyone blaming themselves for their actions. But no one’s to blame but them. For reasons only they will ever know, they take enjoyment in destroying people, people they should’ve loved.”
Uncle Gabe’s eyes dipped, and putting his arm around my shoulder, he guided me into the small house, revealing, “Well, it seems karma may have caught up with them at long last.”
Stopping dead, I asked quickly, “What are you talking about?”
Walking ahead into the front room, my uncle pointed to the TV. “It’s all over the news. Hell, it’s everywhere…”
Heart pounding, I raced into the room where Ally and Aunt Alita where already sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the screen.
Ally went to say something, but the images on the news almost brought me to my knees, and she stayed silent.
Breaking News: Tide Star QB’s Girlfriend Miscarries Amidst Prince Oil Money Laundering Scandal
My exhausted mind raced to take in all the images. They showed Molly on a gurney being ushered into the back of an ambulance, with me holding tightly onto her hand, her dress and my white suit covered in blood.
The reporter spoke in depth about the incident and the breaking story of how my momma assaulted Molly at the hospital and how she’d been arrested for assault. Next, a preview of tomorrow’s paper covered the screen, with that same f**king image, and the anchors went on to talk about the night of the dinner and how Molly had miscarried later on. It infuriated me that they didn’t even know to mention how she’d changed my f**king life, how she’d been brutally robbed of being the best f**king mother on Earth, and how she was the most important person in the world to me.The next image was of my father in handcuffs, being taken from his home. The usual arrogant sneer was on his face, unchanged, as the police pushed him into the squad car. The camera switched back to the anchors, who went on to discuss the massive amount of money my father had been laundering from his own company’s profits to cover what looked like some corrupt off-shore investments. They were suspecting that my father owed a set of dubious people a lot of money and that he’d drained his share of Prince Oil’s profits over the last year—the only share left in the black belonging to Martin Blair, who had yet to make a statement.
And then it hit me. The marriage. My arranged marriage to Shelly would’ve given him access to Martin Blair’s money as per the agreement the two of them had made. The bastard! The Princes of Alabama would’ve been penniless without it… ruined.
Money. It was always about f**king money!
Launching to my feet, I made a move for the door, but a hand on my shoulder held me back. I struggled to get away.
“Woah! Rome, calm down, son!” Uncle Gabe protested, backing away. Ally and Aunt Alita, all wide-eyed and nervous as they watched me fall apart.
Gripping my hair in anger, I let out a loud scream and left the room, apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I just… I need to get out of here… I need air…”
Bursting out into the cold night, I kicked over anything in my path: the grill, chairs, Christ, every neatly potted plant I could see, and rammed my left fist against the large stone wall surrounding the yard, numb to the skin ripping apart at the impact.
All the shit I’d been put through this year was because my daddy was in debt up to his f**king eyeballs? My girl and my unborn angel destroyed because of my parents’ fucking greed! I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take any more pain or disappointment. I was drowning, f**king drowning in misery.
Throwing myself down on a lawn chair, I pulled out my cell. Molly would still be in the air as she flew the hell away from me and the fall of the Prince Empire, but I had to call. I needed to hear her voice; it was the only thing, bar her touch, that calmed me.
Dialing her number, my heart flipped when her voicemail message immediately played:
Hi! You’ve reached Molly. Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone, I’ll get back to you when I can.