All Chapters of His Father’s Addction: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ELVIS"A plaything?"Donald asked the question with the kind of straight face that suggested he genuinely expected an answer.A slow breath escaped through my nose."Finish your food."That only made the grin spread wider across his face."I knew it.""You know nothing.""I know you've been behaving strangely, Dad." He leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself. "First, the body paint. Now you're smiling at random moments. This is exactly how these things start."I reached for my wine and said nothing."Donald.""Yes, Dad?""You're annoying."He laughed while hitting his chest. For a moment, it dragged me back to when he was younger, before life found its way into the cracks of our once-happy family and made a home there.He took a sip of wine, and when he looked at me again, the grin had softened."I think you should join the company, son." I set my glass down. "We need capable hands."His eyebrows lifted. He was wrinkling his nose again, a habit I'd long since stopped trying

Elvis"Are you flirting with me, Hazel?"A low chuckle left her mouth. "If being honest is called flirting, then I suppose I'm guilty, sir. You did permit me to speak freely."I was looking directly at her now. After an entire morning of careful avoidance, I finally looked, and it turned out to be the worst option. Most people, under that kind of direct attention, would glance away. Find something interesting on the floor, not her.She stood there and looked straight back. I held it as long as I could.I looked away first.Whatever this was, it needed to stop. This girl was dismantling something in my brain, rearranging things that had been fixed in place for years, and I had neither the time nor the patience for it. The solution was obvious, and I had used it before without a second thought.I opened my mouth to say the word, Fire.It hung there between my mind and my lips, hooked on something I couldn't identify, refusing to come out.The glass door slid open."Hey, Dad." Donald

Hazel"She should excuse us."I swallowed hard enough to hear it myself.I didn't look at Elvis, didn't need to. I already knew he wasn't going to say anything. I picked up my things and stood."We have a business party tonight," Elvis said, just as I reached the door. "Several delegates will be attending."I turned. He was sliding his black card across the desk toward me."Go with the driver. Get something for the event."I looked at the card for a second, then picked it up. Under normal circumstances, your boss handing you his black card would feel like a lottery. Today, it didn't land the way it should have.‘No one of importance. Just my assistant.’The words were still sitting in my chest. I left without saying anything.I didn't wait for the chauffeur.I walked the length of his estate alone, the air on my face, and flagged down a taxi at the gate."119 Blackwood Correctional Centre."The driver glanced at me briefly in the rearview mirror. "Yes, ma'am."I turned to the window

ELVISI felt like a teenager trying to find the right words.Her eyes were doing things to me, that particular shade of hazel, making it genuinely difficult to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time.I kept finding things on the table to look at: my glass, watch, and the grain of the wood.Here I was, bargaining with my own employee about going to the cinema. The absurdity of it all dawned on me.Last night had been difficult.I'd rolled from one side of the bed to the other for hours, unable to sleep. My mind kept going back to her, walking away in those heels, in the rain, hair soaked and flat against her neck, not once looking back. I'd stood there watching until she disappeared and felt guilty, a word I hadn't felt in a long time.The urge to go after her had been strong enough to surprise me. I should have said nothing at the party. Whatever that feeling was when I watched her laughing with Harry, all cheesy and easy, I should have kept it contained. Locked it

HazelI stood outside the venue, watching every car that turned into the lot.The queue behind me had been long when I arrived and was now shrinking fast. People were filing in, with their tickets checked, the energy outside already climbing. I had been standing here long enough to feel it in my feet.Wrestling was not something I would ordinarily pay money to watch. On a very good day, it would not make my list. But anything to spend time with Elvis, to get another hour outside the office where he was slightly less guarded and slightly more human.It had started this morning on my walk this sunday when I saw two men selling coffee on the street corner who were deep in conversation about tonight's fight, talking over each other with the kind of enthusiasm that only comes from people who genuinely care about something. From what I pieced together, it was going to be intense, a proper street-style match, the kind that drew crowds. I had slowed my pace, listened, and when they finished,