Twisted Hate (Twisted, 3)

“Man, I missed this.” I stretched my legs in front of me and reached for a beer. “Nothing beats the VIP suite.”

“Obviously. That’s why it’s called the VIP suite.” Alex sat next to me, his eyes tracking the game. The Nationals were playing the Dodgers, and they were down by three runs in the fifth inning. Not too bad.

I was more of a basketball guy, but Nats games were more fun to attend. Alex and I turned them into a tradition when we were in college. Whenever we wanted to talk about something we didn’t want people on campus to hear, we headed for Nationals Field and let the game play in the background while we hashed our shit out.

Well, I hashed shit out while Alex sighed and reminded me how stupid other people were. It was like therapy, except with sports, beer, and a grumpy best friend.

I hadn’t realized how much those sessions helped until they ended.

Of course, that was assuming said best friend wasn’t the cause of my problems.

“Dude, you’re still on probation,” I said. “No sarcasm until you’re out of the woods.”

“That wasn’t part of our deal.”

“We didn’t have a deal.”

“Exactly.”

 I glared at Alex. “You want me to forgive you or not?”

“I bribed you with VIP seats to the game, and you accepted. That means you’ve already forgiven me.” He smiled. “It’s called a shadow contract.”

I maintained my frown for another minute before I caved and snorted out a laugh. “Touché.”

I took a swig of my drink. I thought it would feel weird, slipping back into one of our old traditions after so long, but it was like time never passed.

My phone buzzed with a new text, and my lips curled into a smile when I read it.

Jules: How’s the bro date going? Should I be worried?

Me: TBD. Alex knows how to treat a guy right, but you’re prettier

Jules: Are you saying I don’t know how to treat you right??

Me: You spend half your time insulting me, Red

Jules: It’s not my fault you’re a masochist

Jules: Excuse me for catering to your kink *eye roll emoji*

Another laugh rose in my throat.

Me: That’s not my kink, sweetheart 

Me: Maybe you need a reminder on what my kink IS

My hand around her throat. Her nails clawing at my skin. Her whimpers and pleas as I edged her toward insanity before I fucked the fight right out of her.

I sent the last message as a tease, but heat surged through my blood at the thought.

Jules and I hadn’t had sex since Ohio. Now that we were dating, I wanted to do it properly, and in a fit of sheer idiocy, I’d implemented a no-sex-until-our-third-date rule.

It was backwards as fuck, considering we’d already slept together, but it felt right. Or maybe I was a masochist. I was blue balling myself, and Jules wasn’t having a great time with the sexual deprivation either.

The third date rule wouldn’t be so bad if we had time to date. Unfortunately, neither my hospital schedule nor her job at the clinic gave two shits about our sex life, so we hadn’t even had our second date yet.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my dick mutinied before then. Just up and jumped ship due to sheer neglect.

The three dots indicating Jules was typing popped up, disappeared, then popped up again.

Jules: Yes, I do 😉

Jules: Better make that multiple reminders so I don’t forget

I suppressed a tortured groan.

Josh: You’re fucking killing me 

Josh: Ending this before I have to sit through the rest of the game with a goddamn boner 

Though it might be too late for that.

Jules: Coward 

Josh: Tease all you want, Red

Josh: I’ll remember every word next time I’m fucking you 

I shoved the phone in my pocket before I did something stupid, like bail on the game, drive to her house, and make good on my threat.

On second thought…

“Who’s the girl?” Alex’s words threw a bucket of cold water over my X-rated fantasies.

Baseball game. VIP suite. Reconciliation with Alex.

Right.

I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, trying to hide the lingering effects of my texts with Jules. “How the hell did you know it was a girl?”

“Your face gives it away.” Below us, a collective groan erupted in the stadium when the Dodgers scored another run. “So, who is it?” Alex faced me, a touch of curiosity warming his cool green eyes. “You looked disgustingly besotted while texting.”

“I did not look besotted.” I finished my beer and reached for another one. Was it my fifth or sixth? I wasn’t sure. My tolerance had jumped, and it took a lot to even get me buzzed these days. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Next time Ava texts you, I’ll take a picture of your face so you know what you look like.”

Instead of taking the bait, Alex tipped his head to the side. The curiosity sharpened into knowing. “It’s not just sex. You’re dating her.”

Motherfucker. “I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

I released an aggravated sigh.

Man, fuck having a best friend. They were overrated know-it-alls.

“Fine. I may be dating someone.” Trying to outargue Alex was like trying to nail jelly to a wall—futile and a waste of time. “You don’t know her.”

“Don’t be too sure. I know a lot of people.”

“You don’t know her.” If I told him, he would tell Ava, and I would rather guzzle a gallon of filthy Potomac River water than have that conversation with my sister.

Now I understood how she’d felt when she’d been dating Alex behind my back.

“Hmm.” He leaned back in his seat, his eyes piercing through my skin. “Josh Chen dating seriously. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Sometimes, people change. And sometimes, they meet people who make them want to change.”

“And sometimes, people sound like a human fortune cookie.”

Except for a few rare gems, Alex’s advice swung from wildly disturbing—like the time he suggested I blackmail a professor who had it out for me because I’d corrected him in class—to irritatingly vague.

“Speaking of change…” I hesitated before continuing. “Michael’s been sending me letters. I haven’t opened any yet, but I might visit him soon. In prison.”

I hadn’t even told Ava yet, and I wasn’t sure I ever would. She’d finally moved on from what Michael did; I didn’t want to drag her back into that mess.

However, that meant Alex was the only other person who might understand the significance of what I was saying.

He stilled, his features hardening until they appeared carved from stone. Michael may not have murdered his family, but he had tried to murder Ava. It was an equal offense in his eyes.

“I see.” Zero inflection. “When are you visiting him?”

“I don’t know.” I stared at the field without really seeing it. “Next day I have off, maybe. Don’t even know what I’ll say to him.”

So, how’s the food in prison?

Hey, Dad. Did you always want to grow up to be an attempted murderer, or were you inspired by the true crime shows Mom liked to watch?

You’re a piece of shit and I wished I hated you as much as I should.

I rubbed a hand over my face, exhausted just thinking about it.

 I needed to talk to him, but that didn’t mean I wanted to.

Alex was quiet for a long moment before he surprised the fuck out of me by saying, “Maybe you should open his letters.”

A startled laugh escaped my throat. “Are you shitting me? I thought you would try to discourage me from seeing him.”

“He’s a piece of shit, and I would happily watch him bleed if I could,” Alex said coldly. “But he’s your father, and as long as you avoid confronting him, he’ll always have a hold on you. The bastard doesn’t deserve it.”

It sounded disturbingly close to Jules’s advice.

Intellectually, I already knew I needed closure, but hearing Alex lay it out in such stark, unsentimental terms hit hard.

“Yeah.” I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling, giving up any pretense of watching the game. “Is it bad that part of me wishes he had a good excuse for doing what he did? I know nothing can excuse it, but…fuck. I don’t know.” I rubbed my hand over my face again, wishing I could articulate the turmoil eating away at my insides.

“Ava had complicated feelings toward him, and she was the one he tried to kill.” Alex’s eyes darkened. “When someone raises you, it’s hard to let that go.”

“That apply to you too?”

Alex’s uncle had been the one behind his family’s hit, and he’d died in a mysterious fire soon after that revelation came to light.

I never asked about the fire, because I was sure I didn’t want to know the answer. When it came to Alex, ignorance was bliss. For the most part.

“No.”

I shook my head, exasperated but unsurprised by the curt answer. “You think I should visit Michael?”

“I think you should do whatever you need to do to put him behind you.” Alex shifted his attention back to the game. The Nats had closed the score when we weren’t looking; they were now down by only one. “Don’t let him ruin your life any more than he already has.”

Alex’s words ran through my mind for the rest of the game.

They were still echoing in my head when I returned home and opened the desk drawer. A thick pile of letters nestled against the dark wood, waiting for me to pick them up.

I think you should do whatever you need to do to put him behind you. 

It was ironic how quickly I’d jump off a literal cliff, bridge, or plane, but when it came to the personal moments, the ones that mattered, I was a child standing at the edge of a pool for the first time.

Scared. Hesitant. Anticipatory.

After another minute’s pause, I sat in my chair, opened the first envelope, and started reading.

The Hazelburg Correctional Facility’s visitation room resembled a high school cafeteria more than a prison facility. A dozen white tables scattered across the stark gray floor, and other than a handful of generic landscape paintings, the walls were bare of decoration. Security cameras whirred in the ceiling, silent voyeurs to the reunions playing out between prisoners and their families.

My knee bounced with nervous tension until I closed my hand around it and forced it to still.

The tables were close enough I could pick up other people’s conversations, but they were drowned out by snippets from Michael’s letters in my mind. I’d read them so many times in the week since I opened them that their words had seared into my brain.

How’s your residency going? Is it anything like Grey’s Anatomy? You used to joke about keeping a journal listing all the show’s inaccuracies once you were a resident. If you actually have one, I’d love to see it…

I just saw Groundhog Day. Life in prison feels like that sometimes…living the same day over and over again…

Merry Christmas. Are you doing anything for the holidays this year? I know doctors have to work through the holidays, but hopefully you’re taking some time off. Maybe go see the Northern Lights in Finland like you’ve always wanted…

The letters were generic and innocuous, but they contained just enough inside jokes and shared memories to keep me up at night.

Reading the letters, I could almost believe Michael was a normal father writing to his son and not a psycho bastard.

The door opened, and a man in an orange jumpsuit walked in.

Speak of the devil…

My stomach twisted.

His hair was a little grayer, his wrinkles a little more pronounced, but otherwise, Michael Chen looked the same as he always had.

Stern. Cerebral. Solemn.

He sat across from me, and heavy silence stretched taut between us like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

Prison guards watched us with hawk eyes from the edge of the room, their heavy scrutiny a third participant in our nonexistent conversation.

Finally, Michael spoke. “Thank you for coming.”

It was my first time hearing his voice in two years.

I flinched, unprepared for the nostalgia it triggered.

That was the same voice that had soothed me when I was sick, encouraged me after I lost a basketball game, and yelled at me when I snuck out clubbing with a fake ID in high school and got caught.

It was my childhood—the good, the bad, and the ugly, all wrapped up in one deep, rumbling tone.

“I didn’t come for you.” I pressed my hand harder against my thigh.

“So why did you come?” Except for the brief shadow that crossed his face, Michael betrayed no emotion at my unsentimental response.

“I…” My answer stuck in my throat, and Michael’s mouth curved into a knowing smile.

“Since you’re here, I assume you’ve read my letters. You know what’s happened with me over the years, which isn’t much.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Tell me about you. How’s work?”

It was surreal, sitting here and talking to my father like we were on a fucking coffee date. But my brain had blanked, and I couldn’t think of another course of action except to play along.

“It’s fine.”

“Josh.” Michael laughed again. “You have to give me more than that. You’ve wanted to be a doctor since high school.”

“Residency is residency. Lots of long hours. Lots of sickness and death.” I flashed a hard smile. “You know a lot about that.”

Michael winced. “And your love life? Are you seeing anyone?” He skipped over my last statement. “You’re getting to that age. It’s time to settle down and start a family soon.”

“I’m not even thirty yet.” Honestly, I didn’t know if I wanted children. If I did, it wouldn’t be until way down the road. I needed to experience more of the world before I settled into the white picket fence and suburban house life.

“Yes, but you have to allot a few years to dating first,” Michael reasoned. “Unless you’re already dating someone.” His eyebrows rose when I remained silent. “Are you dating someone?”

“No,” I lied, partly to spite him, and partly because he didn’t deserve to know about Jules.

“Ah, well, a father can hope.”

We continued our small talk, using mundane topics such as the weather and upcoming football season to sidestep the elephant in the room. Other than punching him in the face, I’d never confronted him about what he did to Ava.

The knowledge sat in my stomach like a concrete block. Ignoring it felt wrong, but I also couldn’t bring myself to shatter the light, if somewhat forced, conversation between us.

I’m sorry, Ava.

After floating adrift for the past two years, I could pretend I had a father again. As fucked up and selfish as it was, I wanted to savor the feeling for a while longer.

“How’s prison?” I almost laughed at my inane question, but I was genuinely curious. Michael’s letters detailed the minutiae of his days, but they hadn’t revealed how he was dealing with his incarceration.

Was he sad? Ashamed? Angry? Did he get along with the other inmates, or did he keep to himself?”

“Prison is prison.” Michael sounded almost cheerful. “It’s boring, uncomfortable, and the food is terrible, but it could be worse. Luckily…” A dark gleam lit up his eyes. “I’ve made some friends who’ve been able to help me out.”

Of course he had. I didn’t know the ins and outs of inmate politics, but Michael had always been a survivor.

I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or pissed that he wasn’t suffering more.

“Speaking of which…” Michael lowered his voice further until it was nearly inaudible. “They’ve asked for a favor in exchange for their, ah, friendship.”

Icy suspicion welled in my chest. “What kind of favor?”

I assumed friendship was code for protection, but who knew? Crazy shit happened in the prison system.

“Prison politics is…complicated,” Michael said. “Lots of bartering, lots of invisible lines you don’t want to cross. But one thing everyone can agree on is how valuable certain items are. Cigarettes, chocolate, instant ramen.” A small pause. “Prescription pills.”

Prescription pills were valuable even in the real world; on the prison black market, they must be gold.

And who had easy access to pills? Doctors.

A fist grabbed hold of my guts and twisted.

Once upon a time, I would’ve given my father the benefit of the doubt, but I knew better now. Perhaps he did miss me and wanted to make amends. He had, after all, written to me for two years.

But at the end of the day, Michael Chen only looked out for himself.

“I see.” I forced my expression to remain neutral. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’ve always been smart.” Michael smiled. “Smart enough to be a doctor, obviously. I mentioned that to my friends, and they asked if you wouldn’t mind helping us out.”

He had some balls to ask me to smuggle him pills in the middle of the visitation room. His voice was too low for the guards to hear, but maybe the guards were in on it. In some prisons, the inmates ran the show, and the system as a whole was corrupt as fuck.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” I didn’t bother to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I have changed,” Michael said. “Like I said, what I did to Ava was wrong, but the only way I can make amends is if I stay alive. And the only way for me to stay alive is to play the game.” His jaw tensed. “You don’t know what it’s like in here. How hard it is to survive. I’m depending on you.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you tried to murder my sister.” My pent-up anger didn’t explode; it seeped out of me, slow and steady, like toxic fumes poisoning the air.

For the first time since he showed up, Michael’s “remorseful father” mask slipped. His eyes pierced me like twin daggers. “I raised you. I fed you. I paid for your schooling.” He bit out each word like a bullet. “No matter how wrong I was, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m your father.”

The principle of filial piety had been ingrained in me since I was a child. Perhaps it even played a part in why it was so hard for me to cut ties with Michael, because a part of me did feel like I owed him for everything he’d given me growing up. We had a nice house and went on fancy family vacations. He bought me the latest gadgets for Christmas every year and paid for Thayer, one of the most expensive schools in the country.

However, there was a line to the blind obedience, and he’d crossed it a thousand times over.

“I appreciate all you did for me as a kid.” My hands formed white-knuckled fists under the table. “But being a parent is about more than providing basic necessities. It’s about trust and love. I heard your confession to Ava, Dad. What I didn’t hear was a fucking apology—”

“Don’t curse. It’s unbecoming.”

“Or a good explanation for why you did what you did, and I will fucking curse if I fucking want to, because, again, you tried to murder my sister!”

My pulse crescendoed into a deafening roar while my heart battered against my ribs. There was the explosion I’d been waiting for. Two years of pent-up emotion gushed out at once, erasing our brief moment of bonding.

The other inmates fell silent. One of the guards moved toward me in warning but stopped short of interrupting us.

Michael’s eye twitched. “You’re my son. You can’t leave me here to rot.”

He sounded like a broken record.

Our shared genes were the only bargaining chip he had left, and we both knew it.

“You’ve survived two years. I’m sure you’ll survive another twenty more.” I stood, my chest hollow now that I’d expelled all my emotion. Numbness set in and turned my skin cold.

I’d hoped against all hopes that my father could somehow redeem the unredeemable. That he could give a good reason for why he did what he did, or at least show genuine remorse. But it was suddenly, blindingly clear that while he could mimic love, he couldn’t actually feel it.

Perhaps he loved me in his own way, but that didn’t stop him from using me. If I were of no use to him—if I didn’t have access to the pills he craved, and if I weren’t his one remaining tie to the outside world—he would cast me aside without a second thought.

“Josh.” Michael let out a forced laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re my father by blood, but you’re not my family. You never will be. I’m sure your friends will understand.” I stood, a bitter taste coating my tongue. “I won’t be visiting again, but I wish you all the best.”

“Josh.” Panic crept into his eyes, followed by stunned hurt. It might be the first real emotion I’d seen from him in a long time, but it was too late.

At some point, we had to let go of who a person used to be or who they could be and see them for who they really were. And the person Michael Chen had become wasn’t someone I wanted to call my father.

“Sit down,” he said. “We don’t have to talk about the pills. Tell me about your travels. You always liked traveling. Where are you going next?”

My eyes burned as I walked away.

“Josh.” The panic bled into his voice. “Josh!”

I didn’t answer or say goodbye.

I signed out and kept walking until I hit the blazing heat outside the prison.

I had closure, but no one told me closure was such a bitch. It clawed at my bones and ripped a bloody gash through my heart until every breath became a battle.

But instead of trying to assuage it, I embraced it. Because even though pain hurt like a motherfucker, it proved you were still alive, and it was only after it faded that you could finally heal.