Page 35 of My Addiction
“Chuir tú isteach air. Ná brúigh é.” I say to Mom, keeping my eyes locked on Colton. She upset him. No one, not even Mom, is allowed to do that.
“Níor chiallaigh mé é sin. Ní raibh sé ar intinn agam… tá brón orm.” Mom answers back.
“What was that? What did you say to her?” he asks me.
“It’s Irish. I told her she had upset you and not to push you any further. Then she said she was sorry that it was not her intention.” I explain.
“What? No. I’m not upset.” He looks frantically between Mom and me.
“You’re distressed.”
“No.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m…” he takes a deep breath, “I’m touched that she would let Ollie call her something so personal. It hit me that it’s something he didn’t have before. He would have never had it if not for all of you.” He glances at Mom. “To answer your first question. No, I absolutely don’t mind. I think it’s good for him.” He turns to me. “From now on, talk to me first, please. That was a misunderstanding that didn’t need to happen.”
Mom rounds the table and pulls Colton to his feet. “Thank you, Colton. Ollie is a very special little boy. He gets that from you.” She releases him, and again his eyes are wet. I wait for his attention to come back to me. I question the reaction by raising an eyebrow.
“Touched, overwhelmed, and happy. That’s what,” using his finger, he circles his face, “this means.” He rolls his eyes. Xavier busts out laughing as he sits at the table.
“Get used to that, Colton. None of the Murphy men will be able to read you. But it’s worth it.” He leans over to kiss Declan’s cheek.
It’s Colton’s turn to chuckle. But when he looks at me, then at Declan, he stops abruptly. “You’re not joking, are you?” he directs his question back to Xavier.
“Not in the slightest.” He piles one of the pasta dishes on a plate for him and Declan. I look over to Declan, still in the chair on the far side of the room, trying to figure out if he hurt his hand or something. Why is he not fixing his own plate? He’s still doing the fights. Xavier finishes their plates. “Dec, come on and eat. The numbers will still be there when you finish.” Declan dutifully takes a seat next to Xavier and starts eating.
“How’s it going with the bank stuff I sent you?”
“It’s not as complicated as it seems. They aren’t good at hiding shit.” Declan replies as he shovels food into his mouth.
“How much money are we talking?” Colton asks.
“The first account is basically a processing account. It’s under the cult’s name. Deposits were split into bimonthly amounts of under ten grand.” Declan starts explaining, but Colton interrupts.
“Wait. The cult was pocketing $240,000 a year. That makes sense because of the percentages of tithes everyone was required to pay. But what I saw was way more than that.”
“Yes, there is. As I was saying, that is just the main account. There are nine others, ten in total, making the same deposits, all under nonprofit religious companies. On paper, they aren’t connected. These assholes are pocketing over two million a year.” Declan explains.
“We had to pool resources with other families that lived on our street to make sure everyone had food. I can’t count how many times I went without because of it. And these motherfuckers are making millions.” Colton grits out. “Fucking assholes!” He stands abruptly, his chair flying backward, crashing to the floor. His hands are fisted so tightly by his sides that his knuckles are turning white. Ollie notices his distress and becomes upset himself. His cries are high-pitched.
Mom tries to soothe Ollie, but nothing is working. His cries only get louder, sharp and desperate enough to make every muscle in my body tense.
Colton takes a couple of shaky breaths and moves toward the highchair, but the closer he gets, the harder Ollie fights. He pushes himself back against the seat, screaming so hard his entire face turns red. I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve seen him fussy. But never like this. And for some reason, the sound of it gets under my skin in a way I can’t explain.
“Hey, hey,” Colton says, his voice trembling as he reaches for the straps. “It’s okay.” Ollie bats at his hands. I can see the hurt in Colton’s eyes by Ollie’s rejections. Tears are gathering on his lashes. He tries the buckles again.
“Colton, stop.”
I put my hand on his arm. He’s shaking. I move in beside him, undo the buckles myself, and lift Ollie out of the chair. His little body is damp with sweat, his face wet with tears and spit and snot. He’s still crying, but the second I hold him against my chest, it starts to lessen. Not all at once, but enough that he can breathe again. Mom steps in with a wet wipe and gently cleans his face.
“You’re safe,” I murmur to Ollie, rubbing a hand over his back.
Then I look at Colton. His head is bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor like he can’t bear to look at either of us.
“You’ll never go without again.”
His shoulders tense.
“Eyes on me, Colton.”
It takes a few seconds, but eventually he lifts his head. I hold his gaze.
