Bastards and Scapegoats

experience off, as if fucking for show was something that happened regularly for him—maybe it was.
I picked up my coffee cup and took a sip, mostly because I wanted something to do with my hands. He smiled as I did. “Is this going to be awkward between us now? I’m technically your uncle, but—”
My eyes widened, and I choked on the coffee I was drinking. Sputtering. Coughing. Choking on the truth. It was a long moment before I could respond. “U-uncle?”
He chuckled and pulled the cup from my hands, so I didn’t spill on myself. Our fingers brushed, and a tingle of awareness shot up my arm. “I’m Joseph’s younger brother. I’m sure they’ve told you all about me, right?” His tone had a sarcastic quality to it that I quickly processed. I had no idea that Joseph had a brother. The only family I’d met was Jack. And even so, there was no mention of anyone else. He must have seen the confused look on my face, because he forced a smile. “The name is Hamilton.”
“Like the play?” I asked, brow quirked.
“My parents were fond of pretentious sounding names. They thought class was predestined and a healthy handful of syllables could determine the status of a man.”
Hamilton Beauregard felt like a mouthful and completely contradicted his easygoing demeanor. “I’m Vera. It’s nice to meet you,” I choked out.
I had so many questions. Why didn’t I know about him? The wedding was rushed but not that rushed. There was plenty of time for Joseph to tell me about his younger brother.
“I’m a bit of an outcast around here. You won’t have to worry about seeing me at awkward Thanksgiving dinners or imagining me fucking some girl on Christmas morning. Most of the time, I’m working offshore on the rig. You know, there’s no money in politics. Dad has to hide his fortune and his youngest child in old oil money.” Hamilton laughed at his joke, but it didn’t feel funny. “I have twenty-one days off. Figured I’d see my big brother get married, though unsurprisingly, the invitation got lost in the mail.”
He lifted my cup of coffee to his lips and took a sip while staring out over the yard. I didn’t comment on the fact that he was drinking my coffee. “Offshore?” I asked.
“I’m a tool pusher on an oil rig,” he replied.
That explained why I’d never met him. He was constantly gone. “Cool,” I replied, not really knowing what to say. I knew as much about his career as I knew about him—nothing.
“It pays the bills,” he said with a grin before handing me back my cup of coffee. “Plus, it keeps me out of the public eye.” He winked, like I was somehow a part of some secret I actually knew nothing about.
“I-is that a good thing?” I asked.
Hamilton leaned a little closer. The morning light made it look like he had flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. “I have a habit of fucking things up.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Last night, I plowed a woman whose name I can’t remember while staring at my new niece,” he whispered with a secret smile I felt in my gut. Yep. I supposed that was fucked up.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s agree to never bring that back up.”
“Fair enough,” he replied before licking his lips. Despite barely knowing him, I surmised that Hamilton was inherently sexual. More time passed, and hot tension built between us. My skin pebbled as we stared at one another. “I should get going,” he finally said. “Things usually go to shit when my brother and I spend too much time together.”
“And whose fault is that?” I asked, my question surprisingly bold. I wasn’t sure why I said it. Maybe I was looking for validation that my mother’s new groom wasn’t a good person.
“Usually mine,” Hamilton answered before standing up and smoothing his shirt. “See you around, Vera.”
He winked at me, then walked down the deck’s steps and headed toward a parked motorcycle in the distance.
The sound of the back door opening drew my attention away from Hamilton, and I turned to greet my mother, pleased that I no longer had to navigate this awkward conversation with my u-uncle and that she had remembered our breakfast date this morning. Thank fuck Hamilton left before she woke up. I didn’t want to explain how we’d met the night before. “Hey, baby,” she greeted while adjusting her lavender robe and settling in the cushioned chair beside me.
My mother looked tired. Her brown hair was still curled from her updo the night before, and her smeared lipstick had stained the skin at the corner of her mouth. She slowly sipped her drink, and my eyes zeroed in on the glimmering rock on her left hand.
“I was worried you’d forget,” I admitted.
“I could never forget you,” she replied with a sigh. “Though I was moving very slow this morning. Perhaps an open bar was a bad idea, hmm?” she teased, her voice like a pack of cigarettes and church bells. I laughed. I hadn’t seen her touch a drop of alcohol in a while. I eyed her stomach, trying to see the evidence of a pregnancy, but saw nothing.
Every Sunday, for as long as I could remember, my mother and I did this. We sat outside on our patio and drank coffee. Sometimes we chatted about life. Sometimes we sat in silence.
“I saw the pregnancy test, Mom,” I admitted. “I’m happy for you. You don’t have to keep it from me.”
“You know?” she asked, shocked. Mom turned to face me with a grin. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you yet. It’s been a lot of change for you, baby. It’s been killing me, not telling you.”
I set my cup down and reached out to grab her hand. “I’m happy for you. But we never have secrets.”
Mom sighed. “You’ve always been more of a friend than a daughter. Hell, I don’t even have any friends. I had to ask Colleen