Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

41: to forgive

Three days ago

About 9AM in the morning, Landon Lockwood stood in the living room of his family home, opening his favorite can of Stella Artois.

Just sitting around in the ward had been a tad too boring.

Alex Chase- or, rather, Elliot Lockwood- seemed to have left his ward early in the morning. He must've dropped by this house before leaving for somewhere else.

It had been quite a few days since their approximately sixth housekeeper- whatever her name was- hadn't been around for some time.

Gerald must've given her a cash envelope and chased her out. It wasn't good timing to have an outsider in this house, for sure.

The trash bin had been cleared, dishes arranged and cushions on the sofa arranged neatly.

Wouldn't have been done by Gerald- that leech had been accompanying Richard in the hotel and at the police station.

Elliot was a freak in various ways like many in this goddamn household were.

Sipping from the can, Landon sat on his favorite corner spot in the couch. Damn.

He'd been starting to quite like that housekeeper, convinced that at least she hadn't gotten into bed with Richard.

Maybe it was because she was old enough to be Richard's aunt.

Ha, to think of the devil.

With the sound of wheels against the tarmac, and the closing of a car door, came footsteps. The front door of the house opened, and two pairs of footsteps grew louder.

Richard walked into the house, his footsteps as usual quiet and steady.

Beside him, Gerald muttered something close to his ear. When Richard's eyes landed on Landon, he stopped in his tracks.

Landon felt the warmth of the beer spread down his gullet, and to his stomach.

He'd spent more hours awake than asleep in that ward, recovering from the very first punch he'd ever taken from Elliot.

Much of those hours he'd spent awake, he'd contemplated how it'd feel facing Richard.

Now knowing what were some of the things he'd done to Isabella, to Sophia Chase, to his biological son, Elliot, to the Horans, to the dead actresses involved in the whole scandal- and possibly, to many more unknown individuals.

Richard wasn't exactly a saint. Landon had known that for a long time.

But how many billionaires and company heads didn't have some fishy numbers in their accounting books, or privately shake hands with some politicians under the table?

That was just part of the business world, the real business men's world.

But- dead actresses, a company driven to near bankruptcy, a possibly dead mistress- and letting his oldest son beat his other biological son to a pulp every time he drank? Knowing there was a goddamn sick misunderstanding?

God, 'misunderstanding'. It sounded so trivial.

Swallowing two more mouthfuls of the beer, Landon steadily looked back at Richard.

The eyes, the nose, the jaw, the mouth that was haughty and chilly when unsmiling but oh-so-affable when pulled into a camera-ready smile.

The two were like reflections of one another.

"What you did at your mother's place." Richard looked fresh and well slept for someone who'd gone through hours of police investigation and media scrutiny.