by Ember Dante
I stayed home the two weeks following the miscarriage, and it was making me stir crazy. I’d hidden away long enough. It was time to start living again. Although my heart wasn’t in it, I decided it was time to go back to work. I needed to feel useful, to be busy for a change, and urged Ian to do the same. He was resistant at first but ultimately agreed. The one thing he was adamant about, however, was only taking local assignments. He refused to consider any job that required him to be gone overnight.
As ready as I was to move on, the pain was still too fresh, too raw, and having him home made life a little easier. I slept better knowing he was there. That made me sound like a co-dependent woman, but Ian was the one constant in my life, and that was a difficult thing to let go of—moreover, I didn’t want to.
I walked into the office ill-prepared for the major changes that had taken place while I was away. The first thing I noticed was that Becky was nowhere to be seen. There was also no sign of Kyle, which struck me as extremely odd, and the overall mood was peaceful. Everyone seemed to be working happily with no one watching them like a hawk.
Tyler barely gave me time to get settled before invading my space. He waltzed in and took his usual place as if I hadn’t been MIA. The only difference was the hurt he wore like a shield, telling me we wouldn’t be discussing those changes yet.
“You never returned any of my calls,” he pouted, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“I know,” I sighed, reclining into my chair. “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked to anyone lately.”
“Is it something you want to talk about now?”
It was just nine o’clock, and I was already weary of the day—and our conversation. With a shake of my head to clear my muddled thoughts, I took a deep breath and told him everything. Well, almost everything. I gave him bare-bones information about Blaire—only because I believed the stress from that situation had contributed to the miscarriage.
“Please don’t be upset. Jules was the only one who knew I was pregnant and she was on duty the night Ian took me to the hospital.”
“Damn, Emmy. I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say, really.” I shook my head and sighed. “It is what it is. I can’t think about it too much or I start crying. I think it’s hormones.”
“I’m surprised Ian didn’t make you stay home another week.”
“He tried, believe me.” I chuckled. “I think he wanted an excuse to keep avoiding work.”
“But—you two are okay? I mean, things are still good?”
“We’ve had the what we both want talk about where we’re headed, so, yeah, it’s good. We’re good.”
“So, should we start planning a wedding?”
“Really, Ty? Why don’t we wait until it’s official?”
“Well, yeah, we need a date first, but no harm in starting a wish list, ya know.”
“Just ... stop.” I laughed. I wasn’t ready to get into all that. “Tell me about what I’ve missed while I was out.”
Tyler hung his head, dropping his chin into the rise and fall of his chest.
“Now I hate to bring this up, Lou Lou,” he sighed, lifting a folder that I hadn’t noticed him carrying.
“What, Ty?”
He leaned forward and slid the folder across the desk.
“You need to take a look at this.”
“What is it?”
My mouth gaped as I flipped through the contents—a slim stack of slightly out of focus black and white images of Ian and I having sex—rather vigorous sex, apparently. I lifted my gaze to his, not giving voice to the obvious question.
“Those were delivered the week before last—I guess that would be the week you…”
I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“They’re video stills. Kyle received those as well as a link to the video itself.”
“Who sent these?”
“No return address and the email came from a blind account—IT hasn’t been able to track down the owner. Before you ask, they’ve checked out the video, and it’s authentic. No sign of tampering.”
My elbows hit the desk, and my head fell into my hands. Ian wasn’t going to be happy. Just when I thought we were putting Blaire behind us.
“This was the night I went to Release with Ian.”
“I figured.” He paused. “I hate to ask, but do you think Ian knew about the camera?”
“I doubt it.” My head popped up, and my eyes bored into his. “What are you saying?”
He held out his hands, palms facing me. “Just asking the obvious question.”
“I suppose Kyle saw the video?”
Tyler reclined in his chair and hooked one elbow over the back.
“He planned to run a piece on it.” He arched a brow and gave me a meaningful look. “Somehow, the owner and editorial board found out and, well, Kyle’s history.”
“And how did they find out, I wonder?”
I knew the answer, but I wanted to see if he’d admit it. His shoulders lifted as his lips curved into a shy smile. Tyler had the innocent look down pat.
“A little bird told them, I s’pose.”
“Hmm…” I nodded. “What else were they told?”
“Nothing they didn’t already know.” He paused and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. “A few of the advertisers had complained about some of our content, like your piece about the fetish club. The bean counters were afraid of losing that revenue, so the owner cut him loose.”
“Oh, God,” I gasped, splaying a hand over my chest. “He made me write that. It wasn’t my idea.”
“I made sure they knew that, but I didn’t have to say anything. The owner was appalled that he forced that on you.” He released a heavy sigh. “Kyle was also skimming the profits.”
“Embezzlement? Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
Silence settled between us, both of us at a momentary loss for words. I never thought Kyle would stoop so low, but I was glad he got caught.
“So what are they going to do about Kyle’s position? They need an editor-in-chief.”
“Well…” he hedged, his ears and cheeks going pink. “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about when I called you last week.”
“What?” I leaned forward, sensing his underlying excitement in his voice.
“They offered me the job.”
“Holy shit, Ty! That’s awesome!”
“You aren’t mad? I haven’t accepted yet. I told them I needed to think about it.”
“Hell no, I’m not mad. Why would I be? You’ve been the creative director since I’ve been here—longer than that. You’ve earned it.”
“Are you sure?”
I jumped from my chair and rushed around my desk to give him a hug.
“Of course, silly. I’ll be pissed if you don’t take it. What did Avery say?”
“He said I’d be a fool not to take it.”
“He’s right.” I giggled. I planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, the kind he usually gave me. “I’m proud of you. Let me take you to lunch, and we’ll celebrate.”
“It’s a date.” He beamed. “I’ll let you get to work. I need to do the same. Lots to do, you know.”
I returned his smile. “Just let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
“Will do.” He winked.
31
Ian
Sunlight streamed in the windows, chasing away the melancholy and blanketing the apartment in optimism. That was something I hadn’t felt in some time. I credited Emmy for the change, with her determination for things to get back to normal. That woman was a force to be reckoned with once she set her mind to something. That old adage about dynamite coming in small packages? Fucking truth.
At her request, I spent the morning rescheduling some studio work, but I wasn’t ready to get back on the road. Hell, I might never be ready. The guilt s
till ate at me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shrug it off. Emmy was caught twice in the path of the tornado, and neither time I was there when she needed me. Stupid or not, doubt clouded my mind, compelling me to question whether I could have made a difference. Christ. Maybe Emmy was right and I needed to bury myself in work. There were days when I didn’t know what the fuck would be best, so I tried to find peace in the mundane. Anything to keep busy. Like laundry.
There was a sharp rap at the door as I flipped through the channels looking for a ball game to watch while the towels dried. Not just sharp, but insistent, growing to a loud banging the longer it continued. I would have ignored it if I could, but the way my luck had been, that wasn’t a good idea.
“Fuckin’ A, I’m coming already,” I yelled, jogging to the door. My newfound optimism took a screeching nose dive to the pit of my stomach when I pulled it open and saw the look on Mason’s face—a cross between anger and confusion. He leaned heavily against the frame, propped on his forearm while the other hand fumbled at the knot in his tie. “What’s up, Mase?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure.” I backed up to let him walk through the door.
His head swiveled from side to side, his hand still fidgeting with that damn tie. “Where’s Emmy?”
“It’s three o’clock. She’s at work.” The door closed with a dull thud that echoed throughout the room. “You okay, dude?”
Instead of answering, he gave a brief shake of his head. “Have you got a beer?”
“Yeah.” I motioned with a tip of my head for him to follow.
He lowered his tie and popped open the top two buttons on his shirt before slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of a barstool. Keeping a wary eye on my brother, I reached into the fridge, withdrawing two bottles.
“I didn’t think you were into day drinking,” I joked, twisting off the caps and sliding one across the island.
His head bobbed in mute thanks as he rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows. My patience was wearing thin waiting for him to get to the point. Mason was never haphazard about anything, and if he was visiting in the middle of the day, it was for a damn good reason. The way things were going, it wasn’t a good one.
“Funny thing happened,” he began, reaching for his beer. He downed half of it in two long swallows before continuing. “I ran into Jason at the courthouse this morning.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.” I flipped a hand in the air. “What’s so funny about that?”
Mason didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he focused on the liquid in his bottle as he twisted it in his fingers.
“He’s an assistant D.A. now.” He coughed lightly to clear his throat before taking another sip of beer. “He thinks Dad pulled a few strings, made a few recommendations.”
“I’m sure he did,” I muttered, lifting the bottle to my mouth.
Eyes narrowed, Mason opened his mouth to say something but took another drink instead. He set the bottle on the island and rested his hands on the back of another barstool.
“He asked about you.” He drummed his fingers on the wood.
My heart pounded as anger replaced trepidation, and I slammed my drink on the counter hard enough to make the contents foam.
“Did he?”
“He wanted to know what you’re doing now, since baseball didn’t work out, and all. He also said he kinda hated how y’all left things.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed, reaching up to squeeze the back of my neck. I knew damn well Jason didn’t give a shit since he was the reason for both of those things.
“Then he went on to say he misjudged you, and that he never should have believed his old man.” Mason paused and met my gaze. “He said he was sorry.”
“Well, that’s a great story. You came all this way to tell me that? Dude, you could have called.”
Mason shook his head and wagged a finger in my direction. “I thought it was an odd thing for him to say, but I blew it off. I figured I’d pass it along and that you’d know what he meant.” He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets and met my gaze. “Then I had lunch with Finn.”
Shit. That couldn’t be good. “Yeah?”
“Everything was fine until I told him about Jason. Then he started acting weird—fidgety—and wouldn’t make eye contact. He finally said I needed to talk to you.”
Fuck.
He reached for his bottle and gulped the remaining liquid as if he were dying of thirst. He dropped his hands and stared sightlessly into the empty bottle.
“The thing is, the more I thought about the shit with Jason, and then how Finn was acting, I started to remember details about Todd’s party that night and the accident. That shit today brought it all back. I haven’t thought about it in years, ya know?” He snorted. “I guess I had put it behind me.”
“Well, I’m glad your best friend almost dying doesn’t keep you up at night.” I laughed, my voice full of sarcasm.
“It bothered me, so I called Brad after lunch. He doesn’t remember much, of course, but he knows we left without you. We were pissed you gave us a time limit, so giving you the wrong keys, and that shit with Layla, was sort of revenge.”
“You were behind that? Figures.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“The fucking truth.”
I pushed away from the counter and stepped around the island, stopping when we were about four feet apart.
“Is there something you’d like to get off your chest, little brother? If so, let’s have it.”
“Tell me what really happened,” he demanded, closing the gap between us.
“You know what happened. I’m not getting into this with you—again.”
In an unexpected move, he shoved both hands against my chest, rocking me onto my heels. I had to shuffle my feet to keep from going over.
“I want the truth.”
“I don’t want to do this, Mase.” I held my palms out. “I mean it. I’m not doing this with you.”
He shoved again, but I was ready for it and didn’t budge. “Tell me the truth, dammit,” he growled.
The hold on my temper was tenuous at best, yet I still managed to exercise restraint. “That’s two.” I held up two fingers, emphasizing my point. “Think long and hard about what you’re doing right now.”
“I’m not a child,” he bellowed, chest bowed. “Stop treating me like one and tell me the goddamn truth.”
“Then stop fucking acting like one.” I spit the words, matching his volume. “It’s all about what you want, isn’t it? What’s next? Are you gonna hold your breath until I give in? It’s in the fucking past, dude—it’s dead and buried. Leave it be.”
“It’s always been easy for you, hasn’t it? Shit goes bad and you just walk away. Just like you did back then.” Eyes wild, he took another step closer and shoved, hitting me just beneath the pecs, hard enough to bruise. “You ran because you didn’t have the guts to face whatever it was. Stop being a pussy and tell me what the fuck really happened.”
Squaring my shoulders, I leaned into him and pushed back, forcing him to take an extra two or three steps to remain on his feet.
“Is this what you want? Are we really gonna do this? I’m trying really hard not to completely lose my shit right now, but you’re making it extremely fucking difficult. If you want to know so goddamn bad, go ask our old man. Just leave me the fuck out of it.”
“Stop blaming Dad for everything that goes wrong in your life. I know he’s an asshole, but you always blame him for everything,” he shouted, shoving back, trying to regain the upper hand. It wasn’t happening. We were the same height, and although my brother wasn’t a wimpy guy by any means, I had at least twenty pounds on him, and he’d lost the element of surprise.
“Fuck this shit.” My hands pushed against his upper chest, just below his shoulders, with enough force to let him know I wasn’t playing. “You wouldn’t listen to reason, wouldn’t let me drive.
You refused to do anything but what you wanted to do. So being the smart-ass you are, you and Brad left me. Ha-ha, joke’s on me—right? Jason and I caught up to you in time to watch you roll into the fucking pasture. You idiots are lucky to be alive.”
“What has Dad got to do with it?”
“Go ask him that question. Ask him why I decided to bail and move here.”
“Tell me,” he roared. “I deserve to know the truth.”
“What do you want to hear, Mason? Want me to tell you about all the times I saved your ass? You never once had to take responsibility for the stupid fucking shit you pulled when you were younger.” I punctuated my next words with a finger in his chest. “I took the heat for you. Every. Fucking. Time. Don’t believe me? Ask dear old Dad about what happened after the wreck. Ask him about how he stood there and watched Jason beat the shit out of me over a goddamn lie. Ask him about the sound the aluminum bat made when it broke my fucking arm. Ask him if he felt any remorse whatsoever as he watched my dreams go up in smoke. But hey—none of that matters, right? Because you want the truth. Whatever Mason wants, Mason gets. All that man gave a shit about was protecting you, his last chance at securing his legacy.” I flicked my hand toward him. “Now look at you—perfect Mason has the perfect life with the perfect wife and the perfect little baby on the way. You’re welcome.”
“He did that?” He deflated, all fight leaving him.
“What do you think?” I snorted, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You’re a lawyer. I don’t have to tell you that a DWI sticks with you—forever. Add to that the fact you were only sixteen. There was no way in hell Dad was gonna let you take the rap. It would’ve trashed your chances at Harvard.”
He backed up a few steps and collapsed on the arm of the recliner, his shoulders drooping under the sudden weight of knowledge.
“I never wanted it.”
“Wanted what?”
“To be a lawyer. I never wanted it. I’ve always thought it would be cool to be more like you and Finn. You know, do something creative.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“One of us had to make Dad happy.” He shrugged.
