Betrayal

by Ember Dante

  My anger grew, burning through me like a brush fire. Tinkerbell walked by, and I helped myself to another shot. Without taking my eyes off Caitlin’s little performance, I strolled over, struggling to remain calm. It would be a miracle if I didn’t break the guy’s jaw. “I hate to break up this little party, but Cait and I need to be going.”

  “Dude, ‘bout time you joined us,” David smirked.

  Caitlin turned, her arm still flung around David’s neck. She reached out with her other hand and offered me a shot. “You look like you could use one. You need to loosen up a bit, babe.”

  David tightened his arm around Cait and slid his hand up her side to cup her breast. She sighed and leaned into him.

  My pulse pounded in my ears, and I glared at him, never breaking eye contact. I arched a brow, daring him. I wasn’t interested in making a scene, but he was mistaken if he thought he could feel up my date right in front of me. David shifted uncomfortably and broke our stare first before moving his hand from Cait’s breast to her shoulder.

  That’s what I figured. Pussy.

  “No, thanks. David can have mine.”

  A soft giggle escaped and became a round of raucous laughter. “David can have yours? Did you just make a joke? I’m yours, does that mean David can have me, too?”

  “Sure, if he wants my sloppy seconds.”

  She scowled a look of pure hatred, but didn’t respond.

  “After tonight you can do whatever the hell you want, but I brought you here, and I’ll take you home.”

  Caitlin leaned closer to David, pressing her breasts into his side and attempted a whisper, but the sound was comical and came out louder than her normal volume. “Ian is always such a gentleman. Even when he’s behaving like a jerk.”

  She kissed David on the cheek and then downed the shot I refused. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she swallowed the liquor and a satisfied sigh, an exaggerated exhale, resonated deep in her throat.

  Talking would be a waste of time. It would have to wait until the next day when she was awake and sober. After everything that had happened before and during the party, our pitiful relationship was over.

  I reached for her, pulling her away from David. “Come on, Cait. Let’s go. I’m taking you home.”

  “She can—” David began.

  “Think about whether you want to finish that sentence,” I growled.

  In a sudden change of heart, Caitlin threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She peppered my face with kisses, ending with a firm press on the lips. The smell of liquor—tequila mixed with wine—was thick on her breath. Her fingers trailed down my chest and stopped to play with the buttons on my shirt. “Mmm ... home sounds like a good idea. Lead the way, lover boy.”

  I rolled my eyes and all but dragged her out of the party and down the block to my Tahoe. “Why don’t you love me?” she slurred, tripping over her feet as I helped her into the vehicle.

  “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

  “No.” She hammered her fists on my chest. “We’ll talk about it now.”

  “I’m not doing this with you right now, Cait.” I pushed her into the seat and drew the shoulder harness across her, clicking it into place. “You wouldn’t remember it anyway,” I muttered.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “So you’ve told me.”

  I closed the door, momentarily silencing her words before I rejoined her for the drive home.

  “And another thing,” she grumbled, “you treat me like a whore. You’ve always treated me like a whore.”

  “Cait...”

  “I’m not a whore.”

  I released a heavy sigh.

  “I said I’m not a whore,” she yelled.

  “Fine, you’re not a whore.”

  “Yeah...” she mumbled and flopped backward, silent. Her head lolled to the right, and she was still.

  I stared through the windshield, my anger slowly turning to rage. My head swiveled toward Cait, and I felt nothing for her. Even that intense desire I had for her was gone. All I felt in that moment was contempt—raw fury that she would jeopardize the life growing inside her.

  Bright light shone through Cait’s window moments before we were sent into a spin. The next several seconds passed in a blur of screeching tires, crumpling metal, and shattering glass.

  A burnt, sulfurous odor filled the air.

  Airbags.

  Warm liquid oozed into my mouth, the taste both salty and metallic.

  Blood.

  The vehicle lurched to the right as the acrid smell of burning rubber drifted through the broken windows. More squealing, high-pitched and constant, followed.

  Fuck. We were hit. And they’re leaving.

  Dazed, my hands fumbled with the seat belt. I freed myself and pushed against the door. It took several tries, but it finally released, and I tumbled onto the pavement.

  Caitlin.

  She was covered in broken glass, blood seeped out of her nose, and her right arm rested at an unnatural angle. Her head hung forward, her chin resting against her chest.

  I rushed to her side and jerked on the door. It didn’t budge.

  “Cait? Can you hear me?”

  “Ian?” She lifted her head and groaned. “What—?”

  “Someone hit us. Sit still, okay? I’m going to call for help.”

  I felt a stab of déjà vu as I called 9-1-1 and gave the dispatcher our location. The responding police officers took my statement as the EMTs loaded Caitlin into the ambulance. I rode with them, rattling off as much information as I could about her possible pregnancy and her alcohol intake. The police followed and ordered a blood alcohol test as a formality since I had been driving. I wasn’t concerned.

  As I waited for the blood test results, they rushed Caitlin into surgery for internal bleeding. Knowing I had no choice, I contacted her parents, dreading their imminent arrival. I’d only met her parents a handful of times, none of which were pleasant experiences. I knew that night would be even worse.

  When they arrived, they were upset, but cordial, and promised to keep me updated on Caitlin’s status.

  Until the blood test results came back.

  “This is your fault, Walsh,” seethed George. “My daughter is in there fighting for her life because of you. Did you do this intentionally, hoping she’d miscarry so you would be off the hook?”

  “For fuck’s sake.” He blanched at my profanity, but fuck it—I was beyond caring. “She sprung that on me for the first time tonight, before the party, then proceeded to get fucking hammered. Why don’t you save your anger for your precious daughter?”

  “You are the most irresponsible man I’ve ever met. Why I ever thought you were good enough for my daughter is beyond me. We’re pressing charges. I’m going to make sure they nail your ass to the wall.”

  He spun on his heel and left me standing in the hall, stunned.

  I slipped my phone from my pocket and hesitated. I was fucked if George followed through with his threat. Scrolling through my contact list, my finger hovered over Mason’s number. The memory of the past covered me like a shroud, and I was reluctant to drag my brother back into that hell. Choking on a mouthful of bile, I scrolled to the top of the list. I stood frozen, staring at my father’s name. It took a full five minutes before I could muster the determination to press the “send” button.

  My father arrived within fifteen minutes of my call, and I quickly brought him up to speed.

  “She’s pregnant?”

  “That’s what she said, but I find it hard to believe.”

  “Caitlin wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

  “Then why the fuck would she risk the baby’s health by drinking that much? You didn’t see her—she was acting insane.” I paused, trying to reign in my temper. “Look, I just need you to talk to George. I didn’t feel drunk when we left the party—hell, I don’t feel drunk now.”

  “Blood tests don’t lie, son.”

  “I know it lo
oks bad, and I can’t explain that. I was closer to being drunk the night of Mason’s wreck than I am now. I had three shots tonight over a couple of hours—that was it. There’s no way I could be that far over the limit.”

  Dad bowed his head in contemplation. When he lifted his gaze, I saw a mixture of several emotions in his eyes—emotions I always thought were foreign to Connor Walsh—concern, resignation, and maybe even a touch of respect.

  “I’ll talk to George, but I need to know what you’re prepared to do if Caitlin’s pregnant. Assuming she survives, of course.”

  “I won’t marry her, but I will support my child. And I’ll tell you this—if I find out she’s lying, that this is just a ploy to force me into marrying her, or that you had anything to do with it, I will ruin you and George. Don’t think for a second I won’t.”

  He nodded, his lips parted in a smile. “You’ve always been more like your mother, which is a good thing.” He shook a finger in my direction, an odd look of pride on his face. “But that is one trait you inherited from me.”

  I was less than thrilled with the comparison but nodded as my father left me to find George. He returned almost an hour later and dropped into the chair beside me.

  “Caitlin’s gone.” His hand found my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Ian. They couldn’t stop the bleeding.”

  My breath left in a rush, and I collapsed further into the chair.

  “George agreed not to press charges.”

  I couldn’t think. “What?”

  “Caitlin’s blood alcohol was point two-six, close to alcohol poisoning. She was in danger, regardless of the accident.”

  “Was she pregnant? I think I have a right to know.”

  “I asked, but George refused to tell me anything else.”

  I jumped to my feet. “I’m not leaving until I know the fucking truth.”

  He stood with me and grabbed my arm, stopping me. “I know you and I have had our differences, but you need to listen to me. If you press for answers, George will renege on our agreement, and he’ll have you arrested. I don’t have to remind you that he holds a lot of influence—if he decides to pursue this, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you.” His gaze never wavered as he paused, giving me a chance to digest everything he said. “I’ll make sure the DUI never hits your record. You’ll be in the clear. Just let it go.”

  I couldn’t believe it was happening again, that I had put myself in the position to once again blindly follow Dad’s orders. Resigned, I nodded and allowed him to lead me from the hospital.

  He didn’t speak again until we stepped into the cool night. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll call Parker.”

  With that, he gave me a final nod and strolled to his car, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Watching my father drive away, I wondered how my life had become so monumentally fucked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I didn’t say more than five words on the short drive to Parker’s downtown loft. I told him to take me home, but he ignored me, understanding better than I did that I was in shock. Honestly, I’m glad he didn’t listen. I didn’t want to be alone.

  The first thing I did when we walked through his door was shuck my jacket and tie. Rolling my sleeves to the elbows was next. I fucking hated wearing a tux.

  “Drink this,” he commanded, handing me a tumbler of amber liquid.

  I accepted it without comment and slid deeper into the sofa.

  “Ace.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Ian, look at me.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I mumbled, meeting his gaze.

  “You can start by telling me what the fuck happened tonight.”

  The glass felt heavy in my hand. I raised it to my lips and let the golden warmth slide down my throat, its burn a welcome contrast to the ice that filled my soul.

  “Then I’m gonna need a refill.”

  As he poured whiskey, words poured out of me. Parker remained stoic during it all, refilling our glasses when necessary. The liquor did its job, and a pleasant buzz settled in my head, loosening my tongue. I probably said more than I should have.

  “Fuuuck...” He drew out the word and downed a shot, his face pinched from the burn. “I’m sorry, man.”

  “I wanted to be rid of her ... but not like this.” I slid the glass onto the coffee table. “Not like this.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Wasn’t it?” I pushed off the sofa and paced. “I was fucking pissed off, and I was staring at her rather than watching the road. Besides, the blood test shows I was legally drunk. How is it not my fault?”

  “You weren’t driving the other car, dude. They hit you, and then they ran. Drunk or not, you didn’t have any control of that.”

  “If I’d been paying attention...”

  Parker stood before me, stiff and menacing. “It still would’ve happened.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. There are no absolutes in life, Ace. Fuck, she could’ve just as easily died from alcohol poisoning. Would that be your fault, too?”

  “Dammit—” I growled.

  “You can’t feel guilty about this, man. It’ll drive you crazy. She didn’t deserve it, and it sucks. But bottom line, you didn’t pour the tequila down her throat, and you didn’t make the other driver run the stop sign.”

  “You don’t get it, Park. You don’t understand.”

  “What don’t I understand? Unless you’re trying to tell me you actually did have feelings for her.”

  I shoved my hands through my hair. “I didn’t, but I didn’t want her to die.”

  “Of course not.” He shrugged. “You may have acted like a dick toward her, but that doesn’t mean you’d want any harm to come to her.”

  “It’s just...” My hands dropped to my hips, and my head followed. Parker’s gaze was too intense. “Part of me is ... relieved.” Silence lengthened between us and I tilted my chin to meet his gaze. “It seems wrong, and I don’t know how to feel about that or about the baby—if there was a baby. What kind of person does that make me? What kind of a man feels relief that his possibly pregnant girlfriend died horrifically? How do I deal with that shit?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to say, man. As bad as this is gonna sound, you dodged a fucking bullet. Say she was pregnant. Could you imagine being tied to that crazy bitch for the rest of your life? What would it be like if you tried to make a life with someone else? How would Caitlin have acted if you had a kid together and then you married another woman? She would have used that kid against you, and you know it. You’d have been miserable.”

  “She still didn’t deserve to die,” I muttered.

  “I’m not saying she did. But that doesn’t make what I said any less true.”

  I collapsed onto the sofa and dropped my head in my hands. “I was so angry with her, Parker. She was sitting there, passed out, and I remember thinking that I just wanted her gone. I wanted her out of my life.” Tears stung my eyes and clogged my throat. “At that moment, I didn’t give a shit how it happened. I just knew I didn’t want her anymore—I didn’t want to be with her, and I damn sure didn’t want to have a baby with her.” I looked up and saw Parker sitting across from me, more somber than I’d ever seen him. “You tell me how I’m supposed to live with that.”

  “I can’t. You just gotta take one day at a time, dude.” He poured two shots and nudged my glass toward me. “But I can tell you this: you are one tough son of a bitch. You’ve been to hell and back more than anyone deserves. I know you got this.” He raised his glass and tipped it toward me. “And I got your back. Always.”

  I knew Parker was right.

  Deep down, I knew it, felt it.

  But something had broken inside me when Caitlin died, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be whole again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  One year later...

  I read a quote once—I think it was by Rose Kenne
dy—that time did not heal all wounds. Time simply allowed the mind to develop scar tissue that lessened the pain. That was what time did for me—it covered the wound of Caitlin’s death and numbed the pain. Of course, the alcohol and drunken one-night stands were a big help. I had taken Parker’s advice and lived one day at a time, throwing myself into work and focusing on the things I could control. That was how I survived.

  It was Saturday night, and I had just finished another session at Release. Photographing Blaire’s clients still felt invasive as hell, and even though the money was good, I was ready to move on. I settled the strap of my camera bag over my shoulder and pushed my way through the growing crowd, desperate to grab a drink before heading home. As I entered the main performance area, I saw Blaire standing beside the Shibari set, martini in hand. She was dressed in dominatrix regalia—black latex corset and matching hot pants, full gloves that laced up the back, and thigh-high, latex-topped platform stilettos. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the glossy ends brushing the base of her slender neck. She was stunning, and my first thought was to drag her into the room I’d just vacated so I could photograph her. Then I briefly wondered how difficult it would be to get her out of those latex shorts. The thought was fleeting—mixing business with pleasure would be a bad idea with anyone, but I had a feeling it would be even worse with Blaire.

  She spotted me as I drew closer, and her crimson lips curled into a sly smile. “Ian,” she purred. I stopped in front of her, and she stroked her free hand down my arm, her latex-covered fingers gliding over my skin. “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” I gestured behind her. “I was just on my way to the bar.”

  “Perfect. I’ll go with you.” She looked at her glass. “I could use a refill.” As soon as we got our drinks, she inclined her head toward the back entrance. “Let’s go to my office. There are a few things I’d like to discuss.”

  “Sure.” It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be, and it was a good opportunity to tell her I was quitting.