Park (Archer's Creek Book 4)

by Gemma Weir

  “I had no idea,” Taylor says.

  My heart actually hurts. She knew, she knew all along who Park was and she was still going to have sex with him. A horrifying sense of realization crashes into me. I don’t really know the person in front of me. This isn’t a little white lie or a mistruth, this is a fucked-up deception that could damage and scar a person for life.

  “Why are you lying to me?” I ask, my voice robotic. The shock at her behavior still barreling through me.

  “I’m not,” she says, widening her huge eyes and faking outrage at my suggestion of her dishonesty.

  “Yes, you are. You’re lying to my face. Just tell me the truth. Be honest.”

  Taylor turns her eyes away from me, shakes her head and sighs. “I can’t believe you’re being like this. I just found out that I have a brother. You’re supposed to be supportive and help me through this, not accuse me. You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

  My breath becomes ragged and tears well in my eyes. But they’re not tears of sadness. Instead they’re tears of outrage, anger, and disappointment. My voice breaks as I speak, but I force the words out. “I have no idea who you are. You’re lying. You knew. You’ve known for years, but you still planned to have sex with him.”

  When Taylor turns back to me, the tears have disappeared, vanished like they were never there in the first place. Instead, anger and indignation replace them. “He is not my brother,” she seethes. “My father is Elliot Daniel Carrington the third. I am Taylor Marie Carrington. I don’t have any siblings and I can sleep with whoever the fuck I choose to.”

  My body physically bows away from the vehemence in her voice and spit hits my face with the intensity she’s hissing the words at me. “You’re right. Elliot is your father,” I say quietly. “But biologically, another man provided half of your DNA.”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head back and forth as if she can physically push away the truth.

  “And Park is your half-brother.”

  “No,” she snaps, a cruel gleam flashing in her eyes. “He wants me; he’s always wanted me, and I was finally going to give him what he always wanted. Me.”

  “Why would you do that to him?” I ask, genuinely unsure what would possess her to be so cruel.

  “Because he left me,” she roars, her words sounding almost feral.

  My mouth snaps closed. All the words that had formed melting away in the face of her anger.

  I push up from my seat on the floor and take a step away from her, my skin prickling with sadness and unease. “I think I should go,” I say.

  “Oh my god, Rosie, why do you have to make everything about you? I just got told that I have a brother and you’re just going to leave?” Taylor says, her venom replaced by annoyance and bitterness.

  In the space of five minutes the woman in front of me has gone from inconsolable tears, to fury, to petulance. I have no idea if she realizes she’s acting like she’s mentally unstable, but it’s obvious to me that despite all of her words to the contrary, she knew exactly who Park was, and she plotted to sleep with him this weekend to either prove something to herself about her lineage or as revenge on Park for leaving. Either way her motives are heartbreaking and horrifying.

  Keeping my mouth tightly closed, I walk backwards for a few paces then turn, pick up my luggage and flee from the room. I hold my breath until the door is closed behind me and I’m walking into the elevator that will take me downstairs and away from my best friend.

  I don’t realize that I’m shaking until I lift my hand to press the button for the lobby. When Park told me about him and Taylor being siblings, all I could think about was getting to her and helping her through this. I planned to console her and support her through this adjustment in her life, but the person I just left in that room isn’t the same girl I’ve known since the first day of college.

  Regret claws at my stomach and for a second, I consider turning around and going back to her. She’s my best friend, and I know that for Taylor, finding out her dad isn’t biologically her father must have tormented her. She’s such a daddy’s girl and Elliot dotes on her, but then DNA doesn’t denote the ability to be a parent. Elliot is her dad. He has been her whole life, and a few strands of DNA won’t change that. But what she’s doing, what she’s done for years, is wrong, and for the first time in our friendship, I can’t overlook her behavior. I can’t dismiss it or downplay it. If she had carried out her intentions to have sex with Park, she could have ruined him. She could have scarred him and tarnished him for no good reason.

  No, I can’t condone that, and I can’t be around someone who could knowingly ruin someone else’s life.

  The elevator dings, heralding my arrival in the lobby, and even though I know I can’t go back to her, I pause on the precipice, my legs unwilling to take that final step. The elevator doors begin to close, and my body is forced into action. I step out and into the opulent hotel lobby. Reaching for my cell in my purse, I lift it out and swipe the screen to bring it to life. My cell lights up and there on my screen are the details of a new contact. Park added himself before he left and for some reason seeing his name firms my resolve.

  Taylor planned on sleeping with her half-brother, with Park. Tears fill my eyes, but I will them away. I let my eyes fall closed for the merest of moments and push down all of my building feelings, then I open them again, and with a nod to myself, I walk decisively toward the doorman and ask him to get me a taxi.

  The uniformed man smiles warmly at me. “We offer a complimentary car service to guests in the Alaskan Suite, Miss Dalby. If you’d like to wait in the bar, I’ll have Herman bring the car around and then have someone come and fetch you.”

  Biting my lip uncertainly, I consider refusing and insisting that I’d prefer a cab, but then I realize how stupid that would be. Right now, I need to get away from this hotel and decide what to do next. I know I could ring Eric and ask him to book that flight, but I don’t really have the money to pay him back, and our return flight is already booked for only few days’ time. Offering the doorman a smile and a quick thank you, I turn around and walk to the bar on the opposite side of the room.

  In direct contrast to the bright sunlight, the bar is dimly lit, making it feel warm and intimate. A smoked black glass bar and booths run along two walls and the low bluesy jazz music playing adds to the seductive environment. I seat myself and a uniformed bartender effortlessly slides a bar mat in front of me and places a small bowl full of caramelized nuts and pretzels on it. Lifting my head, I smile at the man and order a glass of wine. He delivers it a moment later, shaking his head when I slide a bill toward him.

  “You look like you need a drink,” he says with a thick Italian accent.

  “You have no idea,” I say, lifting the glass and toasting him before taking a sip. The cold, fruity liquid slips down my throat and a small sigh of relief escapes me. I’m not a big drinker. I enjoy a glass of wine or a beer every now and then, but I’ve never felt the medicinal purposes of it before this moment.

  Nursing the glass in my hand, I swirl the liquid a little, watching as the light reflects through it. Several soothing sips later the glass is empty, and a warmth has filled my stomach as the alcohol starts to take effect.

  A uniformed man appears at my side, smiling congenially. “Miss Dalby, my name is Herman. I apologize for the delay. Your car is ready.”

  “Thank you,” I say, quickly rising from my seat and dropping a bill into the tip jar at the side of the bar. Herman picks up my bag and I follow as he walks toward the exit. A step away from the doors, I glance over my shoulder to the elevator that would take me back upstairs to Taylor. A pang of regret hits me, but my steps don’t falter and without another pause I exit the hotel, leaving my best friend and more issues than I ever imagined, behind me.

  Climbing into the back of the black town car, I slide across the seat as the driver closes the door behind me with a decisive thud.

  “Miss Dalby, where can I take you this aftern
oon?” The driver asks me.

  I freeze at his question. Where do I want him to take me? I actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. All I know is that I need to leave, to get away from the person I thought I knew in that hotel suite. But now I’m sitting in the back of a car, it hits me that I have no idea what I’m going to do now.

  Looking at my purse, I consider calling Park. He and Smoke are the only other two people I actually know here in Texas. Shaking my head, I dismiss the idea. He’s a virtual stranger: a biker and Taylor’s brother. Plus, it’s not like we’re friends and I could call on him for help. No, that would be weird.

  “Miss Dalby,” The driver calls my name.

  “Oh, err. I’m sorry. Err.” I stall, hoping that an idea will pop into my mind. “Archer’s Creek,” I blurt. “Could you take me to Archer’s Creek?”

  Smiling, he nods and starts the car engine. “Of course, ma’am. Anywhere in particular?”

  “No, just somewhere with a nice restaurant or coffee shop please.”

  He nods again, his eyes leaving mine and turning to face the road ahead as he smoothly pulls away from the hotel.

  Twenty minutes later we come to a stop outside a cute looking Mom & Pop’s diner. When the car stops, the driver jumps out and opens my door before I have a chance to. “Thank you,” I say, climbing out and handing him a tip, before taking my luggage from him as he retrieves it from the trunk.

  As I turn to leave, his voice stops me. “Miss Dalby.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “There’s a guest house just across the way. New owners took it on about six months ago. It’s real nice.”

  Smiling at him, I nod my appreciation. “Thank you. I’ll go check it out.”

  Tipping his hat at me with a wink, he climbs back into the car and moments later pulls away from the curb. Looking around me, I easily spot the sign for the guest house just across the street and make my way towards it. The Creek Guest House is a beautiful old house, with a pretty yard, and when I knock on the door, I’m greeted by a smiling man with a shiny bald head and hipster tortoiseshell glasses.

  “Well, hello there. Welcome to The Creek. Come on in.”

  His contagious happy grin infects me and within moments I find myself booked in for two nights and sitting at Gary, the owner’s, farmhouse kitchen table, drinking coffee and eating home-made muffins.

  “So what brings you to Archer’s Creek?” Gary asks.

  “I came with a friend, but there’s been a slight change of plan, hence why I’m here at your beautiful guest house.”

  Gary beams at the compliment and I’m amazed at how comfortable I feel in his presence. “Why, thank you. It’s taken us months to get the place to how we like it. Gregory, my husband, has done such an amazing job with the place. It was in complete disarray when we bought it. The last owner died, and she had no family, so we brought it from auction. Let me tell you, there was more chintz in this house than in the entire Laura Ashley spring catalog.

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes at the look of horror on his face. “Well, it’s truly beautiful now, clean lines, and modern but homely decor. It’s wonderful. In fact, maybe I could write an article about the place? I work for a small-town newspaper back in LA, but I’d love to feature you in the travel section, especially if you wouldn’t mind me taking some photos as well.

  Gary’s smile somehow manages to become even wider. “Well, I would love that.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes talking about my job and his until a wave of lethargy hits me and Gary shows me to my room. Just as I’d expected, the room is beautiful. An antique wooden sleigh bed complements the clean, modern soft furnishings; and warm, muted cream and sage tones on the walls.

  Dropping my bags by the door, I flop onto the cloud-like comforter, and a wave of tension bleeds into the mattress beneath me. Reaching for my purse, I drag my cell out and swipe the screen to life. I should call my brother, although I’m not sure I can deal with his hatred for Taylor right now, or the ‘I told you so’ I’m sure I’ll get when I fill him in on what’s happened.

  My cell beeps, informing me that I have a new text message and I’m surprised to find it’s from Park.

  Park: Hey, Rosebud. I just wanted to check in with you. Is everything okay?

  Rosebud. What the hell is that about? I know he knows my actual name, but he’s yet to use it. So much has happened in the last few days that I’ve barely had time to process it all. Park hasn’t been at all what I’d been expecting.

  Lifting my cell, I try to decide what to reply. We’ve known each other for less than two days; yet even though we’re almost strangers, it feels completely right for him to message me. I don’t understand and I can’t explain why I knew I’d hear from him. Perhaps it’s that the idea of never speaking to him again just feels wrong, or maybe we were meant to meet, fate playing her hand. Shaking my head, I laugh to myself, cursing my ridiculousness. I need to stop making this more than it is. This is just a beautiful Irish boy checking up on his sister and her friend. I quickly type a reply and hit send.

  Rosie: Hi, Park. Taylor was upset and has a lot to work through, but I’m sure she will be okay.

  Reading back the short but succinct message, I drop my cell to the mattress next to me and close my eyes. Seconds later it dings with another text message.

  Park: But are you okay?

  Furrowing my brow, I reread the words several times. I’m so confused. My heart hurts and this man’s concern is almost more than I can take. But why is he concerned about me? Why hasn’t he asked about Taylor?

  Rosie: Yeah, I’m fine.

  He texts back immediately.

  Park: Are you still at the hotel?

  Is he trying to figure out when we’re leaving?

  Rosie: Taylor’s still at the hotel. Our flight isn’t for another two days.

  Expecting that to be the end of it, I drop my cell back to the mattress again and kick off my shoes, stretching my toes and groaning at how good it feels. My cell dings again.

  Park: Okay, Taylor’s at the hotel, but where are you?

  Sighing, I reply, purely because I don’t have the energy to be evasive and really, why would I be? He’s obviously just being nice. He is nice, or at least he seems nice, and nice people can be concerned about strangers. Right?

  Rosie: I’m at a guest house.

  Hitting send, I click into my contacts, but before I can select Eric’s name, my cell starts to ring in my hand. Park’s name flashes across the screen and my stomach tightens. What’s going on? Why would he be calling me? Is it to scold me for leaving his sister? That wouldn’t make much sense given he had just walked out on her despite her tears, but why else would he be calling me?

  I debate answering. Sure we had fun this morning at the biker club, but we’re not friends. I’m not normally a cynic. As a general rule, I assume people are nice and good, unless they do something to make me believe otherwise, and he seems a nice guy; so why am I so suspicious of his intentions? Mentally chastising myself, I swipe my screen and lift my cell to my ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Rosebud, I didn’t think you were going to answer,” Park says.

  For a millisecond I swoon at the sound of his voice, then I pull myself together. “Sorry, err, it was in my purse,” I say quickly, hoping he doesn’t call me on my obvious lie, given that I only texted him moments before.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you at a guest house and which one?” Park demands, his voice taking on a rough edge.

  “Taylor has some stuff she needs to work through, so I found a cute little guest house.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. What happened?”

  Sighing lightly, I push myself up the bed until my head is resting against the headboard. “Look, Park, maybe you should be speaking to Taylor about all of this. She is your sister.”

  “Rosebud, I don’t give a fuck about Taylor right now. I’m asking you
if you’re okay and where you are. I know we only just met, but fuck, I don’t know, I’m worried about you. So just put my mind at rest and let me know you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, Park,” I say, my voice softer than before. “I’m at a little place called The Creek Guest House. It’s in Archer’s Creek, just off Main Street.”

  “Yeah, that used to be Miss Mimi’s place. I heard it got sold.” Park says, his voice less rough and demanding than before.

  “It’s nice,” I say, just as Park speaks.

  “Go out to dinner with me?”

  My mouth falls open and a tiny gasp of surprise escapes from my lips. “What?”

  Park is silent for a long moment. “Dinner. Back home we call it tea, but you know, it’s the meal you eat in the evening.”

  “Err.” My mind blanks as I try to think of an excuse. I don’t know why I’m trying to avoid him, he’s been nothing but sweet and caring and attentive. But he’s Taylor’s brother and something about spending time with him right now feels a little weird, like I’m betraying her, or something.

  “Rosebud, it’s only dinner. Just a meal between new friends. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes,” Park says and ends the call.

  My mouth falls open as I lower my cell from my ear and stare at my home screen. What just happened? Did he really just tell me he was coming and then put the phone down on me? Who does that?

  A laugh bubbles up from my chest and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Who does that? None of the well mannered, shiny shoe wearing men I’ve ever known would have told me I was going to dinner with them and then just ended the call before I got a chance to say yes or no. But then Park, isn’t like any of the polite, LA men I know.

  Dragging my tired body from the bed, I pad into the bathroom and spend a few minutes freshening up. I pull my brush from my bag and I run it through my tangled strands, then quickly braid my long hair into two fancy braids that hang down my back. Pulling my shirt over my head I replace it with a pretty white and pink tank and pull a pale pink cardigan over it. Twenty-five minutes later I grab my purse, slide on my shoes and head downstairs.