Beneath the Surface

by M.A. Stacie

  He stood up. “You don’t know him! He does this shit all the time, and I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces time and time again so that dear Daddy doesn’t get a whiff of it. I need to stop covering for him.”

  “Why do you?” Dale whispered, starting to wish she’d kept quiet.

  “Misplaced loyalty? I don’t know. Taylor and I have looked after each other since our mother died. I should have put a stop to his stupidity long ago, but I thought he would wise up in his own time. Grow up, you know.

  I’d hoped being made CFO would do that. Clearly, I was wrong. Very wrong.”

  Dale battled to think of a way to calm him down.

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. I tried his cell before you e-mailed me, but it went straight to voice mail.”

  “You should have told me earlier.” He pointed his finger at her. “I depended on you. Trusted you.”

  “Whoa!” Dale stood up and glared at him. “You trusted me? When exactly did you do that? And why is it my fault that your brother is a mess?”

  “You were here. We could have lost the contract, and after such a loss, our reputation would have been shit. All you had to do was call me, call Dad, whatever—just one call.”

  “I’m not his babysitter.” Her head started to throb from the stress. Dale had been looking forward to his return but now her excitement had crumbled, nothing but ashes on the floor.

  “Has my father been in?” He began pacing the floor, his sneakers leaving grooves in the carpet.

  Dale shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Fuck!” he shouted and slammed his fist into the far wall. Dale flinched and wrapped her arms around her middle. She remained silent while he continued his verbal tirade. At one point he tried calling his brother, but when he received no response, he tossed the phone onto the couch beside her.

  Dale tried to interrupt him to get him to see reason, but her protests fell on deaf ears. Kyran was far too annoyed. She hated the way he’d flipped— from happy and sexy to aggressive and unreachable. She wasn’t scared.

  Dale had seen him many times in such a state, only his violence had been directed at his opponent. He was angry, not abusive.

  “I need to find him. I have to fix this. Did he say where he was going?

  At all?”

  Dale shook her head again, stood up, and walked over to the door. She didn’t bother making an excuse as to where she was going. She didn’t raise her voice so he could hear her either. “I’ll go and see if I can track him down. Maybe he has a meeting or something.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her, reaching for his cell instead. Dale knew a rejection when she saw one; she felt it, too, as her heart sank to her stomach. It took every ounce of strength she had not to cry. She walked back to her desk, and after unlocking her desktop, she scrolled through her e-mails in the vain hope that she’d missed something and Taylor was out to lunch with colleagues. All she found was an empty schedule and no reason for Taylor to be out of the office.

  Dale found nothing that alluded to Taylor’s whereabouts. She tried his cell again, his apartment, and started to go through his list of contacts. She had no idea where he would go to drink or where he’d go to hide from life in general.

  The staff began to filter in from their lunch breaks, and inquired about Dale’s tear -stained cheeks. She wiped them away, not realizing she was |

  crying until it was too late. She hated that one man could bring her down so hard and so fast, hated that it mattered so much to her.

  “Dale?”

  She looked up to see Grace, Taylor’s receptionist, in front of her desk.

  Bracing herself for the older woman’s concern, Dale hummed in response.

  “Did I see Mr. Reese arrive earlier?”

  “Um, yes, but not in a work capacity. Do you need him?”

  Grace smoothed her skirt before she began to fiddle with the buttons on her jacket. “There’s a problem with the bathroom—the larger one in reception. The door seems to be jammed. I wondered if Mr. Reese could perhaps open it.” She smiled. “He’s big enough.”

  Dale frowned in confusion. Why wouldn’t Grace call maintenance?

  “Grace?”

  “I’m not here to tell tales, Dale. I think Mr. Reese should be the one to deal with the bathroom issue, that’s all.”

  Pushing her chair back, Dale stiffened. Something was wrong.

  “There’s more to it. What’s going on?”

  She started to walk before Grace answered, the woman’s kitten heels clicking on the wood floor as she followed her. Dale’s stomach had begun to knot. The sense of foreboding seized in her chest when she faced the bathroom door, and before she tried to open it, she turned back to the older woman. “Tell me, please,” she said.

  Grace’s cheeks flamed, and her chin wobbled as she opened her mouth and fought for the right words. “I s-saw the other Mr. R-Reese, Taylor, go in there—”

  “When?” The hairs on Dale’s arms stood on end.

  “A few hours ago. Dale? I don’t remember him coming out.”

  “Kyran’s in his office.” She took a deep breath. “Go and get him.

  Now.”

  Dale was in a panic, and a lump was forming in her throat. No matter how many times she swallowed, she couldn’t dislodge it. She mustered her courage and pushed the handle of the door down, shoving the door with her shoulder at the same time. It budged a little, giving her hope that she could open it without Kyran’s help. She tried again and felt the door hit something. Dale gave one more forceful shove, and the door opened enough for her to squeeze through.

  She blinked, unable to believe the sight before her. Dale began to gag from the smell; the stench of vomit stung her nostrils and burned the back of her throat. She clutched the wood of the door, on the verge of tears.

  She heard footsteps behind her but didn’t turn to see who it was. All she could do was stare.

  At Taylor.

  His body was sprawled across the tile floor—vomit covered his hair and blood was seeping from his nose. White powder dusted his black shirt, along with the counter next to the sink.

  For a fleeting second, Dale wondered if Kyran would listen to her now.

  Chapter 16

  Kyran scrubbed his hand across his head for the hundredth time and shuddered. The image of his brother sprawled on the floor helpless replayed in his head and chilled his very bones. He doubted he would ever forget it, or ever lose the horror he’d felt at what had greeted him.

  Dale had tried to block his view of his brother but it was in vain. The expression on her face had been his warning. At that point, he expected death, but thankfully, his brother was still breathing. Barely.

  After that point, the time passed in a blur. Kyran could recall Grace calling and Dale cleaning away the vomit and blood. Dale kept checking Taylor’s pulse to make sure he was still alive. Tears rolled down her face; her makeup was a disaster. It had taken a will of steel for him not to wipe her cheeks clean.

  Kyran’s head spun as he recalled all the times when they were younger—the times he had protected his brother or simple moments when they’d giggled in each other’s company. He felt sick. The thought of losing Taylor was just too much to comprehend. The whole situation hurt in a way he’d never experienced, and made a sucker punch down at Metro seem paltry in comparison.

  Dale kept looking to him for answers even though he didn’t have them. She had warned him that Taylor needed help, that there was something wrong, so many times.

  Kyran stared across the hospital waiting room at her. “Did you know?”

  It was worded as a question but she heard the accusation in the harshness of his tone.

  “I—”

  “It’s a simple question, Dale. Did you know Taylor was snorting that shit?”

  Dale opened her mouth, but he didn’t allow her to speak again.

  “You warned me he needed me—that he needed help—so it’s a natural conclus
ion that you knew he was doing that.”

  Dale shook her head “Not this. I thought he had a problem with alcohol, not drugs. I warned you because the signs were there but no one was taking any notice but me.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I? Am I really, Kyran? Look me in the eye and say that to me again.” She paused for a second. “You can’t, can you? Because I’m right. I spoke up. I told you so many times that there was something very wrong with your brother. I couldn’t make you care, so don’t shove your guilt on me.”

  Kyran inhaled sharply, the urge to pound the shit out of the wall increased with every tick of the clock. He couldn’t look at her. His head told him she’d kept things from him while his fingers still itched to touch her. His body was at war with his mind.

  Checking his watch, Kyran ground his teeth. He’d called his father before the paramedics had taken Taylor from the office, and he had yet to arrive. He'd been so angry earlier when Kyran had explained the details of the contract that Kyran wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t turn up at all.

  “Mr. Reese?”

  Kyran saw the doctor enter through the waiting room door. His stomach sank when he noted the grim set of his mouth. The room dissipated around him, and a buzzing began in his ears. He was vaguely aware of Dale linking her fingers with his. Kyran allowed the comfort and |

  cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m Taylor’s brother. Our father should be here soon.”

  Dale squeezed his hand.

  “I’m Doctor Leighton. I’m in charge of Taylor’s care. Your brother is in a very serious condition. However, he’s stable.” Both Dale and Kyran sagged in relief. “We’ve sedated him, but we’ll need to discuss our use of narcotics on him.”

  Kyran agreed, placed his arm around Dale’s shoulders, and held her close.

  “We’ve checked his records—this isn’t the first time he’s been admitted due to his drug use. How long has he been addicted to narcotics?”

  “I’m not sure. We thought it was alcohol and he’d stop, but never . . .

  he . . . well, he found ways to conceal his habit.”

  “As all addicts do.”

  Kyran flinched at the words. They felt like a slap in the face. His brother was a drug addict. And he and his father had ignored every one of the signs. They'd figured it was too much partying, too much liquor. It made him sick to his stomach.

  The doctor eyed him, scrutinizing his every move. Kyran tried to think of questions, things he should want to know about Taylor’s care, but his brain was stuck on the bathroom floor. When had things gotten this bad?

  The sight of Taylor sprawled across the tiles would live with him forever. He had failed his brother. In allowing Taylor to work through his own issues, Kyran wondered if he’d, in fact, made them much worse.

  “We also need to have a discussion about his nose. It’s going to need some kind of reconstructive surgery. Especially if he continues to abuse cocaine.”

  “Pardon?”

  “His septum is damaged.” The doctor glanced at the chart in his hands.

  Kyran’s head spun. Thankfully, Dale spoke up while he was still trying to wrap his head around the doctor’s previous sentence.

  “Dr. Leighton, if his septum is damaged, that means he’s been doing this for some time, right?” she said.

  “It certainly doesn’t happen overnight. Maybe two, three years of heavy use. I can’t tell you whether that is the case with Taylor. However, I can say another two years and his septum will need major work. As it stands, the repair work is needed, but it is minimal.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” Dale helped Kyran into a chair. “I think we’d better wait for Taylor’s father before having that talk.”

  “Yes. That would be wise.”

  Kyran could feel Dale staring at him but he couldn’t look at her. He felt sick. Fisting his hands in his lap, he tried to ignore how much they shook.

  Dale turned back to the doctor. “Can we see him?”

  “He’s still sedated, but I don’t have a problem with you sitting with him. The nurse will show you to his room. Let her know when Mr. Reese’s father arrives, or if you have any more questions.”

  “We will.”

  The doctor held his clipboard to his chest and bowed his head slightly before leaving them alone in the waiting room. Dale squatted down in front of Kyran and placed her hands over his fists. “Ky? Look at me please.”

  The sympathy in her voice slashed at his composure, and Kyran batted her hands away.

  “Don’t push me away,” she pleaded with him. “I didn’t know he was taking drugs.”

  “You disappeared with him a lot. I’ve seen you scuttle off. You’ve even told me on a couple of occasions you couldn’t see me because you were doing something for Taylor.”

  “Yes, work stuff—nothing more, nothing less. Kyran, you’re seeing something here that isn’t here at all. You’re bending the truth to suit your needs.” Dale softened her tone before she said, “To ease your own guilt.”

  He raised his head sharply and scowled. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Dale. I suggest you keep your accusations to yourself.”

  “We’re getting nowhere here, except annoying the hell out of each other—”

  “What else is new?”

  Dale ignored his interruption and tried to take his hand again. He hated himself, because as angry as he was he needed her touch. So he allowed her contact and calmed down almost right away.

  Dale whispered, “Do you want me to leave?”

  Did he? Kyran shook his head before he’d consciously made the decision. He would have sent anyone else away, but Dale was different. He had started to need her in ways he wasn’t sure he liked. Whatever was happening between them couldn’t grow. It couldn’t have a future. His scars were too deep to heal when it came to relationships, and although his father had a new wife, it didn’t negate the years of heartbreak his father had caused. Kyran didn’t want that. He never wanted to become his father.

  Ever.

  Cursing his hypocritical ass, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Stay. Please.”

  Dale smiled and nodded.

  “Kyran? Oh, Kyran, where is he? What happened to Taylor?”

  Wincing at Clara’s intrusion, he pulled his hands from Dale’s and faced his stepmother. “Clara.”

  She looked from him to Dale, a small, knowing smile teasing her glossy red lips. Her heels clicked as she came closer to him, unbuttoning her raincoat as she moved. “Tell me everything.”

  Kyran stood to help her remove her coat and placed it over a nearby chair. He gestured for her to sit. “Is Dad parking the car?”

  She pursed her lips. “No. I’m sorry, sweetie, your father had an emergency meeting to arrange. Something to do with a contract and damage control. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  “A meeting?” Kyran’s anger rose. Had his father really just put business over his family again? Didn’t he care that Taylor had almost died?

  Thinking about it caused him to clench his hands, but he calmed again when Dale hugged his arm. “His son almost died!”

  Clara covered her mouth with her hand. Tears filled her eyes, and for an instant, Kyran believed the woman actually cared about them and not just his father’s money. It didn’t last long, though.

  “You said almost, right? Almost?”

  A cynical snort left his lips. “Yeah, Taylor’s hanging on, so you don’t have his share of any inheritance yet, dear Clara.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her skin mottled. “Was that a joke? Trying to lighten the mood, Kyran?” Rolling her eyes, she spoke directly to Dale.

  “He thinks he’s so funny.”

  “Yeah, a laugh every minute.” Dale deadpanned. “I’m going to grab some coffee and leave you two to talk.” Dale placed her lips at Kyran’s ear.

  “Try to keep the volume down.”

  Kyran told himself that he couldn’t kiss her. He held back in front of Clara. He could do with
out the gossip and intrusion. Instead, Kyran let Dale leave with a simple touch to her shoulder. He waited until she’d left the room before speaking to Clara. “He’s not coming, is he?”

  “Of course he is.” Clara patted the chair beside her. “Has the doctor been to see you at all?”

  With a grunt, Kyran flopped into the seat and scrubbed the back of his head with his hands. Exhaustion flooded each and every muscle in his body; the lethargy gripped him hard. “He came to see us just before you arrived. Taylor is in stable condition, but he’s still sedated.”

  “Do they know what he took?”

  Kyran coughed, trying to clear his throat of her intense perfume. “We found powder on the floor and on his shirt. I assume cocaine. The doctor seems to think so, anyway.”

  She pursed her lips. “I see.”

  Alarm bells rang in Kyran’s head. “Did you know?”

  Clara began to gnaw her lower lip and lowered her gaze to her lap.

  “Taylor came to me last week, wanting money. Well, I should say demanding really. It seemed strange to me; after all, you boys don’t want anything from me or your father, so I asked him what it was for.”

  “And?”

  “And Taylor went wild. Snarling and hissing at me. He smashed my china dolls and made Sissy hide underneath the table. She wouldn’t come out for hours afterward.”

  “Your dog will be fine. Back to Taylor,” he said impatiently.

  “I begged him to stop. I told him if he needed the money so much then he should have come to you or your father. No matter what you or Taylor think, I don’t have access to huge amounts of your father’s money, Kyran.”

  “He much did he want?”

  Clara still wouldn’t look at him, and her lip would start to bleed if she carried on chewing it.

  “Fifteen thousand.”

  Kyran spluttered upon hearing the amount. Without a doubt, his brother was in some serious trouble. Nobody asked for that kind of money and reacted in the way Taylor had unless they were desperate. It made no sense because he received more than enough from their father. Kyran continued to ask himself how he’d missed what was in front of his very eyes. The pieces had always been there, and now that he had the luxury of hindsight, those pieces had been highlighted in neon yellow.