by Shelly Ellis
Leila looked up at them both. Her eyes were pink and brimming with tears. She quickly shook her head. “Nothing. Paulette just . . . she said she couldn’t stay,” she mumbled before walking away, clutching the present in her arms.
Evan’s face crumpled in confusion. He threw up his hands. “What the hell is going on?”
“You deal with Lee. I’ll go talk to Paulette,” Terrence said to Evan before walking into the corridor. He caught a glimpse of his sister just as she strode around the corner. “Hey, Sweet Pea . . . I mean, Paulette! Paulette, wait up!”
She didn’t stop, making him roll his eyes in exasperation. “I’m handicapped, damn it,” he mumbled as he followed her. “Don’t make me chase you.”
He finally caught up with her just as she reached the front door. She waved away a complimentary gift bag that was being handed out to all the party guests. She was pulling her car keys from her purse when she noticed Terrence coming toward her.
“Paulette,” he said, almost gasping. He bore his weight on his cane and paused to catch his breath. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry, Terry. I was a little . . .” She flapped her arms helplessly. “I was a little distracted.”
He took a step toward her. “Why’d you rush out like that? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong! I just . . . I just wanted to drop off the gift for Isabel. I didn’t have time to stay for the party. That’s . . . that’s all.”
He could tell she was lying. It was written all over her face.
“Well, can you stay a bit longer to talk to your big bro? I haven’t seen you in a while.” He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “Come back to the party and stay just for ten . . . maybe fifteen minutes. You can spare that, right?”
She pursed her lips and tugged her purse strap further up her arm. She hesitated, like she was contemplating his offer, but she shook her head again. “I really should get going. I don’t—”
“What’s going on?” he asked, deciding to stop beating around the bush. “What were you and Leila arguing about? Is that why you want to leave?”
A panicked expression flashed across her face. She blinked rapidly. “We weren’t . . . we weren’t arguing about anything! I t-t-told you, n-nothing is going on, Terry.”
“Yes, there is. Something has been going on with you for months now, and I want to know what it is.”
Paulette hesitated again. She stared at him grimly. He saw so much pain in her dark eyes, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her diminutive shoulders and couldn’t spare an ounce. He had seen the same look in his own eyes whenever he gazed into the mirror a month or so ago, before he started therapy. Some days he still saw it when he wondered if he would ever be the same man that he had once been.
Paulette opened her mouth and Terrence leaned forward to hear her, prepared for whatever she might say. But suddenly two little girls came screaming down the hall into the foyer. They rushed past Paulette and Terrence with their parents trailing behind them, holding the strings to helium balloons and reaching for one of the gift bags.
The opportunity had passed. Paulette’s mask went up again. She forced a smile.
“Really, I’m okay, Terry. I just have to run a few quick errands so I can get back home to freshen up. I’m supposed to meet Tony. We’re . . . we’re supposed to go out to dinner and a movie tonight.”
Terrence slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll let you go, then. I won’t hold you up.”
“You’re the best, Terry.” She stood on the balls of her feet and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.” She then headed toward the front door.
“But if you need to talk, you know where to find me,” he called out to her, making her pause.
“Of course I do,” she said before stepping through the door.
“Penny for your thoughts,” C. J. said as she reclined back on her elbows and gazed up at him.
Terrence turned away from the giant movie screen to look at her. The shadows from the screen’s black and white film danced across her face. “Huh?” He absently waved away a gnat that had been buzzing around his ear.
“You’re way too engrossed in this movie, Terry. It’s good, but it’s not that good.” A smile spread across her full pink lips. She pushed herself up so they were sitting eye to eye. “What’s on your mind?”
They were watching a movie on one of the Jumbotrons set up in one of the fields in Macon Park in Chesterton. It was part of a movie festival featuring old Hollywood films. When Terrence discovered C. J. was a film buff, he knew this would be a perfect date for them. He planned a romantic evening watching Casablanca and From Here to Eternity while they lay on a wool blanket drinking cabernet, nibbling gourmet cheese and strawberries, and kissing beneath the twinkling stars. He had even chosen a secluded spot near an old maple tree, away from all the other couples and families, to give them a bit of privacy.
Unfortunately, Terrence seemed to be screwing up the date by allowing his mind to wander.
“I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I apologize for being so distracted. I’m just worried about my sister.”
She frowned. “Is everything okay with her?”
“She’s just . . . going through some stuff. Though she won’t tell anyone what that stuff is. She tends to hold a lot of things inside, which isn’t healthy. But I guess we all do it in our family. Our dad kinda taught us to.”
C. J. slowly nodded. “I know what you mean. My dad’s the same way.” She adjusted her sweater and sipped from her wineglass. “He gives new meaning to the words emotionally crippled.”
“The same for my dad . . . and for all of us, really. To make things worse, Paulette’s become pretty secretive lately. But I guess that’s just how she deals with things.”
“For some people it’s just easier to keep secrets, Terry. It’s nothing personal. It can get complicated when you put everything out in the open.”
He narrowed his eye at her and smiled. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
C. J. blinked. She loudly cleared her throat. “Uh, no! Not really. I’m just saying that I can see your sister’s side . . . a little.” She suddenly grabbed for a slice of Gouda and a cracker that sat on the plate between them and shoved both into her mouth.
“Well, therapy has taught me the opposite. In most cases, honesty is the best policy. I’ve learned to put stuff out in the open. It’s worse when you keep shit bottled up inside.”
She stopped chewing and stared at him. “You’re in therapy?”
He laughed. “Why’d you say it like that? Yes, I am in therapy. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, but . . .” She shrugged. “You just don’t seem like that type of guy. I can’t envision you sitting on a therapist’s couch pouring your heart out. It just doesn’t seem like . . . your type of thing.”
He inclined his head and sighed before reaching for his wineglass and taking a drink. “It wasn’t my thing—less than a year ago. But after the accident, I changed. I had to.”
She slid across the blanket closer to him and he caught a whiff of her perfume. “Why did you have to change?”
“Before the accident, I wasn’t a guy who delved too deeply into things, but frankly, I didn’t have to. I thought I had everything I wanted. Hell, I got everything I wanted! Cars, clothes, women . . . I didn’t even have to try very hard. I was rich. I was easy on the eyes. Stuff just . . . came to me.” When he saw her raise her brows sardonically, he held up his hands in protest. “Hey, I’m not boasting! I’m just stating the God’s honest truth. That’s how my life was!”
“Oh, I believe you,” she mumbled flatly. “Trust me.”
“But after the accident,” he explained, “things changed. I lost my left eye. It took some painful physical therapy to be able to walk again, even with a cane, and I’ve still got this damn limp. I got sued. I couldn’t just throw money at my problems anymore and make everyt
hing better. My good looks didn’t mean shit anymore. I went from being admired to being pitied, and my pride took a beating.” He paused. “I was in a . . . a very dark place, C. J. I wouldn’t leave my condo. I stopped talking to everyone. I just sat in the dark and drank and felt sorry for myself. I guess that’s what happens to shallow people when their world falls apart. You don’t know how to cope. I didn’t put a gun to my head, but you might as well say I was just waiting around to die.”
Her breath hitched audibly in her throat. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Terry,” she whispered.
His skin tingled where she touched him. He wanted to turn and kiss her, but C. J. sometimes turned skittish whenever he tried to make a move on her. On their first date he had leaned in for a kiss and she had backed away in surprise. To cover it up, he gave her a halfhearted hug good-bye and walked away muttering to himself. He hadn’t tried to kiss her since.
He didn’t want to ruin the moment again by being too overeager.
“It’s okay,” he said, turning his gaze away from her mouth. “Ev gave me a wake-up call and I finally manned up and took responsibility for myself, for my life. I was diagnosed with depression. I started seeing a therapist. I got better . . . well, I’m getting better. I still have moments when . . .”
He couldn’t finish.
His eyes shifted away from her and he gazed at the movie screen where Humphrey Bogart was staring at Ingrid Bergman with the same longing that Terrence now felt for the woman beside him.
Pace yourself, Rick, Terrence thought, warning Bogart’s character. You don’t want to scare her off.
“You still have moments when . . . what?” C. J. asked, drawing even closer to him. He felt the warmth radiating off of her now.
Terrence took a deep breath. “When I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal or whole again.”
They both fell silent.
This time Terrence was the one who was caught by surprise when C. J. raised a hand to his cheek. He turned to face her.
“Terry,” she whispered, “I don’t know what your definition of ‘normal’ or ‘whole’ is. But the guy you are now, I think is wonderful. I wouldn’t change him. I hope you wouldn’t, either.”
She then brought her mouth to his for a soul-stirring kiss that would leave them both weak-kneed and breathless for minutes after.
Chapter 15
Dante
Dante finished the last of his Scotch, shook the glass so that the ice cubes tinkled like brass bells, slammed the glass back to the tabletop, and slid across the booth’s leather seat. He had just finished a meeting with one of his clients—a slob who had slipped and fallen on a pool of pickle juice in a grocery store and displaced a disc in his spine. He was now on workman’s comp and hobbling around on crutches.
“Haven’t been able to show up to the factory for fuckin’ three weeks!” the guy had exclaimed an hour ago before throwing back the Stella Artois that Dante had ordered for him. He had then let out a loud, rumbling belch. Several diners at the supper club had stared at the man in disgust.
Dante had ignored their stares. What did he care that his client had shown up to one of the best restaurants in D.C. with stains on his shirt? Or that he smelled of chicken grease and dirt or had the table manners of a bear cub? This guy was potentially worth a half million dollars in legal fees. Dante could put up with almost anything for that much money!
Dante now rose to his feet and began to weave his way through the dining tables back toward the restaurant entrance, but he paused when he spotted two familiar faces at a nearby table. It was his half-brothers, Evan and Terrence. He had no idea why they were in the city tonight or why they were dining at this particular restaurant. But the instant he saw them, he saw red.
He hadn’t been in the same room with his brothers in more than six months, not since they had ambushed him at an empty coffee shop where he thought he was meeting Paulette to discuss the details of her selling her Murdoch Conglomerated shares to him. She had been there—but she hadn’t come alone. Her two bouncers Terrence and Evan were in tow. The woman seemed incapable of doing anything or making any damn decisions on her own.
Evan had sat in the center of his siblings at the metal bistro table, looking like some drug lord, and he had read Dante the riot act, telling him to stay away from their family and never to come back again.
Dante now glared across the restaurant at his brothers, watching them as they talked and laughed, as they drank from their wineglasses and ate their entrées. He knew he should keep walking. Nothing could be accomplished by talking to them, by taunting them into an argument or a fight. But then he remembered Evan’s last words to him: “Take your ‘poor me’ routine and your chip on your shoulder and get the fuck out.” Evan had dismissed him much like their father had two years ago. Just thinking back to those words infuriated Dante all over again. What gave Evan the right? Who did he think he was? He wished he could knock the smile right off of Evan’s smug face. He wished he could throttle him, stab him, beat him, and hold up his mangled body for everyone in the restaurant to see.
For those reasons Dante felt almost a magnetic pull drawing him toward their table. He bumped into a waiter carrying a tray of dishes and glasses and did not excuse himself. He pushed his way past an old woman who paused in rising from her chair to glare at him with outrage. Finally he reached his half-brothers’ table and stood silently in front of them until Terrence turned and looked up. The younger man’s laughter died on his lips at the sight of him.
“You’re in a good mood for someone who’s being sued for four million dollars,” Dante said, pasting on a Cheshire cat grin.
Terrence didn’t respond. He only lowered his wineglass back to the table along with the eye that wasn’t covered with an eye patch. In contrast, Evan leaned back in his chair and glowered at Dante with unconcealed hatred.
“So, how have you been, Terry?” Dante asked, thumping him on the shoulder. “And where’s Paulette?” He made a show of looking around the crowded restaurant. “I don’t see her anywhere. I would think she would be here, too. I know how the Marvelous Murdochs like to travel in packs.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Evan snarled.
Dante raised his brows and chuckled. “Oh, language! Language, Evan! You’re in a nice establishment. Don’t talk like that here! What would Leila think?” He clucked his tongue. “On second thought, she might not mind. Leila’s no saint either.” He winked at Evan. “We both know that, don’t we?”
Dante had dated Leila briefly before she began her affair with Evan. She had broken it off with Dante before they had the chance to get serious—and before he had the chance to use her the way he’d intended. It still enraged him to this day. He hadn’t slept with her, but he always loved the look on Evan’s face when he insinuated that he had.
Evan angrily started to rise from the table, but Terrence stopped him by clamping a hand around his wrist, giving his older brother a warning look. “Don’t let him do it, Ev. You know what his game is.”
Dante’s smile widened. “You should listen to him.”
“I probably should,” Evan muttered as he lowered himself back into his chair and Terrence released him, “but frankly, every time I see you, I can’t decide between punching you in your face and recommending a good therapist to you.”
“Oh, come on!” Dante rolled his eyes. “We all know you would never hit me. Guys like you don’t get their hands dirty.”
Evan balled his fists on the white linen tablecloth. A vein bulged along his temple. “You never know. I might surprise you.”
“Look, man,” Terrence interceded, staring up at Dante, “why don’t you just move it the hell along and go somewhere else? Hell, go anywhere else! You’re not going to bait us into any shit tonight! If you’ve got something to say to me, you can say it in the courtroom.”
“You really want to take it that far? If a judge had to side with poor Mavis Upton or a self-entitled rich boy like
yourself, who do you think he’s going to choose?” Dante snickered. “That eye patch and cane aren’t going to get you that much sympathy.”
“Who said I wanted sympathy?” Terrence asked tightly.
“I’m just saying that you might want to consider settling out of court . . . if you’re smart.”
“Uh-huh,” Terrence grunted. “Says the dude who stands to benefit the most from that settlement!”
“You really think I give a shit about making money off of this?” Dante asked, leaning against the table. “You Murdochs are so fucking predictable! You always think it’s just about the money!”
Diners at neighboring tables began to look at the three men uneasily. A waiter paused to stare at them.
“Well, you aren’t doing it because you care about ol’ Miss Mavis. If you claim you are, you’re a damn liar!” Terrence barked.
“Of course I don’t care about her! I’m more interested in watching you dangle like a worm on a hook.”
Terrence slowly shook his head in bemusement. “Man, what is your problem? Are you really this hell-bent on revenge? Revenge for shit that I didn’t . . . that none of us did to you?”
While they spoke, Evan sat staring at Dante like a coiled snake ready to strike. But Dante wanted him to strike. He wanted everyone in the restaurant to know that Evan Murdoch wasn’t the perfect, stately millionaire who always kept his cool. Dante wanted him to humiliate himself. But Evan continued to sit and watch silently, despite his earlier bravado.
Like the pussy that he is, Dante thought.
“It’s not just about revenge.” Dante inclined his head. “I want to teach you . . . all of you a lesson. This is the first time your family name, your connections, and your money can’t get you out of something, and I’ve got a front-row seat. I want to break out a box of popcorn just to watch the show!”
“Because you’re jealous of the family name, connections, and money, right?” Terrence asked. “It’s not like we asked for that shit! We didn’t ask for any of it.”
