by Loren, Celia
My head feels so cloudy. I can't process what he's saying. "Carter, I don't know what to say."
I can see the look of disappointment on his face. He opens up to me, and I'm too drunk to help him. "I know. Just forget it, OK? Just forget it."
Chapter Twenty-Three
I wake up and immediately wish I were asleep again. My head feels like it's in a vice, and my mouth tastes like vomit. Did I manage to make it to the toilet? I can't even remember.
The only image in my mind from last night is of Nikki and I dancing on top of a table at some club by the waterfront. I think a few of Jack's teammates were there, but he wasn't. Where has my brother been recently? It's like he doesn't know how to party anymore.
I push my hair out of my face and try to focus on the clock on my bedside table. After a couple blinks, the time finally comes into view. 12:33PM. Not that late. I've certainly slept later after a night out. Just a little after noon...noon. Why is that time sticking out to me? Someone reminded me about something at noon... I order my brain to retrieve the information, but it's moving sluggishly. Something about Carter. At noon.
Oh, shit. His final physical therapy appointment, the culmination of all his work, and I'm not there. It was at noon today.
I leap out of bed and the floor rolls beneath me. I lean on the bedpost for a moment to steady myself and then hurry over to my bureau and yank on a shirt and jeans and stuff my feet into a pair of boots. I grab my clutch from last night and check my phone on the way down the stairs. Two missed calls from Carter and a text from 11:45: I'm leaving. He was guarding me last night until who knows what hour, so I'm sure he knows that I have no excuse for missing the appointment except that I was hungover and sleeping it off.
I run across the lawn and then through the kitchen door and down the hallway toward the security center. The only thing that would make Carter angrier than me missing his appointment is if I left the house without a security detail. I knock on the door and after a moment it opens.
"Roger! Can you drive me somewhere?"
"Where's Carter?"
"He's at physical therapy, and I'm supposed to be there, but I'm not. Can you drive me?" Roger pauses, then nods, and follows me to the garage. I hop in the back of the Escalade and tell him to head to the hospital. He drops me off at the front, and I fly inside. Carter would be right next to me, but Roger seems a bit less vigilant, content to follow me from a distance as he slowly exits the car.
I rush down the hall to the physical therapy suite, belatedly realizing how terrible I must look right now. With a wave to the receptionist, who knows me but looks a little taken aback, I hurry down the hall to the workout area. I look at my watch. One o'clock exactly. They should just be finishing up. I take a deep breath and run my thumbs under my eyes. When I look down, they're smudged with my mascara, now fallen underneath my lashes.
I poke my head nervously around the corner, and I'm shocked by what I see. Carter and Petra are sitting on a workout bench together, laughing. I shrink back, watching them. He's sweaty from the session, but he looks so relaxed. And from the way she's looking at him, it's clear how she feels. She takes a card from her pocket, and a pen, and she writes something on the back of it. I'd bet a million dollars it's her private number. He takes it and gives her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.
I step back, and start in the other direction almost as quickly as I came. Halfway down the hallway, I run into Roger.
"Never mind," I tell him. "They didn't need me."
Back in the car, I examine myself in the reflection of the tinted windows. God, I look like shit. All the late nights and drinking are beginning to show on my skin. Petra would be better for Carter anyway. She's sweet, chipper, and not a complete fuck-up, like me. Carter needs someone who will be there for him, and clearly I don't fit the bill.
When we get back to the house, I thank Roger, and head for the first bathroom in the hallway. I scrub my face clean and then head into the kitchen for a tall glass of water. I take it into the den and slip under the throw blanket and turn on the TV.
Some sports channel. I bet Bree's been watching it again. She always says she doesn't like sports, but I've seen her in here more than once, watching the game coverage. I'm about to flip the channel when I see a familiar face pop up: hers. What the fuck is Bree doing on FOX Sports?
I turn up the volume and lean forward. "Up next, a look into the life of Sonny Bosko, disgraced player for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. We've caught up with him, and his family, and you'll be shocked at what our reporting has uncovered."
Oh, boy. That can't be good. I take my cellphone out of my clutch and find Bree's number. "Hey, where are you?" I ask as she picks up.
"In my room, why?" she answers.
"Could you come down to the den? I need to show you something."
"OK, weirdo," she replies jovially before hanging up. I wait nervously for her to arrive, wracking my brain for what Carter told me about his father. Bree bounces in from the hall, and I pat the seat next to me.
"So, I'm not really sure how to put this, but I think there is some kind of TV report coming out about you and your father."
Bree goes pale. "What? What do you mean? How do you know?"
"Well, they just showed a preview of it. I thought Carter said that he didn't know where your father was, but the anchor said just now that they found him."
"Oh my god...where is he? Do I want to know? Shit, I knew I never should have gone to that game. Will you get Jack?"
"Um, sure...I don't know where—"
"He's working out around the side of the house," she says, staring at the commercials streaming across the TV screen. I nod, and hurry back down the hallway and then out and across the patio.
"Catch!" Jack yells as I approach, and tosses me a perfect spiral. I catch it and then drop the ball next to me.
"Bree asked me to come get you," I tell him.
"Why?" he frowns.
"I saw something on TV...some kind of exposè on her father is about to air."
"Oh, fuck," he swears, and charges around me back to the house.
I follow him slowly, curious about what's in this report, but more curious about what's happening right in front of me. Why did Bree want to see Jack, rather than, say, her mom or older brother? I guess Jack might know more about the sports world, and have some good advice? But then Bree is always watching sports news, so she's definitely not clueless, even though she's pretending to be. It's like she's hiding something.
I freeze in the middle of the hallway. No. Freaking. Way. Bree...and Jack? My playboy older brother and this petite, no-nonsense girl? Maybe that's why he hasn't been partying so much... he has a girlfriend. And it's Bree.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"I mean, they painted it like I'm the bad guy!" Anne says as she paces back and forth in the living room, the rest of the family gathered around her. "All that stuff about ignoring his pleas to take him back... he's never once reached out to me! No, that's a lie. Seven years ago he had the nerve to ask me for money, but that's it!"
I feel terrible for her, but I have to admit I'm barely paying attention. I can't stop staring at my brother and Bree. Have they really been sneaking around this whole time? And when Bree told Carter and me in front of Jack that her relationship with "Miles" was serious, was she talking about Jack? Does this Miles person even exist?
What? Jack mouths at me, as he catches me staring at him. I shake my head and focus back on Anne.
"I just don't get it. I really don't. He left me. Now they show a picture of me at a charity event, a picture of our neighborhood, and suddenly I'm a gold digger who turned my back on him? What about the fact that he nearly cleaned out our joint bank account? Or how hard I had to work to build up a business from nothing! Some reporting! I had no idea he was even in the country! I thought he was in Mexico or something!"
"He's been in Reno for about three and a half months," my father says from an armchair.
"What?" Anne says, her head sn
apping over to him. "Why...how...how did you know that?"
"I've had one of my investigators keep tabs on him."
Anne goes still for a moment as she stares at him, her brain working to process this information. I'm not at all surprised to learn my father looked into her ex, but maybe this is the first time she's seen his controlling ways for herself, or at least focused on her.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she finally asks quietly.
"I didn't think you needed to be aware of it. The investigator has been fired, obviously. He wasn't doing his job, or I would have been given a heads-up on this situation."
"I think I need a minute by myself," Anne murmurs, and hurries out the door.
"Anne," my father sighs, and follows her. Bree slips out into the hallway, too, and Jack pauses for a moment before he goes. I stare after them, lost in thought.
"Alexa," Carter says, and I startle.
"Shit, I forgot you were here," I swear as he emerges from leaning on the wall in the corner. "Sorry I missed your appointment," I add, feeling a blush come to my cheeks.
"Going back to the boat house?" he asks, not addressing my apology.
"No, actually. I need to go talk to my brother. Privately." I stand up and head for the hallway. He follows. "You alright?"
"I already knew what kind of man my father is. Nothing he does surprised me anymore," he replies flatly.
I nod, and head for the hallway. Carter sits at the bottom of the stairs as I head up, knowing I have to pass him if I intend on going anywhere else, but giving me the privacy I desire. As I walk upstairs, I begin to second-guess myself. What if I'm wrong about Bree and Jack? Maybe I misread the signals. But something in my gut tells me I'm right.
Fuck, I'm out of shape and these are a lot of stairs, I think as I reach the third floor. I take a deep breath as I knock on Jack's door. I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to say. I hear footsteps from within and then the door opens. He looks surprised to see me.
"Expecting someone else?" I ask as his look of compassion changes to a frown.
"No," he says with a shrug.
"Can I come in?" I ask, as he leans on the doorjamb.
"Of course," he says. I close the door behind me as I follow him in. I immediately begin looking around for evidence of a relationship, but it looks spic-and-span in here.
"You alright?" I ask, studying his face closely.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Because you seem—"
"Lex. What the fuck?"
I guffaw, appreciating my brother's directness. "Well...shit. Maybe it's none of my business anyway. And you know that I can keep a secret. If that's what it is, I mean. I wouldn't tell—" I take a breath. "Are you having a...relationship with Bree?" He freezes, like the gears that run his brain just stopped working for a moment. "I'm not judging you, and I won't say anything, I just—"
"Fuck," he groans. Holy shit, I was right.
"OK," is all I can say. "OK."
"You have to understand, we're not just, you know..." he says, waving his hand. "We really care about each other. Maybe that's worse, though."
"How...how did it start?" He grins slyly, and I backtrack. "Oh, god, don't tell me. Alright, so Miles is made up, right?"
"No, he's real. They dated for a bit a while ago."
"Wow. How have you managed to keep it hidden for this long? Especially with all the security..."
"That's been the toughest. Check this out, though," he says, delighted. "I rented an apartment in the same building as Miles under my agent's name, so when security drops Bree off at the building, she just goes to my apartment instead. And I hired my own security guard, so he's not going to say anything."
"What if she runs into Miles in the elevator?"
"She did once," he chuckles. "She said it was awkward and she's pretty sure he thinks she's stalking him now."
"Shit, Jack," I laugh. "I guess, um, congratulations? I mean, I think she's great. What are you going to do long-term though?"
"I don't know," he sighs. "I'm tired of not being able to be seen in public. But now with this stuff about her father, I don't want to add any fuel to the fire with reports about his daughter sleeping with her stepbrother. Could you imagine a reporter getting their hands on that?"
"So maybe—"
"No, don't even suggest that. I really think she's it, Lex. She challenges me, you know? I'm always wanting to be better for her. Which is weird, in a way, because she also makes me feel so good about just being who I am."
"You think it's good, feeling challenged?" I ask quietly. "I'm not questioning you guys, I'm asking for me," I hasten to add.
"I like it," he says with a smile. "She knows what I'm capable of, and I know what she's capable of. And when one of us forgets, we remind each other. How long have you been seeing this William?
"About a month now."
"Well, that's great."
"Oh, no, I wasn't asking about him." Jack raises his eyebrows. "It's complicated." Though maybe if there's anyone who would understand, it would be him. Not that it matters anyway. I feel my heart constrict as I remember how Carter looked sitting there with Petra. So easy, so relaxed.
"So you won't say anything?" I punch his arm, and then wince as my fist hits solid muscle.
"Of course not, silly. Is Bree going to be alright? With her dad and everything?"
"I think so. She took it a lot harder when he was disgraced than Carter did. Apparently he saw through their father, but she always idolized him, right up until the scandal and his leaving. Plus she thinks she's the reason the reporter started to dig up dirt on them."
"Why?"
Jack spreads his arms with a grin. "I'm a very desirable man, Lex."
I roll my eyes. "Oh, god. I hope Bree keeps you in line."
"She does. What about you?
"What about me?"
"You look sort of...shitty."
"Gee, thanks, big brother. I just had a late night, that's all."
"Seems like you've been having a lot of those lately."
"Didn't your coaches make you move home because you were partying so much?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Defensiveness. Always a good sign," he says with a joking tone, but his eyes are serious. "Just be careful."
Chapter Twenty-Five
I stand at the edge of the driveway and look around. No sign of Carter or my car. Well, well. Looks like I'm not the only one to miss appointments. From ten feet farther on, Roger waves at me from the driver's seat of the Escalade. I wave back, then stick my hand into my purse to find my phone.
"I'm taking you, ma'am!" Roger says, as he hops onto the gravel.
"Oh...where's Carter?"
"Needed the night off," he explains as he opens the back door for me. "But not to worry, he relayed all the details to me."
"Great," I say with a weak smile. The time in the car with Carter is the only time we really have together now. He's done with physical therapy, and when I'm out and about he always hangs back, watching.
Roger turns the radio on low as we drive to the restaurant. I pull down the hem of my cocktail dress. William took me shopping over the weekend, after he saw that I was wearing clothes from previous designer seasons. He certainly doesn't leave me wanting for anything.
We park in the underground lot and Roger escorts me upstairs. The restaurant, on the top floor of a tall, modern building, has panoramic views of Old Tampa Bay. The hostess greets us, and Roger scans the room. She escorts us to a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I wave to William as he looks up. About ten feet from the table, Roger breaks off and heads to a table behind us, where he can keep track of us without intruding.
"You look gorgeous," William says, brushing a kiss on my cheek. "I was hoping you'd wear that one," he adds, nodding at my satin dress.
"I thought it was your favorite."
"A bottle of Dom," he says to the hostess, and she scurries off to find the waiter.
&nb
sp; "How was work today?" I ask, spreading my napkin in my lap.
"I can't imagine it would interest you," he says with a laugh as he butters a piece of bread.
"It might," I allow. "You know, I was thinking of going into business."
"Seriously? I have a hard time picturing you in a board room."
"Why's that?" I ask, a little more sharply than I mean to. Our waiter appears at William's side, showing him the label on the bottle of Dom. William nods, and the waiter pours us two flutes of champagne. We clink glasses and I finish half of it in one gulp. My nerves have been fried all week, ever since I learned about Jack and Bree. You're jealous of their happiness, a nasty little voice in my head says.
"Have you ever been to London?"
I nod. "My father took us on a couple business trips there with him when we were younger. Jack and me, I mean. We went out with the nanny and saw the sights while he was working."
"But not more recently?"
"I suppose when I was living in Paris I wanted to go to places I'd never been before at all."
"Would you like to go back?"
"Of course. I'm sure it would be completely different as an adult. I must have only been eleven or twelve last time."
"That is good news."
"...Why?"
"Well, my company has offered me a promotion."
"Congratulations! That's fantastic."
"And a transfer."
"Sorry?
"The promotion is in London. I'd be in charge of an entire team. From there, it's just a short jump to a vice presidency."
"Uh-huh," I say nervously, twisting the stem of the champagne glass back and forth between my thumb and forefinger.
"You probably know what I'm going to ask next."
"Why don't you say it anyway?"
"We would have a gorgeous apartment right in Kensington. You could spend your days shopping, going to museums, visiting friends. And we'd have a chef and a servant, of course, so you wouldn't have to lift a finger at home."
