by Brent, Cora
She ignored the insult. “Peter needed to go to urgent care and get checked out.”
“Gee, I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“If you must know, he was attacked by a bobcat on the golf course this afternoon. Freaking thing scratched the hell out of his arm.”
I laughed loudly. “I’ll bet she did.”
Sierra scowled, winced at the light and threw her ice pack aside before sitting up. “You know, Taylor, if this is one of your games and you dragged me out here for nothing I won’t appreciate it.”
“You won’t appreciate it,” I echoed. I helped myself to a seat in a nearby armchair.
We were positioned in a triangle, the three children of Richard Briggs. Sierra crossed her arms over her chest and glowered. Aiden stood apart and looked tired.
“We haven’t all been in the same room in a while,” I said. “Do either of you mind if I share a few things that I don’t appreciate?”
“Go for it,” grumbled Sierra.
Aiden became wary. “Sure, Taylor.”
I needed to get through this without crying. “I don’t appreciate the only family I have left in the world turning on me as if I’m their worst enemy. I don’t appreciate losing everything and everyone and winding up on the streets hungry and homeless and passing out in a restaurant after I tried to steal a few crumbs from the salad bar.”
Aiden scratched his head, puzzled. “When were you homeless?”
I ignored his question. “I don’t appreciate the phone calls, the threats, the accusations, the stalking. I don’t appreciate being ambushed at work and at home. And most of all I don’t appreciate the Crestwood brothers breaking into my apartment, holding me at gunpoint, threatening to violently rape me and then nearly killing my friend.” I stood up. I was shouting now. “I DON’T FUCKING APPRECIATE ANY OF THAT YOU BASTARDS!”
The room was now dead silent. My brother and sister both stared at me as if they’d never seen me before. Aiden had gone pale. Sierra’s fists balled on her knees.
“You’re lying,” she said with a sniff. “But then again, you lie all the time.”
“What’s this about Peter and Paul?” Aiden wanted to know, keeping his eyes on me.
“Oh, you want to hear specifics? You want to hear about how Paul said he was going to fuck me with the barrel of his gun while Peter laughed? You want to hear about how Paul took a baseball bat and broke the bones of a young man whose only crime was befriending and protecting me?” I shook my head in disgust. “You’re not an idiot, Aiden. Some part of you knows what kind of men your friends are. And you know I’m telling the truth.”
“Bitch.” Sierra stood and fired her wine glass at me. She missed. The throw wasn’t even hard enough for the glass to hit the wall. It fell benignly on a corner of the area rug and the stem cracked but it didn’t shatter.
“I might be a bitch,” I agreed. “But I could be worse. I could be you.”
“You are worse,” she whispered. “You’re a thief.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that.” I sat back down in the chair. I was already exhausted. “Let’s all have a come-to-Jesus moment of transparency. For two years you’ve been insisting that I’m guarding the treasure map to your lost inheritance. That ends tonight. No more riddles or wild claims that I know what you’re talking about. I don’t. Why do you keep insisting that I somehow have any of the money Dad stole?”
Aiden had covered his mouth with one hand and he’d grown even paler. The details I’d shared about the Crestwoods had momentarily rattled him. But he slowly recovered, lowering his hand.
“He called you that day,” Aiden said. “He asked you to come over.”
“So what? You knew that. The police knew that too. Lucky me. I got summoned to the house where I found the front door open and Dad sitting in his home office and playing with a shotgun.”
Aiden was full of grief now. There were no good outcomes here. “Your story to the police was that he didn’t say said a word, that as soon as you walked in he pointed the gun at his head and that you closed your eyes when he pulled the trigger. Are you trying to tell me he said absolutely nothing to you before he did that?”
My limbs felt shaky. It was a good thing I was sitting down. We’d come to the part of the story I’d been hiding for two years, the part I couldn’t bear to think about, to speak about.
“Show her,” Sierra demanded. “Maybe seeing it in print will jog her memory.”
“Show me what?” My vision swam. There was some kind of modern art ceramic knickknack on the coffee table, probably selected by Ella. It was a series of different sized circles piled on top of each other. In the center was a yawning black hole, so different from the way the barrel of a shotgun looked and yet so similar. This afternoon wasn’t the first time a gun had ever been pointed at me.
Aiden retreated to a small bar area to the left. He reached down and pulled out a rectangular object. I knew exactly what it was.
“Dad’s desk planner,” I said. “You’ve had it all this time?”
He nodded. “If you’ll remember, I got to the house before the police did. You called me first.”
I hadn’t remembered that before. Now I did.
“Where did you find it?” I asked.
“On his desk. It was open.”
“There must have been blood on it.” I remembered the blood. Bright red and mixed with things no one wanted to look at too carefully if they wished to remain sane.
“There was blood on it. But the writing was still legible.” He approached me and opened the book to a particular page. I could see the dried splotches of blood and I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to see them.
“Read it,” Sierra ordered. Her voice caught, which might be a first. She was no longer full of fury. She’d deflated. Her head rolled back and she shut her eyes, reaching for her ice pack. “Read the last entry, Taylor.”
My father always printed in neat block letters. I had no trouble reading them. “All I have has been left with Princess. Let it end. I’m sorry.”
Princess…
The barest wisp of a memory tried to claw its way to the surface. And then it faded and I was left wondering where it had come from. It was important. I was sure of that. I just didn’t remember why.
“He always called you his princess,” Aiden said, mercifully closing the book and making the blood splotches disappear.
He did. He really did. My father would smile at me with pride and say I was the light of his life, a little princess.
A little princess.
But not Princess.
“Princess. Come here, Princess. Good girl!”
And I understood. I understood everything.
“I don’t have the money, Aiden,” I told my brother calmly. “I never did.”
He was confused. He looked down at the closed leather bound book that had our father’s initials etched into the cover and frowned. “But you said you did. You said so on the phone earlier.”
“Because I knew that was the only way you would both agree to meet me. Because the money is the only thing you care about.”
His eyes widened. “That’s not true, Taylor, that’s-“
“True! It is true. And I can’t be your scapegoat anymore. I can’t live in fear of you and the Crestwoods. I can’t let the people I care about get hurt just because you’re a pack of greedy, soulless sons of bitches. I never had the money. All your anger and all your hope have been wasted.”
“This is bullshit,” Sierra said but there was almost a question mark at the end, like even she was having doubts.
“Of course it’s bullshit,” said a voice from the door way and I jumped.
Peter Crestwood wore a bandage around his left forearm and a furious scowl on his face.
“What are you doing here?” Sierra said.
Peter’s eyes bored into me. I had a feeling I was being slowly murdered inside the grim recesses of his mind.
“You told me where you were going, babe,” he replied to
my sister. “So I thought I’d stop by.”
“And where’s that certifiable sidekick you call a brother?” I challenged, easing out of the chair and looking around for a weapon. All I found was the artsy knickknack. I grabbed it.
Peter ignored me, addressing Aiden. “Have you heard from Paul today?”
Aiden was angry. “No, I haven’t heard from Paul and when I do there’s going to be a problem.”
Peter was troubled. “He hasn’t called me back. I’ve been trying to reach him for hours. He wouldn’t just disappear.”
“We can only hope,” I muttered.
“Shut the fuck up,” Peter fired back.
“Peter.” Aiden stepped up. “You need to get out now. This is a family matter. I’ll deal with you another time.”
Peter laughed. “Bravery doesn’t suit you, buddy. Why don’t you go back to the house and tuck your kids in and then let your wife pretend you’re a real man for a little while?”
“Like you?” I asked. “Trying to break down the bedroom door of a sixteen year old girl? Yeah, you’re a real man.”
“What?” said Sierra.
Peter’s face went purple. “You fucking bitch. I should have let Paul do what he wanted today.”
“You didn’t have much of a say.” I pointed to his bandage. “You dropped the gun, I bit you on the arm and then you ran away. Remember?”
Sierra was catching up slowly. “You said you got scratched by a bobcat.”
Peter lunged. I swung my art deco stick and hit the table lamp I’d turned on when I arrived. Sierra screamed.
“Peter!” Aiden shouted and tried to tackle his friend but Peter’s fury had given him an adrenaline rush. He pushed Aiden aside and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching it so hard I dropped to the floor, my scalp on fire.
“LET HER GO!”
Wait, that wasn’t Aiden’s voice.
That was Kellan.
Somehow Kellan was here.
Kellan was here and he had a gun.
“Let her go right fucking now,” he ordered through clenched teeth, pointing the gun at Peter Crestwood, who was stunned enough to release me. His gun wasn’t the same one the Crestwoods had been accessorized with this afternoon. I’d flung that one aside somewhere and for all I knew Deck Gentry, the ultimate fixer, had already taken care of it. I didn’t know where Kellan had come across a new gun but I was mighty happy to see them both.
With my hair out of Peter’s grip I crawled across the floor toward Kellan and safety.
Kellan quickly moved so he and his gun now stood between me and the Petri Dish.
Peter silently raised his arms like he was being arrested.
“Who are you?” Aiden asked.
Using Kellan’s leg for support I hoisted myself up. “Meet my boyfriend, Kellan Gentry. Kellan, this collection of wretched villains is my family. And I use the term very loosely.”
“Your boyfriend?” Sierra said, puzzled.
“Your boyfriend?” Peter echoed, as it dawned on him that he and Paul had attacked the wrong man.
“Yes, my boyfriend! And the brother of the guy who now lies in a hospital bed awaiting surgery to fix the damage inflicted by your sociopathic brother.”
“Wait, you and Paul didn’t go golfing today?” Sierra questioned her husband.
Kellan pushed me behind him and zeroed in on the man who posed with his arms in the air.
“So you’re Peter Crestwood,” Kellan growled. “I wouldn’t mind putting a hole in the middle of your chest, asshole, so don’t give me an excuse.”
Aiden held up a hand and decided to play the adult. “Everyone calm down please. Nobody is shooting anyone.”
“He was going to shoot me,” I said to my brother. “He thought about it.”
“I did not!” howled Peter, his raised arms shaking with fear. “I was never going to shoot anyone.”
“Not you,” I shot back with disgust. I had to take a deep breath to say the next words. I could only say them at all because being near Kellan gave me strength. I held onto his arm and closed my eyes, seeing that terrible moment in time.
“That’s why he called me to the house,” I whispered. “He knew he was going to kill himself and he planned to take me with him. I walked into his office and he was there. He told me loved me best and he pointed the shotgun at me. And…I don’t know, I just froze and stared at him.”
Kellan turned his head to look at me. He was surprised that he hadn’t heard this before. It was because I couldn’t admit it before, not even to myself.
“Taylor,” he said and swallowed hard.
I was crying now. I’d done that so much today. But this was a healthy cry. These were tears that had been waiting to be released for a long time.
“He couldn’t do it,” I said. “He couldn’t bring himself to kill me. Without another word he turned the gun around and put it in his mouth. I finally ran but I didn’t get far before I heard the shot.”
My siblings were silent, each processing this new information. Sierra wasn’t crying yet but she looked to be closer than I’d ever seen her before. Aiden had sunk to his knees. He shook his head back and forth, perhaps thinking of his own daughters and that he would never understand how a father could consider killing his child. Or maybe he was sorry for the way he’d treated me all this time. It didn’t make any difference. I was finished here.
“I don’t want to hear from any of you anymore,” I said and tugged on Kellan’s arm. “Can we please leave?”
He lowered the gun but didn’t take his eyes off Peter Crestwood until we were both safely outside. I scrambled for my keys. I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
“I have my car,” I said. “There’s a coffee house a few miles away. Follow me.”
“Taylor.” He pulled me back to his chest and even though I wanted desperately to be away from this scene I allowed myself to have a brief moment in his arms. I inhaled the spiciness of his aftershave and nestled my cheek in the warmth of his neck.
“I love you,” he said.
I laid my head on his shoulder. He felt so good. “I love you too.”
“Taylor.” Aiden had run outside to catch up to us. He held his hands out, pleading. “Come in the house. Please. You and Kellan both. Let’s talk.”
“No.” I held on to Kellan for support and shook my head, wiping the last of my tears away. “We’re done here for tonight, Aiden. You’re not my brother anymore. You haven’t been for a long time.”
Kellan opened the door to my car and waited until I was inside with the engine alive before turning to his own car. Aiden stood there helplessly beside the curb and I knew he was miserable but I didn’t much care.
I drove slowly, watching Kellan’s headlights in my rearview mirror.
I was already anticipating the very near future when he would be holding me again.
Chapter Thirty
Kellan
“What are you doing?” Taylor asked as she snuggled next to me on a love seat in the avant-garde coffee house where people lounged around staring at electronic screens or laughing together quietly.
“Texting Derek,” I said. “Just letting him know that that all is well.”
“Did you tell him the truth about where you’ve been?”
“No. I’ll save that for another time.”
She chewed her lip. “I can’t believe you found me. Did I ever tell you that in my head you were already kind of a super hero? Now I’m sure I was onto something.”
I held up my phone. “Sure. A super hero with a handy app.”
“The app.” She smacked her forehead. “I forgot about the app.”
My phone dinged and I read through my brother’s latest message. “Derek says Thomas is asleep for the night so he’s going home with Paige. My mother wanted to stay in Thomas’s room and watch him breathe all night long but my father’s taking her home to rest as well. They’re going to be back at the hospital at seven a.m. for his surgery.”
Her head lowered
, her hair falling over her face. “Have you talked to him at all? To Thomas?”
“No. He’s all doped up on painkillers. I’m sure I’ll get a chance to talk to him tomorrow. You know Dalton Tremaine, Cami’s husband? He’s got major connections to the best sport rehabilitation clinics in the country. He’s making some calls.”
Taylor flicked her hair aside and gazed at me sadly. “Do you think Thomas will be able to pitch again?”
I could have said that I was positive he’d pitch again but it would be a lie and I didn’t want us to be that way with each other. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
She nodded. “I do too. He was very brave, Kellan. Please tell him that. Tell him I’m grateful that he’s my friend.”
I squeezed her. “You can tell him that yourself.”
A very chipper coffee barista named Lenora brought us the cappuccinos we ordered. We sipped in silence for a minute, just trying to come to terms with everything that had happened since this morning.
Taylor studied me for a moment and then dropped a bombshell.
“I know where it is, Kel. The money. At least I think I do. Aiden showed me an entry in my father’s datebook saying he’d left everything with Princess. They assumed Princess meant me but they’re wrong. Aiden was away at college and Sierra must have forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
She set her wide rimmed mug down on a polished dark wood table. “I had a dog once. I was seven years old and this malnourished stray mutt made a bed on our front porch one night. Her long grey hair was matted, she was old and she’d been mistreated. But I loved her and I begged my father to allow me to keep her. My sister had asked for a pet for years and never had any luck getting my parents to agree. My father just didn’t have the heart to say no to me. The dog was very sick and she died in her sleep only a few weeks after I convinced him to let me keep her. I was heartbroken and I insisted on having a funeral. My father dug the grave in a corner of our property under the branches of a mesquite tree. We buried her together.”
She looked at me and fit the final piece into place. “I had already given her a name.”
“And her name was Princess.”
