It’s hard for me to comprehend that Susan’s getting credit for this, but the pictures make it look pretty fucking real. Because there she is, talking to me on the first day Larry came by the site, and in this context, it looks like she’s giving me orders. There’s a shot of her at the garden center, adding our overflowing cart to the rest, no mention of me, the guy paying for the stuff, the guy lugging it to the roof. Then there’s a shot of her from painting last weekend, looking tired but happy as she holds up her paint roller, and a picture of the rooftop garden, freshly planted. No Susan in that shot, but it must have been from the same day.
‘“I’m just happy to have the opportunity to give back,’ Dr. Jones says when I call her for a quote. ‘This is a wonderful venture, and a very important cause that’s close to my heart.’”
I skim the remaining paragraphs but it’s more of the same. My name only appears beneath the photo of Susan “instructing” me, and only as “local resident Oscar Hall.”
My throat is tight with anger and betrayal. I pull up the website on my laptop so I can see it more clearly, everything larger and exactly the same. Susan’s taking credit for this. It’s part of her fucking image overhaul for the hospital. All her work here has had nothing to do with the Green Space. Nothing to do with me. That “distance” I’ve been feeling? That’s because she’s been fucking faking it.
Oh, Jesus Christ. I feel sick.
“Oz?” The alarmed look on Jade’s face makes me pull in a pained breath and try to compose myself. I haven’t been this angry since the night Susan stood me up. I stare at the computer screen, but all I’m seeing is Susan that first night we met at the coffee cart, how she’d put her hand on my arm when that doctor approached. How it struck me as odd, but with this new information, it makes perfect sense. She’s working on her people skills.
The way she met me at the end of the race, invited me back to her place, cooked for me. The way she’d struggled to orgasm. It wasn’t because she didn’t know how or she was too impatient—it’s because she wasn’t into it. Oh, maybe she got into after or maybe she’s a fucking terrific actress, but everything about her to this point has been a goddamn public relations stunt to get her back into the hospital board’s good graces. Because she’d told me that much, hadn’t she? That she was on thin ice because of her poor bedside manner. And this was her solution. Make a plan, see it through, achieve goal. She even told me she knew how to adapt.
She’s fucking terrific at adapting.
I realize I’m curling my hands up into fists so tight my knuckles hurt, and I exhale heavily, forcing myself to relax. I shove to my feet and turn off the light, nodding at Jade. “Let’s go,” I tell her. “I’ll drive you home.”
She leads the way downstairs, hesitating at my side as I lock up. “Oz,” she says tentatively.
“Please don’t, Jade.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”
“Just get in the car.” I unlock the doors and wait until she gets in before climbing in my side.
“You know how the press can spin things,” she insists when I back out of the lot and head for Jade’s house. “Just give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I snap sarcastically. “She’s Camden’s fucking guardian angel. Let’s give her everything.”
“Oz.” She’s serious now. “Whatever you do, don’t just go in guns blazing. Don’t attack her. Ask questions.”
“Ask questions, Jade? Like what? Like how much of this whole fucking relationship was faked so she could get her good name back in the papers?” All this time I just assumed Jade had leaked the story to Larry, but it wasn’t her. It was Susan. Still, just in case, I take her advice and ask, “Did you call Larry?”
“Who?”
“The guy who wrote the story. Did you tell him about the Green Space?”
“No. I thought you did.”
I clench my teeth and shake my head. “Nope.”
Jade’s quiet as the implication sets in. “Talk to her, Oz. Don’t blow this up.”
I park on the street in front of Jade’s dark house. “Is your brother in there?”
“I haven’t seen him for a few days. Maybe he took off.”
I’m anxious to get out of here, but I make myself offer. “Do you want me to come inside and look around? You going to be okay by yourself?”
“I’ll be okay, Oz. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’m not the one you need to worry about, Jade.”
“Are you going to call Lupo?”
I glance at the clock. Closing in on nine o’clock. It’s not too late, but that’s not who I want to fight with, either.
For years I’ve been running away from this, quashing these feelings when they start to rise up, refusing to let myself start a fight I’m not sure I can end. I’m older now, not the bloodthirsty teenager who knew violence and stupidity and not much else. I’d like to believe I know when to walk away, but I’ve never really tested the theory. Until now. Now I don’t care. “No. I’m not going to call Lupo.”
“Oz—”
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Promise me you’ll ask first, shoot second.”
I know she won’t leave until I agree, so I hear myself say, “I promise.”
Jade looks doubtful but climbs out of the SUV. I wait until she’s inside before peeling away from the curb and heading for Chicago.
Chapter Eleven
I don’t call her. I don’t give her the chance to prepare some bullshit story she can use to try to cover her ass, assuming she even cares enough to try. The concierge recognizes me and believes me when I tell him I’m expected, and I take the elevator to Susan’s floor, pacing back and forth in the tiny box, striding out when I finally reach the top.
The roads were relatively clear at this time of night, so it’s not even ten o’clock when I knock. I figured she’d be home packing since she has to leave early to drive to Milwaukee tomorrow, and through the door I can hear the faint strains of a rap song I haven’t heard since college.
I knock again, louder, and after a second the music stops. A moment later she pulls open the door, brow wrinkled in confusion. “Oscar?” she says, peering past me as though I might have brought company. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?” I’m still dressed in my work clothes, white button up and navy pants, loafers. I left the jacket and tie in the car, but it doesn’t matter. Even wearing baggy scrub bottoms and a tank top, hair wet from a shower, Susan holds all the power. Always has.
She’s frowning when she steps back to let me enter, closing the door and peering at me in concern. “Is everything all right?” she asks. “You’re flushed. Is Jade okay? The Green Space? Did something happen?”
I take a few steps then turn, deciding to heed Jade’s advice after all. If Susan didn’t do this, if it’s some sort of weird misunderstanding, I don’t want to destroy everything we’ve built over the past month. I don’t want to lose the only thing that’s made me feel anything in years. Good and bad.
“Did you ask Larry Lurst to write an article on the Green Space?” I ask.
Her eyes never leave mine as she considers her response. Tell the truth and get in trouble; lie and get in trouble. Her silence is the only answer I need, but she confirms it when she takes a deep breath and says, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it...” Her fingers twist in the fabric at her hips, and I know she’s guilty before she speaks. “Because it’s a good idea,” she says hurriedly, “and because I needed to show the hospital that I’m a good person.”
Even though I’d suspected as much for the past hour, the words still stun me. She could take one of those shiny copper pots from the kitchen and club me over the head with it, and it would be less shockin
g. “Fuck, Susan.”
“I’m sorry,” she adds as an afterthought. Strike two.
“You lied about everything?” I have never felt like such a loser. Like a big, lurching idiot, sniffing around for pussy and some sort of inspiration, desperate and dedicated and thoroughly fucking duped.
“I never lied,” she says. The doctor mask is firmly in place. She’s distant and placid, all facts and figures. “I have been helping. I—” She cocks her head. “How do you know about this? Did Larry tell you?”
That’s what she’s worried about? How I found out? “The article’s on their website,” I hear myself say. “The paper comes out tomorrow.”
“Oh. Yes. I suppose that makes sense.”
The rage I’d been trying to stifle is burning in my stomach, rising through my chest, and I taste bile at the back of my throat. “That’s it, Susan? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
She blinks. “What would you like me to say?”
An entire hour to plan for this, and every word I’d ever considered takes shelter in some other part of my brain. “That you’re a fucking liar,” I answer. “That every second of this month has been you playing some part, pretending to be something you’re not.”
“I haven’t lied—”
But I’m not done. “That every time you sucked my dick was part of the performance. Did Larry get pictures of that, too? Because I have one, remember? You let me take it.”
She blanches because it’s true. I have one sex shot of her on my phone, gazing up at the camera, my dick in her dishonest, dirty mouth. “You wouldn’t—”
“Was the grand finale supposed to happen this Sunday?” I demand. “The opening of the Green Space, was that really the big reveal for the new and improved ‘compassionate’ Dr. Jones?”
She looks completely flustered now, her cheeks pink, eyes shiny. But she doesn’t deny it, not even when I step in close, backing her into the wall.
“Don’t you dare show up on Sunday,” I hiss. “I don’t care how many people you invited, how important this is for your image. If you show up, they’re going to see a side of you you never intended to show them, do you understand?”
“I trusted you—” she begins, and that’s when I lose it.
“Trust?” I explode. “You want to talk about trust?” My fist thuds into the wall next to her head and I make myself back away, though she doesn’t even flinch. I’m the one who should be scared right now. I know what I’m capable of. “You lied about everything! You took credit for everything. Who’d you tell Larry I was? Your fucking assistant?”
“I told him exactly who you were. That this was your idea. Your project. Your money.”
“Bullshit.”
“He asked me where a Camden accountant came up with the money and I told him I didn’t know. I don’t—I don’t think he believed me. He thought I was trying to give you credit when it was my idea.”
“What about this Sunday? Who’d you invite?”
“Just some of the hospital board. They know about the project and they wanted to see it for themselves. I don’t understand why that’s such a bad thing. I mean, if you registered it as a charitable project like I suggested, you could accept donations and offer tax receipts and—”
“And tell everyone it was your idea?”
“No, Oscar! I didn’t tell—I mean, maybe I let people believe I had more of a hand than I did, but I tried to help you as much as I could. And what’s the big deal if it helps me too? I don’t see the problem.”
She’s breaking my heart into a million pieces with each non-denial. “You don’t see the problem with fucking somebody just to fix your reputation, Susan? Am I the only one? Did you fuck any members of the hospital board?”
Her jaw sets stubbornly. “Of course not. I didn’t fuck you for any sort of advantage. I like you.”
“Jesus Christ. Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“You don’t know the first thing about feeling, Susan.” Oddly, out of all the things I’ve said tonight, that’s the one that makes her pale, so that’s the path I keep on. “It’s like fucking a robot. Flip the power switch, grease the wheels, and away she goes.”
“I don’t—”
“You’re cold. You’re distant. You go through the motions and you don’t feel a goddamn thing.”
Her eyes are bright and I think it’s tears, but I don’t trust myself to get close enough to confirm it. “I—”
“I can train you to give a great fucking blowjob, but I can’t train you to act like a human being. Nobody can. No charitable project is going to make you any less of a fraud.”
“Oscar—”
I advance on her. “It’s Oz, Susan. How many times do I have to tell you? Oscar left this town. Oz came back. And you should be grateful. Because Oscar beat the shit out of people when they crossed him. Oz gives you a warning.”
“There’s no need—”
“Don’t come back to Camden. Don’t show your face on Sunday. If I read another word about ‘your’ project, I’ll tell everyone the truth.”
“You—”
“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll do the same. You want to let the hospital board believe they’ve got a live human being operating on patients? That’s fine. I’m going to pretend I didn’t get fucked over all month. Not that I didn’t enjoy it from time to time.”
Now those dark lashes are wet with tears. She’s shaking her head slowly, arms clenched around her middle, protecting herself.
As good as this fury feels, as right as it feels to let it out like this, I know I need to end this fight. The bloodlust is still there, but staring at Susan’s tear-filled eyes, it’s less, somehow. It’s weaker. I’m still not satisfied, but I’m as satisfied as I’m going to be.
“Have a nice fucking life.”
I slam the door behind me.
* * *
In a perfect world, I’d be able to take off the next day from work, avoiding everyone, but most importantly, avoiding my receptionist. Because I live in Camden and the world is far from perfect and I actually have work to do, I show up at noon, brushing off Jade when she tries to follow me back to my office.
“Oz!” she calls when I don’t stop moving. “Oz!”
“Don’t,” I say when I reach my door. “Don’t follow me in here. Don’t call me if it’s not for work. Don’t knock on the door. Understand?”
Her dark eyes scrutinize me from head to toe, looking for battle scars. But there’s nothing for her to see; every wound Susan inflicted is on the inside.
“Are you still going to Morrisburg?” she asks.
I sigh. “Jesus. No. Don’t bother me.” I go inside and shut the door, turning the antique lock as though it might actually do some good. I hear Jade’s heels click over the floor as she walks away and thank God for small blessings.
I bury myself in work for the rest of the afternoon, venturing out only long enough to get a glass of water from the kitchen. I can’t stop now. I can’t stop because I’ll start thinking about Susan and everything that’s happened and then I’ll never get up again.
Three days after I got the news about my mother and sisters I went out drinking and picked a fight with a bouncer at whichever bar we’d ended up at. I chose someone bigger than me and just started mouthing off, spewing every Camden-bred insult I could remember. I didn’t even see the punch coming. One second I was running off at the mouth, the next I had three loose teeth and a headache that lasted for days. That’s what this whole Susan thing has done to me. One hit I didn’t even know to prepare for, and she knocked me out. Because I’d gotten too fucking soft. I forgot where I came from, I forgot that people are shit, I forgot to keep my guard up. That’s not going to happen again. The Green Space is my idea. It’s my project. And anybody who fucks
with it is going to be reminded of that.
I’m not sure who Jade told or what she said, exactly, but nearly everybody involved with the project gets the memo. The guys who’ve been delaying coming to install the last of the windows are parked out front when I show up at five to six that evening, and they get right to work, no excuses, no jerking off. Only Marco had his head up his ass, because he pulls into the gravel lot at seven o’clock, marching into my office with an invoice that’s several thousand dollars more than what he’d quoted me. And now that I’ve seen his work, I know his original quote was ridiculous.
“What’s this?” I ask, studying the hand-written bill. A lot of it is illegible, but the astronomical figures are perfectly easy to read.
“It’s an invoice,” he says. He links his fingers together over his stomach and slouches in his chair.
“This is more than what we discussed.”
“What I gave you was an estimate. This is the final price. There was a lot of work to do.”
I give him a cold look. “I know exactly how much work there was. I was here doing it while your guys jacked off.”
He sits up straighter, indignant. “My guys—”
But I’m not in the mood. “Your guys aren’t worth half of this. They aren’t worth half of your original quote.” I tear the paper in two. “You take this back to your office, reconsider your ‘estimate,’ and bring me a fucking typed invoice, detailing everything you think you did. Then I’ll go over it, and I’ll correct it, and if I feel like it, I’ll pay you what you deserve.”
He pushes to his feet, but he’s 5’10” at best, and when I stand, he has to tip his head back to meet my eye. I show my teeth a little bit when I hiss, “Don’t test me, Marco. I’ve had a really shitty week, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to knock your scrawny ass back down the stairs.”
The Good Fight (Time Served Book 3) Page 18
