by Snow, Nicole
Unfortunately, I know how relentless he is. I also know exactly what video he means.
This is why I don’t share Ward’s confidence. He never fucked up enough to render his life beyond repair.
I have.
What I do today doesn’t matter, because everything I’ve done—every juvenile, drunken slip—will be carved in stone on glowing screens until I die.
There’s no redeeming me, even when I haven’t gotten properly sloshed in...has it really been almost nine months?
I wish it mattered. If I’d kicked my affair with the bottle sooner, I wouldn’t have a dragon breathing down my throat.
Why the fuck did I make a sex tape with a woman I can’t stand?
Better question, how the hell does Osprey know about it?
Carmen must’ve slipped and tipped him off somewhere. It’s the only explanation.
Muttering to myself, I pull up the message again and start punching a response. I’ve told you to lose my number. I’m reporting you for cyber-stalking.
My phone pings almost instantly. I swallow a groan.
I’m trying to help you out by giving you a chance to respond, Mr. Brandt. I’m a fair man and The Chicago Tea is a fairer publication than anything else you’ll find in this industry.
Liar. I wish I could snarl through the screen as I text back, Like hell you are. You’re bluffing. If you had the video, you would’ve already published it.
Gritting my teeth, I hope I’m not wrong, because it’ll be a world of hurt for everything Brandt if I am.
My phone pings again.
Roland: Perhaps. But you don’t know that for a fact, do you? For your sake, I hope you’ve made a lucky guess. Also, Miss Seraphina remains so moonstruck over you I’m not sure why you ever let her go.
Nick: She loves publicity, you dolt. Do a few vanity pieces and she’ll be eating out of your hand like a trained pigeon. Hell, she’ll probably date you.
Roland: I have better sense. I don’t mix business with pleasure, no matter how magnificent you’ve said Miss Seraphina’s ass is in past public statements.
Jesus, he doesn’t fight fair. And I can’t believe I ever lusted after her, let alone so openly.
Carmen’s ass is everywhere, I fling back. You could’ve heard that anywhere.
Roland: I heard it from the donkey’s mouth—yours.
Nick: Dickhead. Fuck off.
Roland: As soon as you give me a statement for the court of public opinion, I will.
Nick: I’m not giving you a damn quote. Why don’t you use this as an opportunity to break into real news?
Roland: Easy answer—I make too much money talking about you.
If this idiot were here and not just words on a screen, I’d break his nose.
Happy to be of service, I send back, ready to end this.
Roland: Okay. Since you won’t give me a statement, I’ll just use Miss Seraphina’s. She’s open to constructive talks.
I hope like hell he’s bluffing. Carmen hates this prick almost as much as I do. As much as any public persona with something to lose does.
I won’t play ball.
Besides shooting myself in the face, it’s just another reason for her to ambush me with thrown champagne and a blistering slap to my face. Surely, she’s had enough run-ins with bloggers, influencers, and the media to know not to say anything.
Leave her alone, too, I send, clenching my jaw.
Roland: One last question. Who was that darling little date with you the night Carmen lost her cool? No one could ever tag her properly.
Fuck. No wonder Reese is still pissed.
She’s probably still trending on Instagram as her hashtag-alias—Miss Literally Who.
Leave her out of this. If The Chicago Tea ever mentions her name, I promise you I’ll send every attorney in this city who’s worth anything charging up your ass.
I slam the phone facedown just as it pings. I hate how quickly I look at the screen, my blood like lava.
Oh, Nicholas. I’ve always loved your empty threats. Besides being the dumb one, you’re also the hothead. Grandma Brandt would not be proud.
He just had to go there, huh?
I could dismember him.
I just hope to God there are no other copies of that video floating around.
Of course, if Carmen would just move the hell on, the story would die. In a fair world, the night she tore into me and ruined any chance I ever had with Reese should’ve been the end of it.
But if Change is an ass kicker, then Karma is a screaming bitch.
Internet memes die hard when you’re a Brandt who’s still single, so...this ordeal never ends.
I need a fucking drink.
A car honks, just outside the thick glass doors in the lobby. I jump and drop my phone.
By the time I pick it up, I realize Reese is waiting.
* * *
She leaves the privacy screen down, but I don’t prod her this time.
The hate-texts with Roland Birdshit make it obvious why she’s still pissed all these months later.
She’s right to be.
I’m not even sure anger is the right word. Playing with me left burn marks. Scars.
And why should a woman like her ever care to play with fire?
“Mr. Brandt, I have to stop at the gas station. I’m sorry.”
Her voice catches my attention, and I meet her eyes. Her jaw looks clenched. Her face is tight and a deep line furrows in the center of her forehead.
“Of course, but...are you okay?” I frown.
“I’m fine.” The words are clipped and rushed. Not just her usual anger.
“You’re certain?”
“We just...we need gas,” she sputters, stabbing a finger at her phone attached to its holder on the dash.
It pings and vibrates nonstop. We’re in four lanes of traffic.
She pulls the Lincoln across three lanes without ever checking the mirror, darting into a dilapidated gas station and stopping next to a pump.
What the hell? Also, I could’ve sworn the tank was on the other side, but I’m not in the car for fill-ups often, so maybe I’m wrong.
The driver door opens and she leaps out. The car beeps because the keys are still in the ignition.
“This is Reese Halle!” she yells.
I lean up and glance out of the open door.
She’s on the phone. Frantic. Caller unknown.
I relax back into the seat and turn to stare out the window, giving her some privacy. I appreciate the fact that she pulled over to take a call that’s clearly killing her.
I just wish I knew why.
“Yes,” she says. “Are you sure?” She’s quiet for a minute. “What about Millie?” She pauses. “Her...her daughter.” That’s followed by a soft, sad, “Oh. Okay.”
A pale Reese falls back into the driver’s seat and slumps over the steering wheel, hitting the horn. The car screams across the parking lot. Someone gets out of a car across from us and flips us the bird, gesturing angrily at their ears.
Reese realizes she’s on the horn after ten long seconds and backs off.
What the fuck gives?
I’ve never seen her this pale, this miserable, not since that night..and other than easing off the horn, she’s still not moving.
“Miss Halle, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I grip the back of her seat, shaking it slightly for emphasis.
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t answer.
“Reese!”
Still no response. She takes a breath so deep her shoulders move up and slouch down when she exhales, then she does it again.
I’ve seen enough.
Jumping out of the back seat, I round to the driver’s door and kneel beside her. “Reese, what’s wrong? Tell me,” I say gently.
Her breaths come in hard, labored waves, but she still doesn’t answer me.
I’ve seen this before, a decade ago submerged in a nuclear sub in arctic waters, collecting intel on the Russians. There’s no
mistaking a panic attack.
“Keep breathing,” I whisper, rubbing her back. “Deep breaths. You’re doing great.”
Her shoulders rise as she inhales, her blue eyes lashing toward me. Our gazes connect.
“Can you hold it for me? Hold it and count to ten this time...”
She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t let out a ragged exhale immediately. I’ll take that as a win.
“One, two, three, four,” I count for her. “Five, six, seven.”
She exhales before I get to ten.
“Good.” I put my hand on her arms with the same caution you use to pick up an injured animal. I’m not her favorite person, I know, but right now I’m her only person in the middle of...this.
“I’m just going to slide you into the passenger seat so I can move the car. Understood? Just so we’re not blocking the pump.”
I pick her up, half expecting her to fight. Instead, she winds her arms around my neck and lays the side of her face flat against my chest.
Fuck. Whatever’s going on, it’s left her in shambles.
I carry her around the car, place her in the passenger seat, and buckle her seatbelt.
Back at the driver’s side, I check the gas meter. We’ve got a quarter of a tank.
We’re okay on gas although we never refilled. I move the car into a parking place, stop, and turn around to look at her.
“When you’re ready...will you tell me what’s wrong?” I whisper.
She’s slumped over in the passenger seat, nearly comatose.
“Where can I take you? Can you at least tell me that? Is there someone I can call for help? Do you need a hospital?” I keep my voice even, but inside, I’m worried as hell.
Grabbing her wrist, I press two fingers against her soft skin.
Her pulse feels strong, steady. Her breathing slows after another minute.
“I think you’re okay physically. Who called you?” I ask.
She mumbles something I don’t understand.
“Come again?”
She doesn’t.
The moronic conversation I had with Roland Osprey before she picked me up rips through my head. He asked who my ’darling little date’ was with me the night Carmen flipped her shit.
I told him to leave her the hell out of it.
“Reese, who called you?” I demand. Because if Osprey did this, he’s a dead man walking.
“Chicago PD. The...the police,” she says weakly.
Not what I expected.
Roland probably gets to live—for today—but now we’re getting somewhere.
“The cops? Why?” Then it hits me. Shit. I remember she mentioned her niece on the phone. “Is Millie okay?”
“No. I...I have to find her.” She turns her head and blinks at me.
“You have to find Millie?” I repeat. “I don’t follow...is she missing?”
Reese just shakes her head, her blue eyes disappearing as she pinches them shut.
“Where would we look for her?” I ask, trying to play along, to figure out what’s destroying her.
“Mrs. Gamlin’s place.”
“Mrs. Gamlin?”
“The neighbor lady at Abby’s apartment. She watches her when Abby’s...when she’s gone.” She sits up straighter, coughing into her hand.
Good. We’re getting somewhere, and I hope that cough means she’s coming out of it.
“Do you have an address?”
“The Spanish Oaks apartments on East Devon,” she tells me.
I punch the place into my Maps app and pull out of the gas station. When we’re on the road, I look at her and decide to try going direct.
“Reese, is your sister okay?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I...I don’t understand it. I’m not sure why she’d ever do this. It doesn’t make any effing sense.” She sighs, turning and pressing her red face against the glass. “At least Millie wasn’t with her. Can you turn the air conditioner on, please? I need air.”
I crank the AC up so high I feel like a penguin. “I’m worried you’re having an anxiety attack. Has this ever happened before?”
“I don’t know. Don’t remember. Maybe when Abby and I were separated, back when we were kids. I can’t believe this. Why would she do it? Why?” That last word is almost a broken scream distilled into one word.
“You said a cop called. What did he say about your sister?” I ask.
She nods limply.
“She got arrested, Nick. Drug sniffing dogs, a SWAT unit, everything. They found enough cocaine in her car to get a group of elephants high and—get this. It was hidden under Millie’s car seat. Who does that?” She’s quiet for a minute. “She’s been clean for years, especially since she became a mom.”
I’m quiet, listening, unsure what the fuck to make of this. I just nod, urging her to go on.
“She’s a good mother. She’d never—the car seat of all places—I don’t understand. I was supposed to see them tonight for mac and cheese supper. Millie’s favorite.”
“We’ll get Millie her mac and cheese and her unicorns. I promise you that,” I growl.
I follow the GPS instructions because Reese is too out of it to help.
Five minutes pass in dreary silence, until Reese screams, “Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to Abby. Right now. I have to figure out what happened, and she’s going to need an attorney. I should probably call Millie’s worthless sperm donor, but if I do that, he’ll use this against Abby. He’s been pecking at more custody rights for years. He doesn’t really care about Millie.”
“Sperm donor? Last I checked, that’s not usually part of visitation rights...”
She smiles. “Abby and I just call him that. A better word is deadbeat.”
“Looks like the shock wore off,” I say to myself. I could damn near drop to my knees in seeing her smile, however faint.
“Hmm?” she asks.
“Never mind.” I shake my head. “Do you have his info?”
“No. His name’s Will Frisk. That’s about all I know. I never liked him much when they were together. Abby was obviously distressed when he took off because he left her with a newborn, but honestly...I thought it was for the best. Either he left and took his drama with him, or he stuck around and she had to support all three of them. She got the better end of that deal. And when he ghosted, he also took the drugs he was always trying to peddle...which is why I don’t get it. He was a horrible influence. She’d never get mixed up with him again.”
“As long as you have the kid, there’s less damage he can do. I’ve been through my share of custody issues,” I say bitterly.
She looks at me, her mouth hanging open. “You have a kid?”
“Nah, I had parents. Reese, what nineties kid who grows up under rich narcissists doesn’t know about custody battles? I’m lucky as hell my grandparents were around for Ward and me. They raised us more than the two selfish boneheads we called mom and dad.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Wow. I thought billionaire bad boys had perfect lives,” she muses.
I smile. “You need to stalk the tabloids more.”
“I’m just mad. So mad at my sister. If Millie was with her, she’d be with CPS right now. That’s what the cop told me. Because they don’t know where she is or who’s picking her up...” She lifts her phone and starts scrolling, a nervous simmer in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Looking for an attorney. I have to help Abby. I’m probably going to need one myself for any legal issues with custody...”
“Put the phone down. I’ll make some calls once we’ve got Millie squared away. I’ve got an excellent attorney on retainer. One I trust. Even if he’s not that versed in criminal law or family issues, he’ll know how to find others who are. No point in you hiring a JD off the street. You’re holding up well and that’s what you need to keep doing. If Ward was in jail, I’d be a mess and you’d better believe Grandma
would handle it.”
“Granny Bea could handle anything.” She gives a tired laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’m not holding it together at all. I mean, my boss is driving me and it took me twenty damn minutes to tell you what happened.”
“You were in shock. That’s normal. Then you pulled your shit together enough to know what’s important. Trust me, we’ve got this.” I thump my chest.
She gives me a deer-in-the-headlights look I probably deserve.
“...it’s not your problem. Or the company’s. It’s totally mine, Nick, and it’s definitely not appropriate to pull my boss into it. You know what happens when lines get crossed. Nothing—”
“Good?” I finish for her. “This is me doing good. Because it’s damn inappropriate to let someone you see every day suffer when you’ve got the power to step in.” I pause, trying like hell not to make this worse. “Listen, tonight I’m not your idiot boss who makes you spit hornets. I’m your friend—if you’ll let me be. You’re right to be scared when it’s easier to think I’m a jackass.”
“Well, you are,” she throws back, a familiar razor-edge in her voice.
My lips twist in grim recognition. Fair, I suppose, when I’m barging into her life like this. But what the fuck choice do I have?
I let it go.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Millie?” I ask a little while later.
She turns her head up, this exhausted look in her eyes.
“It’s stupid, but I’m hoping she won’t ask. Not right away, I mean. Then I’ll just tell her something came up with Abby and we’re having a fun sleepover. Can’t I leave it at that until tomorrow?” She looks at me like I have all the answers, biting her lip.
It hurts.
It cuts me to the bone, knowing she’s that fragile right now, and I’m the only thing holding her together after my dumbass tried so hard to pull her apart.
“Do you and the kid have sleepovers often?” My lips turn up at the thought of Miss Frosty having a sleepover with a bouncy kidlet.
“Not often, but we do sometimes. Usually if Abby has a date or goes out of town to visit friends,” she tells me.
“You’re a good aunt.”
“I have to be.” She shrugs. “Abby and Millie are my only family. We have to be tight.”
