by Erin Watt
I frown. “Are you seriously pissed at me right now? You kissed me back.”
“I know I did, because I was upset and I needed…comfort, I guess. But as usual, you make it all about sex.”
Indignation ripples through me. “I only suggested going inside.”
“Yeah, so we could have sex.” She throws open the passenger door but doesn’t get out of the truck yet. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to have to pass. I need to pack.”
“You’re not leaving town!” I growl. “And I don’t care about sex right now. We were making out and I said let’s go inside—big fucking deal. Don’t turn this around and act like I did something wrong.”
“You got me suspended!”
I swallow my frustration. “I know I did. And I’m trying to fix that, damn it!”
“How? By sticking your tongue in my mouth? How is that fixing anything?” A weary look creeps into her gray eyes. Sighing, she slowly slides out of her seat. “Go home, Easton. Or back to school. Just…go.”
“What about your dad’s threat? What are you going to do about that?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “But I’ll figure something out. I’ll fix this. Alone. I don’t need your help.”
I clench my fists against my knees. “Yes, you do.”
“No. I don’t. I don’t need anything from you.” Her expression fills with irritation. “You’ve caused me nothing but trouble from the moment I met you. So, please, for the love of God, don’t try to help anymore. Don’t help, and definitely don’t fix. You’re not capable of fixing things.” Sadly, she shakes her head. “All you do is break them.”
She leaves me with that. A knife to the heart. An accusation that, no matter how badly I want to, I can’t defend myself against.
All I can do is drive home. I can’t go back to school, not when I feel like I’ve been gutted. I can’t face Ella or my teammates or that bitch Felicity. So I go home, and I grab a drink from the liquor cabinet that my dad has blessedly restocked. Getting drunk isn’t my end game. I just need to loosen up. To clear my head so I can come up with a solution to this problem. The problem I created. The mess I caused.
I owe that to Hartley.
Chapter 29
At nine o’clock, it hits me.
The solution.
I hurl myself out of bed, but it takes a few moments for my body to stop swaying and the head rush to go away. Whoa. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have gotten up that fast. I’d been lying flat on my back for hours, nursing the bottle of bourbon I lifted from Dad’s study. Note to self: ease into this vertical thing slowly.
I’m not drunk, though.
Nope, not drunk. Just buzzed. Buzzzzzed.
“Easton, you okay?” Ella pops her head into my open doorway, looking worried.
I break out in a smile when I see her. “I’m A-OK, baby sis! A-fucking-o-fucking-kay.”
“I heard a crash. Did you fall? Break something?”
“You’re hearing things,” I tell her. “Because I didn’t fall and nothing broke.”
“Then why is there a broken bottle on the floor?”
I follow her accusatory gaze to the foot of my nightstand. Huh. She’s right. There’s a whiskey bottle on the carpet and it’s in two pieces. Must have hit the corner of the night table and broken in half on its way down. Whiskey, though? I was drinking bourbon.
My gaze travels to the bedspread, where I left the bourbon bottle. Oh. Guess I was drinking both.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“None of your bizness.” I tear my eyes away from the bottle and look for my keys. Crap, I don’t remember where they are.
I rifle through a pile of clothes. A jingle in the back pocket of a pair of jeans catches my attention.
“Aha,” I crow, pulling out the key fob. “There you are.”
“There’s no way you’re going anywhere.” Ella grabs for the keys. “You’re in no condition to drive.”
“Fine.” I let her take them and pull my phone out of the other pocket of the same jeans. I tap a few times and smile at the screen in satisfaction. “There you go. Got a car coming.”
The little map informs us that my driver is fifty-five minutes away. Or…wait, maybe that’s five minutes. I swear I saw two fives. It better not be two fives, though, because I need to catch Hartley’s dad before he leaves to take her to the airport.
“Good,” Ella says, looking relieved. “But just in case, I want your bike keys.”
“They’re in the mudroom. I won’t take them with me, I promise.”
She trails after me anyway, as if she needs to see with her own two eyes that my keys are staying home. I make it easier for her by tossing them over when we get to the mudroom.
“For safekeeping,” I tease.
“Tell Hartley I said hi,” she says wryly.
I jog down the driveway and reach the front gates just as the Uber driver is pulling up. I give her the address and then settle in the backseat to call Hartley.
“What do you want, Easton?” I guess that’s her version of hello.
“Hey, babe. I just wanted to tell you not to go with your dad when he comes to get you tonight.” A thought occurs to me. “If he comes to get you. He might not anymore.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’m not saying he would or he wouldn’t,” I babble. “But if he does, don’t go with him. ’Kay?”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I’ve got to be in the car or Dylan goes to the boarding school. Dad doesn’t make idle threats. If he says something, he’ll follow through.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m taking care of everything.”
There’s a brief pause. “What do you mean?”
“I’m taking care of it,” I repeat, smiling to myself.
“Oh God. Easton. What the hell are you up to? What’s going on? Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t care what’s happening, just that you stop it. You need to stop it right now.”
“Can’t. Already on my way.”
“On your way where?”
“To your dad’s house. I’m gonna have a talk with him.”
“What! Easton, no!”
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you. Got this.”
“Easton—”
I hang up, because all the shouting is making my temples throb. It’s okay that she’s mad at me. She won’t be mad after I convince her father to let her stay in Bayview. I have a plan. Mr. Wright takes bribes. So I’m gonna bribe him.
I’m Easton Royal. I’ve got money coming out of my ass. All I have to do is give Hartley’s dad some money and he’ll leave us alone. Money has solved every problem in the past. Money and a hard fist to the face. I’m happy to add in the second part if I need to. I’m not sure how I’ll get him to leave Hartley’s sister alone, but I’m planning on winging that part.
The driver stops next to the curb. I start to get out, but then realize the driveway looks really long. Too long to walk, especially when I have wheels.
I tap the driver on the shoulder. “Drive up to the door.”
“We’re not supposed to go on private property,” the gal says.
I pull out a few bills and wave them at her. “They’re expecting me.”
She hesitates but pulls forward. See? Problem plus money equals no problem. Heh.
I stagger to the front door and lean on the doorbell. Inside, I can hear the chime repeat itself over and over. It’s annoying. Someone should come to the door soon.
When I see some movement, I start pressing the doorbell repeatedly to get their attention.
It works. The door opens and a man looks out at me. He’s about my dad’s age, only with more gray in his hair.
“How you doing?” I greet him with a nod. “Got a minute?”
“Who the hell are you?” Mr. Wright asks me.
I straighten to my full height and peer down my nose at him. He’s shorter than I expected. Looked way taller when I saw him at Hart
ley’s door earlier.
“Easton Royal.” Should I salute? Nah. Let’s get this dog and pony show over with. I reach into my back pocket and pull out my dad’s checkbook. “What’s it gonna cost, John?” I smile at my baller move in adding his first name.
“Who the hell are you?” he repeats.
“Man, I already told you.” This guy is slow. Is he really a lawyer? “I’m Easton Royal. I’m here to make a deal with you.”
“Get off my porch and leave.”
The door starts closing, but I’m quick and I dart inside the front hall before he can block me.
“Now, that’s no way to make a deal, John.” I wave the checkbook. “I’ve got a lot here. Name your price.”
“Easton Royal, you say?” Wright crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me. “Let’s see. Your oldest brother got in trouble for the distribution of child pornography. Your second oldest brother was the chief suspect in the murder of his father’s mistress, because he, too, had been conducting a sexual relationship with said mistress. Your father nearly bankrupted a century-old family business, and your mother was a drug addict who took her own life. And you’re here to make a deal with me?”
My mouth falls open. “What’d you just say?” I can’t believe this asshole. I came here with the best intentions and he has the nerve to insult my entire family?
“You heard me.” He throws open the door. “Take your fake Royal ass and get gone.”
“Fake Royal? I’m fake? You’re the fraud. You’ve got no honor. You’re fixing cases. Taking money, losing evidence. You’re dirtier than any criminal you ever put behind bars.” I get up in his face. Spittle’s flying out of my mouth.
Wright laughs at me. “You don’t even know, do you?”
“Know that you’re an asshole?” I push his shoulders. He stumbles back and the smile is gone. “Actually, you’re worse than an asshole. Assholes would be insulted to be associated with you. You’re a child abuser. The worst of the worst. Even prisoners would spit on you.”
Red-faced, he charges toward me. “You wouldn’t be so brave if you didn’t have the Royal name, would you?”
“I do, so we’ll never know, will we?”
“Just like we’ll never know if you’re Steve O’Halloran’s bastard or Callum Royal’s seed, right?”
What?
I stumble, barely catching myself before doing a header onto the wood floor.
He chuckles. “But we do know, don’t we?”
“K-know what?” I croak.
“That your whore of a mother spread her legs for your fake daddy’s business partner.”
There’s a shove in my side and I lose my balance, falling to my knees.
I shake my head and look up. What the fuck is he even saying? I’m not Steve’s bastard. I’m Callum Royal’s son. I’m a Royal.
“You have five seconds to get your sorry ass off my property before I call the police,” Wright seethes.
Somehow I find myself on the other side of a slammed door. I stare at it. What just happened there? Did he really just…
Breathing hard, I raise my fist to the door and pound. For some reason, the knock sounds like a car door slamming.
“What the hell, Easton!”
I spin around in surprise. Hartley is charging up the manicured front lawn toward me. A beat-up brown Volvo sits in the driveway—I guess that’s the car door I just heard.
“Whose car is that?” I ask in confusion. Nothing makes sense to me right now. My head is a jumbled mess. There’s too much booze in my system. And Wright’s accusation has left me shaken and chilled to the bone.
I’m not Steve’s bastard.
I’m not.
“The car is Jose’s,” she snaps as she reaches me. She grabs my forearm and holy shit is her grip lethal. “Let’s go.”
I rub the back of my neck and try to focus. “Who’s Jose?”
“My landlord. Now get the fuck away from the door and let’s go.”
My jaw falls open. “You said fuck. You never swear. Why did you swear?”
“Because I am so fucking pissed right now!”
I almost fall over from the force of her response. That’s when I notice that her face is beet red. Her hands are clenched into small fists and she’s using one to hit me on the shoulder. Hartley is furious.
“You’re mad,” I mumble.
“I’m mad? Of course I’m mad! I want to kill you right now! How dare you show up at my parents’ house and—and what?” Her wild eyes dart toward the closed door. “Please tell me you didn’t talk to them yet!”
I can lie. I can totally lie. I don’t have to tell her that I threatened her father and he threatened me back and that I tried to hit him and he told me I wasn’t a Royal and slammed the door in my face. It’s not like he’s out here to contradict me. I can lie.
But I don’t lie, because I’m too confused, too disturbed to craft a story for her.
I’m not Steve’s bastard.
I’m not.
“I tried to bribe him.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes. Opens. Closes. And she’s breathing hard, like she just finished a marathon.
“You tried to bribe him.” She pauses in disbelief. “You. Tried to bribe. A district attorney.”
“Hey, we both know he’s cool with bribes," I protest.
Hartley stares at me. For a long, long time. Oh shit. She’s going to explode. I can see the storm clouds in her eyes. The thunder is going to come any second.
Before she can get out any words, the front door opens and Mr. Wright appears with Dylan at his side. The girl looks frightened, but shock replaces her fear when she spots her older sister.
Her gray eyes widen. “Hartley?”
“Take a good look at your sister,” Wright barks, pointing a finger at Hartley. “She’s the reason you have to leave the family.”
Hartley gasps.
I charge at the asshole, only to be brought up short by Dylan’s confused voice.
“Hartley?” she repeats. “What’s happening?”
“Dylan, come here.” Hartley gestures for her sister to leave her father. “You aren’t going to get sent away. Come with me and I’ll—”
“You’re not going to do anything but leave, Hartley. You are no longer part of this family. Dylan, go inside and pack.” Wright’s voice is cold and hard.
“No. Please, Daddy,” Hartley pleads. “Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” She scrambles forward, but her father holds up his hand and she stops in her tracks.
“Go inside, Dylan,” he orders.
Dylan’s frantic gaze swings from her sister to her father.
I make a last-ditch effort to stop this craziness. “Hey, I’m telling you, I’ll pay whatever price you want,” I urge Mr. Wright.
“Shut up!” Hartley screams. “Please shut up.” She turns back to her dad. “Please.”
“If anything happens to Dylan, it’ll be on your head. You should think about that before you open your stupid, stupid mouth.” With that parting threat, Wright slams the door shut.
When the wood hits the frame, it’s like a bullet to Hartley’s chest. She collapses on the front lawn and starts to cry.
I rush over to her. “Baby, I’m sorry.” The buzz in my head is wearing off and the gravity of what’s just happened is settling in. The gravity of everything. Hartley. Her dad. Her sister. Me.
Steve.
“Why? Why did you come here?” Tears fill her eyes, but they don’t spill over. Her breaths are quick and shallow.
“I was trying to help.” I bend close to her. “Tell me what to do?”
She takes a deep, quavering breath. “You’re drunk,” she accuses. “I can smell it on you. You came over here drunk and told my dad everything I confided in you?”
My throat closes up, clogged with guilt and anxiety. “No. I mean, I had a little, but I wasn’t drunk.”
She searches my eyes, sees my lies, and rises slowly to her feet. Her lower lip
is trembling and her voice is shaky, but there’s a seriousness in her expression that sends a spiral of fear down my back.
“You are drunk. And you broke your promise. You made a bad situation worse. Maybe you had good intentions, but you acted to make yourself feel better. You thought of yourself first and this is what happened.” The tears start coming now. They course down her face, a tsunami of unhappiness.
Embarrassment fights with remorse inside me. I don’t like what she’s saying and how these words are making me feel. I tried to do the right thing. Is it really my fault that her dad’s a first-rate jackoff? Is it my fault that he didn’t take the money? Is it my fault that he made up horrible lies about my mother and my father and some fucking asshole who’s not my father—
I start to get angry back. “I’m the one who tried to make things right for you. You were just going to run away and avoid the problem. At least I confronted him. You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” she screeches. “Thanking you? Are you kidding me? You’re not the white knight in this picture. You’re the villain!”
“What? Me?” I’m pissed now.
“Yes, you.” She stumbles away, her black hair whipping behind her. “Stay away from me. I never, ever want to talk to you again.”
Her words sound so final. Panicked, I call after her. “Wait. Hartley, come on. Wait!”
She ignores me.
I take a step forward, and although her back is to me, it’s like she senses that I’d moved. She whirls around and jabs her finger in the air.
“Don’t,” she commands. “Don’t follow me. Don’t come near me. Don’t anything.”
She spins again and practically hurls herself at the rusted door of the ugly Volvo she drove up in. The rearview mirror isn’t even attached to the windshield—I can see it dangling at a weird angle through the window.
The sight of the beat-up car makes me sick to my stomach. I picture Hartley knocking on her downstairs neighbor’s door, pleading with him to borrow his shitty-ass car so she can come and stop my shitty-ass self from ruining her life even more than I’d already ruined it.
But she hadn’t gotten here in time. As always, Easton Royal screwed everything up.
