The Vow (Manhattan Nights Book 1)

by Natalie Wrye

  I scoff. “Probably because you were eight.”

  “And I commend her all the more for it. That was my best look.” He crosses his arms with a smile. “Seriously, Brett. You seriously going to let this one go?”

  My eyes travel up to the ceiling. I stretch my arms behind my head, pulling—the muscles straining to attention. My entire body goes tight at the thought of Elsie. My mouth barely moves. “I don’t think I have a say in the matter. She won’t talk to me.”

  “And has that ever stopped you before? You’re the man who beat down doors to get a loan for this place, who got the cops called on him for harassing the banks. You’re the man that took two customers like me and Marilyn and turned them into two thousand. A man who flew from Kansas without a pot to piss in and even less in his pocket. Since when has an unanswered cell phone ever stopped you?”

  I smile. “Not in this century.”

  “Exactly.” Heath smirks back. “It’s not going to be easy. Love never is.”

  I pause, my pulse pounding, my breath stopping somewhere inside my lungs. I can barely hear what Heath is saying anymore. I’m still stuck on the word “love,” so casually inserted into our conversation. The implication grabs me by the throat and holds. It’s the first time the word has been used to describe whatever’s going on between Elsie and me, and I press up from the stool to my feet… just as a bright red brick comes sailing through the store’s front window, shattering the silence and glass. I duck, diving to the floor as the thick cement block goes flying, slamming against the white tiles before skidding, leaving a path of destruction in its wake.

  I look up for Heath. He’s hunkered by the edge of the sofa, his hands on his head. A breeze blows the curtain over the window our way and as the fabric flops between us, I stare at my business partner and back at the brick, my heart thundering, the only other sound I hear is the thudding of fast feet as they fly away from the storefront, heading in the opposite direction. The blood in my veins runs cold.

  It’s Deja Vu all over again. Except this isn’t Elsie’s apartment anymore. This is something else. And two strange coincidental incidents don’t seem like coincidence at all. They feel like real fucking danger.

  Chapter 20

  ELSIE

  I’m all alone at my audition. And somehow that feels worse than anything.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve needed my hand held for a performance. Too long. And the last time had been when I was sixteen and too stubborn to turn back, determined to make the talent show first place prize mine after Becca Hamilton stained my favorite white shorts with Kool-Aid in our fourth period American History class.

  Strange that in a course focused on the past, I felt like I was living it, enduring the same silly taunting that I’d thought previously had stopped when we were all five. Guess I was wrong.

  And today’s taunting had taken new life, been built into something else. Social media made a one-off incident a never-ending memory for all to see, and the photos of Becca’s cruel and unimaginative prank made the rounds, following me all that afternoon and into the evening, directly into the night of the Riverside High talent show… and my one chance to show the school that I could sing.

  I’d been too shy to do it in front of anybody before. With the exception of one—okay, maybe two—important people. That day, important person number one slapped me on the back in typical Kayla-style, turning me around in her bedroom mirror. She tugged at my dress, drawing it tight.

  “You look amazing,” she declared. “Amazing enough for everybody to forget about that stupid prank Becca pulled.”

  I sighed. “You think? I don’t know if there’s enough sequins. I need to blind them Men-in-Black style in order to erase that image out of their heads.”

  “Trust me,” Kayla fired back. “They’ll forget. Your boobs are gigantic… and real. That’ll take care of the boys. And for the rest of them? They can suck a fat donkey dick. You’re just beautiful and talented. And we’re not going to let a bunch of mean girls think that they’ve gotten their way. You’re going to blow everyone out of the water.”

  That was my fear. That I’d send them packing the second I opened my mouth. I was literally shaking. Part of it was because of the talent show. Part of it was because Kayla’s older brother—and the love of my little lonely life—had just passed the bathroom, heading on his way to his room. Until my cell phone buzzed on Kayla’s bed.

  I picked it up, not thinking anything. And then I saw the text. Five little words that forever changed the course of my terrifying night.

  Come to the bathroom. Now.

  I clutched the phone to my chest, soaking in each single word. I was a woman owned. I excused myself a minute later while Kayla caught up on some fashion magazine, trying to figure out how to sew more sequins, and I turned the corner into the hallway, my heart beating hard, my “gigantic breasts,” as Kayla called them, rising and falling fast as I walked slowly in my gold shimmering dress towards the bathroom, where I found Brett—naked… and waiting, a small grin on his handsome face.

  He pulled me in, closing the door behind me, his breath minty in my face. He gazed down at my lips.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

  I smirked up at him. “Then why haven’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Just trying to figure out what fucking jerk I should kill first.” His smile dropped slowly. “I heard about what happened to you—the red stain, and I’ll find whatever cocksucker did that to you before the week is over. I promise I will.”

  I loved it when he got like this. All protective and broody. It reminded me of the week before, when he rushed into protect me—from the rain of all things. A weekend trip to New York with the Jackson family had turned into a fantasy when he brought me into his St. Regis hotel room from a detoured shopping excursion gone wrong. I’d gone gallivanting while Kayla slept and the Jacksons went for dinner and dancing. He’d found me, wandering down some isolated street and pulled me in from the lightning and thunder, offering up his shower. Which he later joined. At my request.

  It was the boldest I’d ever been in my life. Aside from this.

  I kissed him quickly. “You promise? Well, it’s a little late for that. Kayla and I already found the culprit.” I shot a pointed look his way. “Your ex-girlfriend.”

  Brett scowled down at me. “Shit. Becca was always jealous. Even more so in this last year…”

  I frown.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Brett whispered to me, wiping the furrowed lines from my forehead. He listened as I laughed. I always hated—and secretly loved—when he did that. “Everything’s going to be alright. Repeat after me,” he said, speaking slowly.

  “Everything… is going to be… alright,” I said in unison, loving the smile on his lips, his whitened teeth. Every single part of Brett Jackson made my own parts writhe and tingle, and as he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me, guilt—strong and sour—settled at the bottom of my gut. I pulled back, fighting the urge to put my hands on his growing erection. I gazed into Brett’s eyes.

  “We can’t do this anymore.”

  He frowned. “Do what?”

  “Hide like this. Sneak around like this. Pretend we’re not sleeping together.” I sighed. “Because we are. Even if it was just once. I do want to do this with you…” I trailed off. “But I don’t want to hurt Kayla. I don’t want to keep lying to my best friend about having the hots for her brother. I can’t do it.”

  Brett licked the edge of my lips. “You have the hots for me?”

  “Quit.” I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, my body buzzing from his touch. “I’m serious. We need a solution.”

  “There is one. We keep hiding this from Kayla. Kayla never finds out. We get to continue doing whatever it is that we want.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “Everybody wins.”

  I shook my head. But everybody didn’t. Especially me. Here I was. My best friend’s brother’s lover. His dirty secret. Our relationship was locked
away tighter than Fort Knox and no matter how many abs, no matter how many delicious broad muscles existed on his amazing body—Wait, I lost my train of thought—I wasn’t going to be a pretend playmate. I deserved to be a girlfriend. My heart squeezed.

  And maybe Brett just couldn’t see that. Maybe Kayla’s ridiculously hot brother was perfectly fine letting me be his late night booty call… and nothing more. He’d publicly claimed Becca Hamilton once… hadn’t he?

  Maybe I wasn’t as beautiful as Becca. Maybe I wasn’t as popular or as rich or as fun to be around as the ridiculously long-legged brunette with the model-like life. I stared at Brett.

  “Maybe you’re ashamed,” I threw at him, the accusations burning my tongue. “Maybe you’re embarrassed to be seen with ‘Period-Stain-Elsie’ or whatever the hell they’re calling me. Maybe I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend.”

  “What?” Brett’s dark brow furrowed, his lower lip pulling down. His fingers skimmed along my waist. “Elsie, you’re crazy. Keeping this thing between us secret is for my family. For Kayla. What would happen if my parents—if she—knew that I was skulking around, slipping you one every chance I got?”

  I dropped my hands from his shoulders. “Slipping me one?”

  “Fuck,” he whispered, lowering his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “No,” I turned my face away from his. “That’s exactly what I think you meant. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your friend. I’m the ‘girl that you’re slipping one to.’”

  “Shit,” he hissed, as I stepped out of his arms and away from the counter. “Elsie, that’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I don’t have to interpret what you meant. I only have to interpret what you said.” My eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. I sniffed them back. “I’m tired of lying to my best friend… and I won’t do it anymore. And since you love making promises so much, here’s one of my own…” I crossed my arms, leaning towards him. “I will never sleep with you again, Brett Jackson. We will never be together. You can ‘interpret’ that however you want to. As a promise. As a declaration. As a solid fucking vow. End quote.”

  And with that, I walked out. By the time I made it back to Kayla’s bedroom, the teary glaze over my eyes had disappeared. I had walked into the talent show an hour later and wowed the crowd. In fact… I won first fucking place.

  And the memory fades away… just as they call my name. I step forward, walking into an open door as they usher me in for my second audition of “American Superstar.” I stroll in, a large black number printed across my chest, my stare scanning across the judges. My nerves are gone.

  I had a number to perform all picked out. But now that I’m here… only one song will suffice and I smile at the judges as the most famous one, Reed Hutton, leans forward to ask me what I’m going to perform. My grin broadens as I name Taylor Swift’s notorious “Bad Blood”… and I begin to belt out the lyrics.

  “Cause baby now we got bad blood

  You know it used to be mad love

  So take a look at what you've done

  'Cause baby now we got bad blood”

  Chapter 21

  BRETT

  The air just outside the police station feels stale. My lungs literally hurt from the filtered humidity.

  My neck tie feels tight, the collar threatening to choke. I loosen both, pulling as I walk through the double doors into another dreary Manhattan afternoon.

  I glance up at the sky. Rain again. It feels fresh, cool on my dry lips. I lick the salty drops away.

  I love the rain. Always have. Even now. On a day when life feels its fucking lowest.

  They never found who threw the brick through my shop’s front window. Five days pass, and with every second that the fucking scum walks the streets, a piece of me hardens. The glass is fixed, the shop re-opened… but bits of me are broken. And they have been… ever since my sexy, sweet, disturbingly sultry Elsie walked out on me. The man she’s molded with her witty, wily ways is a wreck.

  With the film crew for “Tattoo Gods” shooting at the store, my appearances are fewer and further in between, my clients taken only privately while I figure out what the fuck happened to my life. My apartment’s abandoned, and as I amble through the steady rain, a light shower that soaks through my button-down shirt and slacks, I consider my new temporary home—a hotel. I’ve been smartly avoiding Sophie, ducking and dodging Heath and Marilyn. The only thought that puts a smile on my face these days is the frown I know that’s on Reed’s, who’s been fuming ever since I “jumped ship.”

  I convince myself that I’m alright… because the word sounds good to hear. Alright. The very definition of ordinary or fine—indifferent. Tolerant. Each synonym sounds the same on my mouth, tastes just as bitter and the inner beating I give myself as I head into the local coffee shop is worse than the ones my father administered, my physical expressions of pain somehow more tolerable than the ones below the surface.

  I swing into “Sal’s Ground Beans,” my black necktie in my hands, my damp hair stuck above my brow. I sniff back the drizzle still running down my face, strolling up to the mahogany counter. I sit.

  The young barista, Katie, saunters over.

  “Okay, Tattoo God,” she calls me, winking out of the corner of her eye. “What’ll you have?”

  I wipe the back of my hand against my lengthening beard, the hair there no longer a five o’clock shadow. I form a fist on the bar, grimacing, glancing up at her. “Oh, you heard about that, have you?”

  “Have I?” She smiles, turning towards me. “Every person in this half of Manhattan has. You’re a legend around these parts already.” She tilts her head. “Now you’re a star.”

  A star. I want to scoff. It’s the last title I ever wanted to have, and yet here I am, not settling into stardom, but being plunged—picked up and submerged—into the damned thing, kicking and screaming the entire way. I tap a hand on the edge of the table, nodding. “I’ll take the usual.”

  Katie grins again. “Coming right up.”

  The buzz of the coffee maker brewing plays the background music to my thoughts, and I lose myself in the hum of the running cafe—the clinks, conversations and slight shuffle of coffee cups. Until I catch a few words from a table less than twenty feet away. I listen closer.

  “I’m really rooting for her. Seriously. Elsie Carpenter is the next Taylor Swift. Mark my words.” I rotate in my chair, ready to say something to the two girls chatting when a familiar sound finds my ear… and holds on.

  I look up towards the melody currently melting my scattered mind and find Elsie. Emblazoned on the TV screen in the corner, her mic raised high over her mouth as she serenades a panel full of stone-faced judges to the tune of a Taylor Swift song that I strangely recognize. Her words, crooned over a lone microphone, carry within them a weight, and the brunt of their hypnotizing beat bear down on me like a belt from the past and present, slashing red welts into my skin. I can feel her pain from here, the power of her hurt soul. The same way I’d felt it seven years ago when she took that stage at the Riverside High talent show, blowing everyone—including me… Hell, especially me—the hell away.

  The memory grabs me like a vice, squeezing. I have no choice but to sink back into it.

  The storms had started early that night, the rain falling fast. Elsie left my house quickly, Kayla in tow, before I could even get dressed and as I ran out of my bedroom, my shirt and shorts half-on, my car keys in hand.

  I sped all the way to the high school, parking haphazardly.

  I ran inside, rushing through the rain, my clothes dripping wet by the time I made it inside. Half of the audience was already seated, the rest pouring in as I scanned the hallways for her, my eyes searching for her telltale blonde curls. Sneaker squeaking, my wet clothes flapping in the wind, I run towards the auditorium, stopping as I make it to the back steps, finding Elsie standing awkwardly in front of her arguing parents, their voices muffled behind a set of
paint-chipped double doors. I lean in, listening.

  “I have places to be, Susan,” her father asserts, pointing towards the window. His suit is ruffled. A balding man in his forties, Elsie’s dad, Steven, looks like a man who’s had the life sucked out of him. His dry-looking face looks sad as he gazes at Elsie, a sorry excuse making its way out of his fish-like mouth. My stare slants, even as Elsie’s mother chimes in.

  “To where, Steven?” she screeches, her husky voice hoarse. “To your whore’s?! This is your daughter’s talent show. Can’t you stay in one place for more than ten minutes?”

  “For your information,” he fires back, his bushy brows furrowing, “it’s for work. You know… that thing you never fucking do?”

  “Oh, don’t you start…” Elsie’s mom begins, her finger raising towards his face. “Cooking and cleaning and taking care of your kid is a lot of work, you ungrateful son of a…”

  The bickering rises, growing to roaring levels, and they go back and forth, nearly making me miss my own dysfunctional family as they talk about Elsie as if she isn’t even there. I glance at her. Elsie. So strong and sweet. Elsie. So shy and smart.

  I should have made her mine when I had the chance. Because someone like her only comes around once a lifetime, let alone millennium. A beautiful girl on the inside and out, a head screwed on right and an even better heart, there wasn’t a piece of me that didn’t love her right then, watching her strong gorgeous soul weathering the storm, standing still in the midst of a contained chaos, wedged in between a warring feud.

  She’d never been more beautiful to me. And then she opened her mouth, her words a shout.

  “God, can you please be quiet?” she screamed. “Can you both just be quiet and just sit here and support me?” She gazed between them, her hands clutching at her heart, her big brown eyes glassy. “Can’t you just pretend for once that you have a daughter who you give two shits about? A child? Not a weapon to wield against each other every time you have a urgent whim?”