Say You Still Love Me

by Tucker, K. A.

  “What?” A cold feeling seizes my insides. “Brain-damaged boy? You told me he was going to be okay!”

  Dad squeezes his eyes shut, maybe to hide the guilt of his lie. Another lie.

  It’s Kyle who answers, his voice pained. “Eric’s not okay, Piper. They thought he’d pull through at first, but then his brain swelled more and the doctors couldn’t get a handle on it. His family didn’t have much money. When all the medical bills and the air ambulance bill started piling on, they were going to lose their house. I gave them what I could, but I didn’t have nearly enough.” He’s rambling through his words now, as if racing to get them out. “I figured out who your dad was. I knew he’d have the money. So I phoned him one day and I asked him to help Eric’s family—”

  “By reminding me that it was Piper who bought all the alcohol—”

  “Because I knew she felt guilty! Just like I did! I knew she’d want you to help Eric if she knew how bad it was!”

  “You think any of that would have happened if you hadn’t been there? It’s because of you that my daughter got into that mess! She has nothing to feel guilty for!” My dad grits his teeth, his face red. “And yet, when I told you to go to hell, you threatened to find Piper and tell her about our deal unless I sent more money. That is the very definition of extortion!”

  Kyle bows his head. “Because I knew it was nothing to you and that you’d pay, just to keep me away from her.”

  “Says the son of a man who put six elderly people in the poorhouse,” my dad throws back. “Robbing people of their money’s in your blood. You can’t help yourself.”

  Kyle flinches as if slapped.

  Meanwhile, my knees wobble, feeling ready to buckle from my shock. That the two of them were in contact, that this was all going on behind my back. That neither of them told me about Eric.

  That Kyle has been keeping this from me even now. “I can’t believe this is happening.” My stomach churns as I look to my mother. “Did you know about this?”

  She shakes her head, her expression dazed.

  “I knew you would want to help Eric, Piper.” Kyle pleads with his eyes. He reaches for me, but I step away.

  “Why did you come to Lennox?”

  “You know why.”

  “I thought I did, but now . . . Do you want more money? Is that it?”

  His jaw tenses. “I told you, I don’t want your money.”

  “You’ve told me a lot of things.” But never the whole truth.

  “Get the hell away from my daughter, before I call the police.” My dad’s voice is icy calm now.

  Kyle’s steady gaze stays on me. “Is that what you want, Piper?”

  No, but I want what I can’t seem to have. I harden my heart. “I think that would be best. Go ahead and take the taxi home. To your home.”

  Kyle squeezes his eyes shut a moment, his chest heaving with a deep sigh. When they open, they’re full of pain.

  A lump flares in my throat. “You should put in an immediate building transfer with Rikell,” I manage to choke out.

  “Don’t you dare show up tomorr—”

  “Dad!” I bark, throwing him a warning look. “Talk to Gus, Kyle. I’m sure he can help make it happen swiftly.”

  I hold my breath as Kyle nods and slowly backs away. “For whatever it’s worth . . . if you need my statement about Tripp Porter’s phone conversation, Gus will know where to find me.” He moves toward the taxi, his head down, his shoulders slouched. Looking . . . broken.

  “Was all this really worth it?” I call out, my voice shaky. From the second he applied for a job in my building to the second I reached for my father’s doorbell—and every second in between—he knew that once I found out about this, we would be done.

  “To get even one more day with you?” He pauses at the open door of the cab and smiles sadly, those golden eyes the color of burnt caramel that entrapped me so many years ago settling on me now. “It was worth everything to me.” Memory takes over and I see the mischievous, wild boy just about to get into his beat-up Pinto. Then that memory is gone and Kyle is climbing into the backseat of the taxi.

  My tears stream freely as I watch the taillights disappear down the street.

  “I’m going to phone Rikell and—”

  “Oh, shut up, Kieran,” my mother snaps, pulling me into her arms and leading me into the house.

  “How satisfying is this for you?” Mark leans next to me against the glass wall to my office as we watch Tripp being escorted down executive lane by a tall, bald security guard, a box of trophies and trinkets and other personal belongings in his arms.

  “Not as satisfying as I was expecting it to be, believe it or not.” I let my father confront Tripp alone; he may have made my life hell, but it’s my father he has truly betrayed.

  Tripp didn’t even bother to deny it, which made the question of legality around the search of his phone records a moot point.

  “Do you think he’s done it before?” Mark asks.

  That’s a million-dollar question. “Who knows. But Gary Jameson would never pay him.” He has far too much integrity. And we almost burned that relationship because of Tripp.

  “Piper, a minute.” My dad, who was watching Tripp’s walk of shame as well, heads back into his office.

  Mark takes his leave. “Renée and I are going to grab lunch. You want me to bring you anything?”

  “No. Thanks, though.” I don’t remember when I last ate. Late yesterday afternoon, I guess. Before my world imploded because of Kyle—again.

  I stare at my father’s office door a long moment, deciding if I want to answer his summons. After Kyle left my father’s house last night, I fell apart on my mother’s shoulder—crying harder than I have in thirteen years, since the first time Kyle broke my heart. My dad disappeared into another room and didn’t come out again. I left as soon as I could gather my composure to call a cab.

  I haven’t spoken to my father since. I don’t think I have it in me to do so now.

  Not when I’m still this angry, and hurt.

  Not when I feel this deceived.

  Marching into my office, I shut down my computer, collect my purse and phone, and stroll out.

  “Piper.” I hear my name when I’m almost to the elevator. I ignore it and keep going, only turning back once I’ve pressed the button, long enough to see my father standing at his office door, to meet his steely gaze with my own, before I step inside and am gone.

  “I called every listing for Vetter in Erie, Pennsylvania, but I couldn’t find Eric or his family.” Ashley slumps in the chair beside me on our newly decorated rooftop patio. I parked myself in the chaise longue eight hours ago upon my escape from the office and haven’t moved, save for a trip to the bathroom. And, while my mood is more suited to hiding under blankets inside during a torrential downpour than lounging in a shady alcove of a rooftop patio on a hot summer’s day, I’ll admit I’ve found an odd sense of peace out here, listening to the faint and frequent horn blasts and ambulance sirens coming from King Street and beyond, and Elton’s motor-like purr as he sits beside me, oddly content as I scratch behind his ears. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he knew I needed comfort. And cared.

  I reach over and squeeze Ashley’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” Even if I have to go to Kyle’s condo and drag the address out of him myself.

  “How could Kyle not tell us? I just don’t understand!” Tears run down her cheeks. They’re far from the first ones to escape since I broke the news about Eric to her last night. “How could we not have heard about it?”

  I’ve been playing the same question over and over in my mind. “You know how it was back then. It was all Wawa, all the time, until you left and didn’t see anyone for a year. Eric was all the way in Erie . . . and social media wasn’t what it is today. I didn’t even have a Facebook account until, like, a year later.” And then it was all about keeping in touch with high school friends as I was heading off to college, and then adding college fri
ends. Camp Wawa was a bittersweet memory by that point, one I was trying to move on from. Eric left and never came back, never reached out to anyone—not even Ashley; eventually he became that wild story about the guy who tumbled drunk down a steep hill at Wawa one summer but was okay the last anyone heard, a funny guy for people to remember fondly as everyone moved on with their lives.

  A friend we lost track of.

  “I found Avery online a few years ago,” Ashley admits. “Mainly because I was hoping she had heard from Eric. It didn’t sound like she knew what happened, either.” She pauses. “Do you think Darian knew?”

  “Probably. She was the camp director. But I doubt the owners wanted anyone talking about underage counselors drinking and getting seriously hurt. It’s bad for business.”

  But Kyle knew. Every time a mention of Eric came up, he was ducking his head or frowning, or otherwise shifting the topic away from telling me the truth. Was it because he couldn’t bring himself to tell me? Because he still felt guilty for his part in how badly things turned out that day for Eric? Or because he didn’t want to admit that he’d tracked my father down and asked him for more money?

  For Eric, though. Not for himself. If he were a true extortionist as my dad accused him of being, he likely would have been lining his pockets for the past thirteen years.

  But why couldn’t he have just told me all this from the start? It didn’t have to go this way.

  Now . . . I just feel sick about the whole thing.

  “When your dad said Eric was going to be okay, I just believed it.”

  “Of course you did.” So did I. And then I was too distraught over Kyle to worry about much else except putting Wawa behind me.

  “And then he never answered my texts or emails and I just assumed he was being Eric. But I should have tried harder to find him. God, this is so messed up. I feel so guilty!” Ashley rubs her cheeks dry with her palms. “I need to know how bad it is.”

  “Me, too.” My gut tells me it isn’t good. I was too much in shock last night to push for details. I’ve reached for my phone a dozen times, to call Kyle—to demand information. But I find myself stalling each time, afraid I’ll break down in tears at the sound of his voice.

  And this kind of conversation . . . it can’t happen via text.

  The patio door opens and Christa walks out, her eyes wide.

  Behind her is my father, as stern-faced as ever.

  I sigh. I guess turning my phone off doesn’t mean I get to avoid him for an entire day. At least I’ve required him to come to me.

  “Hi, Mr. Calloway.” Ashley forces a polite tone in greeting before leaving her seat to dart inside. She still addresses my parents formally, no matter how many times I’ve told her to stop.

  “Marcelle has done a good job.” His gaze roams the space.

  I frown. “How did you . . . Oh, yeah.” Mom no doubt told him. That’s a whole other conversation to be had, for another day. Thirteen years of hell—an ugly divorce, the fights, the tension, the emotional strain on me—only to find out my parents are secretly dating again.

  I’m going to need a therapist after this.

  Shrugging off his suit jacket and laying it tidily across the back of the chair Ashley just vacated, he takes a seat. He frowns at Elton, who, surprisingly, didn’t bolt the minute Christa showed up. “Have you phoned Gary yet to let him know we’d like to proceed with the Marquee?”

  “Yes,” I answer curtly.

  “And I assume he’s happy?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighs heavily. One-word answers drive him insane. “I received a delivery this afternoon.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “From Kyle. Twenty-five thousand dollars cash, in a navy-blue duffel bag. Half of the money he accepted from me thirteen years ago.”

  I should feel anger, but all I feel is my heart aching at the sound of his name. “He was at our office? Today?” When I came in this morning, Gus informed me with big brown concerned eyes that Kyle would be taking a personal leave until a more suitable building placement could be found for him.

  “I would think so. To the lobby, anyway. Gus hand-delivered the money to me. There was a letter with it, saying that he’s trying to get a bank loan for the other half of the fifty.”

  “That’ll take him forever to pay off.” And he’s been saving his money for so long.

  “Perhaps.” Dad’s phone chirps in his pocket, but—shockingly—he doesn’t reach for it.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Dad pauses, as if considering my question. “It surprised me. That he would bother paying it back. Some might call it a respectable act.”

  “Oh, so what are you saying? That you like Kyle now?”

  “Far from that.” Dad snorts. “Paying me back fifty grand to try to get back into your good graces that are worth a thousand times more would be a smart move, and he’s not a stupid guy.”

  “And that’s what you assume he’s doing? That he can’t possibly just be in love with me for me?” Maybe that’s what hurts most about all this—the thought that Kyle has been manipulating me all along. That I bought everything he was selling to me like a love-struck fool.

  Dad’s eyes wander over the evening horizon—a sky painted with pale pinks and golden yellows and hints of mauve, the promise of another hot summer day tomorrow. “No, I’m quite certain that is not the case,” he admits with reluctance, then sighs. “He was just a nervous boy, that day Greta put him through to my office line, when he was looking for money to help his friend’s family. I could hear the shake in his voice.” He smirks. “But the kid had guts, I’ll give him that.” The smirk falls off as quickly as it came. “And maybe I should have handled things differently. But I was shocked at first, that the little shit would have the balls to contact me. And angry. I assumed it was a shakedown. That’s why I told him off instead of listening. And then, when he brought you into it, when he threatened to reach out to you if I didn’t pay . . . well, I lost my temper. You were already going through enough, with the divorce. You seemed to be on the cusp of finally getting over that summer, going out with friends again. I didn’t want him back in your life. I wanted that messy summer over with. That’s why I agreed to help the Vetter family out, on the condition that he disappeared from our lives for good. And I didn’t ever want to see him again.” My dad’s lips twist with disdain. “And then the bastard shows up on my doorstep holding your hand last night. Imagine my surprise over that. What a set of balls.”

  I sigh. “I didn’t know about any of this.”

  “Because I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want that accident hanging over your head for the rest of your life, especially for a boy you worked with one summer, and I knew you’d feel responsible.”

  Aren’t I, though? I supplied us—Eric—with so much alcohol that day. Far too much. Maybe I do deserve part of the blame for how badly he got hurt. A hollow ache fills my chest.

  “So, you helped Eric, right?” There’s a hint of a threat in my tone. If he didn’t, I’ll never forgive him.

  “I did.” He studies his wrinkled hands. “It seemed like a smart move to head off any problems, in case they figured out who you were and were desperate enough to try to sue us.”

  I roll my eyes. “How charitable of you.” Would the Vetters do something like that? Likely not, but stranger things have happened in the court of law.

  “Deny it all you want, but I’ve dealt with too many of those types of people in my life to try to pretend they don’t exist. But the Vetters . . . they aren’t like that, at all.” A wry smile touches his lips. “His father reminded me of your mother’s dad. He refused my money at first.”

  “How’d you get him to take it?”

  “I went to his wife. At least she could see reason. They were going to go bankrupt, and then what good would they be to the boy once he got out of the hospital? So, I cleared their debt and helped renovate their house to accommodate him. Paid for a few other things.”

 
“That sounds like more than a hundred grand.”

  “It was.” His eyes narrow on the patio stones. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve lain in bed, thinking that it could have been you tumbling down that hill.”

  I sigh. He’s making it really difficult to stay angry with him. “How bad is it, Dad?”

  Instead of answering, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a slip of paper. He hands it to me. It’s an address in Pennsylvania. “I’ve made sure he has everything he needs over the years.”

  “Except his friends,” I mutter bitterly. Does Eric wonder why Ashley and I haven’t visited?

  Will he even remember us?

  I guess I’ll find out soon enough. “I’m going to see him as soon as I can. Tomorrow, if I can catch a flight.”

  “Take the corporate jet. I won’t be using it until late next week.” Dad stands and, slipping his hands into his pockets, wanders over to the edge of the patio, to study the city below. This rooftop penthouse offers a sublime view. I was surprised that he didn’t move in himself when it became available. “I’m retiring at the end of the year.”

  It takes me a moment to process his words, to make sure I heard them correctly. I couldn’t have, could I? The formidable Kieran Calloway, talking about retirement? And in the next six months? Despite my anger with him, panic strikes me. “Are you sick?”

  He chuckles. “No, quite the contrary. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. It’s something I’ve been giving a lot of thought to lately, since your mother and I reconnected a few months ago. I’ve worked hard all my life, and now it’s time to be with her. To travel with her and eat meals with her. Do all the things she wanted me to do—begged me to do—for years but I couldn’t make time for.” He studies his bare left ring finger. “I don’t want to screw this up again.”

  He has seemed happier, lighter, these past months. “I don’t know what to say,” I finally manage. “I guess I thought you’d stick around to see the Waterway through.”

  “I don’t plan on dying anytime soon,” he mutters wryly. “But that project is years from completion. And I know you can handle it.”