by Robin Lovett
“Tighter,” she whispers.
My eyes fall closed in relief, and I do as she asks and as I want—I hold her as tight as I can. It warms my heart so much it’s like she’s reached inside me. It’s thrilling and liberating. And scary as a trip to hell. How is this possible? How did this happen? When did I start to feel things for this person in my arms that I never thought I was capable of?
My lips in her hair, I murmur, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I hold her, feeling her breathe against me, wondering in her allowing me to feel her against me. “What’s happening to us?”
She shakes her head and burrows her face in my shirt. “Let’s not analyze it.” She backs away and, holding my hand, leads me to the couch. “Sit with me.”
I do, and it’s so easy, sitting next to her, her hand in mine. “Is this what normal people do?”
She laughs, and I’m transfixed by the sound. “Yeah,” she says. “Normal people sit and hold hands.”
“I didn’t think I could do that.”
She smiles. “I didn’t think you could either.”
The usual pull is still there, to peel away her clothes and bury myself inside her, but I couldn’t take it now. Just touching her hand is overwhelming me.
I stare at her face, which is glowing, no trace of the fear and anguish I’ve seen so much. There’s a new relaxation, a calm. She takes a deep breath. “I know tomorrow’s the day I was supposed to get you the money.”
The words jumble in my head. Money? That’s right. I’m supposed to care about that. I don’t anymore.
She goes on, “If by Monday Blake still won’t fork it over, I’ll hire another lawyer to get it from him. He’ll have to cave then. Is that okay?”
I stare at her hands, not knowing what to say.
She’s so quiet, I hear her breathing. Her fingers caress my cheek and urge me to look at her. “I don’t think I can give you all of it. But I’ll give you some of it, which is the least I should do. For everything that’s happened.”
I want to tell her it doesn’t matter. To tell her I don’t want her money. I want other things from her now, and not the revenge kind of things. The things that grow the new warmth in my chest, I know she feels it too.
But it sticks in my throat, and she speaks before I can. “I need you tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“The fundraiser.”
“Is that some sort of fancy party?”
She nods. “Blake is going and bringing Layla as his date.”
“I’m coming with you.”
She squeezes my hand. “I know.”
“Has he been bothering you?”
Her head falls back against the couch. “Nonstop. Messages, phone calls, showing up at my work.”
“Have you told Layla?”
She shakes her head. “I had lunch with her. But I still haven’t told her.”
I’m worried Penny hasn’t talked about it yet. It was what I wanted: Penny isolated from everyone. But now, the idea of her not having the help of her friends, I can’t fathom it. She deserves better. “You should talk to her.”
“What do I have to say?”
I don’t blame her for not wanting to tell anyone about her father, but she can’t lose her friends. “You have to tell her. Don’t be like me. Don’t bear this alone.”
She doesn’t respond, just stares at my hand.
I brush her cheek. “You need the support of your friends, Penny. Just me isn’t enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Logan yanks on the collar of the suit I gave him like it’s a noose around his neck. Maybe it is. Maybe I’ve trapped him for once the way he’s captured me.
He insists on driving my car but grumbles the whole way. When we arrive, his hand is so tight around mine, I’ll be in big trouble if I try to let go.
And I don’t want to. We cling to each other like the other is our shield against the world, against all the unknown violence and evil. We aren’t alone. We’re together.
The beachside club glistens along the water in extravagant elegance. There’s big money at the party, and not just the jewelry the ladies flash. Table centerpieces two feet high draped in lavish orchids and crystal pendants that I’m praying aren’t real diamonds. What a waste of money that would be.
I’m not sure which he objects to, the fashionable people or the elaborate décor, but Logan stiffens beside me. “What’s this for?”
“It’s a beautiful night out. An excuse to show off how much money we all have to burn.” I finger the lace over the sky blue silk of my cocktail dress. The ravenous stare I got from him made me glad for the dress up occasion—even though I’d rather be at home with him.
“Money that would be better spent going toward the hospital.” He lets me lead him through the tables amidst the crowd. “How long do we have to stay?”
“Long enough for the right people to know I’m here. Once dinner’s over, we can go.” We missed the cocktail hour, most people have already sat for the meal.
I begin to understand why he objects to the extravagance. When posed side by side with women like Nancy Toolen and his sister, women who need real help, it is a waste.
I find one of the more congenial board members, Monique Williams, a younger woman whose conversation won’t bore me too badly and whose questions shouldn’t be too invasive.
“Penny, I’m so glad you made it.” She gives me a half hug, jingling the diamonds hanging from her ears to her shoulders. “We’ve missed you on the planning committee. But I know things have been hard lately.”
Another reason why I didn’t want to come, and why I need Logan with me. Every person here is going to be offering condolences for my father. A death that I’m growing less mournful and closer to grateful for. I don’t know how to handle this. How do I accept sympathy for the death of a man when it’s good for all the women who knew him that he’s gone?
I inhale to say something fake, polite, autopilot.
But Logan interrupts me. “Well, she got married, so things are looking better.” He holds out his hand and introduces himself as my husband.
“You got married?” Surprise replaces Monique’s sincerity. “That’s . . . oh my.” She’s wondering what everyone else here will be wondering: Why wasn’t she invited? “Did I miss something?”
He saves me from an awkward answer. “It was a spur of the moment thing, but we’re very happy.” He brings me next to him with an arm around my waist, “Isn’t that right?” and kisses the top of my head.
I’m delirious with his display of affection, and how much he’s changed from a week ago. The only word I form is the one he’s practiced with me over and over. “Yes.”
Monique’s brows draw together, like she wants to say more, but my brother barges between us.
Blake whispers in my face, “Finally.” He pulls on my shoulders, trying to break me away from Logan.
Logan forces a hand in the center of Blake’s chest, not a shove, but a warning. “Back off.”
“I can’t believe you brought him.” Blake scoffs. “He shouldn’t be here.”
I grasp Logan’s hand. “He belongs where I belong. The faster you learn that the better.”
An announcer’s voice comes from the podium, urging us to take our seats. Monique, politely pretending the situation isn’t awkward, says, “There are seats at my table.”
I’m about to accept when Layla appears behind Blake. She eyes Logan in the tailored suit I bought him, and she mouths to me, “Yum.”
I smile with pride. Though he’s uncomfortable and stiff in the formal clothes, they show off his perfectly proportioned shoulders with the V to his waist like no T-shirt and shorts ever could.
Layla is stunning in a crimson strapless dress that displays the sexy delicacy of her collarbone and ample curves of her cleavage. “Penny, sit with us. At the front.”
I glance from Layla to Monique. Layla’s not being cyni
cal or judgmental, she wants me to sit with her. But she’s here with Blake, and I don’t want to sit with him.
I glance at Logan, who gives no answer, waiting for me to decide.
“Please. I miss you.” Layla bites her lip. She’s trying to be gentle, curbing her usual insistence.
“Only if he behaves.” I point to Blake.
“He will.” Logan stares at my brother, who stands stiff as a board with muscles bunching like a bear ready for combat.
Blake growls and turns the other way. I turn to thank Monique for her offer, but she’s already left, moving away from my family altercation. Just as well.
I follow Blake and Layla to their table. Logan trails me, his hand on my back, asserting his presence behind me.
I sink into his touch, taking more comfort than I should from having him near me. I’m not alone.
At the table, Layla tries to sit next to me, but Logan forces himself between us.
When I protest, he says, “I want you away from Blake.”
I glance at my brother on the other side of Layla. He fumes from his seat, staring at Logan like he doesn’t care if there are a hundred people here. Nothing will stop him from beating Logan when the opportunity comes.
But Layla, as fearless as ever, sits next to my brother and seems unaware or doesn’t care that he’s a ticking anger bomb. I have to warn her.
“Layla, I have to go to the ladies’ room. Want to come along?”
Her eyes brighten like she’d hoped I would ask. “Definitely.”
I stand, but Logan backs out his chair, blocking my way. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Are you okay here alone with him?” I nod toward my brother.
He ignores my question. “Do you want me to come with you?” His brows furrow with such seriousness, it’s almost cute. His proprietary need to protect me is unexpected but welcome.
It’s a first to have someone who wants to protect me for me, and not the perfect image of me, the fake impression I feed to the world.
I kiss his cheek. “It’s just to the bathroom with Layla. I’ll be fine.”
The tension in his face doesn’t lessen, but he lets me pass.
Layla and I weave through the tables and the waiters delivering trays of food. Luckily the restroom is empty.
I turn to her in the sitting room area. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.” She sits on a little couch and pats the seat next to her. “We need to talk about Logan.”
“We need to talk about Blake.”
“Blake? What about him?”
I sit beside her. “Why are you here with him? Please tell me this isn’t a date with my brother.”
“Never mind about that.”
“I do mind. You have to stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”
Her look of tolerance morphs to disgust. “I can’t believe you.”
“What?”
“You’re such a hypocrite, and you have no idea. You’re living with a man who is at least psychologically abusing you, if not physically. And you have the balls to sit here and—”
“I know you don’t like Logan. I know things with him look really sketchy, but you have to believe me. He’s not hurting me.”
“He’s using you for money! The guy is manipulative as hell.”
“It may have started that way, but it’s changed.”
Her eyes widen. “You admit it? He’s after you for money!”
“Well.” I scratch my head. Here it is. I didn’t want to reveal all, but Logan’s right. I need to tell her. “He has a good reason.”
“A good reason?” She laughs, bitterly. “There’s no possible good reason for—”
I look around. No one’s here. They’re all eating dinner. “My father raped his sister.”
“What?”
“It was years ago, but it happened multiple times. She tried to turn him in to the police but she died before her case was brought to trial.” I leave out the part where she was very probably murdered. I don’t want to overwhelm her.
“That explains everything.” Her eyes light up, not with shock or revulsion like I worried. More with excitement. “It’s lies. He wants your money.”
It cuts me to have her not believe this thing that’s been a source of so much pain for me. But it’s a mere taste of what it’s been like for Logan. “It happened. There’s too much truth in it. He showed me evidence.”
She shakes her head. “I would’ve seen it in my investigations if there were records of a criminal case.”
“Investigations?”
“Blake’s had me looking into Logan for him. We’ve been trying to figure out who he is.”
“You’ve been investigating my husband?” I can’t hide my outrage.
I have to defend him. I can’t allow her to think badly of him. He may have problems, he may have a talent for bitterness, but the more I learn of him, the more I believe that he is not a manipulative man but a brave man. He’s dedicated his life to seeking justice for the violence done to his sister. I wish I could be so brave if something like that happened to my mother.
“He’s a scared man who lost his sister to a violent death when he was young.”
She scoots closer. “There’s more to him.”
My life has been filled with lies and for the first time I’m actually getting some truth. I won’t let her take it away from me. “You may think you know him, but you don’t.” I stand and get as far as my hand on the door.
“Penny.” The sadness in her voice makes me pause. “You’ve known him two weeks.”
My stomach clenches. Has it only been two weeks? It feels like a lifetime.
She stays sitting, her bent posture defeated. “I’ve known you eleven years. That must count for something.”
“It does count for something. And I believe that you’re telling me the truth as you know it. But you don’t have all the information.”
“He hasn’t told you everything. He’s not an innocent man. You cannot stay with him.” The ache in her voice is the opposite of what I wish it was. It would be easier if she were angry and unreasonable like my brother, but she’s genuine. She cares. She’s worried about me.
And she’s my best friend. She knows everything about me. Or did. Until two weeks ago. Because of Logan and all the ways he’s upended my life.
She walks to me. “Please. At least ask him if there’s anything he hasn’t told you.”
“I will. But will you promise to be careful with Blake? His anger at Logan is making him crazed.”
“He’s worried for you.”
“Too much.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She’s been gone way too long. I finish my food and some speakers line up at the podium, getting ready to spout some time-to-give-up-your-cash motivation.
I’m surrounded by rich people, and my protective instinct for Penny is on high alert near her brother. We need out.
I untie my tie and put it in my pocket. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.
The man who’s been side-eyeing me from two seats over, the hulking man Penny calls brother—someone from the podium calls his name and he gets up to a round of applause. I nearly leap from my seat to follow him.
But I stop myself. He’s going to a podium to do some rich people talk. He’s no danger to Penny up there. I glance in the direction she left in, ready to go search for her, but she and Layla are walking back toward the table. Finally.
Blake begins his speech in short but formal phrases. For such an angry man, he covers it for the crowd with stiffness and abruptness. He’s direct, which I would respect, if he wasn’t such a loose cannon around Penny.
I expect him to mention his father and how this hospital wouldn’t be here without him. Others have mentioned “the sadness of Malcolm Vandershall’s passing,” but Blake does not. He devotes his two minutes to someone else.
“My mother.” Blake looks down, unable to look at the crowd. “Led a pain-filled life. One I wanted to, but wa
s unable, to save her from, and this hospital is—”
Pain-filled? What about his mother’s life was painful? She died tragically. That much her hospital records showed. No woman wants to die giving birth, but it happens. The way he says it, though, makes me wonder something I’ve never thought of before.
His mother was married to his father. She couldn’t have been safe from him. Do Blake and I have something in common? Was his mother’s life ripped apart by his father the same as my sister’s was? I glance at Penny, who has stopped halfway to the table.
She turns her stare from her brother to me, and the horror on her face matches my realization. We never thought of it, but it makes sense. Penny’s mother couldn’t have escaped her father.
I go to Penny, her face paling.
Blake finishes his speech and applause breaks as I reach her. “Do you want to leave?” I whisper.
I touch her shoulder and she leans into me. “Yeah.”
Behind her, Layla asks, “What’s wrong?”
I brush her aside so we can pass. “It’s time for us to go home.”
Layla follows us. “But why? Penny, are you feeling okay?”
Not stopping, I rush Penny faster, hoping Layla will give up, but she doesn’t. We reach the grand foyer of the club, the giant chandeliers overhead, one set of doors leading to the oceanfront, the other onto the parking lot.
“Penny!” Blake shouts from behind us.
I press her forward. “Don’t stop.”
But she ignores me and turns to face her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He stops, fury making his shoulders taut. “Tell you what?” His voice echoes through the hall, and the few people standing around stare.
Penny shouts back, “He hurt her!”
“Hurt her? What—who are you talking about?” He’s stuttering, faking. He knows exactly what she’s asking, and he’s been hiding it from her for her whole life.
She steps forward, confronting him, getting far closer than I like. “‘Her pain-filled life’? She wasn’t sick. Why was she in pain, Blake?”
