So many things were wrong with this picture that had we had the presence of mind to stop for a second we wouldn’t have continued. But we were running on instinct, a neediness that outweighed the logistics of the outside world. In that moment, there was nothing but the two of us. There was no party raging below us, no Matthew stealing cars and roaming the streets of the city in a drunken - and God only knew what else - stupor. There was only us and we could control that. For that brief period of time, everything else fell away and I could feel nothing but the pleasure that came with him being inside of me.
When it was over, we laid in each other’s arms, silent. I grabbed his hand, lacing my fingers between his and squeezing as tightly as I could. He returned the gesture, only breaking away from the contact when his cell rang.
Chris rushed over to the dresser, answering the call right before it would have switched over to voicemail. I remained on the bed, frozen in a strange combination of postcoital bliss and abject terror. I had no clue who was on the other end of the line and Chris wasn’t saying much to give me a hint. When he did speak, he turned his back to me and conversed softly - as if he didn’t want me to hear and draw my own conclusions. Like he was shielding me from the truth until he could package it in a way that I could swallow.
“That was my mother,” he said finally, after he had hung up and spent a few agonizing minutes composing himself. “She just got a visit from the police. They found my car. And your brother.”
Chapter Thirteen
Saturdays were the worst. This was Lauren and Matthew’s scheduled alone time, third wheels not invited. So no matter how occupied the two of them kept me during the rest of the week, I was always on my own the first day of the weekend. I found this caused me to dread them much like most normal people denounced Sunday nights or Monday mornings.
It was odd how much I had gone from being accustomed to being alone to hating the thought of returning home to an empty house. For the most part, I spent the majority of Saturday at my shop, fiddling with sketching ideas or sewing pillows or curtains or something. As long as I kept myself busy I was golden. It was when I tired of work that things got sticky.
At least now I had the upcoming wedding to concern myself with. I had thrown myself into planning out the most minute of details, flipping through bridal magazines and dog-earring pages, searching for inspiration on the internet. Of course the final say was always up to Lauren, but she was pretty laid back about the whole thing. In fact, she was so laid back about it that they hadn’t even selected a date yet. With that large piece missing from the equation, it was a bit difficult and pointless to go too far with setting things in motion. Which in turn led me to being more of a bridezilla than she was about matters.
As annoying as her nonchalance was, I also admired it. Here was a couple who was so happy with things the way that they were that the details and finalization of things was relatively unimportant. In all honesty, they were living out their lives as a married couple anyway. The ceremony was just a formality.
A part of me hoped that they would have the longest engagement in recorded history, just so I wouldn’t have to see Chris again.
His Thanksgiving day visit still haunted me. I was mad at him for coming over in the first place, but more angry at myself for the way I’d acted. I’d had my opportunity to set things straight between us, to tell him the things he needed to know and I’d chickened out. What was I afraid of? Things couldn’t get any worse between the two of us; even if he’d been upset with me the end result would have been the same. It wasn’t like we were best friends now.
I’d toyed with the idea of calling him. I knew for a fact that he still had the same cell number that he’d had when we were dating. The number was ingrained in my memory; I could have dialed it in my sleep. Of course, I also had the same number and he’d not made any attempt to reach me. We were both being stupid. Or we were honing our survival instincts, whatever.
No, it was better if we had no contact at all up until the wedding. Our past wasn’t going to ruin the biggest day in Matthew and Lauren’s lives. We could be adults and be in the same room as one another as it stood now. But if he knew the truth, that outcome was doubtful. Chris needed to be there for my brother and I needed to be there for both of them. Better to act like we barely knew each other than to stand across from one another with the pain of a fresh, raw wound brutally evident on both of our faces. The wedding pictures would turn out horribly if that were the case.
Out of habit, I ended up at the same bar I’d gone into on Thanksgiving. I’d not had a one night stand since that evening and I was obviously lonely enough to partake in another. I took a seat in a booth way back in the corner, positioning myself so that I could survey the entire layout.
As I’d expected, a single girl dressed to the nines garnered quite a bit of attention. I knew most guys found me attractive; it was the Snyder family blessing or curse, depending upon how you looked at it. Tonight, I’d played it up to the hilt. The shirt I wore was tight and low cut, revealing an ample amount of cleavage. My hair was worn curly, piled high upon my head in a messy, stylish updo that looked simple but had taken about an hour to perfect. My makeup was equally impeccable. What could I say? I’d been bored out of my mind.
The drink in front of me was more of a prop than anything else. I didn’t completely abstain from alcohol after Matthew’s legal issues, but it wasn’t like I was a big partier either. Besides, I needed to keep my wits about me. Being falling down drunk led to getting into bad situations. I was already playing with fire - I enjoyed the thrill of danger, but at the same time, wasn’t so self-deprecating that I intended to get burnt.
I rummaged in my purse and produced my phone, playing with it as if it were the most intriguing thing on the planet. I’d invented this game and it always worked to perfection. Eventually, my indifference would attract attention from just the kind of guy I was looking for.
Within about ten minutes, I felt a pair of eyes on me. Still clutching my phone, I looked up slightly to find an attractive enough man staring in my general direction. My eyes fluttered back to the screen in front of me and I pretended to be engrossed in whatever I was looking at. A couple seconds later, I looked up again. Our eyes met and I gave a small smile.
Not more than thirty seconds passed before he crossed the bar and headed over to me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
I stared up at him, appraising him from a closer view. Blondish brown hair, possibly green eyes, just about six feet tall. Maybe a couple years older than me, at most thirty-five. He didn’t look like too much of a scumbag; this one I could handle.
I shrugged. “I guess it is now.”
He slid into the seat across from me and set his beer down on the table. “I’m Dan, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Michelle.”
I took a drink of my own beer to compose myself after lying. I never used my real name and didn’t ever have a plan for what alias I would be; I just said the first thing that came to mind. Tonight’s wasn’t a bad choice.
“Michelle,” he repeated, voicing the syllables like it was something exotic, “that’s a pretty name for a beautiful girl.”
I blushed like he expected me to, secretly wondering if he would like me better if he knew I was really named Blake. “Thank you.”
“So what are you doing here all alone on a Saturday night?”
Wasn’t that the million dollar question?
“Having a drink.”
He laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. The guy was laying it on thick. This meant that he was probably as hard up for attention as I felt. He wasn’t going to be a challenge.
“I can’t believe that someone like you has to sit all alone in a bar.”
“I guess I could have grabbed a twelve pack at the grocery and gone home instead.”
Another laugh. “So what’s your story?”
I shrugged. “I’m single. Last time I looked it
wasn’t a crime.”
“Just so happens that I’m single, too. Must be our lucky night.”
I took another drink, choking down the snark that threatened to spill from my lips. No wonder this guy was unattached. He was failing miserably at the hitting on a girl concept, and I had come here looking to get laid. I was about as easy of a mark as he could get.
I had made due with worse, I supposed. But for whatever reason, at that point in time I’d made up my mind that the self-destructive behavior ended here. I couldn’t keep super-imposing my memories of Chris upon random men and pretend I was making love to him. I couldn’t keep lying about who I was and what I’d done. I couldn’t keep using sex as a weapon, a means to an end. The thrill of the prowl was exhilarating, but the crash downward was paralyzing.
“Good luck with that, then,” I said dismissively. I swallowed down the last of my beer and slammed the bottle on the table before me, a not-so-subtle clue that I was done here.
The look of disappointment on his face was priceless. “But I thought we were hitting it off,” he protested.
“Just being nice, Dan. Truth is, I don’t play for your team, if you catch my drift.”
Damn him if that didn’t make me more attractive in his eyes. I prided myself on my off the cuff response, letting him down gently and all. That was a new thing for me; I’d never needed an excuse to get myself out of a potential hookup.
“Well, then, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he replied. The way that he looked at me before rising to leave suggested that if I did find what I was looking for, he’d be more than willing to watch.
“Me, too,” I whispered to his retreating back. “Me, too.”
With a sigh, I collected my coat and purse and walked out to the Miata, my head spinning at the turn of events.
Chapter Fourteen
(Past Tense)
Chris’s mom picked us up from the party, no questions asked. I loved that about her, how she came to our rescue even though she’d likely been scared out of her mind at the police showing up at her front door. Instead of reading us the riot act, she’d calmly greeted us as we piled into the sedan and drove us back to their house for a debriefing.
Matthew had been pulled over less than a mile away from the party. Thankfully, he’d not tried to do anything like fleeing the scene. He might be stupid for getting himself into the same situation twice, but he was obedient. He’d failed the field sobriety test - no big surprise there. When the cops handcuffed him and searched his pockets, they’d found a stash of heavy duty narcotic type painkillers. Of course, they weren’t legally his. As a result, the Civic had been impounded and Matthew had been arrested on a handful of charges.
Since the Civic was registered to Chris, the police had shown up at his house to confirm the story that Matthew had given them about being permitted to drive the car. Fortunately, Chris’s mom had corroborated the lie without being prompted, another thing I loved her for. She knew he was in big enough trouble without an auto theft charge being added to the mix.
Chris was to go down to the police station in the morning and confirm his mother’s account of things. There was no doubt that he would, the initial anger at being had by his best friend quickly replaced with relief that he was - at least physically - safe. We’d be able to get his car back once it was searched and it turned up clean and we could bail Matthew out after he sobered up.
By the time we’d ironed out the details, the hour had grown quite late and Mrs. Taylor insisted that I stay there for the night. Since I wasn’t in any rush to go back to my own house, I agreed. She hurried off down the hall to collect a blanket and pillow in order to make up the couch for me. Even if she suspected that her son and I had been intimate already, it wasn’t like she’d condone us sleeping in the same bed under her roof. And I would have felt weird doing that, anyway.
Surprisingly enough, I settled into sleep rather easily. Before I knew it, Chris was kneeling beside me, gently shaking me awake. I rubbed my eyes and blinked several times to clear my vision. I’d slept in my contacts and the combination of that and the previous evening’s events had left them red and raw.
“What time is it?” I asked groggily.
“Time to take you back home,” he said quietly.
I sat up on the couch and took him in. He’d been up for at least a few minutes; his hair was damp from a shower and he’d dressed in a fresh set of clothes.
I shook my head. “I’m going with you to get Matthew.”
He sighed. “I didn’t say you weren’t. I just figured you’d want to shower and change first yourself. And it’s practically the middle of the night yet, so maybe we can get in and out without your parents noticing.”
Or maybe not. I should have known that my father would be up, waiting for me to sneak in so he could pounce on me. Undoubtedly, I didn’t have to fill him in on the whereabouts of his son; he’d likely been the first to know. I was sure that someone, somewhere had ratted Matthew out. So much for my plan of getting my brother home before all hell broke loose.
I had only made it to the landing of the staircase when Dad stalked out of his office. He greeted Chris politely, then ushered us back into his domain for the interrogation. He closed the french doors behind us so as not to bother my mother and spent a few moments pacing back and forth before finally taking a seat in his oversized leather chair. We sat across the desk from him, much like we’d been called to the principal’s office.
“So I heard about the party,” he began. I knew what he was getting at and was more than annoyed that he expected me to give him my account.
“What about it?”
“Let’s not be cute, Blake. I know what happened.”
“Never said you didn’t.”
“I hope that this puts it all into perspective for you. Some people never learn from their mistakes. Like your brother. With all of the advantages he’s been given in life, he’s chosen to squander each and every one of them. I can’t and I won’t condone that.”
He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair and surveying the two of us. When he seemed convinced that his message had sunken in, he brought out the heavy artillery.
“So if you’ve come to me looking for money to bail him out, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
That had never been my intention, but the harsh reality of his words made my jaw drop just the same. I figured that I had enough funds to cover bail; I wasn’t about to mooch off of him for something I had been responsible in part for setting into motion. I hadn’t exactly expected him to fork over his ATM card with a smile, but I’d been hoping that this little powwow would have involved some strategy. Some reassurance that he would do whatever was in his power to at least soften the blow. A scrap of paper passed across the desk with a phone number for a good DUI lawyer would have been a start, but I could see that wasn’t about to happen.
“How dare you?” I shot back, the venom in my words surprising even me.
Beside me, Chris stiffened. I didn’t need to be on the same wavelength with him to know that he was trying to tell me to cool it down.
Dad, courtroom trained to expect outbursts, simply raised an eyebrow at me and waited.
“You can’t just turn your back on someone when it becomes inconvenient to stand by them. He’s your son, for Christ’s sake. You helped create him. Don’t you care what happens next?”
The blue eyes that stared back at me were ice cold. I didn’t need for him to expound on that glare, but he did anyway.
“He used to be my son.”
The emphasis hung clearly on one phrase. Used to. As in no longer.
“No, you can’t do that.” I shook my head, all the while knowing that he could.
“He’s made his bed and it’s his turn to lie in it. He won’t bring shame to this family again. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to deal with the press when they catch wind of this. I’ve been up all night putting together a statement, distancing the rest of us from him.�
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“You don’t speak for me.” I gripped the arms of the chair until my knuckles turned white, praying for strength, for reconsideration. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chris do pretty much the same. I could tell he wished he could excuse himself and go wait out in the car. Part of me wished I could join him.
Dad laughed, a short staccato sound that spoke volumes about his arrogance. “I suggest you rethink your stance. The world outside these doors is a cold, unforgiving place. I thought I raised you better than that. I thought you appreciated everything that you had. I thought you realized that I can take away just as easily as I can give.”
“And I thought you actually loved me and weren’t just out to buy my affection.”
“Turns out that you’re nothing but a spoiled brat.”
“Turns out that you’re nothing but a giant dick.”
A glimmer of something unexpected shone in his eyes. It resembled pride. What a fucked up family life we must have had if insulting him gave him tidings of comfort and joy.
“I suggest that if you like your life the way it is now,” he drawled, choosing his words carefully, “that you forget you ever had a brother. That you cut all ties completely, starting right now.”
“That will never happen. I’m leaving here and going directly to the jail to bring him back home.”
“This isn’t his home.”
“You know what?” I asked, the hysteria I’d fought off for so long finally creeping into my voice, “I don’t think this is my home, either.”
The words had come out in a rush of anger, before I’d had the chance to think about their true meaning. As I let them settle in, I grabbed my purse from the side of my chair and jammed my hand down into it, rummaging around until I found what I was looking for.
“You don’t mean that, Blake,” Dad countered. “Not with everything I’ve given to you. You couldn’t live without me. You’re nothing more than a kept woman in training. You’ll always need a man beside you to support you and unfortunately the one that you’ve currently chosen won’t be able to pay the cost of your upkeep.”
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