by Liz Crowe
Mutual Release
By
Liz Crowe
Mutual Release (Stewart Realty #7)
Copyright © 2013 by Liz Crowe
Cover Art and Design by Mina Carter
Dear Readers ~
A book like this takes a lot of emotional energy. But because of the propping up and general rah-rah’s you can do-it’s from many, it is now ready for public consumption.
Huge thanks as always to my family for eating cereal and keeping the Domino’s pizza guy in tip money during the many stages of writing, editing, proofing and weeping-slash-wailing over various issues.
A shout goes out to my “street team” for continuing to help me build the buzz – you know who you are.
Many thanks to the fellow authors who keep me grounded and have no problem smacking me around when I start whining too much (Katalina Leon, you rock most especially).
Thanks to all the reviewers and bloggers and authors who have discovered their inner Liz Fan and for the posts, tweets and other cool and supportive stuff you do for me.
Muchas gracias to my main yahoo peeps, Romance Books 4 Us, an amazing group of authors, readers, reviewers and publishers that is a total “prop up” sort of place for me.
Oh, yeah, and to Susan for saying “hey your next book should be called Mutual Release” and who is living out her own, well-deserved romance novel as we speak.
Brava to all the editors who had a hand forming this story into what it is.
And of course a giant standing-O for my publisher without whose guidance, reassurance and general “get over yourself” moments there would be no Stewart Realty series at all.
But most of all THANK YOU READER! Now, enjoy Evan and Julie’s story. I very much enjoyed bringing it to life. And I’m taking memberships for the New Team Evan right about…now!
Cheers,
Liz
March 11, 2013
Contents
Cover Page
Author’s Note
Table of Contents
Part I:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part II:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part III:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part IV:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Other Titles
About the Author
Part I: Evan
Chapter One
Evan dropped his soccer bag on the laundry room floor and stripped out of his soaking wet kit, stuffed it all into the washing machine, and tossed in detergent before dragging a clean pair of jeans out of the dryer. His mom had trained her children well. She took reluctantly to the stay-at-home thing, inside the large house where he grew up in a wealthy suburb of Detroit. And her resentment sometimes manifested itself in fits of over-the-top organization, as if she had something to prove.
Those days the house fairly bristled with aggressive homemaker energy. But they always ended up balanced out with long stretches of pure chaos – like the days the family had to use the laundry room as a closet because the clean clothes stayed in a tumble on the floor. Or when she got caught up with a new craft club and the study would become a messy catch-all room for scrapbook paraphernalia. It made for a lot of tiptoeing around for Evan and his twin sister. But she demanded her kids clean up after themselves, especially when it involved either stinky ballet wear from Olivia or his own various athletic gear. So they did, or risk a long, arduous guilt trip.
He could hear his father’s voice, then his sister’s, as they had their usual arguments about, in no particular order, her weight, her grades, and her newfound smart mouth. Evan rolled his eyes as he pushed the start button on the washing machine before grabbing a towel for his hair. He wandered into the kitchen ignoring them both, and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl before putting a kiss on his mother’s upturned cheek.
“How was practice?” She handed him a fresh green bean from the pile on the counter. Evan allowed himself to relax, sensing she was in neutral mode today, which was a relief. He had no energy for any family drama.
“Soaking wet,” he said around bites of food. His stomach grumbled loud enough to make his father turn from his tirade. Olivia stuck her tongue out at him behind his back, making his mother frown. “Excuse me,” he said, grabbing a couple more beans. “Need a shower.”
“Evan, can I get a ride later?” Olivia said before pulling a heavy sweater over her bony frame. “To the studio.”
“Fine.” He glanced at his parents to monitor their reactions. He knew Olivia was getting ready for an important audition. They all believed she would get a callback for the prestigious ballet school that had sent out a panel of judges to the performing arts school she attended. Their father was against it on general principle, worried, with good reason, that Olivia would make the cut and end up in New York. Their mother was indifferent or at least appeared to be, as usual, lukewarm about anything related to his sister. Olivia had picked up on their mother’s ambivalence and spun it into an annoying refrain of “she always loved you better anyway’s,” that he fielded a lot from her lately.
His father usually stayed above the fray, so far above as to be substantively absent. Or at least was considered a benevolent deity they all turned to as supplicants when money was required. Evan could not wait to get away from them all, although he regretted how far apart he and Olivia had grown.
When neither parent spoke, he shrugged and headed upstairs just as the phone rang. He listened to his mother answer it, half-hearing the early murmurings of conversation, then stopped dead in his tracks at the top of the steps when he heard, “Oh no! When?” His mother never spoke above a civilized tone, no matter the crisis. He clattered back down the stairs and into the kitchen, heart in his throat.
His mother stood, hand over her mouth, shaking her head at whatever was being said. She handed the phone to his father without a word and sat, eyes dry, but face set in serious lines. Evan took her hand and willed her to speak. His sister remained standing apart, her usual location, simply watching them as if she had nothing to do with what was going on in the room.
By the time his father hung up the phone, Evan was convinced something horrible had happened to either his grandparents or his
Uncle Jeff, or maybe all of them at once. His father sighed. “So now what?” his mother asked, voice heavy as she stared at the table.
“Would somebody tell me what is going on? Please?” Evan glared at them but didn’t forget his manners. Olivia kept the privacy barrier she’d built around herself firmly in place, staying apart from the drama in body language and attitude.
His mother put her hand on his. “It’s Carol. The cancer… it finally took her.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” He sat back, his mind reeling. Carol was his mother’s childhood best friend. They’d attended college together, but she’d moved to England when she married some British guy she’d met right before the women graduated. Evan had met her once or twice but hardly knew her at all. “Sorry, Mom.” He started to stand and stretch, relief coursing through him, his mind already on a stack of homework and the girl he’d been flirting with in chemistry class. He’d even started mentally counting the days until he could leave here, move away from the quiet dysfunction they all masked with energy and apparent abundance.
“So are we supposed to take him?” his father asked, making Evan turn, curious but no longer really concerned. Olivia had already opened her math book and was sipping hot chocolate while she worked.
“Yes, I told her I would, Lee, remember? I promised I’d look after him.”
“Jesus, Amanda, what in the hell are we supposed to do with…”
Evan narrowed his eyes, recalling Carol’s husband had left her four years ago, when she’d discovered the lump in her breast, high-tailing it down to the Bahamas with a secretary or some shit. And that she had a son.
His mother rose to her feet, never taking her eyes from Evan’s father. The hardcore determination he saw there was a description many people used when talking about his mother. He’d seen it enough himself, but more lately mixed in with a melancholy anger that could swiftly morph into fury directed at him, but more often at Olivia.
He quickly realized what was about to happen. His mother had a new project. Something she could focus on – saving the son of her dear friend. What he didn’t know was how significantly it would alter everything he knew about himself. Or about an evil that lurked in the souls of so many boys, disguising itself as strength until revealed for what it was.
“Evan, honey, come down! We’re home!”
He groaned and stood, rubbing his eyes and wishing this whole mess would disappear. A new family member, son of his mother’s friend, the eighteen-year-old Damian Slate, was coming to live with them – indefinitely. His father’s efforts on the legal side had netted the kid an emergency visa to live in the U.S. with Evan’s parents as guardians. The boy’s father had signed off without even commenting. Evan supposed he should feel sorry for him, getting more or less tossed away by his own father on the heels of his mother’s death. Evan’s mother had forced at least that much empathy down his throat.
She’d been stuck in manic gear for the last few weeks organizing and decorating a guest room for their new family member. Insisting everyone pitch in and help out and feel honored they got to do such an important thing for a poor unfortunate young man. Evan knew the signs, though. And once she swung back the other way, dropping into the flip side of her personality as she always did, that kid, whoever he was, would be on his own. And Evan had no intention of picking up the slack when that happened. He had enough to do already and was determined to stay apart from this whole mercy mission.
Olivia appeared in the doorway of his room. Evan frowned at the sight of her. She was too thin. But he knew better than to say anything. She was ballet-obsessed and had been from the time she could walk. And that meant she had to be slender and fit; he understood that. But in the last few months, since they’d begun the last half of their senior year, she’d dropped so much weight it alarmed him. Her long brown hair was wet; her tall frame covered in baggy sweats and one of his soccer shirts.
“Why do you insist on wearing my stuff?” He tugged at the shirt from some random tournament his team had won years ago. “I was, like, ten years old when I got this – you’re nearly eighteen. Don’t you think it’s weird that it fits you? Jesus.”
She flopped onto his bed and tucked her feet underneath his blanket. Evan smiled at the sight of her, comfortable in his space. They’d been born with their umbilical cords in a tangle. Olivia’s oxygen supply had been limited for long enough doctors had been pessimistic about her chances after a traumatic birth. They’d spent almost nine months sharing a small space and a blood supply and were so close as babies and toddlers his mother liked to tell the story of his figuring out how to climb out of his crib and into Olivia’s. She’d given up trying to keep them separate when they slept until they were nearly six years old.
He still enjoyed her company, most days, but her newfound craving for extreme privacy and close-mouthed attitude about her desire to get into this stupid ballet school pissed him off – he dreaded the thought of her leaving, moving away from him, even though it would complete the cycle she’d begun by withdrawing emotionally for the last few months. She was part of him, always had been, and he wanted her to open up and really talk to him again. Her hazel eyes were noncommittal, however – their usual state these days.
He leaned in the doorway of his room, listening to his mother bustle around downstairs, chattering like the class-A small-talker she was, trying to put the new kid at ease, as he observed Olivia. While they were fraternal twins, they had looked very much alike as babies and small children. When they hit puberty, her hair had darkened to a chestnut brown, while his remained just a shade darker than blond, and her recent weight loss had given her skin an unhealthy pallor. He worried about her, but Evan always worried – that was his burden, he figured. And one he didn’t really mind, since Olivia was so distant, ephemeral even, floating through life barely making a dent in the air, much less committing to emotions not directly related to her own needs. It must balance out the universe somehow, that he got to be the one who was more grounded.
“We got a new brother, eh?” She stared at him.
“So it would seem,” he muttered, willing her to say more to actually converse with him. But she just sighed and looked down at her battered toes.
“Better go meet him. She’s gonna yell for you again…”
“Evan!” his mother called up the steps, right on cue.
He smiled, kissed Olivia’s hair, and held out a hand. “Come with me,” he said.
“No, I’m good. She doesn’t want me, anyway.”
“Only because you won’t talk to her.” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”
He started out his bedroom door, looked back in time to see his sister’s eyes swimming with tears. Sighing, he kept going down the steps, then turned left into the living room where his mother sat holding a cup of tea and looking across the room, a hopeful smile on her face. He would never understand women. He just knew it. Not if his experience with the first two in his life was any indication. But just as his thoughts started to drift towards the pretty blond girl he was trying to work up the nerve to ask out, he was jarred back to the present by the sight of his new housemate – no, family member, if his mother’s insistence on this detail were to be heeded.
Damian Slate held his own cup of tea, the corners of his full lips turned up in what Evan would come to recognize as the smile Damian used when he was mocking everyone around him.
“Hello.” He held out a hand. “I’m Evan.”
The other boy rose, his movements graceful, smooth, as if practiced. He put on an approximation of a sincere grin and gripped Evan’s hand, hard. Evan tried not to gape at the kid’s amazing physical perfection. Steely gray eyes twinkled under a mop of thick blond hair flopping over his forehead. The span of his shoulders and six-foot, three-inch height gave Evan pause to square the fact that the guy looked like he could be twenty-five but was supposedly eighteen, only a few months older than Evan and Olivia. Damian could have stepped right out of the pages of some magazine ad
for “preppy perfection,” clad in garb that was aggressively “American” between the light-blue jeans, glaring white Stan Smith sneakers, and yellow Izod Lacoste shirt.
“Hullo. I’m Damian, but you probably knew that already.” He shrugged and put the tea mug down before sticking his hands in his pockets.
Evan couldn’t place why, but the uneasiness that had been building in his chest blossomed into something he considered near panic. He glanced at his mother, whose rapt gaze had never wavered from her new ward’s face. He would swear on a stack of Bibles the words “Isn’t he dreamy?” were passing through her brain. He shivered, the chill catching him off guard. He narrowed his eyes and tried to sort through the mix of emotions gripping him, while Damian stood there, sucking up all the energy in the room.
“Thanks for all of this, Aunt Mandy. Truly.” The boy glanced over Evan’s shoulder, his face a mask of sincerity, tossing Evan’s mother a bone that set his teeth on edge. The manipulation skills Damian possessed and would display in coming years were impressive. She blushed, embarrassing Evan on her behalf. “I miss her so much,” the boy fake-whispered. Evan glared at the guy as he watched what he somehow knew were bullshit crocodile tears form in Damian’s eyes.
