Revenge #4

by JJ Knight

  “Holy f—I mean, wow. I didn’t know about that, I swear.” Shaking my head, I think back to the few things Dylan has said about his wife. “I thought… you said she shot someone? Was that a joke?”

  “The joke was on the kid.” Dylan rubs his chin thoughtfully. “She pulled a gun from the nightstand and shot him. Lucky for him, she was a lousy shot. I took the gun away from her before she could kill him. And so he lived to talk about their plans.”

  “She went to jail?”

  “No. The kid was young. Confused. Kept changing his story.” He leans forward again, leaning across the table.

  “They didn’t press charges?”

  “Not before she died.” His voice dead level, he says, “Her car had a mechanical problem. With the brakes.”

  His dark eyes locked on mine, he presses his lips closed and waits for my reaction.

  My body is frozen. I feel like an enormous weight is pressing against my chest.

  I feel like I’m underwater.

  Drowning.

  Chapter 6

  The air is heavy.

  After Dylan tells me about his past, and the things his wife did, the air around us feels dense.

  My mouth is dry. I wish Dylan hadn’t mentioned the part about his wife’s brakes. Or that he wouldn’t have said it in such a terrifying way. Maybe he didn’t mean for it to sound so menacing.

  I study his face as it moves through a bunch of different expressions, like he’s wrestling with conflicting emotions.

  He must be agitated from visiting traumatic memories.

  I guess this is what people mean when they talk about their demons. I have some unhappy moments in my past, but nothing like what Dylan’s been through. No wonder he freaks out sometimes.

  The waiters come to remove our plates.

  We sit silently until they return with dessert.

  I stare at the fancy pastry before me. This dessert has so many chocolate curls and decorations, it barely looks like food.

  My appetite is long gone. It doesn’t help that now I’m imagining the bloody scene of Dylan being attacked with a knife. That must be how he got the long scar on his back, just under his rib cage.

  “You’re quiet,” he says. “Does that mean we can close this chapter and move on?”

  “Sure.”

  “You know everything now. I’m not holding back. We’re good?”

  I think about it for a few minutes. Something’s bothering me.

  “Dylan, I thought you said you stood by your wife. That she went through a hard time and people turned their backs on her, but you didn’t?”

  He frowns down at his plate. “Do you think it’s possible to believe two completely different truths, at the same time? To believe she was innocent, and also that she wasn’t? Can you imagine holding both of those truths in your heart?”

  “But one is more true than the other, isn’t it?”

  His eyes flick up to mine. “Does wanting to believe something make it less true?”

  “Which one do you want to believe?”

  His eyes relax. He’s looking straight through me, at something far away.

  “I want to believe she didn’t love me,” he says. “Then losing her won’t feel like I’ve been swallowing razor blades for the last two years.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t let it ruin your dessert. The past is done.”

  He waves for me to eat. I bring a chocolate curl to my mouth. It melts without flavor.

  He puts a spoonful of his dessert in his mouth. His eyes close, the thick dark lashes touching his upper cheeks. In this moment, he changes back to his sweet side. The glow of the candle gives him an innocent, angelic quality. My chest aches for him.

  “Thanks for telling me. I can’t even imagine… all that.”

  “You’re sweet and good,” he says. “You’re a trusting soul, because you think everyone’s like you. And you’ve never had a murderous thought.”

  “Don’t be so sure. My sister uses up all the hot water, and I start making plans.”

  He laughs. “Riley? She’s okay, but I don’t know, because she didn’t say much at dinner. If she bugs you, it’s because she’s jealous that you got all the pretty genes. And you do look prettier than ever, in that blue dress. You deserve much better than me.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m here because I like you.”

  He glances around at the other people in the cozy restaurant. There aren’t many couples as young as us. The silver-haired men all have an aura of wealth.

  Looking around, he says, “We are the most interesting couple in here. A future rock star and a future music executive.”

  I lean in toward him, my eyes wide. In a silly voice, I coo, “Oh my God, are you really the Dylan Wolf? Can I have your autograph? I want you to write it here. On my arm. So I can get it made into a tattoo.”

  “Just your arm?” he asks. “I can think of better places on your luscious body to claim as my own. I’ll brand that sweet ass of yours. Both cheeks.”

  I start giggling, in danger of embarrassing us. Heads are turning.

  The waiter returns and looks heartbroken that I’ve barely touched my dessert.

  We both straighten up in our chairs and finish the meal without causing more of a scene.

  It’s dark when we step outside again. Dylan puts his arm around my shoulders and asks if I need a jacket.

  I open my mouth to say no, and it turns into a yawn. A big yawn.

  “You’re tired,” he says.

  “Just full. Plus all that champagne.”

  “I’m going to take you straight home because it’s a school night, young lady.” He taps his finger on my nose in a playful way.

  “It’s still early. I want to hear some of these new songs you’re working on.”

  We’re walking slowly along the sidewalk toward where his car is parked. He drops his arm from my shoulders and looks at me warily.

  “Who told you I was working on new songs?”

  “Um. You did, silly.”

  He grins. “Oh, right. I thought maybe you’d been talking to Q.”

  “Dylan, I told you the truth. I don’t work for him. I don’t even know who he is.”

  “You’re cute.”

  We reach his car and he holds the door open for me.

  Once we’re driving, I hope that he’s going to change his mind and take me to his place. But he drives me to my house and walks me up to the door.

  “Do you want to come in?” I ask.

  He kicks some pebbles off the front step. “I’ve got to get ready for the meeting on Friday. Unless you have some valuable inside information for me, I should go home.”

  I laugh. “Is that all you want from me? Valuable inside information?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and my question hangs in the air. Doubt seeps into my heart. Oh, no. Please say no.

  He looks up, locking my gaze with his beautiful brown eyes. “If you do know anything, you can tell me.”

  A lump forms in my throat. Even if he is using me, I can’t tell him what Nick said. I can’t look into Dylan’s eyes and tell him that his new work is shit. Besides, I haven’t heard any of the songs.

  “Well?” he says.

  “They’re looking for something specific. They want heartbreak.”

  Dylan takes my hands in his.

  “Jess, how can I sing about heartbreak when I’m falling in love?”

  WHAT?

  My lips move, but no words come out.

  He pulls me toward him, closing the space between us. Tenderly, he lowers his lips to mine.

  My lips are numb and awkward.

  He pulls back enough to murmur, “I might already love you,” and then he kisses me again. We kiss for a minute, but I’m nervous. My mouth goes dry and my lips won’t move right.

  I should be happy, but I’m terrified. Everything’s happening so fast. I got some warning from Nick that Dylan might be in love with me, but nothing prepared me for this. And
I didn’t believe Nick anyway.

  Dylan pulls away and lets go of my hands.

  “Sorry to drop so many bombshells on you in one evening. Don’t say a word. I want to remember you like this. You’re a beautiful girl standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re about to spread these amazing wings you have and start to fly. Any minute now.”

  He backs away, grinning and pulling his car keys from his pocket.

  “I’m ready when you are,” he says, and then he turns and gets into his car.

  I wave as he drives away.

  Once the red taillights disappear, I turn and walk numbly into the house.

  Inside, I find my roommates sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Chinese food takeout containers sit empty on the coffee table.

  They both look up at me.

  Amanda’s eyes go wide. “Jess! You look like you saw a ghost. What’s wrong?”

  I point to the window facing the front street. “Dylan kinda said he loves me.”

  Amanda shoves Riley to the end of the sofa and pats the empty space between them. “Details!” she yells.

  Chapter 7

  I’m sitting on the couch between Amanda and Riley. It’s a bit tight for my liking, but I actually don’t mind.

  As much as I get annoyed by Riley, she is family. Having her around is nice sometimes, like now. And I have to admit Amanda’s growing on me.

  “I know that look on your face,” Riley says. “You were stunned like that for weeks after Henry went off to slaughter.”

  Amanda gasps and sounds like she’s going to start crying.

  I turn and tell her, “Henry was a shorthorn steer. Also known as beef.”

  Amanda frowns. “Farm kids are fucking weird.”

  “Thanks.” I pat her leg. Amanda’s family lived in town, but our hometown is pretty small, so it’s not like she’s much more cultured than me.

  “Weird ass farm kids,” she says, repeating herself.

  “Amanda, we all said the exact same thing about you ministers’ kids and pastors’ kids.”

  She wiggles with excitement on the couch. “Back to Dylan. Look into my eyes and say it to me exactly the way he did.”

  Laughing, I turn to her.

  Looking into Amanda’s blue eyes, I say, “How can I sing about heartbreak when I’m falling in love?”

  Behind me, Riley snorts. “That doesn’t count.”

  I turn and face my half-sister. Her brown eyes are scrunched up with doubt.

  “He also basically said I love you. He said that right after.”

  She frowns. “Did you tell him you loved him, too? You barely know the guy. How would you know what love—”

  Amanda interrupts, “Shut your face Riley. You don’t know shit about love. But I’ve been in love five and a half times. Sometimes you know right away.”

  Riley rolls her eyes. “Hooking up is not being in love. Do you love Caleb?”

  “Of course I do,” Amanda replies.

  Riley asks, “Then why do you sleep with other guys? Caleb’s so nice, and he cares about you. Why not be exclusive with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I turn to Amanda and watch her face as she thinks. Does she really not know why she sleeps with other guys? I met Caleb once. He seemed nice. He also reminded me of someone: my best friend, back home.

  She says, “I like Caleb, but we’re just buds.”

  “I totally get that,” I say, nodding to agree with her. “Sometimes nice isn’t enough.” I sigh and lean forward to rest my chin on my hands. “I don’t even know if I would say Dylan’s nice. He’s a lot of things, but that word doesn’t seem right to describe him.”

  The girls both disagree with me, saying Dylan is nice. They ask me to explain what I mean. I guess they only know him from the one dinner, and he was his usual charming self.

  I catch them up on everything that happened tonight.

  How he got angry so fast when I asked him about the photo with Miss Zerobia. How he did mind-blowing things to me in the car. How he took me out for a fancy dinner and spoke French to the waiters. And then… how his wife tried to murder him.

  “Why?” asks Riley. “She must have really hated him. Do you think he was abusing her? Oh, Jess. If he ever hits you, that’s the end.”

  My stomach makes a weird sound that surprises all of us. “French food,” I say, rubbing my stomach. “About his wife… he said it was for money. Like insurance money, I think. She was fucked up, obviously. She was screwing her student. Teacher and student. Isn’t that sick?”

  Riley groans. “Let it go, Jess.” She gets up and stomps out of the room.

  I turn to Amanda and cover my mouth with my hand. “Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about Riley sleeping with my teacher. Please tell her that, will you?”

  “You two need to sort your sister stuff out for yourselves. I’m not getting involved anymore.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls through her messages. “I think I might call Caleb. That story about you and Dylan in his car turned me on, bigtime.”

  I cross my legs, regretting that I told her so many details.

  She’s distracted by her phone, and Riley’s off in a mood. I should go apologize, but I can’t handle any more drama today.

  I retreat into my bedroom. I sit at the wooden desk, staring at my closed laptop. The duct tape holding it together is sticky at the edges and should be refreshed. I pick at the tape. The last thing I should do right now is go online and look for details about Dylan’s wife.

  Yes, it’s the last thing I should do.

  I open the laptop and fire it up.

  It only takes me ten minutes to find the right news stories.

  I read the articles, my stomach knotting up and feeling worse with each awful word.

  The young man who stabbed Dylan, who was known as Brandon at the time, isn’t named. He was a minor at the time. He also changed his testimony within days of a confession to police. He swore that he acted alone, and was obsessed with his teacher. He said he made up the whole story about her putting him up to the stabbing.

  Within a few weeks of the incident, the stories die out.

  I put my hand on the top edge of the screen. The weight of my hand strains the tape and makes the screen flicker. Reading these articles won’t give me answers, just more questions.

  One unvisited link catches my eye. It’s a profile about Susan.

  Dylan was right about the press being quiet about her death. I haven’t read anything yet about her car accident.

  The link calls to me.

  Do I want to see photos of Dylan’s dead wife? In the pictures I’ve seen so far, she’s always hiding her face from the press. Do I want to look?

  No, I don’t want to, but maybe I need to.

  I click the link.

  My heart feels like it stops beating.

  Dylan never mentioned this.

  She’s got dark wavy hair and big brown eyes. She could be a sister to me and Riley.

  I look just like her.

  Chapter 8

  I get to work early so I can ambush Nick.

  He tried to scare me away from Dylan, but he did a lousy job. Why didn’t he show me the photos of the dead wife who looks like me? It might not have changed anything with me and Dylan, but I would have appreciated the heads-up.

  The elevator doors open. I jump from my chair and get ready to blast him.

  To my surprise, he’s not alone.

  He’s with Stephanie, the woman in charge of the Eye Candy department on the ninth floor. She’s the one who first sent me to buy skanky clothes and get close to Dylan.

  I’d guess she's around forty, and that her red hair is dyed that color. She’s Eye Candy herself, with a pretty face and lots of tanned cleavage. Her perfume wafts into the dusty space, making me sneeze.

  My hands close into fists. Now what does she want?

  Stephanie smiles warmly at me and holds out her hand. “Jessica! How lovely to see you again.” Her full red lips bunch in
to a pout. “Why aren’t you wearing your beautiful necklace?”

  I shake her hand, then bring my fingertips to my collarbone. I haven’t thought about the expensive pendant she gave me since I tossed it in a drawer that night.

  “Why would you care?” I ask suspiciously. “Did you guys put some sort of tracking device in it? Or a hidden microphone?”

  She laughs lightly and gives Nick a scolding look. “Nick, you naughty boy. Have you been feeding young Jessica your wild conspiracy theories? I may have to tell your mother what you’ve been up to.”

  Nick shakes his head, his pale, pierced face expressionless.

  “We just sit down here and digitize the archives,” he says. “If we could get some internet access down here, we probably wouldn’t talk at all.”

  Stephanie turns to me, still smiling warmly. She has a paper bag in one hand. From the bag, she pulls out a clear, plastic cup, the size of a small orange juice from a fast food restaurant.

  “Have you done a urine test before, Jessica?” she asks sweetly.

  I scowl and refuse to take the container she’s handing me.

  “What the hell is going on around here?” I demand.

  “It’s fairly standard,” she says nonchalantly.

  “Did Nick do a urine test?”

  “Nick doesn’t work in the same department as you.”

  I would argue with her that Nick and I both work in the dusty, boring archives, but I know she’s not talking about that. This new humiliation must have something to do with my Eye Candy assignment.

  “I don’t want to be a Talent Coordinator anymore,” I say, using the official term for the department. “I quit. Resign. I’m done. In fact, I’m just about done with the whole internship thing.”

  Stephanie’s golden brown eyes stay locked on mine. “You can’t just leave us, sweetie. You signed a contract.”

  “An employment contract, yes. But I didn’t sell my soul to the devil.” I pull away from her quietly powerful gaze and narrow my eyes at Nick. “Or did I?”

  “I’m sure you can tinkle in a cup,” Nick says.

  Their combined calmness makes me feel like maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just a drug screening, and I know they’re common at some companies.