by Brynne Asher
I exhale knowing I want to go more than anything. “What am I doing?”
“You’re going to the Windy City and you’re going to find out what the fuck’s going on with your new man,” Ellie confirms the plan that’s swirling in my wine-fogged mind.
“You need to quit cussing around your son. Mom is going to have a fit.”
“It won’t be the first fit I’ve caused and it probably won’t be the last.”
She’s right about that.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Ellie cheers. Paige lets out a whoop. I down the rest of my wine and Griffin shits his pants. I hope the latter isn’t a sign of things to come.
*****
I guess I found my badass, so I stopped drinking after I finished my glass of wine. Paige and Ellie started making plans for me and, by plans, I mean telling me what I should pack, what I should say, and how I should surprise him. I ignored them both and drunk texted Callie to clear my schedule through Tuesday.
Callie was beyond shocked and shot off a million texts in return asking what was wrong and why I’d be unavailable and out of the office. I never take days off and, if I do, I’m on the phone or checking email most of the time.
I didn’t explain why or where I’m going, mostly because I don’t do failure well. I’m calculated and measured. I don’t make decisions until I can justify them with numbers and data and, if those aren’t available, then I always err toward doing the right thing—even if its cost doesn’t benefit me or our company. If this trip ends up biting me in the ass, the fewer people who know about it the better.
I don’t know what I’m going to find in Chicago. What I do know is, Eli is there and I want him. So much so, I’m willing to go head-to-head with my father, throw caution to the wind at work, and who knows, maybe piss Eli off by showing up. And I’ve blocked out my biggest fear, one that I cannot spare the smallest bit of mind space to—that I might not be happy with what I find.
Even so, I have to go. If I can offer him the tiniest bit of support after all he’s done for me, I have to be there.
Plus, I’m nosy.
So, there’s that.
*****
It’s Sunday morning and I hopped on the company Gulfstream with Cam, Paige, the kids, my ex-Secret Service bodyguard—whose name is Andrew—a suitcase of naughty lingerie, and a bucket of nerves. Paige and Ellie insisted on the lingerie when all I usually sleep in is a pair of panties and maybe a tank. They said if Eli is there for an emergency, he’ll need a stress reliever and nothing says stress relief better than a raunchy negligée and orgasms.
I ignored my bucket of nerves and taught Jordy how to play blackjack while I stuffed my face with Sour Patch Kids and downed coffee the entire flight to Omaha. By the time I kissed and hugged my brother and his family goodbye, I was flying high on sugar and caffeine, not a good combination when you throw in my bucket of nerves and all the lace.
Andrew and I are now off as fast as we landed, headed for wind, big lakes, and Eli.
I look over at my new taciturn friend. “I’m sorry I’m dragging you to Chicago.”
Andrew is in a suit even though I told him to feel free to dress down, even throw on a pair of jeans or sweats. I don’t care what he wears as long as he’s by my side. I guess his special agent days were a lot more proper than Eli’s whose uniform seems to be jeans and maybe a button down.
Andrew shakes his head and looks over to me. “You’re paying me no matter where we are. Though, I don’t like you out in populated public spaces.”
The caffeine makes my foot bounce double-time. “Does this mean we can’t go shopping on Michigan Avenue?”
My bodyguard only gives me a glare and one word. “Funny.”
Interesting. He doesn’t look amused nor does he know me. When it comes to shopping, I’m dead serious.
But I don’t want to be dead so I nod and look out my window—the Midwest is racing below us through the clouds. I check my phones again and besides a slew of emails from work, nothing. Not one thing from Eli, which makes me even more nervous.
As we’re over halfway to our destination, all of a sudden, it’s not just the Sour Patch Kids I’m regretting.
*****
We pull up in front of a house that’s small, with white paint that is faded and chipping. I wouldn’t call this inner-city Chicago, but the area is definitely old in a way it’s not up-and-coming or a hip place to be. The chain link fence framing the postage stamp of a front yard is corroded and on its last leg. I check the address I found and look back up to the house. The middle seven is hanging upside-down, looking as lethargic as the house it represents. But the numbers painted on the curb shine through, clear as day. This is it.
Andrew kills the engine and starts to get out of our rental.
I reach over and grab his forearm. “Wait. I want to go by myself.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not going up to that house without me.”
“Trust me. Nothing bad is going to happen.” My bucket of nerves rattles and threatens to dump itself over my head, Nickelodeon style. “Well, not that kind of bad anyway.”
“Says every stupid-ass girl in every teen horror flick ever made. Your corporation is paying me to keep you safe. I’m protecting the CFO, who just happens to be you, and it’s my job to make sure it remains you, so it really has nothing to do with what you say. You’re lucky we’re here to begin with. It’s much easier to watch over you in the office.”
Wow. I guess Michigan Avenue is really off the table. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Talking isn’t my job. I don’t want to man-handle you. But if you don’t cooperate, I will.”
“Fine.” I’m in heels and don’t feel like being man-handled either. “But the next time we go somewhere and I suggest you wear something more casual, consider it an order. You might as well be a polar bear in the desert. I’d appreciate it if you could at least blend in next time.”
He has the nerve to hitch a shoulder, effectively shrugging me off.
Whatever. I need to get this over with before I throw up from a lack of real food. I move to get out of the car, my high-heeled Prada boots the color of caramel whisking me through the rickety fence and straight to the unknown.
I take a big breath and swallow away my fear, rapping on the door three times.
A TV is blaring through the thin walls and I hear a child’s voice announcing their visitor.
My heart twists and my stomach turns but, before I have a chance to run for the car or hide behind Andrew, the door swings open.
I lose my breath. Legit, it leaves my body and I have nothing left.
A woman stands there, staring at me through the ripped screen of the storm door, but I only have eyes for the little boy standing at her feet.
Dark hair, dark eyes, and a complexion so similar to the man I’ve been having copious amounts of sex with, it’s uncanny.
“Who’re you?” Eli’s mini-me asks.
“Yeah,” the woman echoes and I look up to her. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Chapter 26
Hurt
Eli
“What the fuck?” I mumble to no one as I pull up to the only house I’ve ever known as a home.
The Mercedes GLS, parked square center, couldn’t be more out of place. If I showed up to my own funeral in my birthday suit, I’d feel more comfortable than that car right now. Two more cars are parked behind it, blocking the single drive that’s barely a drive since it’s been ignored for decades and the concrete is cracked with dead weeds smushed to the ground from winter settling in.
I knew who it had to be even before I saw her protection detail sitting in the car with his eyes trained on the house.
Don’t worry, buddy. If Jensen Montgomery is really in that house, the only harm that could come to her are the things I’ve kept from her. If I’ve learned anything over the past few weeks, she’s going to be pissed.
That’ll make two of us, becaus
e she doesn’t fucking need to be here. She doesn’t belong here.
I park across the street and glare at her detail whose eyes follow me as I jog up to the front door. He shouldn’t have allowed her to leave her condo, let alone the state of Texas.
When I barge through the storm door, everyone comes to a standstill. They freeze. Everyone but my dad that is.
The house is so small, there’s no issue seeing everything from where I stand. Sarah and my mom are standing with two women who I don’t know in the kitchen that’s half-charred and a mess from where I started tearing it out yesterday when I got here. And Jen, fuck me, is sitting across from my father at the table with Simon in her lap. They’re doing the only thing my dad ever does which I can hardly stomach anymore—playing dominoes.
“Is it my turn?” My dad looks across to Jen who’s not paying him any attention because her eyes are boring into me. Fucking cutting through every layer of skin and sinking into my soul, and damn if there aren’t tears in her eyes when she does it.
“It’s our turn, Grandpa,” Simon answers and shifts to look up at Jen. “Is this the right one?”
Jen doesn’t move until Simon loses patience and yanks at the scarf that’s wrapped around her neck a million times, making her hair an even richer color than normal as she sits in this drab house that still reeks of soot from the fire. Her voice is thick when she looks down at Simon. “Let’s count the dots and see.”
I don’t waste another second and I can’t help that my voice is harsh. Right now, I want to yell and throw the moss-colored broken Lazy Boy that’s been sitting here longer than I have memories, through the front window. “What are you doing here?”
“Elijah,” my mother judges my tone with her own. “That’s no way to treat a guest.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if I got a wooden spoon across the back of my head but I ignore her and keep talking to Jen. “You should be at home.”
It doesn’t surprise me yet, at the same time, it does when her voice comes out clear and even. “You should’ve told me about your emergency. I can help.”
“Is it my turn?” my dad asks again, to no one. He could ask that fucking question all damn day.
Everyone ignores him, which cuts through me even more.
“You didn’t tell us you were making friends in Texas, Eli.” I look over and Sarah is standing smug next to the two women I don’t know. They look about as confused as me. “Let’s just say everyone was surprised this afternoon when she showed up.”
I look back to Jen. “I don’t need your help.”
She tips her head and I wonder if this is what people experience in a boardroom with her. Her initial shock of seeing me is gone, her eyes are dry, and she straightens in the old, rickety chair. “Really?” She looks down to Simon, who’s counting dots to eleven and she says to him, “Good job. You can play it next to your grandpa’s.” She looks back to me and her normally warm—no, hot—eyes are nothing but a barren field of dirt, they’re so distant. “Looks like you could use all the help you can get.”
Mom butts in. “Eli, these ladies are from Lake Michigan Nursing Services. Your friend, Jen, made a few calls and, once we get everything put back together, they’re going to come and stay with your dad while I’m at work. They have nurses who specialize in Alzheimer’s. They’ll even work with your dad throughout the day and coordinate with his doctors to update them on his condition.”
I don’t take my eyes off Jen. “You just made some calls and they showed up here on a Sunday.”
It’s either my tone or my demeanor that cuts through her boardroom armor. She shifts Simon in her lap and doesn’t respond.
“Told you I’d be back. Told you I’d explain when I could.”
Her voice drops and I can barely hear her across the small room. “I wasn’t feeling patient. I decided to pick up and come find you.”
I cross my arms. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Eli!” my mother bursts from the half-burned kitchen we just discovered their insurance is trying to deny coverage for.
“If I wanted her here, I would’ve brought her myself, Mom.”
“You’re such a selfish ass,” Sarah starts in, dumping our dirty laundry on the floor for everyone to see and smell. “Someone’s offering help, something we desperately need on a daily basis, and you’re willing to shit all over that, because why? You’re too proud? Yet you aren’t here to deal with it every day.”
Fucking Sarah.
I seethe, “This is different. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What’s your name? Have I asked you your name?”
I look over and my dad, who’s lost inside his mind and is as confused as always, oblivious to the world around him. His brows are puckered and he’s gazing at the woman I didn’t think I could ever say no to, but I might’ve just found the first reason.
I can tell by the look on Jen’s face this isn’t the first time she’s answered this question. Her eyes become glassy again and I have to give it to her, she answers like she has all the patience in the world. “It’s okay, Sam. My name is Jen. I’m a friend of Eli’s.”
My dad’s face lights with realization that only lasts for mere moments—moments the rest of us hang our hearts on, savoring them like a drop of water from Jesus himself. “Ah. Elijah. I named my boy after him. He’s a miracle worker. Couldn’t love him more.”
I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut and I’m filled with nothing but fucking guilt for missing his last years because, now, he’s gone. There’re times I’d rather not have glimpses like this—they only hurt more when they disappear.
“Of course, he’s the miracle worker and yet he’s never here. I was only named after the mother of Isaac,” Sarah huffs the way she always does when she talks about our parents picking our names from the Bible.
“Sarah is mentioned in the Bible more than Mary, the mother of Jesus. We picked carefully—stop acting like you’re five,” my mother bites. Given her tone, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets out the wooden spoon.
“Is it my turn?”
And just like that, it’s over. He’s gone.
“You sit here and play with your grandpa.” I open my eyes to see Jen setting Simon down on his knees where he starts spreading his dominos around and my dad’s back to contemplating everything and figuring out nothing.
Jen grabs her bag and digs inside as she walks through debris and other shit from the fire my dad started when he tried to make eggs yesterday morning and forgot what he was doing. Mom had only left him for five minutes. He’s taken such a turn recently, there’s no way he can be by himself anymore.
Jen clears her throat and starts handing out business cards to everyone. “Call me and I’ll make sure all the arrangements are made.” She turns to my mom and Sarah and grabs my mom’s hand, holding it tight. Damn if that doesn’t make me hungry for her touch. “It was lovely to meet you, Bonnie. My attorney will be contacting you to see what he can do to help with your insurance company.”
Fucking great.
My mother nods and tears up. She’s so damn emotional and carries guilt she has no business carrying. More than anything, she wants my dad here and not in some nursing facility. Not that they can afford that. Jen turns on her heel and pins me with her eyes. They’re full of pain and that slays me to the core.
She drops her gaze to the worn carpet below her feet and moves around me, not having a choice but to brush her shoulder against my chest from the lack of space. When I hear the storm door slam, I turn and follow.
“Jen!” I yell, but she’s already climbing into her Merc. I’m able to grab her door before she can slam it in my face. “Wait.”
Her eyes cut to me. “You’ve made it very clear where I stand, Elijah.”
I put myself between her and the door. She has to listen. “I can’t deal with all of that,” I tip my head toward the house, “and you at the same time.”
Her eyes widen and she yanks her seatbelt. “Well,
then it’s good you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Shit. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Get out and let me talk to you.”
She turns to her security guard. “Drive.”
“No!” I yell but have to jump back as he puts the car in gear and screeches off into the literal fucking sunset, the door slamming on its own from the force of the moving car.
“Dammit!” I yell, running my hand through my hair.
“Uncle Eli?”
I exhale and turn around to see Simon. “Yeah?”
“Her boots are weird. Will you throw the ball with me?”
I let my head fall and shake my head. “Sure, bud. Go get it.”
I watch my four-year-old nephew run into the house.
My fucking life.
*****
Jen
Oh, no. He’s not doing this.
It’s after midnight. We might be on the top of the Langham but there are still a few other rooms on this floor. He’s going to get us kicked out.
Andrew bursts through from the connecting suite he insisted on. He’s in gym shorts, a t-shirt, with a gun dangling from one hand. “What the hell’s going on?”
I hold up a calming hand. “It’s Eli. I’m going to get him to leave. Go back to your room.”
Eli pounds on the door and yells, “Open the fucking door.”
“I’ll get him to go away,” Andrew growls.
“Please. He won’t hurt me. Go to your room and take your gun with you.”
“Jen.” I hear him slap a hand on the door and leave it there before a thunk that sounds like his head. “Would you just,” slap, “open,” slap, “the damn,” slap, “door.”
I look back at Andrew and wave him away.
He points to the door separating our rooms. “Do not lock this.”
I roll my eyes.
He shuts the connecting door and I look out the peephole. It’s shadowed and all I can make out is Eli’s neck as he’s resting his head there.
