He stood, unmoving, in the silence, letting it soak into his skin. Letting it suffocate him. Allowing numbness to spread, to take over his body and shut it down, a welcome virus.
But then his phone rang. Again.
His movements slow and calm, Isaac walked across the room. Picked up the phone.
Then he turned and threw it at the door with such force that the screen shattered, shards raining down onto the carpet.
Silence reigned. The phone fell to the floor.
And then it rang again.
Twenty-Three
“Hey.”
Someone was poking her. Which was impolite, to say the least.
Usually, Lizzie would spear them with her most scathing look until they regained their senses and removed themselves from her person. But currently, she couldn’t be bothered. She couldn’t be bothered to do anything, actually. Doing led to thinking, which led to remembering, which led to—
“Hey. Weirdo.”
Well, that was definitely unacceptable. The poking continued, and mild irritation rose from the fugue of Lizzie’s mind. As it awakened, other, less welcome emotions followed suit. Shame. Regret. Utter devastation.
See, this was why she didn't want to move.
“Wake up,” the voice demanded. And then she felt a hand squeeze her bun like it was bicycle horn, and the voice said, “Bloop.”
Her eyes shot open. And despite the storm of emotion swirling in her chest, Lizzie managed to smile. “Olu.”
“Good evening to you, too. Why are you sleeping in Arrivals?”
“Why did you take forever to get here?”
“It’s all about making an entrance, Liz, you know that.”
Olu was flashing his usual charming grin, the one that always got him out of trouble. His green eyes sparkled against his glowing skin, which had tanned to a nut-brown shade that would absolutely scandalise their mother. His curly hair was slightly longer than usual, and he was wearing the old, worn clothes that he always travelled in. Despite the outfit , he still looked like a supermodel. As Mother would say, at least one of her children had been blessed with beauty.
“Is the car here?” Lizzie asked.
“Of course. But before we go…” He sat down beside her, sinking into the first class lounge's cloud-soft chair. Pulling out his second phone—the smartphone, not the one he used while he was abroad—Olu tapped at the screen before turning to show her a news article. All she could see was the headline, and a single image. But that was enough.
“This isn’t why you needed me to come home, is it?” He asked. “Because I am happy to commit murder at your request. Just let me know.”
Stifling a gasp, Lizzie snatched the phone from his grasp. Oh, sweet Lord.
NATION'S BAD BOY GETS STEAMY WITH EXOTIC MYSTERY WOMAN!
The picture was slightly grainy, either taken from afar or with a very poor camera.
But it was her. She and Isaac, together, thankfully not touching... but beneath the pixilated blurs, clearly naked.
And he was clearly holding her yellow bikini bottoms. She scrolled down, just an inch, to find that there were several more pictures.
Oh dear.
Lizzie’s mind worked rapidly, fluttering back and forth. How could this have happened? Had they really been so distracted? Or was it because she’d been so out of it? But Isaac noticed everything.
No, not everything. Not all the time. Not when she distracted him.
A single sob burst from her throat, but she covered it with a loud cough, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Olu wasn’t convinced.
“Jesus Christ, are you crying? Again? What the hell happened?”
“Nothing,” she squeaked.
He gave her a sceptical look, reaching for the phone. Blushing furiously, she shoved it beneath her backside, sitting on the damning little device. “You can’t look!” She snapped.
“Unfortunately, Liz, I've already seen more than I wished to." He wrinkled his nose.
"How did you know it was me? The quality's awful."
"You're my sister!" He said grandly. "I should hope I'd know you anywhere."
She raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"Oh, alright," he huffed. "Your hair tipped me off."
"My hair?"
"It's 2018. No-one has hair that long anymore. But really, Liz, what in God's name were you thinking?"
Lizzie maintained a dignified silence.
"You know if Father finds out, he'll flip his fucking lid."
“Never mind that!” She said. “Not important. Let’s move on.”
“Let’s move on? Are you high?”
“Fuck off, Olu!”
“Oh, charming. I come all the way back home to mend my sister’s broken heart—”
“This is not about my broken heart!” She barked. A woman a few suits away gave them an alarmed look, and Lizzie cleared her throat, wiping her face of all emotion. Arguing in public: item 1,690 on the list of things that she and Olu couldn’t get away with. Class didn’t always trump shade.
“Can we do this at home?” She asked through gritted teeth.
Olu sighed. “Probably for the best. Okay; come on.” He picked up her suitcase, and she stood, retrieving his phone. But before she handed it back to him, she removed the article from his virtual newsstand.
No need for them both to be traumatised.
An hour later, they finally tore through the traffic to arrive at Olu’s Shoreditch flat. It took him so long to find his key that Lizzie gave up and searched for her own, which was languishing in the depths of her handbag. Eventually, they got inside, and Olu turned on the heating and hot water while Lizzie prepared the tea. They’d need a lot of it, she was sure.
Olu spent little time here, though it had been his official place of residence for five years. Lizzie had to rinse out the teacups before pouring, but she still had everything ready in record time. Settling into the living room, she tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa, feeling none of the softness that leather acquired with frequent use. In front of her, mounted on the opposite wall, a flat-screen TV gleamed. Olu had never turned it on.
“Right,” her brother said, striding into the room. “I was going to grab some ice cream but… Well. I suppose you can’t do that, anymore, can you?”
Ah, their infamous ice cream binges. She shook her head. “No. Afraid not. At least, not with Haagen Dazs.”
“Not to worry, not to worry. Oh—you made tea. Is that, er—? Is that okay? Do you need to eat something, or…”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, with a smile that almost felt real. “I’m fine.”
“Right.” He came to sit beside her, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I did Google—you know. Diabetes, and what have you. I’m just not sure I’ve wrapped my head around it yet. But I will!”
“You don’t need to,” she said quietly. “I have everything under control.”
“And I’m your brother,” he said, his voice censorious. “We’re in this together. You know as well as I do that control… Control can be a heavy burden. So you’ll share it, and I’ll help. Okay?”
Her eyes wide, Lizzie gave a slow nod. If she spoke, she’d probably do something unforgivable. Like cry.
She’d expected support from her brother; of course she had. But she what she hadn’t expected was how good it would feel to know he had her back. What a relief it would be to share her condition with him instead of hiding it away like a dirty secret.
“Thank you,” she finally whispered.
He smiled, gave her an awkward little nod. “Well,” he said, his voice a touch too loud. He was uncomfortable. She didn’t blame him. This interaction was far more emotional than they were used to.
For a second, Lizzie's mind dragged her back to that morning—had so little time passed?—when she'd been quite sickeningly emotional. For Isaac. And he'd thrown it in her face.
She didn't blame him.
“You’re looking well,” Olu contin
ued brightly.
Lizzie gave herself a mental shake, leaning forward to pick up her cup and saucer. “Mother wouldn’t say so.”
“Mother’s a hag, Liz.”
She almost spat out her tea.
“What? It’s true, and you know it.”
“Stop!” She waved him off helplessly. “You’ll make me choke.”
“You’ll be fine,” he grinned. But then his smile faded, replaced by a familiar expression: brotherly concern. This was it, then; he was about to go into full-fledged parent mode. “Lizzie,” he said sternly. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
Ah. Biting her lip, she put her tea safely back on the table before her suddenly shaking hands could result in a ruined carpet.
“I… I didn’t want to do this,” she said carefully. “I didn’t want to put you in this position. I just thought I could take care of it on my own, and you’d never even know, and you could do everything how you wanted to do it. If you ever did do it.”
He frowned. “Do what? What are you babbling on about?” And then, when she hesitated: “Come on, Liz. You know you can tell me anything.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. “And you can tell me anything. Do you know that?”
He stared at her for a moment too long. The colour leached from his skin, leaving behind an ashy pallor, and she saw his jaw clench. He began to tap his foot rapidly against the thick, cream carpet. He’d always done that when he was nervous. Mother had rapped his knuckles for it more than once, and now he mostly kept it under control.
But not always.
For a moment, she thought he was afraid. But then the dark cloud hovering over him passed. He sighed, and there was resignation in his eyes. “You know, don’t you?” He asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have found out this way.” And then, after a little pause, she clarified. “We are talking about—”
“I only have one secret, Lizzie.” He managed a smile. “From you, anyway.” Olu reached for his teacup, tracing its polka-dot pattern. “I always planned to tell you, you know. But the longer you leave it, the stranger it feels. As if I were hiding it in the first place. And I wasn’t, not from you. Just from— ”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I understand.”
He nodded, his gaze skating away from hers. He stared intently at the carpet under their feet, and there was something indescribable on his face. A look of loss. As if he’d been cheated.
Well, Lizzie thought, he had been. But maybe…
The idea was ridiculous, but that didn’t matter. This was her brother, and they had always been ridiculous together, and she had to try something to make him feel better. To give him back control of the situation. Even if she failed.
“Olu… If you want to tell me, just tell me.”
He looked up at her, a frown creasing his brow. “Tell you? But…”
Leaning forward, Lizzie took his hand. “Yes. Tell me. This is for you. It’s about you. It belongs to you. So if you want to tell me, then tell me. Your words are the only ones that matter anyway.”
And he understood. She’d known he would. A little smile quirked his lips, and he sat up straighter. “Okay,” Olu said. “Okay. Lizzie…” His smile grew wider. “I’m gay.”
The fact that such a dark situation had led to this conversation didn’t stop her from grinning back. It didn’t stop her from blinking away tears, and it didn’t stop her chest from swelling with pride. Before she could think better of it, Lizzie pulled her brother into a hug.
For a second, his familiar warmth transported her back to their childhood. Not the terrible moments, or the stressful moments, but the ones filled with joy. They’d had a few, somehow, despite the frigid household they’d been raised in. That was the power true family held: lighting up darkness.
It was easy to think, while her brother patted her back with such dear, familiar awkwardness, that everything would be okay now. That he was safe.
But he wasn’t. Not yet.
Olu must have felt her stiffen, because he pulled back slightly, his expression suddenly hesitant. “Lizzie,” he said slowly. “How did you find out?”
“Well,” she said, straightening up. Putting away her softness and her love, because now the conversation would turn to evil things, and she had to be prepared. “That’s the problem, actually. Mark Spencer told me. He… blackmailed me, I suppose.”
Olu clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Mark Spencer blackmailed you?”
“Yes. To put it simply, he made it clear that if I didn’t follow his wishes, he would out you to our parents. He possesses some… sensitive photographs.” Lizzie let out a humourless chuckle. “God, aren’t we a pair? Wouldn’t the whole family just die?”
But he didn’t laugh with her. “It’s not the same, Liz.” Olu leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His posture was one of desolation, but his face held fury. Fury, and a determination she recognised.
“No,” she murmured. “I suppose it’s not.” Because, somehow, unlike him, she’d managed to build a life that didn’t rely on their parents’ good graces.
Wait. Not somehow. She’d done it because Olu had been there at every turn, making sure she did. Making sure she could.
Would she ever fully understand all of the things her brother had done for her?
“But why blackmail you?” he asked suddenly, looking up at her with sharp eyes. “What did he want?”
“Ah…”
“If it was money, why didn’t he come to me?”
“It’s all a bit… well, complicated, actually.” She looked away, avoiding his gaze.
“Lizzie,” he said, his voice urgent. He put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Please tell me he didn’t do anything…” His voice trailed off, painfully uncomfortable, and it took her a moment to realise what he was saying.
“Oh! No. No, don’t worry.”
He let out a sigh. “Thank fuck. But… Liz. You didn’t do anything awful, did you?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, her throat tightening. The worst thing I've ever done. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I failed. I wanted to look after you, and I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t smart enough. I can’t handle things like you do. And now I’ve interrupted your life yet again because I need help.”
He stared at her as though she’d sprouted an extra arm. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She sighed. “You say we're in this together, but the truth is... You're always the one making sacrifices. Doing the work. Helping me. I dragged you back to England when we were younger, when you’d just managed to escape. And now I had the chance to pay you back, to be the one protecting you. And I couldn’t do it. If we fail—if I’ve ballsed everything up and Mark tells our parents—your life will change forever. They’ll take away all of this.” She waved a hand around the luxurious room. “They'll take away your power. They'll take the life you love. And it'll be my fault.”
But despite her explanation, his frown didn’t fade. His confusion didn’t appear to abate. He stood up, shaking his head furiously.
“Lizzie,” he said slowly, as though searching for words through a fog. “This isn’t how I want my life to be. This isn’t what I love.”
“Well, no,” she agreed. “Obviously not this. But I mean, all your travelling and—”
“I don’t want to travel,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth.
She stared. “What?”
“I don’t want to travel.” The second time around, the words were clearer, more confident. “I don’t want to float about all the time like a piece of bloody fluff. I don’t want to go months without seeing my best friend or my little sister. And I hate fucking airports,” he muttered, as an afterthought. “Awful places.”
“But—I don’t understand,” she said. “As soon you turned eighteen, you left. You started flying all over the world and—”
“Of course I did!” He cried.
“Think about it Lizzie. Every fucking day in that house—if Father spoke at all it was to spew some hateful bullshit about… About who was going to hell and who God should strike down and—”
She put a hand to her lips, unable to find words as he broke off. He took a shuddering breath, his head falling back, his face twisted with pain. Or perhaps just the memory of it. Sometimes, the two were equally potent.
Lizzie had never spent much time with her father. He had given her a perfunctory once-over every evening at dinner—on the evenings he was present, anyway—and made sure that her grades were high at the end of term. That was it.
But Olu… Father had spent plenty of time with Olu. Plenty. Trying to mould his son, to teach him how to be a man, he’d always said.
Apparently, all he’d really taught Olu was the need to hide.
She wanted to hug him. To offer him safety, the way he always had for her. Before now, it had never even occurred to her that he might need it. He was her big brother. He was the king of the world.
But he was human, and he was hurting.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not your fault,” he sighed, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. His face hardened. “But I’ll tell you one thing: nobody blackmails you. Nobody blackmails us.” There was a familiar thread of steel in his voice. It gave her comfort.
Her brother was beautiful and charming, a true social butterfly. Nobody saw him as dangerous.
But they should. Beneath his peacock’s feathers lay a razor-sharp mind and an iron will that no-one on earth could escape.
Lizzie felt calm settle over her like a fresh blanket of snow. “I know you’ll handle this. I know you’ll think of something.”
He turned to face her, his hands on his hips, his trademark grin creeping across his face. “Actually,” he said, “I already have.”
Of course he had. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
He came to sit beside her, his eyes alight. She knew that look. He was in control now. He was on a mission.
“First things first,” he said. “We need reinforcements.”
Twenty-Four
Undone by the Ex-Con: A BWWM Romance (Just for Him Book 2) Page 19
