Daring You

by Ketley Allison

  It’s all to preempt Mike, but I’m so drained, so entirely confused, that the maneuver seems less smart when I can simply deal with it tomorrow, in daylight, whether or not Mike gets there first.

  I lay the phone on my nightstand, then bend down under my bed and slide out a decorative box. Opening it, I sift through the photos, the handkerchief, the rubber duck with the football helmet, and the letters, finding what I’m looking for.

  A pale pink, knitted baby blanket made for me by my mom.

  I take it with me to bed, nestling it’s softness against my cheek, and let it catch my worries and nightmares.

  Morning consists of instant oatmeal and two gallons of coffee that I wish had whiskey in it.

  I stand in front of my hall mirror, straighten by blazer over my cowl-neck red blouse, and brush invisible lint off my tailored slacks.

  It’s all dilly-dally, because the last thing I want to do is make the trip to Locke’s and tell him I’ve been sleeping with Ben.

  Checking the time on my watch, I can’t fuss any longer. Locke coaches at the local high school, and he would argue anyone under the table that his mornings start earlier than mine.

  When the elevators hit the lobby, I cross the marble flooring at break-neck, confident speed. I remember who I am and what I want to become—not the flailing, heartbroken girl of my past who wants a forbidden boy.

  Acne Hayes won’t be the person telling Locke about her history with Ben. It’ll be me, the woman who likes to add sex among her bids for power, but it stops there. Ben and I aren’t exchanging our hearts along with our bodies.

  I nod to security and head to a car I’ve called, waiting at the curb. My phone buzzes within my leather tote as I slip in, but I ignore it.

  We merge into traffic, and my phone goes again. This time, I rifle around for it, considering it’s 6 a.m and the only persistent calls coming through would be emergencies or wrong numbers.

  I think—Lily.

  Another phone call like that, I’m not sure I could handle. I search for my phone more frantically.

  Finally, I find it, and when I see who’s on the screen, I let out the kind of curse other women in power would be proud of.

  “Taryn, what is it?” I say once I accept the call.

  “I’m so sorry to wake you,” she begins.

  “I’m not asleep. What’s going on?”

  Taryn is one of those individuals who comes into the office at nine, not a minute sooner, since she usually does whatever on-trend exercise class is going on in Chelsea at any given moment.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask.

  “No—nothing like that. It’s just…I…”

  Taryn is also one of those women who never stutters, not even when Altin Yang is staring her down over her cubicle and asking why a motion hasn’t been e-filed to the court yet.

  My back straightens, and I press the phone closer to my ear. “Taryn?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” she says.

  “How about you tell me.”

  “The…I’m at the office. I’m here, because Mike texted me to come. He said it was some kind of office emergency.”

  “What happened?”

  I try to remember the current state of the Delaney case and the defendants. The defendants didn’t make bail. They were in the midst of being processed for Rikers prison where they’d await trial or take a plea. All of that was normal, regular procedure.

  “He was drunk.”

  Well, yeah. Then… “Oh, God. Did he assault you?”

  Jesus, what is my life coming to when I worry about my ex-fiancé sexually harassing co-workers? It really makes me question my choices.

  “No. No. But he…he got into my computer, Astor. Into my files.”

  My mind’s already flashing red emergency lights, but I ask, maybe in the hope there still is some hope, “What do you mean, into your files?”

  “He said you asked for his help. That you were stuck on the facts of the Delaney case and needed his head in it.”

  My back leaves the seat. All kinds of dread takes its place along my spine. “And you believed him?”

  “He’s your fucking fiancé! How am I supposed to know he had nefarious intentions? As if you would do that to your future wife. As if he would be willing to destroy your career to save his own. Astor, I’ve wanted to make my feelings about him clear to you for a long time now, but this takes the whole three-tier, sprinkle-confetti wedding cake I imagined throwing in his face a whole lot more desirable.”

  “What did he get, Taryn?” I already know. I’m already, terribly aware. “What’d Mike find that he didn’t have?”

  Taryn sighs so hard I imagine feeling her breath tunneling through my ears. It’s better than hearing the panicked pounding of my heart. “The checks.”

  I lay a palm across my forehead and it slowly slides down. “Ryan’s inheritance….Mike knows? Mike’s figured out the boy’s new identity?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No,” I groan through my fingers. I deleted everything! I know I did!

  “It gets worse.”

  How? How can this possibly be—

  “He’s already told Yang. Mike’s taken the credit, Astor. He’s stolen our work and presented it to Yang like he did all the heavy-lifting, that pink, puckered, rat-assed bastard.”

  25

  Ben

  11 a.m., and no text from Astor.

  I’m tapping the phone against my thigh, staring into nothing, as I sit on my bed and debate going to the gym with Locke during his lunch break.

  We do this every Wednesday, since I’m off-season training anyway and Locke’s coaching kids in high school football, we both have to stay fit. And we enjoy spotting each other, insulting our weight-counts, and generally annoying one another until we’re able to grab a breakfast sandwich at the deli on the corner and part ways.

  Six months, it’s been this way.

  Several weeks of hanging out with my buddy, laughing like usual times, with nothing in the vicinity or solar system to drive a wedge between us.

  Or so Locke thought.

  “Damnit, Astor…” I say to no one.

  She might’ve second-guessed her decision to tell him this morning. Maybe wanted more time. But, how volatile is Mike? What are the odds he’ll keep this juicy secret all to himself?

  Mike’s definitely the type of super-villain to use his weapon when he’ll sustain the most damage.

  I can’t take it anymore. I text Astor:

  If you’ve changed your mind, I’m cool with it, but you have to let me know. I’m seeing your bro in an hour.

  Nothing. No response, not even three dots to let me know she’s typing.

  “Fuck this.”

  I stand, grab my duffel, and head to Brooklyn.

  Locke meets me at the entrance to his nearby gym.

  He looks happy, I think as I walk up to him. Got that look about him, the coloring of a man with a good woman at his side. And a baby.

  With zero knowledge about his best friend diddling his sister.

  “What’s up, man,” he says as I approach. “Was about to think you weren’t going to show.”

  “Nah, just delayed on the bridge,” I lie.

  He claps me on the back. “Let’s get to it. I only got forty minutes now.”

  I nod, but I’m too busy searching his face in an attempt to discover what he knows. Unfortunately, I suck at it.

  “What’re you doing, bro? Checking me for ticks?”

  “No, man.” I rear back, and check my phone instead. Still nothing from Astor. “Just thought you had something on your face.”

  Locke frowns at me, as if confused I’d be pointing it out rather than let him go about the rest of his day with shit on this face.

  He has a point.

  I stay mum throughout the entirety of our workout, preferring to get out aggression caveman style and heave around a bunch of weights.

  We finish, with little small talk, so it shouldn’t come as a s
urprise when Locke voices concern.

  “You seem…distracted. Everything good?” Locke asks as he pushes open the door to the men’s change room.

  “Yeah. I’m just—” my phone buzzes, and I check to see if it’s Astor. It’s not.

  “You got a chick blowing up your phone?”

  “Nah. I mean, yeah. I guess.”

  “I get it now.” Locke throws his sports bag from the locker to a bench. “You look exactly how I used to, when all I did was fuck around and not bother to know any naked chicks in my bed. You’re getting tired of it.”

  “Believe me, brother, it’s not that.”

  If I told you what it is—your sister—we’d both have a helluva lunch break.

  I glance at my phone again before tearing off my coat and throwing it next to my gym bag. Zero notifications.

  “I think it’s time you get a woman,” Locke says, and when I look up, he’s so serious I want to laugh in his face.

  “So you’re a professional matchmaker now?” I say. “Because you found the love of your life, me, Ash and East have to find ours? Get a big family BBQ on?”

  “Not those two idiots, they’re lost causes,” Locke says. “But you. I dunno, you seem like you need someone to come home to.”

  “Well, thank you for the Hallmark card, but I’m good.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  You’re right, bro. My parents’ murders are front-page news. You don’t know it, though, because they’re part of a past I had to go into witness protection for because I was there to see them die. At four years old. I’m not who I say I am, in so many ways. Oh, and did I mention me and your sister tried anal last night?

  “What kind of guy am I?” I blurt.

  “Huh?”

  Fuck. I didn’t realize I said it out loud. But it’s true. I’ve got the best buddies in the world, won the lottery in so many ways with a happy, stable family life with a bomb-ass career, and it can be taken away at any second.

  I’ve survived fire, but now I’m playing with it.

  Giving in, and having Astor in all the ways I want except for the heart she protects. Pretending my past doesn’t exist. Letting strangers in the legal system sort my parents’ killers out.

  All I gotta do is tell Locke the truth, unload some of this weight, and maybe I’ll come out of it okay.

  Which truth?

  What’s gonna come out first? My true name, or my true feelings for his sister?

  My phone vibrates with a text, and finally, it’s the woman of the hour.

  I’m dealing with something at the office right now. Have to talk to you later.

  I frown. Then glare. What’s more important than telling her brother about us before fuckin’ Mike does? Her work? Astor’s goddamned, all important files that take more priority than Locke’s feelings? Our betrayal?

  I don’t care if it has to do with the Delaneys. They’re long dead. It’s been twenty years of trying to figure out their tragedy. They can’t be brought back. The cruelty can’t be taken away or branded out of my mind. This, here and now, can be fixed.

  What the fuck, Astor?

  She’s not going to be any help. Once again, her heart has frozen over.

  “Locke, I have to tell you something.”

  “No kidding?” Locke says jokingly, then takes a seat next to our bags. “What’s up? You know I’m here for you, whatever’s going on.”

  He’s right. I could tell him I’m taking steroids, and he’d still be there for me.

  “I…”

  I can’t tell him about Ryan. There’s too little known about the killers’ affiliations and who waits for the verdict in the shadows. I can’t put him, Carter, and Lily at risk.

  It’s a nightmare, picturing men in black clothes breaking in to their insecure, creaking, second-floor brownstone apartment that slopes slightly because of its sagging weight. Having them tied to chairs. Tortured the way Rose and Tim Delaney were. Lily, screaming for her mom. Crying out for her dad, Locke, to save her…

  Daddy! Daddy, help Momma! Help Momma!

  I—I can’t son. I’m so sorry, I—Punch. Smack—Ryan, close your eyes. Close them, there’s a good boy—A crowbar, crunching against bone.

  I’d never forgive myself.

  “It’s about Astor,” I say thickly.

  I expect Locke to angle his head, maybe pierce me with questions. After all, what does his sister have to do with anything?

  Instead, his stare narrows, and, if possible, goes flat. “Oh, yeah?”

  I swallow. At no point is Astor going to burst in here and do the dirty work. She made her choice clear when she failed to show this morning.

  “Something happened between us.”

  Silence.

  I grind my teeth, unwilling to be a coward and look away from my friend. But he isn’t giving me any sort of emotion, anything to let me know what he’s thinking.

  He says, at last, “I know.”

  My jaw unlocks. “You do?”

  “I was wondering when you’d ever admit it to me.”

  Oh man, do I ever have to tread carefully. “When did you find out?”

  “You joking?” At my naked surprise, he continues, “Pretty much that week.”

  “Week?”

  “It’s not like the pictures didn’t make it to my side of the dorm.”

  “The—“ Oh. Oh, motherfucking shit. “During sophomore year, you mean.”

  “As soon as they hit my desk, the minute I saw my sister, wrapped in a sheet, standing beside you, I wanted to rip your fucking dick off.”

  I swallow—more like gulp. “Um. But you didn’t. Hell, you didn’t say a word to me, bro.” It finally hits me. “What the fuck? This entire time, you knew? You knew what happened and you didn’t say shit?”

  “Not for you.” Locke stands, and the look he gives me…shit. I never thought that kind of coldness could reach his eyes. But then, he’s a Hayes, just like Astor. “Not a goddamned reason for you. It was for her. My sister.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mom was sick. Her prognosis wasn’t good, and Astor, as much as she likes to pretend otherwise, wasn’t handling it well. Falling apart, actually. My beating you up, maybe amputating a leg, wasn’t going to make it better for her. I wanted her to tell me, to come to me and talk about it, if she chose to. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on, with that picture. You were fully clothed. She was as white as the sheets she was wrapped in. I wanted her to tell me what went on, not hear it through college gossip.”

  “And did she?”

  “No.” Locke crosses his arms. “Not a word from her. But I’m not stupid, man. I know what was said about her around campus, how she was made fun of. She was too smart for the morons who gave her that stupid fucking nickname. Too intimidating for those scrawny-assed dickfucks who thought they could belittle my sister and get away with it.”

  “I remember. We beat many a stupid boy up.”

  “That’s the kicker. One thing about you, Ben, is your honor. You were right there beside me to defend Astor. You treated women with respect, even your one-nighters. It made no sense to me that you’d sleep with my sister, not tell me about it, and laugh behind my and her backs. It didn’t fucking compute.”

  “Locke, I—”

  “Why didn’t you come to me yourself? Why not be a man about the whole thing? The two of you, you kept this as your secret, despite the snapshot. You stopped talking to each other. Began hating one another, and still, you didn’t talk to me about it. As smart as you two think you are...how can you not see the amount of tension you bring into any room? Anyone with a single functioning cell can see the history between you two. Carter did within about ten minutes of meeting you both.”

  “Astor and me, we weren’t thinking,” I admit. “We were both so hurt over the whole thing—”

  “And here I am, waiting to be let in on it, six fucking years later. My twin sister and my best friend. Anytime now, guys.”

  “She thinks I s
lept with her on a dare,” I blurt.

  Locke goes quiet. “Come again?”

  “We had that stupid game, you, me, Ash and East.”

  “I know what the fuck we did.”

  “Well…Astor figured she was made a part of it. When I, when we…”

  Locke says, slow, lethal, “And why would she think that?”

  Ah, fuck. I’m really in it, now. “Dodge. Dodge had something on me, and he said if I didn’t sleep with Astor, he’d tell everyone.”

  “Wait a minute—“ Locke holds up a hand, his brows shadowing his eyes almost completely. “Dodge dared you to sleep with Astor?”

  “More like blackmailed.”

  “And you did it?” Locke stalks forward and throws an arm out with the viper reflexes he was known for on the field. “YOU FUCKING DID IT?”

  My head slams into the lockers behind us as Locke grabs me by the neck.

  Telling him to calm down is about as futile as telling me to shut up. I leave my arms limp at my sides, though every instinct tells me to fight him. But this is my friend. “No. No, man, not in the least. I denied him right then.”

  Locke’s grip won’t leave my throat, and if I don’t get the truth out in the next three seconds, my nose and jaw will never look the same again.

  “Locke, you gotta stop. Pull up, man. Because if you throw a punch, I have to defend myself, too.”

  “You have two seconds.” Locke is breathing hard through his nose.

  I don’t waste time and speak through his strangle-hold. “I had to go to Astor’s that night, after our game. To finish studying for finals. She was helping me. You know that. So I drive there—my right hand cracked and bleeding from punching Dodge’s face in, by the way—and go to her door, and when she opens it, she’s in…”

  Oh, man. Not a good segue.

  “In what, Ben.”

  “In her…” I clear my throat as much as I’m able. “Unmentionables.”

  Locke’s upper lip lifts in a snarl.

  “Dude, she had a crush on me, okay? And I had one on her. And when she asked me—when she wanted…ah, fuck. It’s like talking to her father right now.”