The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  “I understand that, and I’m sorry.”

  “Laneworth has to have something available for all of those who—” She stops.

  “I wish I could say that were the case, but there is nothing else.”

  “What about the money Luke invested in the company?”

  “Records indicate the plant was operating at a loss. Bills hadn’t been paid and there was very little intake of money over the past year. Therefore, there’s no payout to be had.”

  “That can’t be. Luke said they were doing great.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, your husband was a supervisor. I doubt he’d be informed about the company’s finances from Tom Worth.”

  “Well, ask Tom then.”

  He clears his throat. “We’re unable to locate him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? You mean took the money and ran!”

  “I don’t think so. Like I said, there was nothing left to take. I think he’s dealing with the devastation in his own way.”

  “What about Adam? He knows about the money.”

  “I’m sorry to inform you that it seems Adam Lane doesn’t understand what happened. He handled operations and Tom handled administration.”

  “He’s lying!” she screams.

  My fists ball at my sides. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

  “I assure you that is not the case. We’ve been in contact with him. Examined the books. There is nothing there and he, too, is at a loss.”

  “So we get nothing?”

  “That is correct, ma’am. There are no funds to distribute on behalf of Laneworth.”

  My mother breaks down and the man leaves her in tears.

  I close my eyes and try not to think about Charlie. My best friend ripped from my life when I really need my friend. Or Mr. Lane, who can’t even show his face. Or the fact that I hate them both. Hate them for leaving.

  Minutes pass. More than minutes. Maybe an hour or two before my mother stops crying. I stay where I am and don’t move.

  “Come down here, Jasper,” my mother calls.

  I do.

  “Listen, honey, things have changed a little. We’re not going to get that money I thought we were going to get.”

  “What does all that mean, what that man said? Did someone steal Dad’s money?”

  She sucks in a breath. “You were listening?”

  I nod.

  She pulls me to her. “No, no one stole Dad’s money.”

  “So how are we going to live without money?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Mom, I’m worried.”

  She squeezes me tight. “Don’t be. Think of it as an adventure.”

  My mother’s famous last words.

  Fuck it.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I don’t need to go there.

  I take a fast right and turn around and head for I-94. The last thing I need to do is see that house. I’m flying down Route 102 when my attention slides to the speedometer. I’m approaching 70 and it’s exhilarating.

  Faster. I want to go faster.

  But then that damn psychosomatic bullshit kicks in and I automatically start to let off the gas.

  A black blur up ahead catches my attention, and I jam on my brakes when I see it’s a car pulled over on the side of the road with a woman looking under the hood.

  Still going 60, slamming on my brakes isn’t the best choice. My car starts to skid, and luckily no one is behind me. Thank fuck, I’m able to control it and bring it to a stop quickly.

  Knowing I must have frightened the woman, I whip my sunglasses off and rush out of my car.

  Her head is still down, as if she never even heard me coming.

  Shaking my head, I can now clearly see that she didn’t—the earphones in her ears are the telltale sign.

  I stay where I am, across the road from her, and lean against my car. I’m impressed that she knows how to move around under the hood and I curiously watch her remove the transmission fluid dipstick, wipe it dry with a towel, reinsert it, and then remove it again.

  My gaze narrows.

  In profile her features are soft. Curls hang long and her hair is something a man could get lost in. She’s tall and slender, not curvy or voluptuous. Not my type at all. For some reason though I’m entranced by the way she moves. The grace behind it. It’s almost unexplainable, but there’s a fluidity about it. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans, a tank top, and ankle boots that are covered in mud. I look down at my own mud-covered shoes.

  There must be something in the air.

  With her face scrunched in concentration, it’s only when she squints to look at the level that I cross the street to ease her concern and tell her the fluid level is fine. I can see it from here.

  My shadow dances over the engine, and the movement causes her to jump. Now I’m pretty certain I scared the shit out of her because she screams as she yanks the earphones from her ears.

  Wide, startled eyes stare at me.

  I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Looking uncertain, she moves even farther away from me.

  Blinking rapidly, she stares but keeps moving.

  My eyes follow her until she’s settled.

  Facing due east now, I’m blinded by the sun. “I saw you were broken down and wondered if you needed help.”

  “Jasper,” she whispers.

  She knows me?

  Using my hand as a visor, I study her. Mounds of dirty-blond curls fall way past her shoulders. She attempts to pull them to one side and the somehow familiar movement ignites a distant memory. A young girl with those very same unruly curls who tried to tame them by pulling them to the side flashes before my eyes. A girl who followed me around and did whatever I told her to do. A girl who didn’t like to play with dolls or other girls. A girl who only liked to play with me. “Charlie?”

  She stands utterly still.

  Knowing I can’t be right, I take a step closer.

  Look at her for a moment, two, three.

  As if hypnotized, I’m staring at her.

  And then I know.

  It’s her.

  It has to be.

  After a moment, I break the connection and allow my gaze to travel down her body. A dick move, but I can’t help it.

  Before I get too far, my memories assault me. It’s me and her—the two of us playing Matchbox cars. The two of us playing in my backyard. Running. Jumping. Having fun. “Charlie?” I repeat, and my eyes find hers again.

  She’s smiling and nodding.

  The way she looks at me does something to my insides.

  Suddenly, a nervous laugh escapes her. “No one calls me that anymore.”

  Stupefied, I’m utterly speechless.

  “It’s Charlotte,” she whispers.

  Like I could have forgotten?

  Her voice is sweet, like I remember.

  Innocent even.

  She was a tomboy who liked to play with me. A cute little girl with an upturned nose and rosy cheeks whose fair skin got sunburned way too easily. A little girl who didn’t have a mean bone in her body. And that little girl with eyes like the sky was my best friend.

  Trying to blink the stupor away, all I can do is stare, because fuck—she isn’t a little girl anymore.

  She’s incredibly beautiful in the most wholesome way. Untamed blond curls with faint streaks of dark gold running through them, freckles lightly speckling her nose, and the most incredible pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen. At eight, I never saw her for the beauty she must have been. She was just my best friend. But now, I can’t help but notice just how attractive she is.

  My gaze flickers to her lips—full and pink.

  Then lower.

  Until I make myself stop.

  Her hair blows in the wind and when she goes to push it from her face, streaks of dark fluid blemish her forehead.


  Wanting to help her, I step closer and can’t help but notice how good she smells. Without thinking, I take the towel from her hand and wipe the streaks off her face. Just as the contact is made, I feel a rush of something strange course through me, and my body stiffens. My senses seem electrified.

  As if struck by lightning, her body shudders in response to my touch.

  What is this?

  I try to shove the foreign feeling away.

  Charlotte Lane holds a lot of memories for me. Too bad most of them aren’t good. And just like that, a black cloud settles over me just like the one over the plant the night of the explosion. “Yeah, I remember your name.”

  Her smile fades the moment she must realize the shock of seeing her has worn off. “Thank you,” she says, taking the towel from my still outstretched hand.

  I step back. “What are you doing here?” My tone is harsh.

  Without answering me, she quickly moves toward the car and puts the dipstick back in the transmission fluid before she closes the hood to her very dirty Honda Civic. “My car broke down. I think I need to call for a tow truck.”

  “No, not here.” I point to the ground. “In Detroit. Are you here to block the sale of the property?” I bluntly ask.

  “No,” she says hoarsely.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Her whole body jerks as if I’d slapped her. “Jasper, I’m not lying. I’m not here for that.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. No matter how much my body wants to betray me, my head can’t wrap itself around the fact that her father and his business partner up and ran right after the accident.

  Who knows the real story behind their flight?

  It was never fully uncovered.

  Some say deceit.

  Others have called foul play.

  The authorities ruled out any misconduct and therefore never pressed charges against either Adam Lane or Tom Worth.

  Personally, I think there was money somewhere. There had to be. I’ve always gone along the lines that you run only because you have something to run from. So yeah, I can’t forgive what her family did to this town, to my family, to me.

  On so many levels.

  Cowards.

  That’s what they were.

  Cowards.

  It was their plant, for fuck’s sake. People died brutal deaths and they didn’t attend any of the funerals. Didn’t send flowers. Didn’t even give as much as an I’m sorry for your loss.

  I look at her with disdain in my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “It’s true. I’m here—”

  I cut her off. “You know what, never mind. I don’t care why you’re here.”

  Her eyes close and then open. It’s a habit she has kept all these years. “JJ,” she starts.

  I glower at her. “Don’t call me that.”

  She gulps and her eyes close again, this time for slightly longer than a moment. I can’t help but notice her long lashes and the way they flutter against her skin. “Jasper. Please. Let me explain.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t get to talk to me. I’ll call a tow truck to come up here and assist you. Just wait in your car.”

  Clearly I’ve upset her. She’s trembling and I feel a little bad about my tone, but I can’t be near her. My head is all over the place and the memories of us, the innocent memories of two kids who just liked to play together—of a little girl who was always scared, of a little boy who liked to feel like he could take care of her—they are all I can recall. But I know that’s not all there is. There’s so much more. So much bad. And I don’t want to remember it anymore. I’ve already remembered too much.

  With my phone to my ear, I make the call to my buddy Craig for a pickup and then look at her. “They’ll be here soon.”

  She nods, and I swear she wrinkles her nose at me. Did she do that on purpose? Shaking off our childhood signal that meant she was fine, I head to my car. My hood is facing hers and once I’m sitting inside, I can’t keep my eyes from drifting her way.

  She’s sitting in her front seat with her head down, and I think she’s crying.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  I don’t need this right now. I don’t need to be distracted. Today is the most important day of my life. Today I get to claim that piece of land, and then Monday morning I’ll be at the town square and make sure that property is legally mine.

  If that’s why she’s here, I won’t let her win.

  I won’t.

  I just won’t.

  The tow truck promised to arrive in less than fifteen minutes, but even that seems like a lifetime. Each minute feels like hell. Every second that ticks by, I have to fight the urge to get out of my car and check on her. Make sure she’s okay. Make sure she’s not afraid. Ask her where she’s been. If her life has been good.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Why don’t I just leave?

  Because I can’t.

  That’s why.

  I can’t leave her out here alone—it isn’t safe.

  And she hates to be alone.

  No, she hated to be alone.

  A long time ago she was a neglected child. I don’t know shit about her now.

  Finally, the truck arrives, and as soon as the car is loaded and she’s in the passenger seat of the rig, it takes off.

  I don’t look at her.

  Not as the truck turns around, not as it hops on the interstate and heads south, and not as the taillights fade in the distance.

  I consider going after her.

  I don’t.

  When the truck is out of sight, I’m left alone.

  I feel strange.

  I can’t move.

  I feel numb.

  I feel weird.

  I feel like I wish I could redo that encounter, maybe in a different way.

  A nicer way.

  But there is no other way.

  My hand hovers over the key, but I can’t start my car. I wait and wait and wait. I have to go in the same direction and I don’t want to come close to her. Charlie is dead to me. She’s been dead to me for twenty years. I never want to see her again.

  But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie.

  Yes, Charlie might be dead to me, but she has blossomed into a beautiful woman who couldn’t be more alive.

  And her name is Charlotte.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ROAD BLOCK

  Charlotte

  TAKING OFF WITHOUT doing what I came here to do isn’t an option.

  My paycheck depends on it. I tried to argue with my boss not to send me out in the field on this assignment, but he wouldn’t listen. He told me he needed help and also promised me a future promotion if I did well.

  Hopeful, I gave in. I never really had a choice. That was clear from our conversation, even if he did sugarcoat it. “Do what I tell you or leave now” is really what he meant.

  So here I am.

  And now Jasper knows I’m in Detroit.

  And it went just the way I always knew it would.

  You see, I know much more about his life than he knows about mine. I’ve thought about him for years. Devoured every word on social media ever written about him. Yearned to reach out to him. Yet, somehow I knew he wouldn’t be receptive. My side of the story wouldn’t matter because in the end, everything that happened to him happened because of what happened here—at Laneworth Automotive Parts Plant.

  I look around.

  People are everywhere.

  The desolate acres of land are no longer the ghost town they had been earlier when I arrived. Thumbing through the photos I took less than an hour ago, I study them. Odd. I can’t ever remember coming here when I was little. Even staring at the rubble of the office building doesn’t help. Nothing stirs a memory. It bothers me. I want to remember it; I just can’t. I keep looking. Hopefully the pictures will be useful in my next steps.

  “Excuse me, miss, but I need to set this table up.”

  “Oh, sorry,�
�� I say and move out of the way.

  Forced to give up my quest, I look around again. It looks so different. Someone worked his or her magic very quickly. I’m now standing near at least a dozen tables dressed in red, white, and blue. There are tents, banners, taped-off areas, and even a small stage where the red Storm prototype sits. The place has become a madhouse. Hundreds of bodies are moving from one place to another. People are mingling. Smiling. There’s an element of hope in the air. Everyone seems genuinely happy.

  God, I hope Jasper doesn’t tell anyone who I am.

  “There you are,” Cole says.

  Straightening my shoulders, I plaster a smile on my face and turn around. “Yes. Here I am.”

  “I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming.”

  I quickly slide my camera in my bag and set it out of sight. “I’ve been here for a while. I looked for you but didn’t see you.”

  “Oh, you weren’t here when I arrived, so I took off for a bit to grab some coffee.”

  “Sorry. I had car trouble.”

  “Well, that sucks. Everything okay now?”

  Cole Reynolds is not a man who cares to hear about personal problems. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Cool,” he says. “Where’s Eve?”

  Cole Reynolds is Eve’s boss. As the senior blogger at The Detroit Scene, he is someone you want to be connected to. Too bad Eve took that literally and slept with him to get her job as junior blogger. Unfortunately for me, he’s also my very married boss. And I, on the other hand, did not sleep with him to get my job. I also, on the other hand, do not have my own column. I’m his assistant.

  “Well?” he asks.

  Nothing like being put in an awkward situation because your roommate never came back to the room last night when you know your boss planned for you to stay there so he could be with her tonight. I find his narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  Cole continues to look at me sharply.

  Unfortunately for me, I’m a bad liar and by process of elimination if she wasn’t with him, she had to be with someone from the party she went to last night. “Really, Cole, I have no idea where she is.”

  A quick glance at his watch tells me he’s not happy. “She’s late.”

  “I could call her.”

  “I already did. She’s not answering her phone.”

  My anxiety is high enough without the worry of covering up for Eve’s indiscretions. “I left early and when I got back there was no sign she had returned yet,” I confess.