Royal Flush

by Ella Goode

  “I mean…I wasn’t going to say it.”

  Belle giggles.

  “I don’t think it’s fair that the two of you are ganging up on me.”

  “Then you shouldn’t leave us alone.”

  Hmm. I don’t know what to say to that. “Where should I put the tray?”

  “Down there in front of the television. We can watch The Great British Bake-off. Your sister says it’s her favorite and I have two episodes to catch up on.”

  Over Mel’s head, Belle’s eyes flash in warning. I would swear that not only has Belle never watched that show before but I’d be surprised if she’s even heard of it before today.

  “I made grilled cheese,” I tell them as I carry the heavy tray down to the lower level.

  “Those are my favorite!” Mel cries. “Don’t you dare eat mine or I’ll cut your eyelashes off in your sleep.”

  Hmm, again. I shouldn’t leave her alone. She plans to be around me when I’m sleeping. I try not to add these things up and create some wild, improbable scenario. Her bedroom, her space, still boggles my mind, but she likes simple foods like grilled cheese sandwiches and she thinks a fun night is painting my sister’s fingernails.

  I drop to the sofa and shove half a sandwich in my mouth so I don’t say something dumb like I love you. Once the nails are done and the food is gone, I drag a reluctant Belle home.

  “She’s really nice,” Belle says dreamily.

  “Yeah.”

  “I like her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you should date her.”

  Yeah.

  Chapter Twelve

  Melody

  “Melody!” I jolt awake at the sound of my mom’s voice, sitting up. I’m still in my clothes from yesterday. I must have crashed. “Melody!” My mom shouts my name again before my bedroom door flies open and she flips on the lights, blinding me. I prepare myself for whatever it is she’s going to tell me about my father. I’m sure with the way she’s yelling my name that he’s done something to upset her again.

  “What time is it?” I rub my eyes. My alarm on my phone hasn't even gone off yet. I reach over to double check it but get distracted.

  “I need you to think back to when your grandfather died.” She paces back and forth in front of my bed.

  “Yes, that’s what I love to think about when I first wake up.” She plops down on my bed. She’s all done up. “What time is it?” I ask again.

  “It’s six a.m.” I groan, falling back onto the bed. My alarm goes off, literally making her words ring true. She grabs my phone, shutting it off for me.

  “Who is Brad?” And I’m up again, grabbing the phone from her hand. Why the hell is he calling me at this hour?

  “Why are we talking about Grandpa?” I change the subject back to why she burst into my room at the crack of dawn. He died three years ago. Only a few months after my grandma. I’m pretty sure he died of a broken heart. I have no idea how my father was related to the two of them. They were the epitome of love. The total opposite of who my Dad is. I had looked up to my grandparents. My father was clearly the black sheep of the bunch. He has a handful of brothers and sisters but he’s not close to any of them. I smile, thinking about how my grandpa couldn't keep his hands to himself. My grandma couldn't be out of the room for two minutes and he’d be looking for her. I don’t think they make men like him anymore. I spent most of my summers as a child with them at their estate in Connecticut. All the grandkids did. It was Grandma who made me fall in love with art.

  “When he passed away did you have to sign anything?” The tone of my mom's voice is serious, which scares me a little.

  “No,” I shake my head, getting up from my bed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, why would I sign something?” I was fifteen when he died. We’d fallen off the map with the rest of the family. I should have been better with keeping in contact with everyone. I always say that I’m going to be better but then never seem to find the time. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that because of my father I often felt as though I was a part of that whole black sheep thing. Even if everyone always treated my mom and me well. His actions have consequences and unfortunately sometimes we had to pay the price for them.

  “How about recently? Since you turned eighteen. Has your father asked you to sign anything?”

  “No.” I yawn, heading toward my bathroom to start to get ready.

  “Are you sure?” Mom follows me into the bathroom.

  “Yeah. I’m sure.” I shut the door, using the bathroom before I come back out.

  “I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “Mom, I gotta pee.” She is worked up this morning. “You on something?” I look her over. It’s six a.m. and normally she’s asleep. When did she get back?

  “Hush. I just think I found something is all.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  “You mean your PI found something?” I brush my hair out before starting in on light makeup so I don’t look like the walking dead. Makeup is an art of its own.

  “Yes, the PI found something.” I glance at her in the mirror. Her cheeks turn a little rosy. Is she blushing? I turn around to look at her. I’m starting to get a little worried now. My mind races with what could be going on with her until it hits me.

  “You’re crushing on the PI?” I ask because now I am paying attention. “Good for you, Mom.”

  “Melody James.” She tries to make her tone scolding.

  “Oh my God. Is he who you’ve been with this whole time? Was he at the spa with you?” Her face turns another shade of red, making me smile. She deserves to be happy. She’s taken enough crap from my dad over the years.

  “I’m not talking about that.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Unless you want to talk about this Brad that’s been texting you.” She lifts one of her perfect eyebrows. She doesn’t have one wrinkle on her forehead. Now I’m the one whose face begins to flush.

  “No, I haven't signed anything. He missed my birthday,” I remind her, walking into my closet and getting dressed. A few minutes later I walk out. I really should have Belle go through my closet. I haven't cleaned it out for a few years and there is a ton of stuff I’ve never worn in there. Most of it probably doesn’t fit me anymore. A lot of that stuff came from shopping trips with my mom. It is one of the only things that could get her mind off what was happening around her. The woman has an eye for fashion. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to talk her into starting her own line. I have a feeling my father is the one putting the brakes on that. He’s always trying to cut her down so that she’d think she couldn't do it. I know he definitely wouldn’t give her the means to get it done. I’m pretty sure that I inherited her eye for art. She just expresses hers differently than me. Fashion might not be my passion but it too is an art. So many things are but people don’t see it.

  “Are you sure?” She seems so adamant about this.

  “Nothing, Mom, I swear. Why?” I watch her debate if she wants to tell me more.

  “Out with it.” When it comes to my mom she always overshares more than she should but now she’s holding back. It has something to do with Grandpa.

  “When your grandpa passed, he spilt ITM between all of the siblings.” I nod, already knowing this. I don’t think my father did much with his shares on the board but what do I know? I really have no idea how he spends his days or anything about International Technological Management. I know the basics, which include that is was started by my great grandfather who then passed it down to my grandpa. After his death, it was split between the three brothers and three sisters. At least that is my understanding of things.

  “I don’t think he passed it to your father,” she says, looking more serious now.

  “Come again?” That’s interesting and immediately makes me curious as to where the hell my good old dad is getting all of his money? I’d assumed it was coming from his interest in ITM.

  “I just need to know if you signed anything, sweetheart.
”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Let me dig.” My mom stands up a little straighter, looking more confident in herself. I don’t know if it’s because she’s found something on my father or if this new PI is giving her something to smile about. Either way I like her newfound confidence. It makes my heart happy to see it.

  “Dig for what?” I ask because I’m curious as to where she’s going with this. My father is sharp and I don’t want her stepping into something that could get her bitten. As quickly as my mom could stand, she could fall. She always gets up, I have to give her credit for that. I stand here feeling confused as I wait for her to answer me.

  “Get ready for school. You want to look good for Brad, don’t you?” She quickly changes the subject.

  My heart flutters in my chest at the thought of getting to see him today. I have six missed texts from him on my phone. I’m guessing he thinks I’m avoiding him when really I passed out. I haven't gotten a chance to read them because my mom is standing here.

  “This doesn't look good?” I finish getting ready. I look at myself in the mirror.

  “It does. I wanted to see if I was right.” She smiles and it meets her eyes this time. For once she looks happy. I don’t know if it was that spa, this new PI she’s getting down with or the dirt she found on my father, but either way I’ll take it. It doesn't mean that I’m not going to do a little digging of my own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brad

  “I’m here for tutoring,” Melody announces. Today she’s wearing a short skirt in pink and gray topped with a gray T-shirt with a giant tiger on the front. A necklace falls out of her shirt and swings forward. There’s a small blue gem dangling from the chain. It winks at me under the fluorescent lights.

  Melody catches me staring.

  “Your necklace is pretty.” I pull her backpack across the table and out of her reach.

  She rolls it between her fingers. “My mom gave it to me. It’s my birthstone. September,” she explains at my blank expression. “What’s your birthday?”

  “July. I don’t know what stone that is.”

  “It’s a ruby. Red,” she clarifies.

  “I gotcha.”

  “So, you gonna give me my bag back?” She nods toward my side where I set the pack.

  I make no move. “I thought you had a tutor.”

  “He seemed a little unsteady on his feet last night. I worried he might fall on my property and sue us.”

  “Valid concern.” I nod seriously. “He was tripping all over his feet last night.” I toss her pack across the table. “Good thing FU High has a trig tutor.”

  Melody rolls her eyes but sits down and we get to work. After a half hour, she decides she needs a break. “I brought cookies.” She shoves the small box to the center of the table.

  I guess this is her peace offering. I reach for the box but she draws it back. “First, why didn’t you call me back that night I needed help?”

  I can feel my face turning red from embarrassment. Or maybe it’s shame. I reach behind me and squeeze my neck. “It’s complicated.” I don’t really want to throw my sister under the bus and, if we’re being completely honest about it, part of the reason I didn’t call her back is because I was being a fucking coward. I don’t want to admit either of these things.

  “I guess you’re not hungry for these cookies then.” She opens the box and proceeds to munch on one right in front of me.

  I swallow my pride. “Because I’m a dumbass and got scared. You know I’m a scholarship student, right? The shirt you’re wearing is probably more than the rent for my apartment. My mom works a double shift at the washing machine factory and the only really expensive thing we own is my sister’s school uniform. You and I come from different backgrounds. Sometimes those differences are too big to overcome.”

  She swings the box back and forth in front of her. “Are you saying that because you had a bad experience with someone else here?”

  “As in, did I date someone else at FU High?”

  “Or hook up. Or crush on.”

  “I don’t do crushes.” The feeling I have toward Melody is more intense than a crush. It’s more like obsession—one that keeps me up at night. One that makes me come to this hellhole of a school even though I hate it more than I like most things.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “No. I haven’t dated anyone from FU High. I haven’t hooked up with anyone here. I haven’t crushed on anyone here. I don’t even like ninety-nine point nine percent of the people in this school.”

  “That’s a specific number.”

  I cock my head and send a wry look in her direction. “I don’t think you need a tutor to figure out the significance of it.” I reach across and tug the cookie box out from under her grip. She lets it go without a fight. Inside are a half dozen different cookies—chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, sugar cookies with frosting. I select the snickerdoodle and shove it into my mouth.

  “So you prefer snickerdoodles. Noted,” she says.

  I swallow before replying, “I like them all.” Because they’re yours. I’d eat gravel if you gave it to me. I don’t say those words to her, but I feel like she gets it anyway because her cheeks turn pink and she lowers her eyes to the table.

  Suddenly, I’m hungry for a lot more than cookies. “Mel—“ I start to say.

  “How good of a hacker are you?” she interjects before I can get anything out.

  “Um, what?” I reply, not sure of the sudden change in conversation.

  “I know you can get into the school here, but is it because you know the system or is it because you’re good with breaking into computers or whatnot?” She waves her hand.

  “It’s because I’m good.” My sudden warm feelings turn chilly. She’s here with cookies not because she wants to pull down her jeans and sit on my face but because she needs something from me. At least she’s bribing me with food instead of trying to beat me up in the hallway. There’s that at least. “What do you need?”

  “I’ll pay you. That way you don’t have to get in trouble doing the stuff for Mark.”

  I hate that she knows I need money. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “I already did Mark’s thing before Carter came to talk to me.”

  “Oh.” She sucks in her lower lip. “That’s good then.”

  “What do you need me to do? Hopefully not break into the Pentagon. I haven’t figured that one out—yet.” Someday I’ll break in. It’s every hacker’s dream.

  Mel opens the front pocket of her backpack and pulls out a small piece of paper which she slides across the table. “This company is my grandfather’s. He died years ago. My dad’s been in charge—“

  “The senator?”

  “Right, only my mom thinks that there’s something fishy about who actually owns the shares. She kept babbling this morning about whether I’d signed something for my grandpa.”

  “Have you?”

  “No. I’ve never signed anything.” She makes a face. “I guess that’s not true. I’ve signed school forms and stuff like that but no legal documents from my grandpa.”

  ”Did you have a will thing?” I don’t know what it’s called.

  “Maybe? I wasn’t there, though. My mom was and whatever was said didn’t trigger any questions back then.”

  “What did trigger it?”

  “Well...” The blush is back. “I think my mom’s in love with her PI.”

  “So she needs money to run away?”

  “Or kick the senator out. My dad lives this perfect life other than the fact that he sleeps around but he picks women who keep their mouths shut. I don’t really know how. You’d think one of them would’ve sold him out by now.”

  “Maybe he’s paying them.”

  “Oh.” She blinks twice. “I hadn’t thought of that. Is that something you could find out?”

  “Dunno. I won’t until I take a look.” Despite my irritation that she came to bribe me with baked goods and didn’t have any intent
ion of climbing onto my dick, my mind starts racing. I like a good challenge. I get to my feet. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Home.”

  “But we have two classes left.”

  “Do you want answers or do you want to waste two more hours of your precious time in this place?”

  She shoves the box in her bag. “Let’s go.”

  Our apartment is small—less than the size of her bedroom suite—but it’s clean and tidy. Mel seems to like it. “This is so pretty,” she exclaims, running her hand over the black painted trim. The apartment is decorated in what my mom calls Old World chic. She takes stuff people would throw away and remakes it.

  I toe off my shoes in the entry. “My mom’s work.” Mom’s got good taste, is handy with the sewing machine, and makes good use of thrift places.

  “Wow. She should go into interior decorating. I know people who would kill to have their homes as nice as this.”

  Mel sounds sincere. It’s not like she needs to blow smoke up my ass. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it pays well.”

  “Oh no, it does. My mom has a decorator and probably sends her a check of ten grand every month.”

  My backpack falls to the floor with a thud. “Ten grand?” I croak.

  Mel nods. “Easy and our decorator has a ton of clients all over the country. Like he flies to people’s vacation homes and stuff like that.”

  “That’s pretty cool.” My mom would love that. Hell, I would love that for her. She’s too young to be slaving over washing machine parts. Sometimes I’m up when she gets home and I can see her moving slowly around the living room because the work is heavy and painful.

  “What we should do is have her put together a proposal for my mom.”

  “Your mom already has a decorator,” I point out.

  Mel shakes her head. “Yeah, but rich people—including my mom—love the new and the shiny, so if you brought a new person in with new ideas, Mom would think it was the best thing.”

  I scratch my head. “I don’t mean to be an asshole, but it sounds like you want my mom to take advantage of your mom.”