Exposure

by Ember Dante

  “Is this an Arnold Palmer?”

  She nodded and eased into the chair opposite me, a graceful smile on her lips as she lifted her own glass.

  “Yes, with sweet tea vodka rather than plain tea mixed with the lemonade. Gives it a bit of a kick, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s good.” I laughed and took another sip before replacing the glass on the table.

  Her fingers twisted the glass back and forth, her eyes staring sightlessly into the contents within. I sat quietly for several minutes, waiting for her to get on with it, but my patience was wearing thin. With a subtle shake of her head, she blinked several times and lifted her gaze to mine, as if she just remembered I was sitting across from her. The words spilled from her lips, her voice calm and normal like she was reciting her favorite recipe.

  “I’ve decided to divorce your father.”

  I’d waited years for her to tell me that, but it wasn’t what I was expecting now.

  “What? Why now? I don’t understand.”

  “I met him in college. It was Texas-OU weekend, at the hex rally.” A bashful smile graced her lips at the memory. “My best friend talked me into going. The crowd was wild, as you can imagine, everyone jostling for a better position closer to the bonfire. Mind, this was before that tradition began to fizzle, and long before that tragic bonfire at A&M.” She drew in a deep breath. “We had a mutual friend who introduced us. I was only nineteen, and Connor had just graduated that May. He was preparing to take the LSAT in December. I couldn’t believe he was actually interested in me.”

  Not sure where she was going with the story, I decided to just play along.

  “You never told me that.”

  “There are several things I’ve never told you.” She lifted her glass for another sip, and beads of sweat dripped onto the table. “The plan was for him to go to Harvard the following spring per his father’s wishes.” Her gaze met mine and her brow arched. “He told his father no and stayed at UT. For me. We were married two years later.”

  I felt my brows knit in response to her meaning—spoken and implied. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table.

  “He was a different man back then, more like you are now: handsome, idealistic, independent, and uninterested in his father’s way of doing things. We were happy.” She smiled.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  The faraway look returned.

  “He was so good with you boys back then,” she sighed. “But by the time Mason was two, everything changed.”

  “Mom?”

  “We weren’t trying, but I got pregnant again when Mason was about eight months old. It was a difficult pregnancy, unlike my others. My blood pressure was out of control, and I started hemorrhaging at thirty-two weeks. The placenta detached and they had to do an emergency c-section.” She balled her hand into a fist and mashed it against her mouth, directly under her nose. Her eyes were squeezed closed, the lashes fanned out against her cheekbones. They reopened, filled with agony. “Your sister was stillborn. We named her Abigail, after Gran.”

  “I—we—had a sister?”

  “Yes.”

  My fingers trembled, and I rubbed my palms across my thighs. “Why can’t I remember that? I kind of remember you being sick, but that’s all.”

  “You were only six at the time, sweet. Gran kept you boys pretty occupied during all that. I was inconsolable, and your father, well…” she sighed. “I had never seen him that upset. We each coped in different ways. I focused on you boys, and he focused on his career. It wasn’t long before his father finally got his way. That’s when Connor started to change.”

  It was too much. I was confused, to say the least, and almost a little angry. I pressed my palms against the edge of the table, torn between listening to the rest of her story and leaving before she could tell me.

  “You’re defending him?” I asked, a distinct bite in my words.

  “No. You asked why I’ve decided to divorce him now, and I’m answering your question within the proper context. You’re free to go if you don’t want to hear any more.”

  She relaxed into her chair and lifted her drink to her lips, a silent dare in her eyes.

  Properly chastened, I nodded and lifted my own glass, tipping it slightly in a gesture for her to continue.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Several moments passed as the silence stretched between us. I was unprepared for her sudden change in direction.

  “I’ve always known he made you cover for Mason.”

  My eyes widened. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew,” she scoffed. She pushed her glass aside and reached for my arm, tracing her fingers over the all-but-invisible scar. “I had my suspicions about this, but I didn’t know the truth until today.”

  “Mom—”

  She waved me off. “Connor called me that night, asking me to meet him at the hospital, but he wouldn’t give me any details until I got there. Rightly so because I would have been beside myself. By the time I arrived, you were already in surgery. The story he gave me didn’t ring true, but at the time I had more important things on my mind—you and your brother. Later that night, I overheard him talking to Roger.” Her head cocked to one side. “Judge McIntyre,” she explained, and I nodded. It was odd hearing her call him by his first name. “I didn’t hear everything but enough to question the official story. Expecting you to take the blame for rose bushes is one thing, but that night…” There was a brief shake of her head, her eyelids fluttered, then she looked at me again. “I had hoped you would tell me the truth, but you clung to the lie—his lie.”

  “I didn’t know what to do.” I dropped my chin and released a heavy sigh. “I know Mason hated me afterward. I was too afraid to talk to you about it, to find out how you felt.”

  “You and your brothers are so different from one another.” She shook her head, her lips curved into a small smile. “Mason is my rebel, but I also worry that he’s a carbon copy of your father. Finn, on the other hand, is my worrier. He used to fret over the silliest things, and everything had to be just so. It didn’t surprise me at all when he decided to major in graphic design. But you, sweet…”

  She took my hand in both of hers, clasping me with one while stroking my knuckles with the other. “You were my little man, from the beginning. From the time you could walk, you were my helper, and determined to protect your brothers. Unfortunately, Connor exploited that to his advantage. I’ll admit, I was disappointed you didn’t tell me the truth about the accident, but I’m also glad you didn’t. If you had, you might have decided to stay. I can’t tell you how proud I was the day you told us you were leaving. You chose yourself over your brothers, and that meant the world to me because I knew that one event would do one of two things: it would either completely break you and you would give in and walk your father’s path, or you would go your own way. You have grown into the man your father should have been.”

  My hand tightened in hers, and I blinked back tears like a fucking baby.

  “I’m not sure I gained anything by leaving. He’s still controlled so much of my life. Look at that bullshit with Caitlin.”

  “Rest assured, had I known about that, I would have divorced him then—if I didn’t kill him first.” She released a heavy sigh. “Even as angry as I am, I can’t entirely regret my life with him. I have my boys, and I wouldn’t otherwise. But this has gone on long enough, and I can’t go on hoping—pretending—he’ll change and that things will go back to the way they used to be. I lost my Connor long ago, and it’s time to move on.”

  She released me and strolled to the other side of the kitchen, returning with a small box that she placed in front of me. “Speaking of getting on with things, I’ve been meaning to give you this.”

  I locked eyes with her as she sat and gracefully sipped her now watered-down drink.

  “Is this…?”

  She shrugged and gave me a mischievous smile. “I thought you might need it one of these days. Although
the setting is a bit loose, so you’ll need to get that fixed.”

  The stupid tremor returned to my fingers, and the simple task of opening the box became ten times more difficult. I flipped open the lid knowing what I’d find inside. Sure enough, there sat Gran’s two-carat Tiffany diamond. My breath left in a rush and the erratic beat of my heart began to steady. Soon I felt as calm as Mom looked.

  “I’m not trying to rush you, baby.” Her voice jolted me from my stupor, and I lifted my gaze to hers. “Am I wrong about her? About Emmy?”

  “No, you’re not wrong. She’s it for me.”

  “Then don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t let anything or anyone—not your job, not the bullshit of everyday life, and especially not your father—get in the way of that. I didn’t make him do the things he’s done, but I pushed him away because I couldn’t see through my own pain. I gave up as much as he did. It takes two people to make a relationship work, and it takes two to make it fail. You both have to fight for it every single day, and that’s not easy. Don’t you dare measure your relationship with Emmy against mine and your father’s.”

  All I could do was nod.

  “Do you know about everything else? That he was being blackmailed?”

  “I know he’s been dealing with things, but I didn’t know specifics. Honestly, I don’t want to know. I read some of the papers on his desk. Is that what you came to discuss with him?”

  I nodded. “Mom, this is going to get ugly. I’ve made my own mess, but it’s related to things he’s done or allowed to happen. Fixing it will expose all of that. I’m not covering for him.”

  “Nor should you. Connor is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Do what you need to do to get your life in order. Make yourself happy. The rest of us are not your responsibility, baby. We will all be just fine.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I needed that.”

  We stood, and she pulled me into a silent hug. My phone vibrated against the table—most likely another text from Emmy. Mom squeezed me and rubbed her hands over my back.

  “You better get going. I’m sure Emmy’s worried about you.”

  I gave her another squeeze and swallowed around the lump that had been lodged in my throat since our conversation began. When she released me, I grabbed my phone and slid it into my pocket. My other hand picked up the ring box, and I took one last look before snapping it closed and stuffing it in my other pocket. We didn’t speak as she escorted me to the door—it had been one fucking intense day. She held the door open, a satisfied smile playing across her mouth.

  I bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

  Her smile widened, and she ruffled my hair. “I love you too, sweet. I’d like for you and Emmy to come for dinner one night next week if you can.”

  “We will.”

  She stood in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as I climbed into my car and drove away.

  33

  Emmy

  Mondays were always tough, but we were starting a new chapter in the ongoing saga our life had become. Ian and Parker were meeting with the police to turn over all the information they had about Blaire. Parker had accumulated a mountain of evidence against her, and Ian wasn’t sure how long things would take or what would be expected of them. It was difficult to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks, wondering what was happening and when I’d hear something. Sometime after lunch, I finally gave up on work and spent the rest of the day playing Candy Crush. It seemed to be the only thing capable of holding my attention for more than thirty-seconds.

  I slipped out of the office early, thankfully unnoticed, and stopped at a liquor store on the way home. Something told me we would need some wine. Ian still wasn’t home when I arrived, so I poured myself a glass and sat at the island, idly flipping through a magazine without really seeing the pages. I had only managed a few sips when he walked through the door. The lines around his eyes and mouth were tight, the physical manifestation of weariness.

  “Hey, Beautiful.”

  I pushed the magazine aside. “How’d it go?”

  He walked over and kissed me on the forehead before helping himself to a sip of my wine.

  “Excruciatingly slow.” He took another sip and rubbed his other hand over my back. “Sorry I didn’t text. They kept us busy, made us go over and over details. Like I said—excruciating.”

  Ian set my glass in front of me and stepped around the island to get his own, refilling mine before his.

  “I guess they believed you?”

  The refrigerator closed with a soft whump, the same sound of the heartbeat echoing in my ears. A pensive expression covered his face as he leaned against the opposite counter, wine glass in hand.

  “I filed a formal complaint against her for harassment and the extortion, and they said we brought them enough to turn over to the district attorney. When we left, the detectives felt fairly confident, so we’ll see.”

  “Did they say what they would charge her with? For everything?”

  He set the glass on the granite countertop and closed his hand around the back of his neck in that familiar nervous gesture.

  “They wouldn’t say anything except that the current D.A. is damn tough and will most likely seek the max sentence if they prosecute.”

  “What about your father?”

  His hands grasped the edge of the counter behind him, squeezing to the point the knuckles appeared white.

  “In some respects, he’s as much Blaire’s victim as everyone else she extorted money or information from. Based on what I could gather from the conversation, he could be looking at obstruction charges for Mason’s wreck. They think the statute has run out for the insurance fraud, which is actually good for me, too. They want to be discreet since he’s a District Judge, so they’re going to ask him to voluntarily come in.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  He gave me a rueful smile.

  “Part of me wants to see him serve time, but I have a bad feeling he’ll be able to squirm his way out of it, like the snake he is. You can bet your ass he won’t tell the whole truth.”

  “So what’s next? We just, what—wait?”

  He downed the remaining wine in his glass and grabbed the bottle from the fridge before returning to my side.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Uh, no, not really.”

  “Good.”

  Before I could say anything else, he threaded the fingers of both hands through my hair and teased my lips open, working his tongue inside and awakening my libido. I heard the groan first, which made me think it was coming from him rather than me, but then I felt it low in my throat as it vibrated outward, a wave of heat following close behind.

  He pulled away, a look of pure desire on his face, reminding me of our first kiss, the one we shared at the club. It also had the same effect on me.

  “Okay. So I said I wasn’t hungry, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Oh?”

  Nodding, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth.

  “I don’t really want food, though.”

  “Well, what does milady want?”

  “Wine and an early bedtime.”

  His lips curled into a wide smile, and laughter bubbled from his lips. It was the kind of fun, carefree laughter that came when someone’s troubles were behind him. He scooped me up in his arms and nudged his chin toward the island. “Grab your glass, will you?” I did as he asked and he walked back to the fridge and toed open the door. “Can you reach that bottle?”

  “You idiot.” I giggled. “You could come back for it.”

  He looked at me like I was the idiot. “Are you crazy? Once I get you in bed, I won’t have time.” His gaze dropped to the bottle in my hand. “Oh good. Another screw top.”

  I laughed harder and almost spilled wine on myself.

  “That’s not something you hear every day.”

  “What? Do you have any idea how much time is wasted using a corkscrew?”<
br />
  My laughter died on my lips.

  “I know you better take a lot of time using yours.”

  He picked up the pace and deposited me gracefully on the bed before relieving me of my cargo. The wine was quickly forgotten, but it didn’t matter. We were too busy having fun with his corkscrew to notice.

  The sound of a ringing phone cut through the depths of sleep. Darkness surrounded me, and I had no idea of the time. That damn phone kept ringing. I tried to roll over, but couldn’t. I was stretched across Ian’s torso, and he had a death grip on me. Naturally, he was sleeping through the obnoxious sound emanating from somewhere on the floor. I nudged him with my hand and tried to free myself.

  “Ian. Ian, wake up.”

  “Hmm?” He loosened his hold slightly. “What? What’s wrong?” he grumbled.

  “I think your phone is ringing. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “If it’s important, they’ll call back.”

  “Well, it probably is important.” I sighed, squinting at the clock beside the bed. “It’s three o’clock.”

  “Fuck.” He released me and flicked on the lamp. “Where the fuck are my pants?” he mumbled again, more to himself than me.

  I looked over my side of the bed. “Over here.” I reached down and fished the phone from the pocket, handing it to him. “Here, babe.”

  “Somebody better be fucking dying,” he growled, without checking the caller ID. His tone quickly morphed from irritation to concern. “What? Seriously? Okay. I said okay, right? Which hospital? Yeah.” He looked at the clock. “Give us about thirty, forty-five minutes. Chill, dude. Just chill.”

  I jumped from the bed and immediately began dressing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mason’s having a fucking panic attack.” Ian stalked to the dresser and slipped on a clean pair of boxers. “They think Bailey’s water broke.”

  “They think?”

  “He was close to hyperventilating, so he wasn’t entirely clear on the matter.” He turned toward me and pulled a T-shirt over his head. “They’re on their way to the hospital. Is Jules working tonight?”