The IUD was still in me, the orgasms evasive, and the pent-up sexual need all too present. I blamed the elevator make out session on Nash. He’d ruined me for guys, and then he’d showed up in my life again, confusing me with his hot-then-cold attitude. Like he couldn’t decide whether he liked me or hated me.
When I turned around, the pool had been emptied. A lone figure strode to me, tall enough that I could still see above his shoulders at the deepest part of the pool in the center. Nash Prescott.
“Where is everyone?”
“I closed the pool.”
I turned away from him, disbelief and anticipation churning maddening circles in my belly. “You’re insane.”
From the ocean, a crowd of people had gathered, staring up at us. They could only see my head from that angle. Still, my cheeks flamed from the attention. I hated it. Loathed it. Wanted to shed my soul from my body, so I could stand on the opposite side of the world until people had their fill and left me alone.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?” I asked on a sigh, not bothering to turn and face him.
His fingers grazed a path down my arm. “You have goosebumps from their attention.”
And now I had goosebumps from his attention. I didn’t see where he was going with this.
“Let me help you,” he offered.
“With what?”
“This. Your fear.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Scopophobia.”
The fear of being looked at.
Reed had confronted me about this three years ago, tossing terms at me and the names of therapists I couldn’t even begin to afford. Reed couldn’t fix me, and I doubted Nash could.
“Go ahead,” I offered, my sarcasm as clear as the cloudless sky.
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
“Will you let me help you?”
I finally turned to face him. He looked sincere, from the dip between his brows and the intention in his eyes. “Do you really think you can?”
“Yes.”
He sounded so certain, I wanted to give in. I hated living like this. I couldn’t erase the past or the guilt, but if I could get over the way my skin burned when people looked at me, maybe I could move on a little.
“Fine.”
He took a step closer until my chest brushed his shirtless one. I took a step back and flung my arms across my chest when he reached behind me and tugged on the string of my bikini top.
“Trust me,” he urged, his voice gentle.
Why did I?
I lowered my arms, and the cherry red bikini top fell down and floated between us. He pocketed it in his swim trunks, then reached for the strings of my bottoms. I watched as he tugged on them until I stood naked in front of him, and he had the two tiny scraps of fabric in his pocket.
“How is this helping?” I asked, my voice wavering with need.
I realized two things at once. There was need and then there was emotion, and those were two separate things I’d learned to compartmentalize over the past four years. I could physically need Nash Prescott without touching the rollercoaster of emotions I felt when it came to him.
“Trust me,” he repeated.
And I did.
Against all odds, against all intellect, I did.
Because he was Nash Prescott, and when I was six, he told off a bully for me as I cried into his shoulders and Reed laid on the floor with a broken wrist from trying and failing to fight him off. When I was seven, he’d tucked me and Reed into bed in his parents’ cottage as my parents had a dish-slinging, top-of-the-lungs-screaming fight. Because even though he was sometimes a jerk to me with his words, his actions had always spoken louder, and I just plain trusted him.
“Okay,” I nodded, and then his hands were all over me, until my back pressed against the wall, and I feared everyone was staring. They probably were.
“Don’t think about them,” he demanded as he turned me to face everyone below us as they waded in the ocean. “The edges cover everything but your face. That’s all they can see.”
I knew this, but my cheeks still burned from the attention. I saw a guy pointing and staring. I didn’t know if it was because he knew who I was or because the pool was closed, but Nash and I were still in it.
Either way, it took me back to the courthouse, the last time I’d had so many eyes on me. “Nash,” I warned, my voice wavering.
I remembered the flashing cameras. The way people stared at me. The tears on their cheeks, and the pain in their eyes. They stared at me like I was a monster, and as I lied on the stand, I felt like one, too.
And then Nash reached between my legs, making it hard to focus on the memories. All I could think about was him. His lips on my shoulder. His fingers between my legs. His other palm on breasts, my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
I wanted to lean my head against his shoulder and arch my neck for a kiss, but I was painfully aware of the audience. But instead of scaring me, it was exhilarating to be touched in front of them without any of them knowing.
Nash added another finger, twisting them both until he found the spot that made me gasp out his name. I cried out as he touched me, trying my best to keep quiet as he drove me to an orgasm, and I came in the pool.
* * *
Emery Winthrop
* * *
I had a bag of flat balloons in my hands as Nash and I made eye contact in the lobby. My cheeks flushed an unholy shade of red. I hadn’t seen him since I’d thanked him for the orgasm and swam away from him only to turn around after I remembered he still had my bikini.
But it’d worked. Probably because now all I could think about when people stared were Nash Prescott’s hands all over me as he coaxed an orgasm out of me for the second time in my life.
I’ve had other orgasms before, but they’d been ones I’d given myself. It was so different with another person.
“Hey,” I said, my voice flatlining at the end.
It was awkward.
Why did I have to be so. Damn. Awkward.
He didn’t hide his amusement as his lips quirked up and Hannah approached us. She gave me a hug, which surprised me, but I returned it with a genuine one.
“Are you joining Nash?” she asked.
“Oh, um—” I started.
“No, she’s not,” Nash finished at the same time.
I winced, realizing yesterday had just been a temporary truce. “I have to get back to work.”
His eyes turned sharp instantly. “Elise has you working past dinner?”
Great. I’d basically tattled on my boss, who I’d need to sign a letter of rec for the jobs I wanted to apply to.
“No—” I started, but Hannah was already nodding.
“I’ll have a talk with Elise and hand these bags off to her when I do.” She took the bags from my slack arms and took off before I could wrap my head around what had just happened.
Nash looked at me like I was a lost puppy before sighing and offering, “As much as I’d love to stand here all night, I’m gonna be late. Are you coming?”
I felt on the precipice of something, like this decision would dictate my future, and while part of me wanted to run to my room and hide, the bigger part of me wanted to finally start living again.
I took Nash’s outstretched arm and followed him out of the rotating hotel doors and into the waiting car. The driver took off as soon as the door closed. The drive to wherever we were going was silent as I shot a text to my mom, letting her know I was fine and happy and living my best life and all the things that were usually empty platitudes but didn’t feel so empty right now.
“Can I ask why you’re mad at me?” I finally asked when the silence dug at my sanity. He didn’t answer so I continued, “Was it the trial?” I swallowed the pain in my throat and kept talking because he deserved answers. All of Daddy’s victims did. “Daddy told me if I sat on the stand and told the DA everything Daddy’s lawyers wanted me to tell her,
he wouldn’t go to jail, and we’d stay a family. I’m not trying to defend the lies I told,” I eyed the soundproof barrier separating the driver from us, “and yes, they were lies. I was foolish enough to tell them. I was young and scared, and I regret it because I hurt people who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Including your parents. And you.”
The look he’d pierced me with at the trial had taken me by shock. I’d spent months avoiding him after we’d slept together, but we’d still caught sight of one another every now and then. Never once had he looked at me like he’d looked at me at the trial.
“I guess…” I faltered. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry.”
* * *
The last thing I’d expected after Nash accepted my apology with a terse nod was to pull up in the back alley of a soup kitchen. Like clockwork, five guys came out of the back door and helped unload the back of the car. It was filled with food. Leftovers from the restaurants in the hotel, I gathered as I watched tray after tray get loaded onto a cart and pushed inside the soup kitchen.
I’d thought we were done but Nash headed into the building and looked back to see if I was following him. I trailed behind him as he led me through the kitchens and into the main area where dozens of people greeted him like they were used to seeing him here.
Two little girls, probably five or six, ran up to him and grabbed each side of his legs, shouting, “Nash! Nash! Nash!”
They both had a hand out, and behind them, their mother, who couldn’t be much older than I was, mouthed, “Sorry” to Nash as he pulled out two clear plastic orbs. The ones you got from the quarter machines with little bracelets or tattoos or trinkets inside them.
The girls popped theirs open at the same time and two bracelets that definitely looked too expensive to be from a vending machine slid into their palms. I watched in stunned awe as he kneeled down and clasped the bracelets on each of their wrists before accepting a hug from them.
They ran to their mom to show off their bracelets. I turned to Nash and watched as he slid off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button down.
“Come on.” He led me behind the counter, plopped a ridiculous hair net on both of our heads, handed me a set of plastic gloves, and set me up at the bread station. I was too stunned to protest, not that I would have.
I served bread rolls and honey butter to hundreds of people. Some made small talk with me, but most were so exhausted as they thanked me and moved onto the next station. They reminded me of myself my first year of college when I was living in a 200 square foot studio, working full-time shifts, trying not to miss classes, sneaking in homework whenever I could, and struggling to find meals. A bone-deep tiredness I couldn’t shake.
Until they reached Nash’s station. He took his time making conversation with anyone who’d talk to him, and the image stood at odds with everything I’d assumed he was after he’d speared me with that look in court.
But then I forced myself to push aside the years of miscommunication and frustration between us, what people had told me he was versus what I’d witnessed myself. Nash Prescott had always been a good person. He was cocky, arrogant, and often a know-it-all, but he had a heart bigger than a whale’s. He just didn’t need everyone to know it.
Nash added an extra scoop of carne asada onto a little boy’s plate and brought his pointer finger to his mouth in a shhh motion, and I didn’t think I’d ever been more attracted to him. He looked at home in his tailored suit pants and fitted button down, the word PENANCE peeking past his rolled sleeves when he stretched his arms out to serve food.
Penance.
I’d thought I was the only one between us with a past to make up for.
* * *
Nash Prescott
Six years ago
* * *
Something about the Winthrop mansion always bothered me. It was empty. Always so empty. Even when the Winthrops threw parties and it was filled to the brim with people, it always felt cold and empty.
I didn’t know how Emery Winthrop lived here, let alone grew up here. Maybe that was why she was always with Reed at the cottage, stars in her eyes as she stared at him like he was the answer to every question in life.
It was cute. They’d probably get married—definitely before I did at this rate, like my mom liked to remind me. I turned the bend to Mr. Winthrop’s office and knocked. No answer. Mom had kissed me on the cheek as soon as I surprised her with a visit, then sent me here to ask for Mr. Winthrop’s permission to throw Reed a birthday party in the backyard.
I knocked again. Still no answer, but the door pushed forward a bit, and I could hear voices drifting into the hallway.
“Unbelievable and unacceptable.” This was Mr. Winthrop. I recognized the deep timber of his voice.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Winthrop, but I don’t see how much more I can do. I’m your lawyer. I think you need an accountant here.”
“I’m not asking you to cook the books for me. They’re already taken care of. I’m asking you how much time would I do if the FBI starts looking into Winthrop Lumber.”
“Can I see the ledger?”
A frown found its way to my forehead as I tried to piece together what I was hearing. Winthrop Lumber. My parents had put everything into Winthrop Lumber. They’d put their entire life’s savings into the hands of the Winthrop family.
“My advice,” his lawyer began, “is to destroy this ledger. It’s evidence. Then, start cleaning as much as you can. Push money into the Cayman accounts in small amounts in case you’re caught. And you will be caught if this ledger ever gets out.”
“Nash?”
I turned at the soft, tentative voice. Emery Winthrop. She looked at me wide eyed and innocent, tall for her sixteen years. The remnants of tears stained her cheeks as she stared at me in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, peeking at the slightly ajar door behind me.
“My mom asked me to come ask if Reed can throw his birthday party in the backyard.”
Her eyes dipped to her feet as she shuffled them back and forth. “Of course.”
My mind still reeled from the conversation I’d overheard, but I took in her body language—the tears, hunched shoulders, and anxious ticks. “What’s wrong?” It was my obligation to Reed that led me to make sure she was okay before I went up to my parents and demanded they pull every cent from Winthrop Lumber.
“I—”
“You can tell me.”
She took a step back, nearly falling over.
I dove forward to steady her. “Easy, Tiger. What’s wrong?”
She lifted the sleeve on her arm, revealing green and purple bruises in the shape of a meaty hand. “It’s nothing,” she protested when she caught the rage consuming my face.
“Who did this to you?”
“It’s nothing, Nash. Please, don’t tell anyone.”
“Emery—”
“Please. I’m trusting you.”
“Fine, but you have to tell me who did this.” The fear that Reed would do this to her gripped my throat, but I pushed it aside. My brother would never. But he would try to beat whoever did, and I couldn’t have him risk his future with a school fight. I’d take care of this for them both.
“Talon Blackburn.”
I knew of the kid. His dad was mayor, and he had more arrogance shoved inside of his head than a teenybopper pop star.
“Why?”
“He… You can’t tell Reed I told you this.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
“Reed cheated on his Spanish test. Talon caught him, and he told me if I went out on a date with him, he wouldn’t tell on Reed. I said yes, and when I wouldn’t… you know… he grabbed my arms and yanked me to him.”
“Did he…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I kneed him in the balls and ran to the closest store. Mrs. Daugherty from the barbershop drove me home. She thinks I lost a bet and had to walk home.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“But—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I promised.
* * *
“No,” Mom insisted. “Why in the world would I take money out of Winthrop Lumber?” She turned to Dad. “Frank, tell your son he’s crazy.”
“Listen to your mom.”
I ignored Dad’s passivity and kept my eyes on him. “Mom—”
“No, Nash. You don’t get to come in here at midnight and demand crazy things. You’re 28, but if you’re spending the night here, you’ll respect our rules. Your brother has school tomorrow.” Her voice was final, and she turned around and headed to her room with Dad following after her.
I’d spent the night making sure Talon Blackburn got the message that Reed and Emery were off-limits. The kid talked a mean game, but when it came down to it, he was scared of me. Scared of my reputation, my size, and how little I gave a damn about anything but my family.
And Emery… the girl who loved my brother enough to sacrifice herself without even telling Reed for recognition. She deserved more than a low-life father, who did something bad enough his lawyer thought the FBI would look into it.
For my family, I snuck into Mr. Winthrop’s office and found the ledger in his safe. The same combination I’d overheard Emery telling Reed about when they’d played cops and robbers as kids.
The ledger taunted me, and I should have turned it over to the police. Should have showed it to my parents and begged them to move their money. Instead, I thought of the girl who was usually all smiles, staring at me with tears on her cheeks and bruises on her arms.
She’d destroyed a piece of her innocence for my brother.
So, I’d destroyed the ledger for her.
* * *
Emery Winthrop
Present
* * *
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