Sterling

by Willow Summers

  Twenty-Two

  Tears blinding her, Cynthia put the last of her things into her car. She slammed the door, the pain in her middle excruciating.

  She hadn’t believed Ellen at first. Why would she? Girls didn’t need to buy sex. Hell, they could get paid for sex via free drinks at the bar. What would they need with a man-whore?

  Of course, she’d clicked on the website link anyway. That was when the truth had started to sink in. Because it wasn’t just sex, it was dates. Actual escorting. And that she could see women paying for. Going to weddings or friends’ parties alone was a drag. Paying a hot-as-hell professional would solve that problem. Which explained the other part of the equation—she could easily believe that a girl would empty her checkbook for a night with someone as handsome, gentlemanly, and charming as Noah after an evening of flirting and flattery.

  Noah was a hooker. And not just any hooker, a really expensive one. That explained the awesome house, the Range Rover, and the high-class style. Fitness modeling didn’t pay that well. That profession was a disguise for what did pay that well.

  Sobs racked her body as she tumbled into the driver’s seat of her car. She shut the door as Noah’s black Range Rover zoomed down the street toward her.

  “No,” she said, digging through her purse for her keys with shaking hands. Her heart throbbed. She wanted to go to him. Wanted him to tell her that this was all some big misunderstanding. But she knew that wouldn’t happen. Not after the response he’d sent her.

  How did you find out?

  Not “what are you talking about?” or “I’m so sorry, let me explain,” or even “I was going to tell you.” No, it was “how did you find out?” He knew it was a big secret, and he’d kept it from her on purpose.

  The betrayal stung deep. He’d talked about the high school rumors, so eager to set the record straight. He’d even told her about his past as a lawyer and the criminal he’d set free. About fitness modeling and book covers. But he’d been silent as the grave when it came time to talk about his biggest money earner.

  Keeping a secret that large was lying, plain and simple.

  “Cynthia, please,” Noah said, hopping out of his SUV and jogging toward her. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

  She rolled down the window, a manual affair. “Is it true?” she asked, still digging through her purse. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Do you screw for money?”

  Pain crossed his face. “I was going to tell you, Cynthia, I promise. It’s not as bad as you think.”

  “How is having sex with strangers that pay you not as bad as I think?” Her keys jingled as she grabbed them. “And when? When were you going to tell me that ‘exclusive’ meant side flings were okay as long as they were paying customers?” She jammed her key into the ignition.

  “I quit, Cynthia. I quit as soon as you agreed to date me. I canceled the wait list, and Dick is taking down my page. Exclusive is exactly what I meant. Just you. I only want you.”

  “Dick is taking down your page? Mr. Big Dick himself, huh? Is that your pen name? Because as far as I could tell, you’re the only one listed on that website.”

  “Dick is the bookkeeper. We meant the name to be a joke, because he is big, yes. Fat. It was going to be Big Dick’s, but the business card place screwed up so we went with Big Dick. Please, Cynthia, I never meant to end up where I am. Doing this. It’s just… I’d quit the law firm, I had school debt, and this seemed a good distraction. Something fun and out of character for me. Then I was making so much money, I just let it keep happening. But I’m done now. It’s over. Completely over.”

  She gripped her key to start the car, heaving with the thought of leaving him. Of walking away from this man who had stolen her heart so quickly, yet so absolutely. She shook her head, not able to turn the key.

  “The guys and you were talking?” she asked, remembering all those comments on the website. Women thanking him for the fabulous time. Or begging to see him again. To fuck him again. So many women… “What guys?”

  “Colton and Dave and Ethan. We started it together. They pulled out when they found the girls you met.”

  She stared up at him through tear-burned eyes. “Did they know? Did Madison know what Colton was?”

  “Madison needed a date to a wedding. No touching. Kaylee needed a date to an office get-together. She didn’t want…the extra either. Janie met Dave through Madison. They all knew about their boyfriends’ pasts.”

  Cynthia’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Couldn’t believe that no one had said a word to her.

  “And because they were fine with it, I should be, is that it?” She cranked the key. The engine sputtered to life as she laughed sardonically. “When have I mindlessly followed the crowd? That’s not why I’ve spent a lifetime being mocked, Noah. But I wasn’t lying to you. I never cared about being shoved into a garbage can. I never cared about girls sticking gum in my hair or idiot frat boys talking shit. They weren’t close to me, so they didn’t matter. I can get dumped on by strangers all day long. Lied to. Cheated. Whatever. But I cared about you, Noah. I let you in. I trusted you. To find out from my scorned sister something you should’ve told me yourself—something you clearly kept from me on purpose…” A sob choked her. “What other secrets are you keeping?” She wiped her face, but the tears kept tumbling down.

  “Please, Cynthia,” he begged, putting his hand on the car and leaning closer. “Please, I know I messed up. Bad. I know I did. I just didn’t know how to tell you. But I was going to, I promise. I was going to do it tonight. I wanted to talk to Dick first, get him to take my page off the website.”

  “So you could get rid of all the evidence?” She sighed, defeated. “Too little too late, Noah. Because if you add it all up, it sure looks like you intended to trap me into a living arrangement so it would be harder for me to leave when I found out the truth. That’s not fair.”

  Sobs racked her anew. She opened her mouth to say more, but shook her head instead. What was the point? Nothing that she said would make the pain go away. And nothing that he said would, either.

  She looked away from his pained and guilt-lined face, her heart cracking in half, and pulled away from the curb.

  “Please, Cynthia,” she heard one last time. He was standing in the street where her car had just been, staring after her. His body was bowed in pain, his arms limp at his sides.

  Pain such that she’d never felt consumed her. As ardent and hot as the passion was when she was with him, the pain was just as fierce. She pulled over not far from his house, barely able to see through her tear-soaked eyes. Not able to focus from the heaving sobs.

  It took her twice as long as usual to get to her mother’s house. Then an hour to actually get out of the car. Ellen and Tera had gone home, thankfully. Uncle Art, as well. Her parents’ cars were both gone, so unless Aunt Bessie was lurking around the house, she wouldn’t have to deal with anyone yet.

  Cynthia wondered if Noah had really planned to tell her. If not for Ellen’s exhaustive attempt to find dirt on Noah, would Cynthia have ever known? She had trusted Noah, completely. Going through drawers or searching his social media accounts hadn’t even entered her head. If he’d continued not to tell her, and Ellen hadn’t spoken up, Cynthia would’ve rolled along without a clue.

  She almost wondered if that would have been better. They’d be together now…happy.

  But it all came down to trust. If she couldn’t trust him to be honest and open with her, they could never have a future. Trust was the foundation of all relationships. Without it, there was no point, no matter how much you loved someone.

  That thought brought more sobs.

  She really had loved him.

  No, she did love him. She’d fallen for him so quickly, and despite everything, she still felt a pull toward him. Sure, it was crazy, but she was crazy.

  “Love sucks,” she muttered as she dragged herself into the house. She probably should’ve stopped by the storage fac
ility on her way to her parents’ house and dropped some things off. Not that it really mattered. She’d have plenty of time in the future. Except for the fun puzzle of Colton’s marketing plan, which she still planned to do for him, she was back to empty days.

  “Oh no,” she heard as she closed the front door and turned toward the stairs. Aunt Bessie wheeled in. A butter wrapper dropped from her lap onto the floor.

  “You have to stop eating butter, Aunt Bessie. It is seriously gross. And terrible for you.”

  “Everything is bad for you. Might as well go out fat and happy. What happened to you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Nothing hurts worse than love and loss.”

  “Anything can be overcome with communication,” Aunt Bessie said, strangely reasonable for once. But only for a moment. “Even when speaking with the dead.”

  “Right.” Cynthia hurried past, hoping Aunt Bessie wouldn’t decide to forgo the wheelchair and chase after her.

  After her bedroom door was locked, she fell face first into her pillow. Her phone vibrated at her side. A text message from Noah. Begging for her to call him.

  An hour later, after a fit of sobbing so violent she gagged, she glanced at her vibrating phone again. Another message from Noah.

  She wanted to call him so badly. Wanted to be tucked firmly in his arms.

  “Cynthia?” her mother called through the door. “Open this door. Why are you home? What’s going on?”

  That meant Ellen probably hadn’t told the family yet. She’d undoubtedly wanted to see if it would work as blackmail.

  Even if Ellen had told, however, their mother would probably urge Cynthia to forgive Noah immediately—didn’t matter what he’d done. Noah could kill a unicorn, and her mother would probably still want her to make peace with him. Anything to prevent her youngest daughter from being so frumpy and single.

  Cynthia ignored her, but didn’t ignore the next vibration of her phone. This one was from an unknown number: You’re in a really tough spot and I completely understand. Do you want to talk about it?

  A moment later: This is Madison, btw

  Hiccupping from the sobs, and having a harder time ignoring her mother’s continued bombardment of shouts and knocks, Cynthia sat up and clutched her phone, staring at the screen.

  Madison’s texts were completely unexpected. They’d just met. The woman had no loyalty to Cynthia at all. No reason to try to help her. And while Madison might just be reaching out for Noah’s sake, that meant she did have loyalty to him. It meant she cared about him as a friend. Usually untrustworthy people didn’t inspire that kind of response.

  Cynthia sighed.

  “Cynthia, open the door so we can talk about this. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure we can fix it. Lord above—Bessie, how did you get up here? Where’s your wheelchair?”

  “Sometimes my legs work through divine intervention,” Cynthia heard, muffled through the door. She snuck closer to hear better. It wasn’t often Aunt Bessie threw her weight around. Butter seemed to be the only exception. “Leave that girl alone. She needs to see her own way through this. She doesn’t need you pushing her in the wrong direction.”

  “I just want to help her.”

  “She doesn’t need your help. Sometimes we need to fall so we can learn how to get back up. Let her get back up.”

  “Bessie, you’re talking nonsense.”

  “Leave her alone, Tamie. This is none of your business.”

  Cynthia’s mom knocked again. “Honey, just let me in.”

  “If you keep at it, she’ll try to escape out the window and fall to her death. Because, while she is the smartest of them all, she is the least able to walk, which means she’d certainly be terrible at climbing.”

  The knocking stopped. Cynthia frowned. She wasn’t that bad. Most of the time…

  Something that sounded like “Fine” was followed up with her mom saying, “Come down whenever you’re hungry, dear. I’ll make you something.”

  Her phone vibrated again. Another unknown number. Got your # from Madison. This is Kaylee. I totally get you. It’s weird, what the guys did for a living, right? I felt so stupid hiring Ethan as my date for a work dinner. I still feel embarrassed sometimes. Call if you need an ear. You know, just in case you hate Madison and don’t want to talk to her. :)

  Was Noah sending his squad after her? But no, that wasn’t right, because Kaylee had gotten the number from Madison, and Madison had probably gotten it from Colton. She’d given him her digits to talk about his project.

  And think of the devil, Colton’s text came a moment later. We’re better together. We’re stronger as a team. Whatever you decide with Noah is none of my business, but please know that it has no bearing on our new friendship. The rest of us are here should you need us. Anytime. I’ll send all the numbers.

  He quickly followed up with a list of names and numbers.

  More tears came to her eyes, and not from the pain of losing Noah—from her overwhelming gratitude for how the group was reaching out. Colton made it sound like they were doing it for her, not because of Noah. And that squeezed her heart.

  Another text. It’s hard when the heart and mind are at war. When life gets in the way of love. But you do you. Stay true to you. And your feet will find the right path.

  It took putting the numbers into her phone to realize that the text had been from Ethan. Noah had great friends.

  She fell back onto her bed, wanting nothing more than to call one of them. To talk this through. To vent, and cry, and maybe yell. To be close to Noah through them.

  More sobs shook her. It felt like she was bleeding internally.

  The next text was from Dave. Noah is in pieces, and Janie is going to paint the shit out of it. I’ll have her do one with a knife in his head or something. You’re welcome. I also told him he was an idiot. He didn’t take it well.

  A smile broke through the tears. Dave was such a lovable dummy. She wondered why he hadn’t been more popular in high school. Not that it would’ve mattered—Cynthia still wouldn’t have known him. Like she apparently hadn’t really known Colton. The rumors she’d always heard about the cold, womanizing asshole were nothing like the guy she’d met yesterday. He was smart and kind and driven.

  Tears still streaming down her face, she thought about the rumors about Noah—how they’d been just as wrong as all the talk about Colton. He was so different than she’d thought of him back in the day. So fun and caring. Respectful and protective. Passionate and pure of heart.

  Except for the strategized deception.

  Except for breaking her trust.

  Ethan had it right on the nose. Head versus heart. She was having a helluva battle, and it was killing her. She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would dull the pain.

  Cynthia was awoken a few minutes later by loud rapping on the door.

  “Mom, go away,” she called, turning over on her side and glancing at her phone.

  So much for a few minutes! She’d been sleeping for two hours.

  “I’m not into that kind of role playing. Open up,” someone shouted through the door. A girl who wasn’t family.

  A familiar voice she couldn’t place.

  She heaved herself up, wondering if her mother had found someone to sic on her, knowing Cynthia was too polite to tell non-family to immediately fuck off. She saved that for friends.

  Her phone screen showed one new call from Noah. And a message.

  Her heart lurched. She wanted to hear his voice. It had only been a few hours, and she already missed him.

  Not totally paying attention, she opened the door and looked up. Shock filled her.

  Janie stood in the hallway with an amused expression, a messy ponytail, and paint-splattered clothes.

  Twenty-Three

  “What are you doing here?” Cynthia asked. A phone call was one thing, but showing up at her door was another. Especially when that door was hours away.

  “C’mon,” Janie said, gesturing her out of the ro
om. “Your mother has made it abundantly clear that my type of person landed you in this mess in the first place.”

  “How is that possible? She doesn’t even know what mess I’m in.”

  Janie’s smile grew. “She didn’t say it in words, of course. I am fluent in judgment. Wow. You look like shit. C’mon, let’s go. There has to be some place in this town that doesn’t give me hives. Let’s go find it.”

  Aunt Bessie was waiting for them in her wheelchair at the bottom of the stars. Cynthia stopped next to her. “Thanks for getting my mom off my case.”

  “She wants the best for you. She just doesn’t realize that her best and your best might be different.” Aunt Bessie entwined her fingers in her lap. “I want the best for you, too, and sincerely hope that all our bests line up, because I need my ticket out of here. I don’t even need an attic, Charlotte. A shed out back would do just fine. I can cook, too. I’m not sure if I told you that. I can cook. I’m quite useful.”

  “What is she talking about?” Janie muttered.

  “She wants me to marry Noah and have kids so she can leave this house, where she is wrongfully imprisoned, and live a life of indentured servitude raising my kids and keeping up my home.”

  Janie stepped closer to the wheelchair. “Bessie, listen. I don’t have the space right now, but as soon as I move into a bigger place, I’ll let you know, okay? You can just treat me like a kid. How would that do ya?”

  Aunt Bessie’s eyes sparkled. “I can stand, you know.”

  Janie looked down at the wheelchair. “Good to know.”

  “And she has a love of butter,” Cynthia added.

  “Don’t we all. I won’t hold it against ya, Bessie.” Janie squeezed her eyes strangely in what might’ve been an attempted wink.

  “Where’s my mom?” Cynthia asked Aunt Bessie.

  “I’d go out back, if I were you,” she replied.

  “Your great-aunt is a hoot,” Janie said when they had snuck out the back and worked their way around the side of the house.