by JA Huss
I pause. Waiting for him to say something. He just stares at me, thinking, I guess. Running everything though his mind.
I look at Jordan, who just shrugs. Then he says, “Lawton. I really am starting to feel like a marriage counselor here. You need to say something.”
Law looks at him, then back at me, and says, “How crazy does a bitch have to be to tell me a lie like the one she told last night?”
“What did she say?” I ask. “Sisters? I mean, that makes no sense at all. All anyone has to do is look at her birth certificate.”
“She had one, Oaklee. With your father’s name on it.”
“That’s bullshit! We’re the same fucking age for God’s sake!” I’m careful not to raise my voice and bring Jordan’s father back in here a third time. “My dad never said anything! And she never said anything! I didn’t know who the fuck she was until she showed up in my college dorm room! And she met my father, Law. She came to my house a couple times that first year. You’d think my dad would’ve acted weird… or… or something! But he didn’t. This is all lies. All of it. She’s insane! We are the same fucking age! It’s not even biologically possible!”
And then I know what he’s gonna say, so I point at him and growl, “If you accuse me of being her twin, I will… I will punch you in the eye.”
Law lets out a long breath of air, then looks over at Jordan. “So…”
“So…” Jordan says. And he’s smiling. Like… what part of this is funny? I want to slap him. But then Jordan turns to one of the other guys in the room. The one in a suit. He nods to him and that guy smiles as well. He says, “OK, we’re on it. Come on, Finn, we’ve got shit to do.”
And the two of them leave the office, and the three of us just look at each other.
Jordan is the first to speak. “Well, I think I owe you something for taking this game in the first place, Lawton. So, if it’s OK with you two, we’re gonna take it from here.”
“Take what?” I ask. “From where?”
“He means,” Law says, “he’s going to fix this for us.”
“If that’s what you want?” Jordan asks.
“How? How do you fix crazy?”
“She knows Oaklee and Vivi Vaughn broke into her place last night, Jordan. It would not surprise me in the least if she’s pressing charges right this minute. She says she has surveillance.”
“Oh, shit!” I say. “Vivi said she took care of that!”
Jordan presses a button on his desk phone, says, “Eileen, get me Oliver Shrike on the phone, please.”
“Sure thing,” Eileen says back.
Jordan looks at me, then Law. He says, “I can take care of all of this. Luckily, Oliver will be interested in protecting his family. So he’ll most likely go along. But if any of this twin shit is true—” He looks at me.
“It isn’t!” I insist. “She’s lying about all of it! She is not my stupid sister! She’s just a jealous freak who wants to steal my life.”
“If it’s all lies,” Jordan continues, “then she’s one crazy bitch and we need to be careful. Sociopaths don’t react the way we would. They have no guilt, they have no conscience, and they will most definitely strike back.”
Just as he says that, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and check the screen. “Shit. Now what?”
“Who is it?” Law and Jordan ask at the same time.
“The brewery.” I tab accept and say, “Yes?”
“Oaklee?”
I roll my eyes, because she called me, right? But I don’t want to get pissy at people who have nothing to do with my very bad morning. So I say, “Yes, Dana. What’s going on?”
“Um… you might want to turn on Channel Five if you’re near a TV.”
My stomach sinks again. “What now?” I whisper back.
“Hanna’s doing an interview. You’re really gonna wanna see this. Because… just turn it on.”
She ends the call and I spy a remote on Jordan’s desk, so I grab it and turn the TV on, navigate to Channel Five, and see Hanna Harlow’s face on the screen.
The little banner at the bottom says, Buffalo Brews releases special-edition beer for festival this weekend.
And then I hear the name of her beer.
Which is the name of my beer.
And that’s it. I can’t help it. I give up. I can’t win.
She stole my secret Assassin Sour Saison and this time she didn’t even bother changing the label or the name.
She just stole my beer and announced it to the world as hers.
I look around the room, unable to focus on anything. And just say, “I gotta go,” as I turn and walk out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - LAWTON
Oaklee walks out. She’s like March—came in like a lion and went out like a lamb.
I look over at Jordan, who’s frowning. “Follow her,” he says. And then his phone buzzes and Eileen says, “Oliver Shrike is on line three for you, Jordan.”
“Thanks, Eileen.” Then he looks at me, surprised I’m still in his office, and says, “Go fucking follow her!”
I nod, turn, and leave.
She’s waiting at the elevator when I get out in the reception lobby. Her arms crossed at her chest. Her head tilted up as she stares at the electronic sign above the door, waiting for it to ding.
“Oaklee—”
“Just… not now, OK?” She doesn’t look at me.
Jordan’s father walks up between us. Leans forward to push the button, even though it’s already lit. And then he and I meet eyes.
The elevator dings, the doors open, and Oaklee walks in. Wells Senior and I follow, each standing on either side of her. Oaklee pushes the button for the lobby, Wells pushes floor seven. Then the doors close and the three of us stand there in awkward silence.
Wells clears his throat. “You know, my wife and I went through a rough patch when Jordan was a teenager. He…” Wells laughs. Like he’s reliving a memory of his son and it makes him happy. “He was a handful, that kid. Still is. But he’s turned into a good man.”
Oaklee and I both turn our heads to look at the tall, well-dressed older man. Our eyes meet and then we turn away.
“But if you love someone, sometimes the fight is worth it.”
The elevator dings floor seven and the doors open. Wells steps out, then turns back to us, his hand pressed against the door, holding it open. “Only the two of you know if the fight is worth it. But in my experience, more often than not, people are worth fighting for.”
Then he smiles at us, turns away, and walks off.
The doors close and both Oaklee and I sigh as we descend to the lobby.
When we get out of the elevator and start walking for the door, I take her arm, gently, and make her stop. “Look, I’m sorry, OK? Can I come back to your place so we and figure this out?”
She’s still upset. Her eyes are glistening with tears. But she nods and says, “Your house. I don’t know how Hanna got all this information, but I can only assume she’s bugged my apartment. And there’s no way I’ve giving her another private moment of my life. So I’m not going home. Ever again until I can call in a specialist to search it.”
She walks off to wherever she parked her car. I watch her until she slips around a corner. And then I walk off in the opposite direction.
When I pull into my garage, Oaklee is waiting for me, her car probably parked in her own lot down the alley. She leans up against a thick concrete pillar looking defeated and sad.
I get out, walk over to her, and take her hand. She starts crying again. So I pull her close, hug her tight, and say, “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”
Oaklee shakes her head no. Because she doesn’t believe me. I’ve fucked this whole thing up and now… her trust is gone. Maybe not her trust in me. I’m not sure about that yet. But her trust in my ability to make things right is definitely on hold right now.
And I don’t blame her.
“Come on,” I say, pulling back. “Let’s just go upstairs
and relax.”
“Don’t you have work?” she asks.
“Fuck work. I called my office and cancelled my day after Hanna’s thugs tried to kick my ass.”
“I’m sorry about the TV show, Law.”
“Forget about it. Things happen for a reason. I truly believe that. So… fuck them. Maybe you should take them up on their offer?”
She huffs. “No, thank you. I never wanted a TV show. It was only going to be fun because we’d have been partners.”
I squeeze her hand as we get into the elevator. “We’re still partners, Oaks.”
She looks at me and gives me a half-hearted nod, trying to smile through her tears.
“We’re still partners and we’re gonna get that bitch, OK? Because if all that shit she said last night was a lie—”
“It was! My father wasn’t that kind of man. He was honest, and good, and even when he made mistakes he owned them. He took responsibility. And she is not my fucking sister!”
“Then Hanna Harlow is a psychopath.”
“Yes,” Oaklee says. “She is. But you know who else is kinda crazy?”
“You?”
This makes her laugh. Which makes me feel a little better about being such a raging dick this morning.
We get out of the elevator and walk to my apartment door. I open it, wave her in, and then she turns. “Me,” she says. “Yes. But not just me. Now she’s fucking with Vivi Vaughn. And there’s not a sane person alive who would do that. So that just proves she’s not only insane, she’s stupid too.”
Then she walks over to my kitchen, opens up the freezer, looks around for a moment, and withdraws a bag of frozen vegetables. “Your eye is swelling,” she says, walking towards me and taking my hand. She leads me over to the couch, points to it, and says, “Sit. I’m giving you a complimentary deluxe girlfriend experience.”
God. I think… I think… “I think I love you, Oaklee Ryan.”
That makes her smile, but she pushes me backward with a palm to my chest. I sit and she climbs into my lap, pressing the frozen bag of broccoli against my brow.
It stings. But it’s not the worst sting I’ve ever felt. And anyway, having her in my lap is worth the sting.
Our eyes meet. Both sets sad. Because we lost things today. We’re still losing things in this moment.
But then she kinda grins at me. And I kinda grin back, because how could I not? And she says, “You’re worth fighting for.”
“No,” I say, reaching up to place my hands on either side of her face. “Not me, us. We’re worth fighting for.”
“She stole my beer, she stole my label, she stole my name… and she stole your TV show. What else could she possibly want?”
“Forget her,” I say. “Just for a little bit. Just… just be with me right now.”
Her shoulders slump and her lips pout in the most adorable way.
But I know she’s not trying to be adorable, she’s very sad right now. And none of this is her fault. So I say, “Ya know, a long time ago, back when I was this guy”—I motion to the tattoo on my arm—“I had lost everything. My parents were gone, I was living on the street, doing drugs. I had no life, no future to look forward to. I was smart, but didn’t think it was gonna get me anywhere. So I wasted it. I wasted years just… pretending none of it mattered. That I was strong enough to handle the world alone.
“But then Bric came along and he told me something one day. Something I’d never forget. He said, ‘A fighter never quits and a quitter never fights. You were born a fighter, so act like it.’
“And at the time I blew him off.” I laugh. “I literally gave him the finger and told him to fuck off. But a few weeks later I was in juvie again. And Bric came to bail me out. He sponsored me. Gave me a scholarship to a very nice private school here in Denver, and convinced the judge I was ready to change, even though I wasn’t. And when we got in his car that day, as we were leaving the courthouse, he said, ‘That’s how you quit, Lawton. That’s how you let everyone else win.’”
Oaklee screws up her face. “What did he mean?”
“He meant… He meant that I was responsible for all the bad things that happen. Not anyone else.”
“But”—Oaklee sighs—“I didn’t ask for this, Lawton. I didn’t do anything to Hanna Harlow except exist.”
“No, that’s not what he meant. He meant I can only control me. No matter what anyone else does to me, only I can control how I react to them.”
She sighs. Bows her head and looks at her hands resting on her legs. “Why were you in juvie?” she asks, peeking up at me through her hair.
“That time?” I laugh. “I had a fight club going. Like… back-alley MMA cage fights. I beat the shit out of a guy one night. Put him in the hospital. But they got me for the illegal gambling, not the fight. He was eighteen, I was only sixteen. But they nailed me for the gambling ring I was running.”
“So you made poor choices,” She sighs again. “I’m sure I’ve made poor choices too, but I swear to God, Lawton, I don’t know what I did to Hanna to make her hate me so much. To make her want to steal from me and lie about my father like this. For whatever reason, I’m her target. It’s like… her mission in life is to ruin mine. And I don’t understand. I just don’t understand why.”
“She’s sick, Oaklee.” I tap her on the head. “Up here. And we can’t control that. We can only control how we react to her.”
She pouts her lips. “You’re my boyfriend experience, not hers.”
I chuckle, then lean forward and kiss her on the mouth, my hands holding her face. And my laugh is real. Even though everything in my life has just been upended—I still have her.
And that’s all that matters.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Because I feel it needs to be said. “I’m sorry for making your life more difficult. For not coming over last night. For not reaching out this morning. For losing my temper and stressing you out. And for the record, Oaklee… you didn’t change me.” I look her in the eyes as I say this because it’s important. “Clothes can’t change me. New boots can’t change me. And this tattoo is me from start to finish. This is me, Oaklee. This is just who I’ve always been. You simply made me see that. You,” I say, “asked me to be myself and no one else. This is me.”
She smiles the real smile. The one I saw the other night. The secret smile only I can see.
And then she says, “The game is over, but we can still win.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - OAKLEE
I want to be closer to him. I’m sitting in his lap, my face only inches from his. My body pressed to his chest. My hands on his shoulders. Every part of me is already close, and it’s not close enough.
I need skin on skin contact. I need him inside me. “I need you,” I whisper. And then I reach down and pull my shirt over my head. He looks at me in a way no other person has ever looked at me.
It’s hunger.
It’s desire.
There’s a yearning inside him that perfectly matches the longing inside me.
I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra. Letting it fall free. Letting my breasts free too. His hands come up automatically. Cupping and squeezing them, our eyes still locked.
“This wasn’t quite the experience you were looking for,” he says.
“No,” I say back. “I got way more than a boyfriend. I got a partner.”
He slips my bra down my arms and drops it carelessly to the floor. Eyes locked with mine. I tug on the hem of his shirt and bring it over his head. He helps me take it off and drops it on top of my clothes, starting a pile.
I place my hands on his chest. Palms flat so I can feel him. Feel his chest move up and down. Feel his heart quicken with excitement.
And then, just for a second, I have a stab of fear. Fear that Hanna will come and take him away. Fear that she will spend her life trying to ruin us. Fear that she will succeed.
“Hey,” he says. “Don’t go there. Not now.” He leans forward to kiss me. Make me forget everything but
him, and me, and what it means to be us. And then he stands up, taking me with him. I wrap my legs around his middle. My breasts pressed to his chest. Our bodies closer now, but still not close enough.
He walks me over to the kitchen island and sets me down in front of it.
I grin, shy. Because I know he’s going to fuck me now. How he’ll do that, I don’t know. All I know is he will make me come, and come, and come again. As many times as I let him.
His fingers are on the button of my jeans, but I place my hand over his and say, “No, you first.”
He grabs me by the waist, turns us in place, and then leans against the counter as I unbutton his jeans, drag them down his legs, and take his cock in my hand as I kneel at his feet.
It’s a very submissive position, I know this, but that’s not why I’m doing it.
I’m not submitting to him. I don’t expect him to submit to me, either.
We are equals, Law and I. I know this. It’s something he never has to say. It’s something between us. Respect? I dunno. I don’t think it needs a word because it’s just a feeling.
I put him in my mouth because I want to. That’s all there is to it.
I want to.
He leans his head back. His hands gripping the counter. Making his upper arms twist with shadows that highlight the long muscles of his biceps. I let go of his cock, press my face up to his groin as far as I can manage, and place my hands on his thighs as I bob back and forth, dragging my tongue up and down his shaft as we find our rhythm.
His breathing becomes heavy, laced with lust. His eyes close as I watch his face. His legs relax as he braces himself against the marble countertop.
I want him to come. I want him to be first for once. I want this so bad it becomes my mission.
“Oaks,” he whispers, his voice husky and low. “Let me—”
“No,” I say, pulling away for a moment. “No, Law. This time, you will let me.”
“But—” He tries to fight it. I know he wants to make his case. I know he wants me to come first. That’s what good boyfriends do. They let their girl go first. They open the doors, and pull out the chairs, and allow them to be first in everything.