A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2)

by Q. T. Ruby

  “You invited him?” I say to her, stunned.

  She smiles proudly at me and grabs his arm. “Mark and I ran into one another yesterday at the grocery store, and we started talking about you, so I just figured it’d be nice for him to come. Thought you two might like to catch up.”

  I’m speechless. In all the times of my life I’ve been shocked speechless, I’ve never been this speechless.

  “I’m not sure this was such a good idea,” Mark says, taking in my silence and reading what must be my horrified face. He begins to step backwards until my mother stops him.

  “Nonsense!” She grabs the drink I ordered for Dan and hands it to Mark. “Here. Cheers!” She clanks her glass with his. “Claire’s working in the music industry now. She gave up teaching.” She stops to examine my twitchy, heated-face. “But she says she’s happy.”

  Mark nods. I’ve never known him to be uncomfortable, but there’s a first time for everything.

  “Mark’s been coaching at the college—baseball, right?” my mother says. “Two educators!”

  I narrow my eyes at her. Two educators? Really?

  Mark swallows uncomfortably. “Been there for about two years now.”

  I blink as my confusion morphs into outrage and anger. “So whatever happened to Hailey—you know, the one you left me for?”

  “Oh, Claire. No need to dig up the past,” my mom says, still smiling, still trying to make this work out as she planned.

  Mark ignores her. “She, uh, lives in Colorado now. She met this woman, Sandra, at a spa here, and they moved there together. They run an inn now.”

  “She left you for another woman?” I almost burst into laughter at the karma of the situation, but I hold it in.

  He nods and glances around.

  “Hello,” Dan says with a perplexed look on his face as he comes up on my right, flanked by Camille and Bridget.

  “Hi,” I say, wrapping my arm around Dan’s waist. “Look who came to surprise me, Mom.”

  My mother’s eyes bulge, and her drink nearly drops from her hand. “I . . . I didn’t think you two were together anymore. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I told you we never broke up, but you didn’t want to hear it.”

  “Well, Mark is here,” my mom says, as if that should matter.

  “Because you invited him.”

  “I think I should—” Mark begins to say.

  My mom tries to speak, too, but Dan’s voice dominates. “You’re Mark? The guy she was supposed to marry?” His jaw is set, and his hand claws into my waist.

  Mark puts his hands up in surrender. “Claire, look, I’m sorry I came. Yeah, your mom invited me, but I only came to apologize to you—something I should have done a long time ago.” He shakes his head.

  I can feel my nostrils flaring with every angry breath. My hands are shaking with rage. I turn to glare at my mother, whose face is frozen with a grin, as if it could keep this situation cordial.

  “So my boyfriend flies across the country to surprise me, but instead you decide to surprise me with a visit from a ghost who nearly broke me and left me hollow for years. Once again, it’s about you, Mom. What you want is what I’m going to get, is that it? Even if Dan and I weren’t together, what makes you think I’d want to see—” I point at Mark. “Him again?”

  “Claire, you’re making everyone uncomfortable,” she says, her eyes darting about, desperate for this not to become a scene.

  “I’m making everyone uncomfortable? You’re putting this on me?”

  My mom’s face falls when my dad enters this debacle. “What’s going on?” he says cautiously, glancing around at the players. “Mark? What are you—”

  “I invited him,” my mom says defensively.

  My dad turns to her; his brows are crossed. “Why would you do that to Claire?”

  I’m almost rendered speechless by my dad coming to my defense, but I manage to say, “I’ve tried for so long to make this right between us, Mom, accepted so much guilt and hurt from you, hoping and hoping that things would change . . . but, it’s never going to, is it? It’ll always be me over here, hoping for the impossible with you, and you over there, acting like judge and jury with every move I make. I will never understand you.”

  “I should go,” Dan says, releasing me and walking away from the scene toward the front of the house. No!

  I turn to my mother. “Don’t ever call me or message me. Just leave me alone.” I run off to catch up with Dan. It’s freezing outside the tent, but I hardly notice. The sound of the party fades as I reach the huge oak tree in the front yard. I grab his hand to stop him. “Dan! Please don’t leave.”

  He spins around, and I see his face is layered with anger, frustration, and sadness. “Your mother hates me so much she’d rather see you get back with a guy who left you at the altar, a guy who left you so fucking wounded you stayed away from the world for years, rather than ask about getting back with me if she thought we were apart?”

  “I don’t know what she was thinking, and I’m so sorry. Mark, my mother—none of that in there should have happened.”

  His hands are deep in his pockets; he’s keeping to himself and it scares me. “No, it shouldn’t have.”

  “I told her not to contact me. I don’t want her in my life.”

  He shakes his head, and although we stand only a few feet apart, there is a chasm separating us. “It’s not even her . . .” He seems so far away in thought.

  “Let’s go back to my apartment. Just us. Alone. We can talk.” I stretch a hand toward him, but he makes no move to take mine.

  “I don’t have time, plus, I need . . . ” He glances down and inhales deeply.

  I’m frantic inside; bells and whistles are screaming in alarm. I’m so afraid that I’ve suddenly arrived at the end of the road with him. “I love you so much, Dan. I cannot imagine my life without you. I . . .”

  There is a momentary softening in his expression—a flash of a grin, perhaps—but he remains mostly unmoved. “Look, Claire, there’s three weeks left on the contract, so before anything else happens, let’s just leave things be until the twenty-fourth when the contract’s over. No phone calls, no letters. Just radio silence. We’ll talk that night. I’ll leave a ticket for our last premiere that night in L.A. at David’s office.”

  My stomach quivers with fear. I don’t want to lose him. “The one year anniversary of when we met,” I whisper under my breath.

  “You remember?” he asks, surprised.

  I nod with tears building fast. “Of course I do. You’re not the only one who counts time.”

  He nods, then without a kiss, a hug, or anything, he walks across the lawn and into an awaiting cab. I cannot move, so I stand there, with my insides churning, my heart aching, and my mind distraught, wondering if the best thing that’s ever happened to me has just walked out of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Three weeks. Three agonizing weeks. My entire life seems to be building up to one moment when I will beg—if need be—for him to listen to me, and hopefully he’ll forgive me for . . . everything. Every moment of our time together runs through my mind on an endless tape; the harder, sadder parts on the highlight reel. The guilt is crushing. I should have said this, done that, been there instead of here, and on and on. Even the great moments begin to feel tarnished by my fuckups, my wrongdoings, my foolish decisions along the way.

  And my mother. I can’t think of her without being consumed with rage. It took all I had not to slap her that night, and I left the party resigned to not having a mother in my life. It’s only now I realize my relationship with my father and brothers will never be the same either. They’ll be at holidays and birthdays and I won’t be.

  And now here I am, about to go to dinner with Ian. Last week at this time, I w
as at my dad’s party and about to be surprised by Dan. Sweet Dan, who only ever loved me. God, I hope tonight doesn’t fuck things up even more between us. Then again, could it get any worse? I breathe deeply and remind myself if nothing else, going to dinner with Ian will help Dan stay out of trouble. I can do this one last thing for him.

  I put on a pair of black dress pants and a turtleneck sweater—the anti-Wonder Woman outfit. I figure the more covered up I am, the better. Camille and Bridget will be there, too, but will arrive separately from me. I take a cab over and enter the restaurant to find Ian is in the lobby, waiting for me.

  “Come on,” he says, leading me toward the door.

  “Wait, where are we going? I thought we were eating here.”

  “Nah, I have somewhere better.”

  “No. We’re eating here.”

  “We don’t have reservations here. We have them at Hartley’s—up the street. I mean, if we’re going to dinner together, we need to arrive together.” He smiles with false sincerity.

  Fuck. Slimeball. “Fine.” I get into his limo, and it hits me that driving with him is probably not a good idea, but it’s too late. Luckily, he wasn’t lying—Hartley’s is just up the street.

  “Wait here,” he says as the driver gets out. “He’ll open your door.”

  I nod and look out the window—are those cameras? My door opens, and I step out. A flash goes off, and then another, and then many more as Ian leaves the car. He waves to the paparazzi and places his hand at the small of my back as if leading me inside. I hurry ahead to get away from his touch.

  Once inside, we’re led to a table smack in the middle of the front window so we’re on full display, like a pair of monkeys at the zoo. He’s parading me around, and I know it’s for no other reason than to torture Dan.

  I excuse myself to the ladies’ room and text Camille and Bridget about the restaurant switch. I’m not sure they’ll be able to get a table here on a Saturday night—it’s pretty packed—but they’re going to try. The change in restaurant makes me unexpectedly apprehensive. Something inside me says not to get in the car with him again.

  There is minimal conversation throughout dinner. I feel like something’s coming, but I don’t know what. I’m on edge, and Ian’s got this smug look on his face that doesn’t budge.

  “You look awfully tense.”

  “I’m not used to sitting in the front window.”

  “That’s probably because he was ashamed of being seen with you, which I can’t understand. Someone like you should be admired; I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t have to deal with him anymore. On to greener pastures.”

  I say nothing, but the glare from my eyes say, “Fuck off.”

  He leans in. “You really should smile more. I think smiling would make me drop the charges even faster.”

  “Don’t even think of reneging on our agreement, Ian.”

  “I’d never do that! Never, ever, ever.”

  I should just focus on the food, and not look out the window where people are still taking photos. “If only they knew what an asshole you really are,” I say with a nod to the window.

  “Asshole? Nah. I think it’s tragic that someone can’t have confidence without being considered an asshole.”

  I look back at my plate. It’s hard to eat.

  “So how much would it cost to have you write a song for me?”

  I almost spit out my food, but manage not to. I ignore his stupid question.

  “Maybe you think I’m joking, but really, how much would it cost?”

  “What would you want a song for anyway? Something to play when you’re admiring yourself in the mirror?”

  His head tips back with laughter. “You’re quite a funny woman. Actually, I’d want a love song . . . for when I make love to you, and make you come. Something with a big crescendo.” He grabs my hand that’s resting near my glass, holding it so tight I can’t rip it away even though I try.

  “That’s enough. Back off.”

  “I like to joke, too.” He releases my hand and sits back to watch me. “You are such a fascinating person to watch. So graceful when you eat, when you move, really. I bet he loved watching you move, especially at The Big Top when you pole danced.”

  My heart sinks. Was he there way back then? “How did you know about that?”

  “Google, baby. There wasn’t video, so I could only put the pieces together with the photos and news reports. So, did he like it?”

  “Stop it.”

  He leans in way too close and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about that little, teeny tiny bikini you had on at the beach. Your body . . . mmm . . . Sometimes I’ll grab myself thinking of your perfect breasts and imagine your hips, nice and shapely, riding me. I want your thighs wrapped around my head, you know?” He kisses my cheek.

  I jump back. “Do not touch me! You are harassing me now.”

  “Harassing you? You agreed to come here. Can’t be harassment.”

  I push out my chair to stand.

  “Uh, uh, uh. Our agreed-upon dinner’s not over yet. You need dessert.”

  I’m beginning to feel like a whore, and I want to crawl out of my skin. But I sit back down, thinking of Dan and those bullshit charges and how they’ll be dropped after dinner. We’re about to order dessert when Ian’s bodyguard whispers something to him. Ian’s face falls and his eyes widen a fraction, but the smug smile is back in a heartbeat.

  “I think we should get dessert somewhere else,” he says, but I can tell something’s up. He suddenly seems tense.

  “No. I’m fine here.” I haven’t seen Camille or Bridget. Shit.

  Ian’s sitting straighter, and his eyes dart about. “There’s a pastry restaurant around the corner. Amazing cream puffs. Let’s go.” He makes a move to stand, but I remain seated.

  “No. I ate dinner with you and that’s it.”

  He grabs my wrist quickly and squeezes hard. Through gritted teeth, he says, “What did he tell you about me? That I’m some kind of monster? Because that’s how you’re looking at me.”

  I can tell a volatile side simmers just under the surface. I must be careful how I answer. “He doesn’t say anything about you.”’

  He smiles, satisfied with my answer. “You know how there are some people in this world you’ll never understand? You just can’t understand why people like them, why they’re even alive? Dan’s one of those people. I’ve spent a long time comparing him and me to figure out why directors want him, why girls throw themselves at him, how he garners attention so effortlessly, and you know what I’ve come up with? Nothing. There is no reason. But I know that if he weren’t around there’d be a void to fill, and I’d be right there to fill it.”

  He’s officially scaring me. I scan once more for Camille and Bridget, but don’t see them.

  His face softens and he smiles. “Seriously, it’ll be fine. Here, finish your wine. Don’t want that to go to waste.” He hands me my glass, and I take a huge gulp of the wine I didn’t touch during dinner. “We’ll just go around the corner, get some pastry, and call it a night. I’ll even make the call to my attorney in the car. What do you say?” He stands and offers his hand as if he’s not some twisted freak.

  I don’t want to go, but I’m so close—so close to getting Dan’s name cleared. I stand, but whoa, my legs feel a little wobbly. Maybe I’ve been sitting too long. Ian helps me with my coat. We step outside where the limo is waiting. Ian waves to the cameras while he nudges me forward. I notice a police car coming up the street—its lights are flashing—and I look to see where it’s headed because it’s not speeding by, but slowing down instead. Ian is hurrying me into the car, but I resist, too curious. Where is the trouble? Ian pushes me to the side and lunges inside the limo. This confuses me, and things begin to look a bit blurry. I blink, trying to clear
my vision, but it doesn’t help.

  There are two police cars. Four officers jump out and rush toward us. “Where’s Ian Glammer?” I point to inside the car. I hear a “Fuck!” from inside. The limo door is opened on the other side.

  “Ian Glammer? You have the right to remain silent—” It’s the last thing I hear, because my legs give out and I crumple onto the sidewalk. I can’t move. I try to speak, and I’m trying to stay awake, but my mouth . . . isn’t . . . moving.

  ***

  I awake with a start in a hospital bed, and try to jump up, but someone holds me down. I turn. “Camille? What happened? Am I okay?” I look down my body and the memory of the night hits me.

  She smiles and hugs me tightly. “You’re going to be okay, Claire. Lie back and relax.”

  I do as instructed and feel my hand squeezed on the other side. “Bridget.”

  Bridget hugs me, too.

  “What happened to me?”

  “Looks like you were roofied,” Camille explains.

  “What?”

  She continues, “The police will be back to interview you. Seems Ian has a history of this sort of thing that’s caught up to him. Someone’s pressing charges for attempted rape, and well, it would have been a ‘he said, she said’ kind of thing, but they have your blood work now.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “I know. Looks like they got him just in time—and got you just in time, too.”

  I shudder. “Oh my God.”

  “It’s pretty terrifying what could have happened,” Camille says, exhaling deeply.

  “What about the charges against Dan?”

  “Ian dropped them yesterday.”