Benath the Surface (Reluctance #1)

by M.A. Stacie

  Dale was saddened. “I’d love to say that what you’re offering is enough—”

  “But it’s not.”

  “No, Kyran, it’s not enough. I want more. I want it all. I’m tired of being second best—of being in a relationship without a label.”

  Dale almost wept when he moved her off his lap, stood up, and picked his T-shirt off the floor. He pulled it over his head and fastened his jeans before hunting around the floor for the rest of his things. Dale cowered in the corner of the couch, hating herself for wanting what he couldn’t give her. She’d known the rules when they started this relationship and she had been the one to change them. She was the one at fault.

  “Your job is safe, Dale. I encouraged this as much as you. It’s fifty-fifty.” He walked to the door, and as he opened it, she heard him mutter, “I’m sorry.”

  The door slammed behind him, echoing far too loudly around the room. Dale held back the tears for as long as she could, but as she entered the shower and the water washed his scent from her skin, she sobbed. Each tear she cried was washed down the drain, along with the last vestiges of Kyran.

  Chapter 19

  Three days had passed since they had reached the end. Three days where Dale had cried herself to sleep at night, hoping for some kind of contact from Kyran Reese. They spoke in the office; the awkwardness lasted for a few sentences before they slipped back into their familiar banter. In those moments she could imagine they were still together and fool herself into thinking they were going out to eat dinner later before tumbling into his bed.

  The dream never lasted long, though, because Kyran would invariably walk away and leave her alone once again.

  He’d called her twice from Metro, ecstatic because he’d won yet another fight. It had almost killed her, trying to keep the conversation casual. She should have hung up the phone, well aware that his continued interaction prolonged the agony for her.

  The man had no idea what he was doing to her.

  That particular point was highlighted when Dale had walked into work this morning. A gold envelope rested on her desk, Kyran’s curly script displaying her name on the front. Curiosity stopped her from throwing it into the trash can. She tore at the paper and pulled out the stiff, embossed card inside. A small, yellow sticky note was stuck to the front, again with Kyran’s handwriting on it.

  Be my plus one.

  Ky

  Pulling the sticky note off the card, she read the printed gold invitation underneath. It was for the Reese Corporation Benefit, and Kyran wanted her to be his date.

  Dale’s first instinct was to scream in delight and run to his office squealing her acceptance. She wanted nothing more than to be swept away on a romantic wave of pretty dresses, champagne, and men in tuxedos. The thought of spending the night tucked into Kyran’s side, his arm resting around her waist, was more than she could have hoped for when they were together, but things had changed. Dramatically so.

  Recalling the conversation in her apartment about their relationship, Dale’s enthusiasm cooled. Acting on impulse would hurt her in the long run as Kyran would never return her affection for him. He’d been certain of that.

  She wouldn’t be anyone’s second best, so on that thought she threw the invitation into her desk drawer and slammed it closed in satisfaction. Dale wouldn’t be his backup plan.

  Checking her watch, she powered down her computer and picked up her purse. She had an appointment to keep, and no last-minute gesture from Kyran was going to stop that.

  Taylor was packing his bag when Dale entered his hospital room. He grinned at her, the dark circles still marring the skin underneath his sharp blue eyes. His T-shirt fitted much looser than it had days before, and his hair flopped forward, greasy and lank. Her boss was a shadow of the man she’d first met. It shocked her every time she visited him, and it was about to get worse because she wasn’t there to take him home.

  “Hey, you.” His greeting was low, barely audible.

  “Hey. You’re looking better.”

  “Liar.”

  Sitting down in the plastic chair in the corner of the room, Dale smiled. “You’re right. You look like shit.”

  “No point getting all dressed up considering where I’m going.”

  “You’re right again. How are you feeling?”

  “Like death,” he replied and zipped up his bag. Taylor sat on the edge of the bed. “But then what junkie doesn’t?”

  Dale flinched at the callous way he referred to himself. It felt far too harsh and yet utterly correct. “Are you ready?”

  Taylor shook his head. “No, but I have very little choice. If I don’t do this, I’m on my own. Dad made that very clear.”

  “He’s been to see you?”

  “Yeah. I either get clean or get used to living without Reese money. No second chance. No Plan B.”

  “So you’re doing this because of your father’s threat?”

  Taylor reached for the water jug, poured some into the cup, and took a long drink before answering. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

  Alarmed by his lack of conviction, Dale gawked at him, her mouth hanging open. “You know this won’t work if that’s the only reason you have driving you to get sober.”

  Taylor shrugged. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

  “No, Taylor, it’s not. You need to do this because you want to. Otherwise you’re going to fail and be snorting that stuff again within days.”

  He didn’t disagree, and that scared her. Taylor was going to rehab out of fear. With some people that might be enough of a reason, but Dale knew Taylor enough to know it wouldn’t work. He would find a way to do drugs and get his father’s money. He’d been doing it for long enough.

  In essence, Dale was positive Taylor hadn’t hit rock bottom.

  “Why did you start?” she asked, feeling bold. She received another shrug from him.

  “There isn’t a why. I’ve been using the stuff for about five years, but one day about two years ago, some shit went down between Kyran and me. Dad, too. I lost it, followed him to some dirty-ass club and watched him pummel the shit out of a guy. Some illegal underground fight club. Made me feel sick.”

  “The blood?” She tried not to show her surprise that he knew about Metro and his brother’s unconventional hobby.

  “The blood, the fighting, everything. Kyran says I’m dysfunctional, and yet he likes to beat the shit out of random strangers. And I mean he pummels them. The guy was a mess, but Kyran was elated. I’ve never seen him so happy. Sick, when you think about it. Anyway, I met a guy in there who was going to another club. I followed, I drank, I snorted, I fucked.”

  Dale gasped at the lack of feeling. Taylor delivered the story as though he was reading from a book for the first time, devoid of emotion.

  “What had happened between you and Kyran? How bad could it have been to drive you to drugs, Taylor?”

  He shook his head, shoved his fingers into his greasy hair, and slicked it back. His nails had been gnawed to nubs; the skin surrounding the nail had been, as well. Taylor started to chew on his thumb nail.

  “You’ll hurt yourself.” Standing up, Dale stepped in front of him and pulled his thumb from his mouth. Blood pooled across the tip, and the rest of his skin was raw and angry. She reached for a tissue and dabbed the blood away.

  “I’ve done worse things to my body,” he said, pointing to his nose.

  “Kyran mentioned that. When will you have surgery?”

  “Not until I’m clean. Doctors have said it can be fixed. I haven’t fucked it up that bad. They said it needs to be fixed before the septum caves completely, but the insurance company needs assurances that I’m not still causing damage to it. Which is bullshit because Dad would pay regardless, but that’s the line he’s feeding me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  Taylor took hold of her hand and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. His touch made her feel uneasy. He always got that bit too close to her, touch
ed her a little longer than he should. Taylor hadn’t given her any reason to be scared of him or concerned about his intentions, but it was there anyway, prickling underneath the surface of her skin.

  Dale pulled away, hunting out a trash can for the bloody tissue.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were uncomfortable with that, huh? I’m always coming on too strong, being a bit too overly friendly. A shrink would have a field day with me.”

  “How so?”

  Taylor shrugged. “The kid who got so little affection from his father that he now seeks it out from anyone willing to give it.”

  “You don’t need a shrink if you know the issue. You just need to work through it.”

  He shrugged again. “Thanks for coming, Dale.” Taylor picked up his bag and made his way to the door of his room. “I appreciate the help.”

  Dale followed him and took a deep breath as they entered the elevator. “Not a problem. Kyran and your dad were busy with work, right?”

  “No. I didn’t ask them.”

  Taylor shot her a crooked grin, but it didn’t charm her. Instead, it had the opposite effect. Dale was about to ask why he hadn’t asked them, needing to fill the awkward silence, when he answered her unspoken question.

  “They wouldn’t have come. When Daddy dearest called to say he’d booked me into the place, he told me to get a cab. Told me to call him when I decided to grow up.”

  “When you’d completed rehab?”

  They exited the elevator and stepped out into the lobby before leaving the antiseptic smell of the hospital behind. Outside, Dale pointed across the lot to her car.

  “I guess that’s what he meant.” Taylor tossed his bag onto her back seat. “I don’t give a shit.”

  Buckling herself into the driver’s seat, Dale started the engine and pulled away from the hospital. Taylor began tapping his thigh, clicking his tongue, and making other random, annoying noises. He turned the radio on and flicked from one channel to another, barely hearing the song that came on before moving to the next.

  Dale shot Taylor a quick look, hoping he would take the hint. He didn’t. He began slapping a beat on her dashboard, his feet thumping along.

  “Taylor, could you stop? The smell of the hospital has given me a headache, and you’re killing me with the noise.”

  “Okay.” He stopped for a few minutes but then began fidgeting in his seat. “Hey, could we stop somewhere first?”

  “The office?”

  “Umm, no. I need to see a friend of mine. It’s on the way to the detox place anyway.”

  Alarm bells went off in her head, and every cell in her body told her not to stop. Taylor was far too casual when referring to rehab; Dale had expected him to at least protest a little. Addicts rarely admitted defeat the first time they’d been caught. At least that’s what she assumed. Her fingers inched toward her cell phone as her first instinct was to call Kyran, but he didn’t know what she was doing. If he did, they would argue for twenty minutes before she even got to ask for his advice. Calling Kyran probably wasn’t the best option.

  “I don’t think we should be detouring. We need to go straight to the clinic.” Dale flipped her blinker on, preparing to turn right.

  Taylor leaned across Dale and pushed her blinker the other direction so that it flashed left.

  “Hey,” she said, flipping it back before the traffic lights changed. “Stop. We’re not going anywhere but to rehab.” Her voice trembled a little with anxiety.

  Suddenly Taylor grasped the steering wheel and tried to turn in the opposite direction.

  “Taylor! No!” Dale managed to push him away and maneuver the car through the turn. Taylor was still too weak from his hospital stay. She would have had no chance against him otherwise. He shoved her shoulder, still attempting to take charge, and after a very quick tussle, she stopped the vehicle and slapped his arm.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I need to go see someone.” Taylor glared wildly around the inside of the car.

  “What? You want that so desperately that you’re willing to kill us both? Taylor, I’m trying to help you.”

  “I’ve got to go. Have to, Dale.”

  It finally dawned on her, and Dale understood how stupid she had been. “Drugs! You’re using me to get a free ride to your dealer’s?”

  Not an ounce of shame marred Taylor’s expression. In fact, the moron grinned.

  Dale snapped, tired of being used by the Reese men. She restarted the car and drove as fast as possible to the clinic. She ignored each and every one of Taylor’s protests. Dale had done everything for both brothers, and yet, in their own way, each of them had screwed her. Both men had pushed her too far.

  Her temper flared. Horns honked at her erratic driving so she flipped them off. Dale had to keep as much focus on the road while blocking out Taylor’s shouts and lame attempts to gain control. Her knuckles turned white from the stranglehold she had on the wheel, but she was not going to stop.

  “Dale, you can’t do this,” Taylor said hysterically. “You can’t take me there. I’m not an addict. I can stop anytime I like.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “I can! It’s just a hobby—something I do for fun.”

  “Oh, really?” Dale stopped the car outside the door that led to the private, very expensive rehab clinic. “Then why did you need to use at work? Why did you take so fucking much that you overdosed? Taylor, you almost killed yourself!” Her volume rose with every sentence. “And if it’s just for fun, then why are you not laughing, Taylor? I wasn’t laughing when you overdosed.”

  Taylor’s mouth hung open. Not bothering to wait for a response, Dale climbed out of the car. Rounding the vehicle to his side, she tore the door open, and yanked at his shirt. “Get out of the car!” she yelled. “Get out now!”

  She received a few odd looks from the people standing on the curb. Dale no longer cared. She was done.

  “Dale, you can’t—”

  “I can and I have. I’m not here to take your shit anymore. I’m an employee, not a doormat.” After pulling his bag from the backseat, she dropped it at his feet and got back in her car. “So the choice is yours now. Either you go through those doors and prove everyone wrong, or you keep snorting the white shit. Your choice. I no longer care.”

  Dale fought the tears, taking deep, cleansing breaths as she pulled away. She told herself not to look in her rearview mirror. Seeing Taylor’s shocked expression would make her turn around, and that would serve no purpose. The kind of choice Taylor had to make wasn’t one she could help him with. He was alone, as was she.

  The journey home took forever. All Dale wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sob. Every muscle in her body ached. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the clinic and Taylor’s face as he stared at her from the sidewalk. Guilt twisted in her gut, the feeling so intense she felt the physical tremors of pain.

  Whimpering and clutching at her stomach, Dale parked her car and locked it up before walking into her apartment building. She was halfway up the stairs when she remembered her mail and walked back down to the mailboxes. Her key hadn’t worked for months; the super had promised he’d fix it. She had now given up hoping that it would be sorted anytime soon.

  Dale’s mail hung out of the slot. One white envelope with a typed address intrigued her, so she pulled it from her mailbox. It didn’t look like a bill, though she tried to think of any that were past due. Tearing it open as she walked back up the stairs, Dale pulled out the contents when she got to her front door.

  She frowned. Inside the envelope was a long rectangular piece of card. A thin blue border decorated the edge, but it held no words. The sheet was blank. Too tired to think, she tossed it into the trash can when she entered her apartment, and walked straight into her bedroom. Still fully clothed, Dale crawled onto the bed and pulled the duvet over her head. It muffled her sobs and soaked up her tumbling tears until she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 20

  �
�I think you’ve had enough, sis,” Trace said as he removed Dale’s empty glass from her hand.

  Dale growled at him, making a drunken move to snatch the tumbler back. Her head hurt but nowhere near as much as her heart. The decision to come to Metro had been a stupid one, and the decision to get drunk was even worse. Luckily, Trace was working; he would look after her.

  “I need another one.” Her words began to slur.

  “No. Besides the fact that I decide who I serve, there’s also the additional fact that you’re my sister, and I don’t want to be fishing you out of the gutter when my shift is over. So for that reason, I’m cutting you off.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I can and I just did.”

  Dale slouched over the bar, not concerned with the spilled beer seeping into the fabric of her sleeve. Her vision was starting to blur, Trace becoming fuzzy around the edges. Her mouth felt weird, as if her tongue was too big.

  “My tongue feels funny.” Dale swirled it around her mouth and across her teeth.

  The corner of her brother’s mouth twitched. “Okay, then I definitely think you’ve had enough. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not doing this yes and no shit, D. You need to go home and sleep it off.”

  “I want to stay.” She tried to sound determined but it came out more whiny. “You can drive me home.”

  Trace shook his head and pushed his hair from his eyes. “No can do. I don’t have my car. Emmie is picking me up after my shift—I’m staying at her place tonight.”

  Dale slapped her palm on the bar, wincing as the pain reverberated through her hand and wrist. “She can drop me off, then.”

  Sighing, Trace rested his elbows on the bar and leaned as close as he could. “She lives on the other side of the city, so no, she can’t. Dale, you’re drunk. I have a job to do here and it’s not looking after you while you’re drunk. You should go home now.”