by Tara Brown
“Who is Hendricks the cleaner?”
His blue eyes, the very same ones I had, widened. “Wh-what? Who?”
Turning, I walked back to my car. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“Wait!” he growled. “Let’s take a walk to the beach.” He offered a defeated look and a hand.
I gave it a second of thought before I followed him, not taking his hand.
“Hendricks is an old college friend from New York. He went to Princeton with Bueller and me. When we left school, our graduating class all entered our different fields—finance, business, law school, and whatever else our families wanted us to do. My father made me go into real estate to help with your mother’s family’s land development deals. My family didn't have the lineage hers did, and my father demanded I marry her. We all just did what we were told. But not Hendricks—he—he didn't do what his family wanted. Instead, he took a job for an Irish family in Boston.”
“The mafia?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “He’s a smart guy, studied law but never wrote the bar. He knew the ins and outs of the system. He eventually moved to New York and started his own consultation firm. He runs a front operation so he pays taxes on his income and doesn't upset the powers that be.”
“Why did you hire him?”
“He’s a friend.” He dodged my question.
“You know what I mean.”
He sighed. “Lainey, there are things I cannot ever tell you because they are not my story to tell.” He looked scared, truly scared. “But rest assured, whatever happened in the past with Hendricks, it’s buried deep. So if you feel the need to ruin me for leaving your mother, then so be it. But that is as far as I can go into detail on my friendship with him.”
It hurt me when he said it that way. It forced me to see I couldn’t hurt him for leaving my mom. I was just angry. I wanted to hate him, but he was still my dad and hate was a tough one for me. “I’ll drop it if you tell me about Vincent’s mom.”
He turned and gave me a look. “Marianna? I haven’t seen or heard from her in ages. She’s in Switzerland now, right? Summers in France and winters in the Alps.”
“She was in Silver Hills before. Why?”
A weak smile that was far more like a cringe crept across his lips. “She had a bit of a problem.”
“Dad, I need to know. I think it has something to do with this summer.”
“Oh shit.” He gulped, his smile vanishing. “Sorry. Are you being serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Don't say yeah—you know how your mother feels about it.”
I rolled my eyes. “You say it all the time.”
“She hates me.”
“That's true.” My words became a whisper, losing the humor they had a second before.
“We were forced to marry, Lainey. We made the best of a bad situat—”
“Dad! Vincent’s mom.”
His cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. “Marianna was always a bit of a drunk. She too wanted out of her arranged marriage. Theirs was worse than any of ours though. They couldn't get pregnant and Grant blamed Marianna. She was devastated. She started all sorts of hormone therapies. They made her gain weight and lose her hair and everything else. If there was a side effect, Marianna had it. Your mother spent a lot of time over there, consoling her.” He glanced down. “The rest of the story isn’t mine to tell.”
“Dad. I need to know. I need this. The police are starting to investigate me and my friends as suspects for the murder. If we don't have some answers we might see some blame, if not all of it. And you and Mr. Bueller will not be off the hook. Those threatening messages you sent Mr. Henning, those will catch up with you.”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Even after two years had passed and they still weren’t pregnant, Grant refused to get tested to see if the fault lay with him. Marianna had him tested in secret. She discovered he was shooting blanks. So she did the only thing she could think of. She got his best friend to impregnate her so he wouldn't know.”
“Oh God. Rachel’s dad and Vincent’s mom?” Real son? The spelling mistake in the text that I’d mocked, had it been a clue? Vincent wasn't his dad’s real son.
He nodded, shaking his head. “It was meant to be a secret. Vincent looks so much like his mother, no one ever would have been the wiser, but when Vincent was born he got sick and needed blood.” He didn't have to finish the rest of the story. I knew the rest.
“So Rachel’s mom and Mr. Banks found out.”
“And Grant became the monster his own father had been. Cold, cruel, distant, and unloving. Except, in a rare twist of the fates no one expected, he insisted on keeping Vincent as his real son. He didn't care that Vincent had been someone else’s; he was his boy.”
The words real son gave me the chills. “And Marianna fell into depression?”
“She did.” He nodded. “And then she started on the pills and the drinking and combining them. One night she tried to kill herself. Vincent was very small, maybe seven or eight.”
“Rachel’s mom had her committed?”
“They had to deal with it quietly.” He was holding something back.
“Whatever it is you might as well tell me.”
He turned and gave me a look. “There were whispers from Silver Hills that Marianna hadn’t tried to take her own life. She swore Grant had forced the pills and booze down her throat. That maybe he had been poisoning her for a long time.”
“She wasn't actually an addict—he made her one?”
“Like I said, she was always sort of a drunk.” He shrugged. “Whispers aren’t usually true. But if there is one man I can imagine doing that, it‘s Grant Banks.”
My father’s words made me shiver as a cool breeze tickled along my arms. I looked out at the ocean and sighed. “We think there’s a chance Vincent’s mom is the killer or somehow responsible for all of this.”
“God, I wish that were the case but there’s no way.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. Marianna took the opportunity to leave this life behind and ran. She left Vincent behind when she gladly traded him for a payout. She never looked back. She wanted out before she was even married to Grant as part of a business merger between the two families. Marianna was cut off from her family, but she didn't care. She hated them and this life more than anything.”
“Maybe she wants revenge for that.”
“You’re missing what I’m saying. She left peacefully, excitedly in fact. She wanted to go. Grant takes Vincent to France to see her every summer because that was the only stipulation she had in the custody papers. She would stay quiet about the attempt on her life and let him keep his son and most of his money. She had signed a prenup anyway. She never stood to get anything. Not that she needs it. Her rich Swiss doctor is able to give her anything she needs, including a summerhouse in France. She’s happy. Your mother saw her last summer. She said she looks ten years younger. They had quite the visit. She has stayed in contact with everyone from here and loves all of us. Except Grant of course.”
“So Rachel’s mom did it to save Marianna, and Marianna wanted out and doesn't hate everyone here? She wouldn’t have killed Rachel to spite Mrs. Swanson? Not even for sleeping with Mr. Swanson?”
“No. Darling, whoever killed Rachel, their motive isn’t likely tied to the old debts. We made peace with the way things were a long time ago. And Rachel’s mother knew all along her husband was Vincent’s biological father. It was her idea to use her husband’s sperm. They did it in a lab. Vincent was a test-tube baby. There was no affair.” He shook his head. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I’m certain Rachel made her own enemies somehow, and this will all lead back to her.”
“What about Mr. Henning?”
His eyes narrowed. “I have thought about that one long and hard. My conclusion is whoever killed him did it to look like it was the same killer. He’d made himself a very bad bed to lie in. He was bankrupt for starters. And owed a lot of
money.”
“What do you mean? How is that even possible?”
“He’d pissed people off in the business world, and unfortunately for him, most of us know someone like Hendricks who can fix anything for the right price.” He gave me a look. “I hate that you see all of this. That you know so much. I thought I was keeping you out of it.”
I leaned in and rested my head on his shoulder. “Pretending I’m not there isn’t keeping me out of it. You just made me have to look harder for the answers, which uncovered more questions and answers along the way. And it helps that I don't forget anything.”
His body trembled slightly as he breathed in and nodded. “I am so sorry, Lainey. I have been a selfish and lazy father to you and Mazy and Mike too, I’m afraid. I love you, all three of you, more than a single other thing in this world. I may not show it, but I do. I love you all equally too. I’m sorry I am such a failure.”
I didn't argue with him. I couldn't. I would be lying. So I leaned on him and let him cry as I processed everything.
Chapter Eighteen
Labor Day
When I pulled up to his house, I was as surprised to see Jake as he was to see me. I didn’t know why I had driven to his house. It was like I was on autopilot.
He hurried out to the car, looking worried. “Lain, you okay?” He was the second person to ask that and as the day was getting on, the answer was getting worse.
I shook my head, unsure as to why my autopilot would bring me to his house or what I was honestly going to say. How did I tell him everything my father had told me? How did I say that all my leads had died off and I was one step closer to being charged with my friend’s murder?
Instead of talking, he did the thing I needed him to do. He wrapped himself around me, and he let me unload with deep sighs and silence. We stood like that for a long time before he pulled back. “Come inside.”
I nodded and I let him lead me through the front door. Mr. Hanson, his butler, gave us a nod as he turned and left the foyer.
His foyer was nicer than the rest of ours. His father had commissioned the chandelier to be renaissance style with cream-colored marble. Crystal sconces were placed along the walls of the circular entrance, making it all more opulent than the other houses I’d seen. It was bright and grand. I always loved the staircase in the back, through the marble archway. It was plantation perfection meets Mr. Darcy.
He led me to the staircase, and up it, taking me to his bedroom. I didn't even think about the fact I’d never been in a boy’s bedroom when he was there, only Ashton’s when we were snooping.
He sat me on the bed and knelt on the floor in front of me. “Tell me what happened.”
I sniffled and trembled as I led him down the rabbit’s hole with me.
As I finished telling him everything my father had told me, Jake sat back on his heels, taking a breath. “Holy shit.”
I nodded. It was then I realized where we were. My cheeks heated as I glanced back at the messy bed. I needed to be off of his sheets. It was awkward and intense.
But he wasn't treating it that way at all. He was gentlemanly. I was in love with Ashton and he with Sage so it made sense that we weren’t awkward with each other.
“I don't even know what to say. Rachel and Vincent were half brother and sister? No wonder her mother forbade her to date him.”
I cocked an eyebrow, tilting my head. “Forbade?”
“It means—”
“I know what it means. I’m surprised you do.”
He didn’t take the joke the way I’d intended it. He laughed, but it was bitter and—well—hurt. “I’m not a caveman, Lainey.” He got up and walked to the window, looking out and running his hands through his dark hair. “This is some heavy shit. I don't like knowing this sort of thing. Vincent doesn’t know which means I shouldn't know.”
“We assume he doesn't. But he might. He never even got close to dating Rachel. That has to mean something.”
“Maybe he knew, like pheromones or some shit.”
“Stop cussing. It’s not helping.”
He rolled his eyes and lifted his hands, resting them on top of his head. He tapped his fingers on his head, pacing the huge room. My gaze caught the V-thingy as his shirt lifted and again I was stuck in the tractor beam. There was something wonderful about the way his pants hung just a touch low and his shirt lifted, revealing the slip of skin at just the right spot.
“Lain!”
I lifted my eyes, realizing he had been talking. “What?”
He cocked an eyebrow and nodded. “Take the tensor bandage off and give it to me. We need to focus and clearly my abs are distracting you. No one likes to be ogled like a piece of meat.” He used my own lines on me as he lifted his shirt and smirked, looking down like the old Calvin Klein ads with Mark Wahlberg.
Everything tightened, and it became abundantly clear how awkward it was being in his room, alone and with him flexing his stomach for me. I stood, turning for the door. “I should get going. Thanks for listening.” As I grabbed the handle he rushed me, pushing the door closed. The warmth of the front of him was pressed into the back of me and his arms caged me in. And even though I was trapped and my hands trembled, I didn't fear him. I feared me. I feared the floating feeling inside me. It screamed of release and letting go of the control. I tempted myself with each of his breaths that landed on my head.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “I really should go.”
“Stay.” His words breathed down on my ear and nape.
“No.” I shivered and shook my head. “I can’t.”
“What are you so scared of, Lainey? That you might have to admit to yourself you like me? That all those plans you made in your head were not actually what was really happening?” He put his hand to my arm, spinning me. I backed up, hitting the door again. He placed a soft grip on my chin, tilting my face way back to look up into his wild stare. “What if I admit it first? What if I say I’ve liked you all my life? I’ve always wanted it to be you.”
I scowled, ready to deny it, but my brain processed quickly. I wanted to doubt him but the proof was in my mind. His words matched the images flashing in my head. The bashful smile or the longing in his eyes or the way he always knew things he shouldn’t. It was all true. He was paying attention and noticing me. The burning look in his dark-blue gaze matched the look he always had when he stared at me. It was just more intense now.
“I’ve wanted to do this for longer than I think I can remember back.” He lowered his face, brushing his lips against mine, and the strangest feeling swept over me.
It should have been horror or stress rushing through me, but it wasn't. It was the peaceful calm of something being completely, soulfully right. It was exactly the release of control I had imagined.
It became almost a dance, like we moved to a song.
My hands lifted, crawling up his chest as his hands encircled me, cupping the back of my jeans and lifting me into the kiss.
Something happened, something intense, and I gave over to it. My legs wrapped around his waist as my tongue welcomed his into my mouth.
A fury came over me. My glasses slipped off my face as he walked across the room, climbing onto the bed and laying me back on it.
Hands slid places they hadn’t ever before, mine and his. My body arched and moved in ways I didn't know it could.
I couldn't see everything else in the room, but I saw him. I saw the way he looked at me.
The sounds that filled the air matched the desperation in us both.
Maybe it was wrong to do something so impulsive, but it felt right. So very right.
Even when it was over, and he was wrapped around me, it felt right—which made no sense.
I was in love with Ashton.
Wasn't I?
But with my head on Jake’s chest, I didn't know what I felt anymore.
For the first time in weeks, I hadn’t thought at all. I had done. I had acted. I had succumbed to something I never imagined I would.
/>
“Are you okay?” he finally spoke.
“Yeah.” I glanced up, noting the look in his eyes. He regretted it. The look created a lump in my throat. I pulled back, sliding his blankets over me and creating a separation between us.
He bit his lip, like he was fighting back his words. His eyes darted to the right and lost the look I had seen before.
“I-I sh-should g-go.” With shaking hands I grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around myself and dragging it from the bed.
“Lainey, wait.” He got up, looking sick and sounding worse. “I’m sorry.”
Agony ripped through me as I stepped back, staggering. “Don't be. I’m fine.” I turned and ran for his bathroom, clinging to the blanket as tears threatened to blind me. Even with the bathroom door closed and my heart breaking on the floor in front of me, I couldn't regret what I had done. I didn’t regret it. The chaos and overwhelming feelings were the greatest escape I had ever had.
It was the best mistake I ever made.
The child in me wanted to shout from my mother and father’s house, and not just that I was no longer a virgin. I wanted to scream that I, the prissy and proper Lainey Allen, had lost it recklessly to the slutty guy who I always thought was in love with my friend. I wanted to tell Sage and watch her face fall. It was the worst series of things I had ever thought. Even worse than hating Rita for liking Ashton.
I laughed through the tears, realizing how ridiculous I was, hating on Rita for liking Ashton when I had just lost my virginity to the guy Sage liked.
I officially was Sierra.
At least Sierra was able to see more than four feet in front of her face.
Which in a moment like this one I imagined would have been horrible. I was grateful I couldn't see my own face in the giant mirror in front of me.
The tear-stained cheeks and heartbroken expression might have hurt more than the terrible look in Jake’s eyes.
But the haze in the bathroom and my eyes matched the fuzz in my head. There had been clarity, but it was squashed by the crushing blow of regret. Not mine of course. I didn't even regret that I had bought Jake’s words hook, line, and sinker, destroyed by my best asset—my photographic memory that still believed in him.