LUST (Dirty Brothers Series Book 2)

by Penny Wylder

  I lean into him, giving in to a final weakness. “I want to. And if I’d been mature enough to have this conversation then, things might have been different. But it’s been too long, Sam. It eats at me every day. Everything you do is deliberate. Every single thing. I need to know why.” I pull back, and look him in the eye. The emotion simmering there almost makes me change my mind. Almost. “Until I do, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  He lets me go when I move away, and that adds one more little crack in my heart. Because even though I’m choosing to leave, I really wish that he would fight to make me stay.

  I can’t seem to stop crying. I mean, I knew it was coming, but I hate it. And on top of crying, my body is sore, which the crying makes worse. And I can’t stop thinking about the way in which I got sore, which makes the crying worse still. I had to pull over on the side of Sam’s rural road and just let it all out. Because if feels like my heart is breaking all over again. I remember this feeling, this painful ache in my chest, like a knife was lodged there. I woke up with that feeling in my chest for years.

  My mind plays it back, and I have it memorized at this point. Even though I don’t want to see it, I know it’ll be faster to relive it. To purge it and move on. God knows that I’ve done that hundreds of times before.

  I can still remember the way it felt to put on my dress—a gorgeous princess ball gown in a burgundy. I searched through what felt like every store in Hawthorne—and some in Boston—to find Sam a tie that perfectly matched my dress. It seemed so important at the time, that we match exactly. And we did. He in turn brought me a corsage with a rose that color. I still have that corsage, dried. Even though it’s a painful reminder, I’ve never been quite willing to get rid of it.

  Sam had come to the door and I remember the way my heart felt full. Full of life and possibility and love. We’d only just told each other that we love each other a few weeks before, and the sensation of being able to say it was still new and exciting. My father and Rose took pictures of us. I don’t know which one sent him the picture that’s in his parents’ house. It doesn’t matter now. After we’d taken pictures for what felt like hours, we left for the dance. Sam’s father had just given him a car, and even though I could tell my father was nervous about two teenagers alone in a new car, he let us go.

  It was just as glamorous as I’d dreamed. We made a perfect entrance, stared at by both our friends and our enemies, took cliché pictures in the photo booth, and danced until we were both breathless and laughing, ready for a slow song. Sam and I had made plans to leave early and spend some time together alone. My father would have had a fit if I’d spent the night out, and so we needed to make time before I had to be home for curfew. I remember that Sam’s parents didn’t seem to care whether he stayed out or not.

  We were getting ready to leave, to go to the hotel room that Sam had reserved for the two of us at the fanciest hotel in Hawthorne, when he excused himself to go to the bathroom. I was having some punch, laughing with some of my friends when it all came crashing down. Another of my friends came rushing up to me, out of breath like she’d been running, telling me I needed to get behind the school. She’d just seen Sam go back there with one of the cheerleaders—Lacy Davis. I told her that was ridiculous, that we were about to go to our hotel. She wouldn’t listen, dragging me with her across the dance floor and through the halls of the school to the quad out back.

  And there he was—I could just see him around the corner, with an unmistakable female hand wrapped far too closely around his waist. I called his name, and I remember the shock and horror on his face as he turned, and the way he shoved her away. Lacy’s lipstick was smudged, and her face was smug as she walked past me into the school. She even had the audacity to give me a little wave.

  I asked Sam what happened, and he said nothing. He just stared at the ground, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He wouldn’t say anything even though I screamed at him, even though I begged him to tell me what I saw wasn’t real. The only thing he did was to shake his head and say that he couldn’t say anything. I was gutted. I felt like someone had taken a saw and carved me open and my guts were spilling out on the ground, the same color of my dress.

  I barely remember anything after that. I remember crying and being on the school’s bathroom floor, some of my friends with me. I remember Rose coming to get me, and I remember falling asleep, still in my dress. I tried to get Sam to talk to me a couple of more times, but he wouldn’t budge. That same stance, that same shake of his head, and then I let him go. I made a plan to cut him and his family out of my life forever.

  Until Rose had to go and fall in love with his younger brother. Just my luck.

  I wipe the remaining tears from my eyes and take a breath. I don’t understand why he won’t just admit it. That he cheated. If it was a mistake, it’s been ten years. And even though I’ll be pissed, I could get over it. If it’s something different, then I need it explained. Otherwise I’m going to have that horrible, brutal moment stuck in my head forever. Always wondering why I wasn’t enough. Always wondering how he got behind the school with Lacy. Always wondering why he’d make that decision.

  Putting my car into drive, I pull back onto the road. I need to get back to my house and change before I’m supposed to meet Rose. And I desperately need to wash my face so it doesn’t look like I’m a drowned rat when I get there.

  Rose knows something is up the minute I walk into the dress salon. I don’t know how. I went home and made sure my make-up was perfect so that absolutely no one would know that I’d been crying for a couple of hours.

  “What happened?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She gives me a look. “That’s bullshit. Sam messaged me. He told me that you fought again, and that he’d like you to call him.”

  I did notice that there were a few missed calls from him on my phone. I didn’t respond. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Seriously, Fiona, what happened?”

  The girl from the salon approaches us at that moment and I get a glorious reprieve. I’m marched through the store and have to choose dresses I like that fit within Roses color scheme—silver and blue. Once I settle on a style and color she’ll pick a color for the rest of the bridesmaids. Since I’m the Maid of Honor, she wants me to be a little bit different. Armed with half a dozen dresses, our attendant ushers me into a fitting room while Rose lounges outside.

  “I think you should call him,” she says.

  “No.”

  She sighs. “Didn’t we just talk yesterday about how you two were going to be civil to each other? That you were going to put all of it aside for the sake of the wedding or whatever?”

  “Yeah, well we tried,” I say, wiggling into a navy blue gown that I think goes well with my skin tone. I push out of the fitting room and the attendant arranges me on one of those pedestals in front of mirrors, politely trying to ignore our obviously personal conversation.

  I see her raise an eyebrow in the mirror. “When between yesterday and today did you have time to try?” She motions for me to spin, and I do. It’s a pretty dress, draped and empire waisted with a vaguely Grecian feel. It’s pretty, but I’m not stunned by it.

  Doing my best to not meet her eyes, I say, “We had dinner last night. Agreed to have a truce about the whole thing. Give it a shot as if we’d never met each other.” I rush into the dressing room as I see her jaw drop and the attendant helps me out of the dress. I grab the robe that the salon has for in-between dresses, and I smile at her. “Do you think you could give us a couple of minutes.”

  “Sure.” She scurries out of there almost faster than I can get the robe closed, and I step outside, arms crossed.

  “Fine, okay? Fine. We had dinner.” I give her an overview of what happened, the basic rundown of what we agreed, and how we ended up spending the night together. I don’t tell her the glorious details—though she asks. I don’t tell her just how many times we fucked and how I’m so
re enough that I can still feel his hands on my skin. But I fill her in on what happened this morning. How he said it didn’t have anything to do with me and he couldn’t tell me. “I can’t do it, Rose. I’ve lived with that memory for ten years. I can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen. It would eat away at us like acid until we fell apart all over again.”

  “But you would do it?” she asks. “You would be with him all over again?”

  “Yes.” The word is instantaneous. Of course I would. I never stopped loving Sam. They say you never forget your first love, and with us it’s like it was crystallized. Frozen but not quite broken. I can still hear the pain in his voice this morning, and I know he’s there with me too. He’s said so many times that he wants me. I just wish I could want him without knowing. I wish I were strong enough to move on. But I’m not.

  I sit down on the couch beside Rose and put my head in my hands, and she rubs gentle circles on my back. “What do I do?”

  “You should talk to him,” she says. “Maybe he’s changed his mind. If he reached out to me, he’s desperate. Sam and I aren’t exactly close.”

  “Why would he just change his mind after all this time?”

  Rose shrugs. “Maybe after last night he realizes just how badly he wants you back? Maybe he’s decided that you’re worth more than this secret?”

  “I don’t know, Rose.”

  “When I screwed it up with Thomas, you told me to go get him. You told me that it’s never too late and that’s true. Now if he’s asking to talk to you, and you want to be with him, you need to suck it up and talk to him.”

  “Fine,” I say, sighing. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  We call the attendant back in, and she helps me into the various dresses that we’ve picked. And we do find one—a lovely silver gown that reminds me a little of what I wore to her engagement party. But in my head I’m somewhere else entirely. I’m with Sam, wondering what he’s thinking and what he wants to say to me after our conversation this morning. I think Rose knows that’s where my head is, because she’s smiling whenever she has to repeat something or get my attention. Finally, after I’ve been pinned within an inch of my life, Rose lets me go. But not before telling me, “Go get him, sister,” with a wink. I’m eating my own words now.

  I’m walking to my car when my phone buzzes again. I look at it, and find Sam’s name on the screen. Might as well get this over with now. I pick up, “Sam, I—”

  “Fiona,” he says, voice frantic. “Zeus ate half an onion. I’m making chili and he stole it off the counter. He keeps trying to throw it up and he seems like he’s in pain.”

  He doesn’t have to say anything more. “I’m on my way.”

  11

  I stop at the vet’s office as quickly as I can. There’s a medication that makes animals vomit. It’s gross, but it’s the fastest way to get bad things out of their stomach. Onions are really bad for dogs, and while eating them doesn’t usually produce immediate results, some dogs can have a bad allergic reaction, which is what I think Zeus is having.

  There’s a chance I might get pulled over on the way because I’m definitely speeding. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever be coming back to this house again, let alone coming back today. It’s all so raw and familiar like a big bruise. Is there any chance that we can ever really set it straight? Ten years of heartache and accusations eating away at us is a lot to overcome.

  I blink those thoughts away. Right now I can only think about Zeus. He needs my help, and even though I’m not certified, this is what I want to do. I can’t ignore this request. I would never want to.

  The house looms, and I’ve barely turned off my car before I’m out of it and running for the house. I pound on the door and it takes only seconds for Sam to open it. I push past him, “Where is he?”

  “Backyard. He wanted to go out.”

  I nod. Instinct. And since I have to make him throw up having him outside is going to be better anyway. Zeus is near the back deck, taking a few steps and retching, pawing at his face. “I think he’s having an allergic reaction. I brought this.” I hold up the bottle. “You need to help me have him swallow it.”

  Sam nods, gathering Zeus to him like it doesn’t take any effort.

  “I hope you don’t like those clothes,” I say. “This is going to make him puke.”

  “Is that good for him?”

  I open the bottle and get a dropper full of the liquid. “It’s the fastest way, and we want it out of him fast.”

  Zeus doesn’t want to take the medicine. I wouldn’t either. It’s a struggle to get his mouth open and hold it open while he’s retching, but Sam makes a valiant effort. Together we get his mouth open long enough to get the vial of fluid down his throat. He runs off immediately and the liquid only takes a minute to kick in. He vomits violently across the yard, but the minute he does you can see that he feels better. Immediately he comes back to us, still retching, but not as much. He nudges his head against my leg, and I lean down to hug him. “It’s okay, boy.” I look up at Sam. “We should get some water in him.”

  “Yeah. Come on boy.” Zeus follows slowly and gratefully drinks from the water Sam sets out on the deck. “Will he be all right out here for a while?”

  I nod. “He should be fine. Keep an eye on him. He’ll probably throw up again, that’s normal.”

  “Thank you,” he says, genuine gratitude in his voice, “for coming.”

  “You’re welcome.” And I can’t stay. I thought I could, but I’m not ready. I turn and slip back inside.

  Sam follows. “Fiona, wait.”

  “Rose already tried, Sam. We said a lot of things this morning, and I thought that I was ready to talk again, but I don’t think I am.”

  “I know that you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but please, listen.”

  I shake my head. “I want to. I really do. But I think I need to go home right now. It hurts, and I need it to just not hurt for a little while.” I take a step backward and run right into his kitchen table. It sets me off balance, and I almost fall, knocking a stack of papers onto the floor while I try to right myself. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Crouching down onto the floor, I start to gather up the papers, when I see a name I recognize: Lacy Davis. I look up at Sam, and he’s staring at me with an expression somewhere between horror and relief. I unfold one of the papers, and read. It’s a confirmation of a wire transfer. Twenty-thousand dollars to Lacy David. It’s dated last month.

  I flip through the papers on the floor. All slips of paper telling me that he’s been giving her every month for years. “What the hell is this?”

  “Will you listen?” he asks. “Really listen?” He holds out a hand and I take it.

  “I will,” I say, because there’s no way I’m leaving this house without knowing what that money is for. “But I’m going to need a drink.”

  Sam pours me one, and we go back out onto the porch where we can keep an eye on Zeus while we talk. I don’t think I’m going to be doing much of the talking.

  He clears his throat. “This morning, after you left, I did some thinking. And I realized that this is silly. That this whole thing between us has gotten so out of hand, and you’re right, you need to know. And that after ten years, even if everything comes out, it will be all right. The truth will out, or whatever that quote is.” He takes a long sip of his drink.

  “That night, when I left to go to the bathroom, Lacy cornered me. She told me that she had information that would ruin my family, and that if I didn’t come with her right that second that I would be sorry in the morning. She was clearly drunk, and her lipstick was smudged all to hell, like she’d been having sex with someone. But I’d known enough drunk people to know that they don’t bluff. So I went with her.

  “I thought she might be trying to get me outside for sex, in which case I would have left. She did try to kiss me, but I wouldn’t let her. But then she told me the truth: that she’d found out that my father was her father too. My dad cheated on my m
om and had another child, and we never knew. My mother never knew. And when Lacy found out—she’d found out from a family relative that she’d reconnected with, and confirmed with her mother, she was angry. Lacy was poor, and once she found out that she was really a Logan she felt cheated. She wanted the life that we had, and she demanded it—twenty thousand dollars every month or she would go to the papers. She would go to my mother. She’d go to everyone who would listen and tell them the truth about Logan Sr.’s secret love child.”

  Sam stops for a second, and he looks like he’s getting emotional. “My father is a son of a bitch, Fiona. He’s not a good man. He’s a liar and a cheater, but my mother loves him. This would have destroyed her. I was in shock, and I didn’t believe her, but she told me she’d give me proof, and after that she expected her money. Then you called my name, and I knew what it would look like. I knew that I was with a different girl, that it seemed like I’d cheated. But I didn’t know what to do. What could I do? If I told you right then what happened and Lacy heard, she could destroy my entire family. I couldn’t say anything in my defense or risk that. It killed me.

  “But I had to protect her, Fiona. My mother is a good person, and she doesn’t deserve what people and the media would say about her if this came out. So I made the decision to stay quiet. Lacy showed me her birth certificate, signed by my father. And I started giving her money from my trust fund. Twenty thousand every month. Ever since. That’s the truth.”

  His words hang in the air between us, and I don’t know how to feel. I’ve seen the proof of the payments, so it makes sense. “That’s what happened?”

  “Yes.” You can feel it bone deep when someone is telling the truth, and I know that Sam is.