Mind F*ck

by Dawn, Kimber S.

  But so far, aside from a few court documents where there were some conflicting stories while each testified, he comes up clean.

  There’s no dirt to be found on this guy.

  None.

  But I just can’t unleash this guy on Lexy. I have to do some homework on him.

  And I’d also like to know what the hell Travis is getting out of this.

  He’s had his eyes set on my wife…

  Shit. Ex-wife.

  Since LA. And now he wants her to be gifted to Rhett?

  Like some sort of present? Or a prize?

  I scoff, chuckling to myself as I line up a few more rails and tuck the mirror face up back into the drawer.

  Even though I know Summer hasn’t stopped her recreational habits because of her pregnancy, it isn’t worth the fight. She says she stopped. So that means I have to stop.

  Which means I just have to keep hiding it, like I did when I was with Lexy.

  Same ocean, different boat.

  Same problems, different scenery.

  And it hits me.

  Somewhere between stalking from the desk in my study to the table in the sitting area, before I even get a chance to see who texted me, it hits me.

  Then my mind becomes the uncontrolled chaos—supported and fueled by the cocaine and scotch pumping through my veins…

  I can’t let Lexy go.

  Lexy’s mine.

  She always been mine, she’ll always be mine.

  With my phone still in hand, I stop at the doorway to the master bedroom in the penthouse and peek in, feeling my phone vibrate, notifying me of a second text. When I see the bedroom lights off and the bathroom light illuminating it, I step inside and glance towards where I hear Summer moving around in the bathroom.

  Barely catching a glimpse of her in the bathroom mirror, and I know, that’s all I need. I already know she’s doing exactly what she forbade me from doing.

  And I’m disgusted with her.

  It matters none what I’ve just done. I’m not the pregnant one.

  And the fact that she had the audacity to pitch a fit until I said I’d stop, and then I catch her shoving the shit up her nose?

  She’s not even trying to fucking hide it.

  I ground my molars together, and it takes a strength I didn’t know I possessed for me to calmly turn on my heel and leave.

  Once I’m back in my study and both doors are locked, I pour myself another scotch and down its contents, twice, before thumbing my phone on and reading the first text that started this entire argument.

  Hey, man. It’s Drake. You know me, new number. I found some hits on our boy. Seems you’re not the only big brother buddy S’s been tangled up with. That, and he’s got some shitty medical history. Hit me up later or meet me at McClearn’s at the reg time.

  Later, man—D.

  Hmm…

  I thumb through my phone and see the second text was from the big brother in question, Travis.

  And I briefly wonder why Lexy hasn’t texted back, and it causes me to have to consciously force myself not to go into the back office of my study and listen in to what audio I do still have up and running at the estate.

  The last few that Rhett hasn’t stumbled upon.

  Just so I can see how she’s reacting to my text.

  But I’m already certain I know how it’s playing out.

  And honestly, I don’t need to hear it or see it, I already know I can’t stomach that right now either.

  My eyes scan over Travis’ text:

  Call me.

  And it’s during the following phone conversation I have with Travis when something inside me fractures. And it’s probably something on a very basic fundamental level. Something I’m certain a psychologist would suggest a normal man couldn’t afford to have broken.

  The fissure splits and splinters.

  With every word.

  He answers, “This’s Trav.”

  “Hey, man. Just saw your text. What’s up? Party still at nine, correct?” I glance at the clock above the mantle and sigh, pinching my nose between my eyes in an attempt to ward off the oncoming headache.

  His voice cuts through the phone line, “I don’t know how else to say this, other than just out right saying it. You’re fucked, brother. The old man has been slowly snuffing out Brighton’s branch in The Big Easy since last March. Remember that meeting last month in New Orleans? The one you accumulated Bennett during? Yeah, that Brighton. Well, in six months Pops had it planned out so he could offer Brighton and his son a duel contract, insuring the youngest Brighton, the Brighton that wasn’t at that meeting, to the company while his father comfortably retires up here in New York. Now here’s the why…” The tone in his voice never waivers, even after he grabs another lung full of air to continue, “Here’s why Pops has gone the extremes he’s gone to get this kid out of New Orleans and in New York. And it isn’t only because his series seven scores make ours look comical!” He laughs, but his voice remains without humor. “Nope. It’s because, Liam. This fucking kid and Summer have been a publicized item, since you guessed it—last March.”

  “Wait—What? Come again? This is the first I’m hearing of this.” I’m left reeling. It takes everything in me to stay rooted to my place in the study and not go tearing off after Summer, interrupt her shoving more shit up her nose, and demand answers.

  Instead, I breath. Control the chaos.

  “Look. Travis, I can do this. I am doing this. And your sister and I, we have some things to work out. But we’re fine. Everything will be fine.” I clearly speak, using my voice to portray my calmness.

  “I’m still a firm believer in you, Liam Dean. I do believe in you, brother. Know that.” His voice mirrors mine. Calm. And clearly spoken.

  “You have class, and you know what’s expected of you.” He continues, “You know how to produce what this type of crowd expects and that is perfection. I know you and Lexy can figure this out. You’ve got to. Do you understand?”

  Although my mind is falling apart and I’m having problems understanding what is up and what is down, I quickly reply, not wanting to hesitate, “I understand that, Travis. And I thank you for believing in me. Although, it may not be necess—“

  His voice barks through the other end, cutting off my words. “None of this sits well with Pops. Do you understand that? None of this. Not you being married. Not Summer being with Adam Brighton publically and you privately, then the two of you conceiving a fucking child!” His voice raises for the first time in the conversation. Then it’s back to calm, and he’s clearly speaking, “It doesn’t look good. Not in the social circles, nor in the business ones. It doesn’t look good, brother. It doesn’t reflect well on the family name, and that’s what my father’s empire is built on. His name. My name. Our name.”

  I reply with the only acceptable response, “I understand.”

  But I don’t. I don’t understand.

  “Don’t fuck this up,” he demands.

  “I won’t. And you know it,” I bark.

  And I won’t. I don’t plan on failure. Ever.

  “Liam, if this all plays out the way father wants it, you just may come out of this better than on top. Personally and professionally. Are you reading me between the lines? Are you?”

  “I am, Travis.”

  And I am. I see how this could work out in everyone’s favor.

  Clearly.

  Everyone’s but mine and Lexy’s.

  There’s a brief moment of muted silence before he finishes. Filling in the blanks of what it is he wants from me. What he expects from me.

  “Talk to Lexy.” Calm. And clearly spoken, edging a stern tone, “Make sure she understands the importance of her role. Rhett needs someone. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I warned you in LA how small the circle of trust is in the Jackson family. Two weeks before you officially accepted the New York position, you were forewarned. We’re you not?”

  “I was,” I respond.

  “Right. Wel
l, it’s not my fault you moved to the east coast and less than a year and a half later you lost your rights to your wife. I told you Monday, and I will keep reiterating if necessary, Liam: You lost your control over Lexy when you knocked up the Jackson princess in your extramarital affair. Period. Cut your ties, wish them well, and carry on your own merry way with my sister. That’s your next move. There’s your pre-emptive check mate, brother.”

  Then the line goes dead.

  I do remember pulling out the old Colombian cigar box from my safe filled with brick after brick of pure cut cocaine and lining line after line up along the bathroom counter.

  I do remember that.

  I also remember sliding my phone and wallet in my pockets before shouldering on my suit jacket and slipping out of the kitchen service elevator.

  I consider texting Lexy twice, letting her know that I was on my way.

  And I only half way consider calling her once, but quickly dispel the idea when the headlights of my Jaguar F-TYPE bounce off the exit sign for the highway to the reason Lexy and I moved here.

  Or one of them.

  Our new home. The place we were going to build a family…

  Anger catches fuel at the thought of losing what’s mine.

  And if it isn’t my own sanity and control snapping in two at the thought, then I don’t know what to call it.

  I just know the sound was both dull and resounding.

  And it hurt.

  The possibility of either ending is irrelevant, because they both hurt.

  I just know that everything after the Jaguar’s headlights reflected off the exit, everything seemingly went black.

  Like the lights were still on, and from the outside looking in, I’m sure it seemed someone was home, but in reality…I was not.

  Storming into the house I architected for the future I planned, taking the steps two at a time the entire way up as soon as I barreled through the double front doors of my home…and I must reveal to you, dear reader…I was nowhere near home.

  Not in my mind.

  I believe that’s what occurs when sanity splits from reason.

  And if I knew how to feel shame, I probably still wouldn’t feel an ounce for the sins I was about to commit on my wife.

  Shit.

  Ex-wife.

  I’m still damp from barging in on Lexy in the shower.

  I pull another drag from my cigarette and look out over the grounds to the east. After I’ve exhaled the smoke completely from my lungs, I look down at the offending carcinogenic containing crutch that I love and hate, growl under my breath at it, then flick it out over the balcony.

  I run my fingers through my hair and consider shaving it for the hundredth time, while questioning my next move.

  What next move? You may ask. My every next move.

  I’m taking Lexy to my birthday celebration.

  I sent Trav a text after Lexy went storming off from the balcony toward her room after she got Liam’s text.

  And what in the hell kind of text was that?

  I knew Liam was scum. Hell, he is a cheating asshole.

  I wince when I remember who he’s been fucking with. Summer.

  Then I visibly shudder when I remember how it’s going to affect old man Jackson’s plans.

  I’m not sure why, but one thing Trav has surprised me with, is his show of forgive and forget, and he’s done that. He’s shown that by making sure I’m kept in the loop.

  The last few weeks Travis has been letting me mostly get away with working on the estate and getting it back to its original state—which is quicker to being completed than my first estimated times.

  But Liam’s text changed things.

  Drastically.

  And not only for Lexy. But me, too.

  And what was previously an unfortunate fact, is now the question in the balance.

  It seems I may have some fucks to give.

  And it scares me. Honestly, it scares me.

  To the point of causing every muscle surrounding my bones to tense in preparation for fight or flight—for war, when my phone rings in my pocket.

  I shake off the tension and pull my phone from my hoodie pocket at the same time as my cigarettes and lighter.

  I answer, “Hey, man,” seeing it’s Travis beforehand. I thumb a cigarette into my mouth.

  But I don’t light it. Not yet.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “What if I told you that I practically gift wrapped Lexy Mayer Dean for you? What if I told you that within a matter of…let’s say half a year, I can make the house you’re rebuilding, brick by brick yours? That gorgeous as fuck little woman, your wife? That house, that home…all can be yours. With just the passing of some sand though an hourglass. What would you say then, brother?”

  I laugh for several reasons.

  The top contenders are his audacity. And the following few are the fact that he assumes I need his help.

  I don’t need anyone’s help.

  No one’s.

  Once my laughing has subsided and I’m merely chuckling, I ask the first obvious question, “Trav, what the hell makes you think I need your help? No, no…what do you mean gift-wrapped Lexy? Like birthday gift-wrapped? How does that work for me in my favor?” I ask, somewhat allowing my amusement to be heard in my voice.

  “There are rules. There is a law. Jesus, am I surrounded by amateurs?” he asks, but I don’t respond.

  I mainly don’t respond because Lexy, the gift-wrapped item up for discussion slips out onto the balcony. Her pale yellow silk robe catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I turn towards her, smiling.

  She looks like the cat who ate the canary, blinking back at me with those pools of emerald green.

  “Okay, just—“ he huffs on the other end, “ask if she’d like to attend the celebration. Do you have any other possible dating candidates? Do you even have a suit?” he asks.

  “I have a suit,” I chuckle, barely taking my eyes off Lexy. Her hair’s pinned up with ringlets left in wisps around her face. She’s stunning. Even without a stitch of make-up on. She’s breathtaking. “It’s at the dry cleaners.” I clear my throat before turning my back towards Lexy for a second. “The first part of that question is none of your business. None. As a matter of fact, I’d prefer you keep my personal life completely out of any and all plans. If you want me here in six months, at Jackson’s Agency. If you really want me here, then you’ll heed my advice when I say, stay the fuck out of it, Trav. It’s mine. And it’s personal. Period.”

  “Alright, alright. I understand. Shit, I’m just trying to help. You know me.” He laughs and my hackles lower.

  “I do, and I also know sometimes you have a bad habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. And I want it said, Trav—it doesn’t belong. Not anywhere near my personal life do you belong.”

  “Rhett, try to not offend me. Your choice of words, brother…”

  I plaster a smile across my face before turning back around to Lexy, then chuckle, “My choice of words is just that. My choice. Respect them, all of them. And we’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight, brother.”

  I press end before pocketing my phone in my still damp hoodie. Smile still in place, I narrow my eyes on hers.

  “Hey, you,” I gently speak.

  I can’t stop my eyes from scanning over her every inch, from the top of her head to her little red-painted toes peeking out from her robe.

  I let out a breath when I see her visibly relax. “Hi.” She smiles when she speaks.

  When I remember the cigarette still hanging out of my mouth I’d completely forgotten about it as I growled my words of warning to Trav, I quickly snatch it from my mouth with one hand while retrieving my pack from my hoodie pocket and thumbing it open. After I have the cigarette tucked back in its pack I stow them in my hoodie.

  Then I ask her around tying my hair back up, “Change your mind? About going with me to my birthday?” I explain when her brow furrows at my first quest
ion.

  “No, no.” She laughs. “Actually, I have a favor to ask you. My mom’s plane lands in an hour. Mary was supposed to pick her up and bring her here. But something’s come up. She can’t get away. Do you mind?”

  I don’t make her say another word.

  “An hour? Sure. I need to swing by the dry cleaners any way.” I smile as charmingly as I can. Because I have fucks to now give. “That’ll give you plenty of time to get dressed. And ahh…” I rub the back of my neck, coming up short on what words to use here, “…your mom accompanying us tonight? Or will it just be the two of us?”

  “The two us?” She repeats my words to me. Then clarifies and I can’t help the pride that puffs my chest out when I realize that she’s attempting a joke. “Meaning you and my mother? Or you and I?” The smirk on her face will be the death of me.

  I chuckle. Then the chuckle turns into laughter. And a few moments later we, the two of us, are both laughing.

  I like the banter between us.

  I like that it’s easy for us. It’s easy to talk to her. It’s easy to joke with her. And the more I’m learning about her, the more I realize…just how fucking many fucks she represents that I’m currently adding up to give.

  It didn’t take me meeting Lexy’s mother for all of the pieces to fall together. But it definitely expedited the process.

  It’s amazing to me, really, when someone’s integrity flourishes and blooms and they’re not even present to nurture it. That says something.

  To me, anyway.

  I can instantly tell Gigi doesn’t abide in life with the same beliefs my mother did where living in excess is concerned. Lexy’s mother is well taken care of.

  Very well.

  And while they share a lot of the same traits and I do see where Lexy gets her beautiful looks and strawberry blonde hair from, aside from a few facial features and gestures, the similarities between the two woman stop. Right there at their physical traits.

  I slide the Range Rover I borrowed from Lexy into a parking meter spot outside the dry cleaners and smile as I glance over my shoulder towards the back seat where Gigi sits.