Unbound

by Kimberly Derting

When the waitress stopped at our table, Aster ordered an extra-dirty martini. Raph made some crack under his breath about the “extra-dirty” part, but Aster shot him down with a pointed stare. “I thought you said you had an in,” she pressed Raph.

  Raph sighed, clearly tired of this line of questioning. “I do. I did. My in and I . . . we’re on the outs.”

  “So what you’re saying is, you couldn’t keep your . . . ,” she lowered her gaze to his lap, “ . . . your you know what in your pants. You finked us?”

  Refusing to give up, Raph leaned forward on his elbows. “You really are a dirty girl, aren’t you, baby?”

  Aster’s face went white as a sheet as she pursed her lips.

  I scrubbed my face with my hands. We needed to stay on track. “Fucking hell, Raph. I think what she means is, there’s no chance we’re getting this venue back?”

  He gave me an innocent shrug. “Don’t blame me, it’s wedding season in LA—everything’s booked. The brides are circling venues for cancellations like sharks that smell blood. And I had no idea the lengths your mother would go to just because you invited Uncle Chuck.”

  He wasn’t entirely wrong. She was pissed about my father—Mother was always pissed about something. But Raph and I hadn’t been close in a long time. It hadn’t only been my parents and Aster I’d pushed away when I’d decided I needed a new start. I couldn’t stand the sight of my cousin either, of everything he’d reminded me of . . . of all the time he and I had spent with Adam. “It’s not just that,” I confessed. “You know how she is. She can’t stand not being in control. When I quit working for your dad, she could no longer pull my strings through him. And now . . .” I nodded toward Aster who was carefully taking her martini from the waitress, trying not to spill a single drop. I lowered my voice. “Now . . .”

  I didn’t want to come out and say it, but Aster wasn’t clueless. “I can hear you,” she said. “She’s mad because you thought you needed a break from me. She’s worried she’ll lose the Lancaster name.”

  “Aster.” This wasn’t the time for another fight. Not now. But I also couldn’t leave the door open to keep having this same conversation. I couldn’t give her any hope for reconciliation. “It’s not a break.”

  She waved her hand. “Whatever you call it. You wanted to ‘date’ around.” Jesus, the air quotes. I fucking hated the air quotes. When would she get it through her head that this wasn’t a phase? “If you hadn’t gone away with that girl this weekend, this whole mess would’ve been avoided.”

  Raph burst out laughing. “Now who’s having a hard time keeping it in his pants?” he roared, slapping me on the shoulder.

  But I was more concerned over what Aster had just revealed. “So she knew?” I asked. “Where I was? Who I was with?”

  Aster stiffened, her glass partway to her lips. She looked like she was contemplating throwing it in my face. “To be honest, I have no idea where your mother thinks you were. She’s a resourceful woman. All I can say for certain is, I’m tired of lying for you.” She took a sip then, a delicate one, a very Aster-like one. She took another one before continuing, “I’m tired of playing the part of the devoted fiancée.” She . . . downed the rest of her drink in one long gulp and then gave me a pitiful look. “You know what, I’m just . . . so damned tired.”

  She was right, enough was enough. I’d already relied on her too much when I’d up and left her to tend to the gala on her own. Adam was my brother. This was my event. Aster shouldn’t have to lie for me too. If I ever wanted to really get on with my life, my mother needed to know the truth.

  “I’ll talk to her,” I told Aster. “I’ll go there in the morning and tell her everything.” I shrugged. “It’s not like she can do any more damage than she already has. Besides, I’m not doing either of you any favors by dragging this out.”

  But Aster shook her head resolutely. “No, you won’t. I’ve done everything you asked. Everything. I’ve gone along with this whole farce, taking over the gala so you could have some ‘space.’” Air quotes. “I’ve lied to your mother, I’ve lied to my parents, and I’ve lied to myself.” She straightened up and leveled her gaze on me. “In fact, I got off the phone with your mother just this morning, after lying to her again, telling her everything was fine. That we were fine. So you will not go over there and call me out. You will keep pretending until the last donor’s check is cashed. Until then, and not a moment sooner, you and I are happily engaged, Lukey Dukey.” She looked at each of us calmly, almost daring one of us to argue. We didn’t. Neither of us had ever seen Aster so fired up before. “So?” she asked, waving down the waitress again. “Where are we then? What do we do next?”

  I had no idea. As far as I was concerned, I might as well march over to mother’s house tomorrow and confess everything because there would be no donor check. Maybe that would be for the best. At least then we could all just get on with our lives.

  As discreetly as possible, I checked my phone. Emerson’s flight had landed well over an hour ago. She was probably home by now. I’d be a complete prick if I asked Aster if she’d run into Em when she’d swung by my place—especially after the speech she’d just given me. But it was killing me not knowing if Em had made it home okay.

  I should message her.

  I should . . . but I wouldn’t.

  We still had too much work to finish, and texting Em now would mean having to explain why I’d taken off in such a rush this morning.

  I tried to convince myself we could really use her help. Especially now that my carefully constructed house of cards was collapsing around me.

  But this thing with my mother, the lie about Aster and me . . . this was my mess, not Em’s.

  Em knew how important this gala was to me—she’d understand why I had to come back. I’d explain all that when I had time to go into all the details. Not now, with Aster and Raph hovering.

  Still, I missed her. Just thinking about last night, about Em’s long legs . . . about tasting her . . . made my zipper stretch. I needed to concentrate on the gala or I’d be making a pit stop to the restroom for a quick jerk-off session.

  I’d swing by her place in the morning to bring her up to speed. Maybe even get down on my knees again.

  Do a little begging. Promise to be a good boy.

  A very, very, very good boy.

  EMERSON

  Once again, Lauren saved the day.

  I sent off a quick SOS! and before I could say “Aster Lancaster can suck my lady balls,” Lauren was parked in front of the curb with her engine running.

  She didn’t ask a single question, just took one look at my suitcase and my (unquestionably) sad face and announced, “You’re staying with us.”

  Who was I to argue? The idea of bumping into Lucas while I was torn between wanting to jump him and strangle him was disturbing. My luck, I’d probably end up a headline on some grocery store tabloid. I still couldn’t decide which of us was worse, him for asking “how high” when Aster said jump, or me for being stupid enough to think I could make a leopard change its spots.

  That I was somehow different. A special snowflake.

  How many other girls had told themselves that very same thing?

  My mother certainly had.

  At least if I was at Lauren and Will’s place I could get a good night’s sleep without thinking about Lucas being right next door.

  Their place was small. Basically, a glorified shack, if it wasn’t for all the homey touches that made you realize how cozy it was. And as much as I tried to convince myself that real love was a myth—like unicorns or Bigfoot—Lauren and Will were downright adorable.

  I wanted to gag.

  They shared their beachside house with Tess, Will’s sixteen-year-old-sister who he’d taken custody of after their mother died. It probably explained why the house wasn’t your typical bachelor pad. There were doilies and crocheted blankets and school photos and kids’ artwork filling every nook and cranny.

  Like most teens, Tess made herse
lf scarce. I saw about two seconds of her, when she poked her head out long enough to snag a bag of potato chips.

  “So does seeing her mean six more weeks of winter?” I asked Will when she disappeared behind her bedroom door again.

  He ran his hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, man. Teenage girls, they’re . . . so . . .” He trailed off like he wasn’t sure exactly what they were.

  Lauren, who was perched on his lap on the loveseat they were sharing, finished his sentence. “She’s a good kid. You should come watch her surf sometime. From what I hear, she’s even better than her brother was.”

  Will looked mock-offended. “Ouch, babe. I’m right here.”

  She snuggled further into his lap and purred, “Mmm . . . I noticed.”

  It was so weird hearing Lauren like that. She’d always been the prudish one of the two of us, at least when it came to guys. She’d even been a virgin right up until Will. “Okay, gross. I’m right here too. If this is your way of trying to get rid of me, it’s working.” I punched my pillow, pretending it was Lucas as I flopped down and stretched out on my couch-slash-bed.

  Lauren gave me a sympathetic look. “So what happened?”

  “Do we have to? I’d really rather not.”

  She gave me an I give up look. “Fine. It’s your life.” Getting up, she tugged at Will’s hand. “But we’ll be in the next room if you change your mind.”

  The look she gave Will was entirely different from the one she’d just given me, and I realized there was no way I’d be knocking on that door tonight.

  “Thanks but no thanks,” I assured them. “I’d rather throw acid in my eyes.”

  There was something about a new day to put everything in perspective.

  Maybe it was the crick in my neck from trying to get comfortable on the lumpy couch.

  Or the nonstop barking of the dog that sounded like it was camped right outside the window all night long.

  Or the splitting headache that started right behind my eyes and radiated out to both temples.

  Maybe it was the sheer sleep deprivation I was currently suffering, but whatever it was, I felt inspired. Today, I decided, was going to be the best day ever. The first day of the rest of my life. No pain, no gain. And all those other Quote-of-the-Day clichés.

  As the sun rose on this bright and shiny morning, I’d come to a conclusion about the whole Lucas and me thing.

  I’d spent years making sure I was the one in control, and it had worked for me . . . right up until Lucas. With him, I’d let my guard down. I’d gone soft.

  That had been my mistake. I should never have let him in. I should never have let myself think he was anything more than a fling, because that’s how people ended up hurt.

  The moment I allowed myself to have feelings for him, I got hurt.

  So not worth it.

  Something had to change . . . and that something was me.

  I needed to take this no-strings thing to a whole new level. Kick it up a notch. Put myself back in the game and be selfish again.

  Operation Screw Lucas was in full effect. Figuratively, of course . . . not literally.

  That was the only way I’d ever be happy again.

  I got up and stretched, rolling my neck from side to side, working out the kinks. “Thanks for letting me get my sad all over your happy place,” I said to Lauren, who was sitting at her kitchen table. She was leaning over her iPad, scanning and swiping, scanning and swiping, the wrinkle between her eyebrows telling me she was deep in concentration. I nodded toward the window. “You think anyone would notice if I deep-sixed that dog out there?”

  She spared me a suspicious side eye. “Um, pretty sure the little girl who lives there would. And just in case you’re serious, the dog’s name is Poppy.” She turned her full attention on me then. “You know that’s how you stop a psychopath from committing murder, don’t you? You humanize the victim.”

  “Thanks for the lesson, Dr. Phil.” I wrapped my blanket around me and got up to join her at the table, snooping over her shoulder at her tablet. “What’re ya doing?”

  “Mr. Wall asked me to help him sort through these applicants for the new mission advancement position at the rec center. So far, not one of them is jumping out at me.” Lauren had started as a volunteer at the rec center—a part-time gig teaching the kids computer skills to fill some of her spare time when we’d first moved here. But she’d taken to the kids and the place. And once she’d decided to move here full time, they’d offered her a real job with real pay.

  “What’s the job?”

  “Kind of a catchall thing. We need someone who can look for grant money, do some light accounting, and even some social media stuff. With so many new kids coming through our doors each day, none of the staff has time to pick up the slack. We need more money and more equipment. I have my hands full in the training center.”

  I mulled that over for a bit while she went back to searching. I thought about my dad and all the times he’d bragged about helping out with fundraisers for events, but I wondered if he’d ever set foot in one of the places he helped out. If he’d ever seen the faces of the people he was contributing to.

  I thought about going back home—to my summer rental next door to Lucas’s. To all the time I would have on my hands until my internship started. If I had to sit in my place all day, I’d go stir-crazy for sure.

  “What about me?” I finally asked. “I mean, at least as a temp anyway. I can get everything up and running, so that when I have to head back to Arizona someone can just step in and take over.”

  Lauren glanced up again, making a face that said she was waiting for the punch line. “You? I thought you hated those kids.”

  “I never said I hated them. I mean, yeah . . . they’re a little scary.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, scary as fuck. But I need something to do. Besides, if you like it down there, why wouldn’t I?”

  “Uh, did I mention it’s shit for pay?”

  I raised my eyebrows back at her. “I don’t need the money.” I leaned forward. “Look, you know I’m qualified. I might not have the practical experience, but I graduated with honors, and I’ve been helping with the books at my dad’s dealerships after school and summers since I was sixteen. I can learn the grant thing, and I will social media the shit outta that place. Give me a chance. It’s only a few weeks.” I shrugged. “What do you have to lose?”

  She chewed her lip, and I knew, even before she said it, I had her.

  “You’ll social media the shit out of it, hmm?”

  I gave her my Bambi eyes.

  “Well, not one of these other applicants listed that on their résumés.” She smiled. “Can you start today?”

  EMERSON

  Clearly I’d hit at an all-time low if I’d managed to convince myself I was cut out to work with these monsters, even if it was strictly behind the scenes. By noon, I’d already had my ass grabbed by one of the older boys; been told to go back to Beverly Hills by a group of girls who couldn’t have been older than eight; and was beaned by a basketball that was “accidentally” thrown out of bounds while Lauren was giving me the grand tour.

  That wasn’t the worst of it, though. The real kicker had come at lunchtime, when someone—one of those little fuckers, no doubt—had decided to replace my lunch with some sort of roadkill.

  Hand to God, whatever was in that bag still had its tail.

  First thing tomorrow, I was making an appointment to have my uterus ripped out . . . and set on fire.

  “Talk about the work of a serial killer,” I’d complained to Lauren as I’d jettisoned what was supposed to have been a perfectly edible lunch into the wastebasket.

  But she hadn’t been nearly as put off by their inhospitable reception. “They’re testing you,” she’d explained over the tuna sandwich and a bag of Doritos she’d offered to split with me. “These are tough kids with even tougher lives. I never said this job would be easy. My first week, someone let all
the air out of my tires. Don’t let it get you down.”

  But it was hard not to.

  Especially when my phone was blowing up with text messages from Lucas:

  You home?

  Stopped by, but no one answered.

  Hoping to catch you before I had to take off.

  Everything okay?

  Can I stop by later? We should talk.

  With each one, my mood turned from sour to foul to downright murderous. I’d started to think I might prefer a roadkill lunch over another message from him.

  Lauren was a better person than me—she managed to bite her tongue and stop herself from asking what was up between Lucas and me.

  I’m a meddler by nature. For sure I would have tried to break her with my brilliant interrogation skills. And if that hadn’t worked, I probably would’ve snatched her phone from her hands and tried to crack the code for myself.

  But she played it cool, pretending not to notice the way I jumped every time my phone vibrated. Or the way I gritted my teeth.

  She was the anti-me.

  That’s how you know you’ve got yourself a good friend.

  Finally, even the obnoxious buzzing got on my nerves, and I shut my phone off.

  After lunch, the real work began. Lauren showed me to a desk where I threw myself into learning the ins and outs of the rec center’s accounting system. It was surprising how similar the nonprofit’s system was to the one my dad’s car dealership used, the one I’d cut my teeth on. She showed me what kinds of grants they’d gotten in the past and the ones they were waiting on already. We spent a little time googling foundations that threw money at charities like confetti, and when she left me on my own, I started going through the social media platforms they’d already set up, which were pathetic at best.

  This was my sweet spot—numbers, networking, and analyzing their strengths and weaknesses. This was why I’d majored in business communications.

  It felt good to flex my marketing muscles again.

  When Lauren knocked on one of the flimsy fake walls that made up my small cubicle in the back offices and asked, “You ready?” I jumped in surprise.