by Kat Bastion
“I’d pay ten times that.” A deep voice boomed from behind us.
Ben.
Kiki shot a smug look at Mr. Jensen, whose expression had morphed from disgusted outrage to aghast mortification.
But in a cool split second, he schooled his expression and gave a cursory nod toward Ben. “Mr. Bishop.” Then he shook his head, as if to clear it from all things disreputable. “Good day, Miss Michaelson, Miss Morgan.” He gave a polite nod toward each of us, then hightailed it over to the shoe threesome. “Ladies, may I help you with something?”
Yeaaah...whatever.
Without giving a damn about propriety, I breezed by the asinine group discussing the merits of various golf shoes and threw myself into Ben’s waiting arms.
“Ooomph,” he grunted as my body slammed into him. But then he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly.
“Hey, bro.” Kiki knuckle-bumped him as I eased back from his embrace. “How long you been here?”
“Long enough. They all been that brutal?” He glanced from her to me.
I gave a halfhearted shrug. “Nothin’ we didn’t expect. Can’t change eons of staunch tradition in a few minutes of shop talk.”
“Never fear.” Kiki gave me a determined look. “My mom and her connected friends? Totally gonna love and wear these shirts.”
“Speaking of who’s wearing what...” Because I kept forgetting to ask. “What exactly is the dress code for the gala Saturday night?” I glanced at Ben, then Kiki.
“Ball gown, cocktail dress,” Kiki replied, tone matter-of-fact.
“Yeah, I got neither.”
“Ben gave a nod toward Kiki. “I bet our designer could help us out.”
Kiki’s face brightened. “And by designer, you both mean fairy godmother, right?”
I shot Ben an amused look. “She had a pumpkin.” I mimicked the grouchy tone he’d used.
“And mice.” His lips twitched at the corners.
Kiki stared at Ben, then me, then shook her head. “Not even gonna ask. And I’m outta here. Gotta meet my mom, AKA our future biggest golf-shirt supporter, for lunch.” Kiki pointed at me. “Friday.” Then she held a thumb-and-pinky-hand-phone gesture near her ear. “Call me with a time. We’ll raid my closet.”
“Done.” I nodded with a grin.
Ben put his solid arms around me again, in full view of Mr. Jenson and his judgy ladies.
I didn’t care who saw or what they thought, about me, Ben, or our edgy shirts. Inventors and adventurers didn’t waste brain cells on stupid customs and outdated rules. They made their own and forged ahead.
“This is turning into an awesome day. And it’s your day.” Especially with its sexy beginning, and in spite of all the stuffy business in between then and him holding me now.
He huffed out a sigh with a resigned expression. “Well, brace yourself. It’s about to get a little tricky.”
“It is?” I cocked my head, curious.
“How do you feel about dinner with my parents?”
My heart leapt into my throat. My lungs seized.
But I stared up into beautiful charcoal eyes filled with compassion and saw a humble plea in their depths.
I gusted out a long breath and decided he deserved an honest answer.
“Terrified.”
Ben…
“I think I need to go.” I led her outside toward the covered patio.
Once we sat together on a stone bench, she gripped my hand, solid, unwavering.
But her confession weighed heavy on my mind. I knew she’d experienced trauma somewhere there, with family, with her parents. She hadn’t wanted to share her story with me yet. And I didn’t want to push her.
What had idiot me done instead? Asked her to brave my demons with me.
I let out a sigh. Maybe explaining why would help. Both of us. “Normally it’s my mom who calls, like on Monday. She guilts me with a thousand reasons why I should take up the yoke as a good supportive son when she can’t make one decision to save herself.”
My gaze fell toward the ground. Disappointment and an unfamiliar sense of being lost fogged my brain.
She placed a gentle hand on my thigh. “And this time?”
I glanced into beautiful emerald eyes that glittered with compassion. “My dad called. His voice was small, faltering. For my whole life, whenever that man spoke, words boomed out, charged with confidence. But earlier...I’ve...never heard him like that: hesitant, uncertain—defeated. He asked if I could make it to dinner tonight with him and my mom. He said he knew I wouldn’t want to and that he deserved my anger and resentment. But if I could find it in my heart to give him one more chance, it would mean the world to him...to Mom. My dad’s voice broke at the end. And I heard her crying in the background.”
That call shook me like nothing ever had.
She gave my hand a firm squeeze. “Then we’ll go. I’ve never been to dinner with parents before. But how bad could it be? Yours are dysfunctional. So were mine.”
With her last words, her tone quieted. A frown tugged at the corners of her lips.
That were hadn’t gone unnoticed. The trigger affected her. But she didn’t elaborate.
And I felt like an ass for dragging her into my difficult situation. “You sure? We don’t have to do this.”
Her brows lowered as her expression hardened with resolve. “I want to. It’ll be good therapy for me. For both of us.”
Gratitude filled my chest. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve the resilient woman beside me. But I planned to do everything in my power to shield her from becoming collateral damage from my family’s shit. “Thanks. Sorry to have it ruin one of our good days.”
“No.” She snuggled up against me and kissed me softly. “Nothing’s ruined. No one says it has to be a downer for us. Does it suck for them? Yup. But they made their choices and they’re still making them. All we’re doing is going to dinner. We’ll make some rules to be sure we’re having a better time than they are.”
I let out a dry half-laugh. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”
But anger simmered in my gut that our own flesh and blood affected us like this. Family should be about love and protection...not emotional torture.
“We will have fun tonight.” After a beat, her brow wrinkled. “That sounds morbid, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe. But we’ve had to do whatever we could in order to survive. Why should tonight be any different?”
“It shouldn’t.” She tugged me up from the bench and led us across the side lawn, leading toward my truck. “So, let’s spend the afternoon making rules and having our own kind of fun.”
Almost eight hours later, we rang the front bell at my parents’ house. I didn’t have a key (on purpose) and wasn’t about to let myself in.
Shay looked glorious: skin flushed a pretty pink, loose tendrils of dark hair framing her face, emerald eyes glistening with contentment.
She’d also planted herself on the opposite wall, seven feet away.
Then her luscious lips began to curve into a smile as she stared at me.
My heart stuttered. “Damn, you’re stunning when you’re happy.”
She let out a soft laugh. “I’m sex-drugged.”
We’d spent all afternoon playing in bed. And on the kitchen counter. The couch got officially broken in. So did my truck. But we’d missed one thing. “We never got around to making rules.”
“I blame you.”
I smirked, thinking about the wildness of the afternoon. “I blame me too.”
“Not that it matters.” She moved from her camped spot on the wall, stepping closer.
I stood still. I wanted her to find her own comfort zone on the precipice of meeting my parents. Even though the night had everything to do with seeing my dad one last time before the indictment came down, “meeting the family” still carried heavy relationship meaning. For normal people, it meant acceptance-pressure. For us, decades of baggage was about to break open and spill out.
&n
bsp; She skimmed her hands up my chest as she searched my eyes. Then she lifted a hand to smooth her fingers over my tense brow before she cupped my cheek. “I’m flying high enough not to care what happens. And I’m with you, no matter what.”
I kissed her softly, grateful to have someone on my side for a change. “Remember that feeling in about fifteen minutes.”
The door opened. “I thought I heard someone.” My mother, poised as ever, stood in a blue evening gown. Her gaze landed on my black T-shirt and jeans, then traveled to Shay’s short black dress. But her icy stare froze on the spot where Shay’s hand covered my heart.
I tightened a protective arm around Shay’s waist and shot my mother a deadpan look. “You heard just fine.”
My father appeared behind her. “Laura, are you inviting them in or interrogating them?”
“I’m not sure who I’m letting in.”
I clenched my jaw, biting back a retort. “Mom, Dad, this is Shay. My girlfriend.” As if the possessive touching hadn’t been her first clue.
Finally, my territorial mother stepped back and allowed us to pass.
“It’s very nice to meet you Shay,” my father said as we walked through the entry into the dining room. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. You’re the first girl Ben’s ever brought here.”
With good reason.
But Shay wasn’t any girl at all. She was the first woman who got me and understood what I’d been through. Because she’d been there too. Maybe not in the same situation, but in all the ways that mattered—where trust and betrayal had shaped who we’d become.
Turned out, we had to excuse his wife all night.
I hadn’t given them a heads-up I’d be bringing someone.
And my sweet mother thanked me for it at every opportunity.
By taking it out on Shay.
But Shay took every venomous barb and backhanded compliment in stride. She never once lashed out.
Me? Not so civilized. I fired off one-liners, tit for tat.
But by dessert, Shay’s nerves had worn thin. It came across in the rigid set of her shoulders, the strained smiles, more frequent deep breaths.
My mother balanced a fluff of crème brûlée on her spoon. “What college did you say you graduated from, dear?”
“She didn’t,” I ground out.
Shay put a gentle hand on my forearm. Her it’s okay glance at me? My only warning.
“Didn’t say...or didn’t go?” Kindhearted Mom cast a critical stare at Shay.
With a loud clink, Shay dropped her spoon into her half-empty ceramic ramekin. “We didn’t say. And I didn’t go to college.” She folded her white cloth napkin with slow precision, then placed it beside her abandoned dessert. “I didn’t attend one day of high school, either.”
Mom’s hardened expression began to falter as the color drained from her face.
But Shay leaned closer to her, picking up momentum. “I didn’t grow up in a loving home. I raised myself loitering on park benches and climbing trees. In the mornings, I ran wild in shadowy forests. Most afternoons, I kicked back on dead leaf piles where I daydreamed of rich houses filled with spoiled kids and entitled parents.”
My mom blinked, speechless. A first.
“Well, I like her.” Dad clapped me on the shoulder.
Mom’s gaze drifted from Shay, to me, then landed on Dad. “Who are you?”
“A man who’s making amends. You might try it sometime.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
Yeah, who the hell are you?
My whole life, I’d fought for him to stop emotionally abusing her, us. Then at the eleventh hour, when his whole life was about to be stripped away, he’d miraculously become a good guy?
I shook my head, not buying his load of bullshit for even one second.
“Son, might we have a few minutes alone?”
My gaze shot to Shay.
She cast me an amused glance, then gave my hand a light squeeze as we stood. “Go. I’m good. I’m made of tougher stuff than she’s ever imagined.”
When I scanned the room, Mom had abandoned her chair and stood by the window. The maid had already begun to clear the table. I had no idea where the two of them would go or what they’d talk about.
But Shay kissed me soundly, then gave me a light shove. “Go. I’ll be fine. Go make me proud.”
Five minutes later, my father and I stood in his private study. He’d lit up a cigar and poured himself half a glass of thirty-year-old single malt scotch. He’d offered me both. I’d declined the first, accepted the second. Didn’t mean I had to drink much. But with him putting forth all the effort, the least I could do was drink with the man.
And he had been acting different all night—as sober as a functioning alcoholic could.
Then he tossed something small onto his desk; it clicked on the polished surface and slid toward me. Weary of the games he’d played over the years, I stared at it for a brief moment. Then I pegged him with a hard stare, disinclined to play ball. I didn’t make a move to pick it up. Not a damn thing that man owned had ever been of interest to me.
And greater tension suddenly poured off him, like he’d tossed out a live grenade.
A bad feeling churned in my gut.
I glanced back down at the object. It looked like a memory stick. “What’s that?”
He let out a gust of air. “It’s a copy of the list.”
The list. The pit in my stomach soured further. “List of what?” I didn’t want to ask. And yet, I had to know. Because no matter the circumstances, the man was facing his demons. The least I could do was face mine with him.
“Not ‘what.’ Who. All the people who invested in the fund. And all their account information.”
The fraudulent fund. Victims of embezzled money.
I sucked in a deep breath and took a healthy swallow of scotch. Then I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Fuck, Dad. Pretty sure the FBI didn’t say ‘hand over everything you’ve got but your extra copy.’”
“I forgot I had it.”
I sank down onto one of his club chairs. “Sure you did.”
He downed the rest of his scotch. Then his shoulders slumped and his vacant gaze stared at some random spot on his desk. “When they burst in here, my whole world turned upside down. They ransacked everything. They bulldozed it all and left a pile of rubble. Collectible books tossed onto the floor, pictures scattered loose over the desk. They plucked the stuffing out of every cushion, unframed every painting.”
Crickets playing tiny violins.
Hard to have sympathy for a criminal. Karma’s a bitch. “What did you think would happen when you got caught? Oh, that’s right. Didn’t think you’d get caught, did you?” Concern for Shay flashed into my head, because their crimes were too similar to ignore.
“The first time? I didn’t have a choice.”
“Bullshit. You always have a choice.”
“Not then. Not the way I saw it. We were almost broke. I never told your mother.”
My mother with the ten-million-dollar trust fund.
Dad eyed the scotch decanter. But then he glanced back at me, forging ahead. “When no one noticed, the next time seemed easier. By the third and fourth and fifth time, I didn’t think at all. Investments came in, money flowed out. After a while, I stopped thinking about where it came from. They were dollar figures in accounts, nothing more.”
“Until it became something more, something personal. For you.”
“I thought about all the people I’d hurt. All the lives I’d destroyed.”
Never once thinking about the two lives you’d wrecked at home, the ones who’d come first, the ones who could’ve saved you long before you’d ever been in peril.
Making amends, my ass.
But no sense in pointing that shit out. Nothing I’d ever said before had gotten through.
He’d have to find his way there on his own, if true remorse for him was even possible. “I’m not a priest. And this isn’t a confessional.
If you’re searching for some sort of redemption, fine. But you won’t get absolution from me.”
A clock ticked its second hand into the silence.
I glared at the “forgotten” evidence.
Then I wondered which had come first: the alcohol or the crimes. Had addiction dulled his judgment? Or had he broken the law, then used alcohol as a crutch to mask any guilt he felt.
Not that it’d mattered. We’d all become the carnage in the wake of his recklessness.
“What kind of investors? Corporate investors?” I suddenly had to know. People like him?
“No.” His voice shrunk. “Personal investors.”
“Fuck.” Hardworking people that scrape together money to invest with the dream of sending kids to college, maybe retiring one day. Real people like Gabe and Rafe and...hot-dog-cart Tony.
He said nothing further. He just stared at his empty scotch glass, a broken man.
I clinked down my half-empty glass on his desk as I stood, then scooped up the flash drive. My father clearly wasn’t in his right mind. If he couldn’t do the honest thing and turn the hidden evidence over, or the marginal thing and destroy it, I’d take care of it for him.
When I turned to go, he stood and opened his arms. “Thanks for coming over, Ben. It meant a lot to me.”
I gave him a hard hug. “Sure thing, Dad.”
After a deep breath, he pulled back.
I pegged him with an unforgiving stare. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Then every cell in my body pinged with urgency to find the one person I cared about most.
Shay…
“Well, that was painless.” Ben let out an exasperated sigh. “Now what?”
We stood outside his parents’ enormous house in the wealthy rural outskirts of Glenhaven. He’d probably stood on that exact sidewalk square a million times growing up, yet he looked so hopelessly lost.
I grabbed his hands, then tugged hard to get him to look at me. “Now, we go have fun.”
“You said that was going to be fun.”
“And you believed me?” I’d planned to inject some kind of dry humor into the situation. But the vibe in there? Way too heavy.