The Truth Between Us (Bentwood Book 2)

by Tammy L. Gray

  A sense of calm replaced his earlier agitation. He’d finally found a position where his chest didn’t ache. His eyes drifted shut as his body sank further into the couch. Maybe this thing wasn’t so uncomfortable after all…

  The front door creaking open pulled Sean from his dream. The fade to consciousness was slow and he found himself fighting it. In his dreams, they were together. In his dreams, his body didn’t feel like he’d been hit with a truck and his neck muscles weren’t spasming. He really hated this couch.

  The cushions dipped and he heard her exhale, a long one as if she’d known he’d be waiting but hoped he wasn’t. Then he nearly quit breathing when she brushed her fingers along his cheeks, a touch too tender for her to have known he was conscious.

  The contact retreated when her fingers reached the edge of his jawline. His reaction was swift, immediately capturing her wrist while his eyelids shot up.

  She was close enough to kiss, even with her startled jerk. Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes were watery.

  “Were you lying to me?” He kept her wrist trapped within his hand, his eyes pleading with her to put him out of his misery.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  “Why now?”

  “Because it’s time to let go.”

  He pulled the inside of her wrist to his mouth, kissed the soft, tender skin before letting go. “I’m not giving up on us.” Though exhaustion kept him horizontal and his head felt like he’d had an aneurysm while he slept, he said the words with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  “Go back to sleep. We’ll argue about it in the morning.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  He smiled and closed his eyes once more. Short as it may have been, that kiss felt nothing like a goodbye.

  Chapter 24

  The merger was complete and the office had transformed from an enclosure of nervous energy to a liberated house of sleep-deprived partiers. Even Cassandra had participated in a cup of celebratory champagne. But April felt no merriment. Sean was already gone when she’d emerged from her room this morning, and the responding disappointment was too much to ignore.

  Her heart was torn once again, ripped in half by a choice she truly thought had already been made.

  And now, as if the woman somehow had insight to all her struggles, her mother was calling incessantly. Once last night and once this morning. Both calls resulting in cheery messages wanting an RVSP to the welcome home party she was throwing for Uncle Bradley. The party April never thought she’d be invited to.

  April picked up her cell phone and stared at her father’s number. He too, had called her that morning. No doubt to discuss the job offer Aiden said was coming.

  Her finger hovered, but she didn’t press down. They didn’t have the typical father-daughter relationship. There were never random chats about their day and snuggles at night while he read her a fairytale. Instead, they discussed business and profit margins and new technology around the dinner table. If his focus did land on her or Andrew, it was in regards to grades or manners or reading material he thought was appropriate. She hadn’t known it was odd until she stayed with Beck’s family one weekend and saw Mr. Kinder with his daughter. They laughed and cuddled. Britani would flash him sad eyes and pouty lips and he’d succumb to whatever whim she had.

  April had been sixteen, not eight, but she still tried the maneuver with her father the next time they were together. The response was a quick, shameful admonishment on how she would never be respected in the work place if she planned on lowering herself to petty, girlish manipulations to get her way. She’d never tried something so foolish again.

  But she’d always wished they could bond in some capacity, and now when she’d finally given up the dream, he seemed to want a do over.

  Her father had been different in Galveston. Ready to be a dad and not just a CEO. The hope was liberating but also a shackle around her wrist. Because Aiden was at the core of their trust, and without him, she was right back where she started… alone.

  She continued to stare at the phone until the receptionist’s voice on her phone intercom startled her so bad her cell slipped right through her hand and clattered against the desk.

  Clearing her throat, she pushed the little girl aside and became April Duncan, junior associate, once again.

  “Yes Sylvia?”

  “I have a gentleman out here who says he had an appointment with you today. It’s not on my books, but he’s insistent.”

  April unlocked her computer screen to access her calendar. She didn’t have her own clients so an external appointment was rare, but sometimes Cassandra would redirect people her way if she found them to be a time drain. “What’s his name?”

  “Chase McDonald.”

  She scrolled through her schedule and just as she thought, her calendar was fully open, their entire office focused only on the merger this week. “I don’t have him either.”

  “He says it’s in regard to a Bradley Manchester.”

  Shock waves poured through her blood stream and she had to physically keep herself from gasping. “Um, okay. Send him back.” She stood, brushed at the wrinkles in her skirt and carefully walked toward her office door. She shook her hands, refusing to let them start trembling and pulled the handle. Whoever this was, he was not about to see her flustered.

  The sound of light footsteps whispered down the carpeted hallway, but soon the mystery visitor appeared, flanked by one of the paralegals. Unlike his escort, the guy was dressed in a casual pair of jeans rolled at the cuffs, an untucked plaid shirt, and a beard most mountain men would envy. He was also young, either still in college or just out of it, and had a leather messenger bag slung across his chest.

  When they stopped in front of her, he offered his hand. “You must be April Duncan.”

  She shook it firmly and offered Chase a seat. Shutting the door, she took one more stabilizing breath and joined him in her small seating area. “What can I do for you, Mr. McDonald?”

  Unlike her stiff posture and carefully crossed legs, Chase relaxed in his seat, his legs stretched out in front of him. Leather work boots that didn’t look like they’d ever been used dug into the carpet. “I’d like to interview you,” he said just as casually. “I’m doing a documentary on abuses of prescription medicine and how it’s destroying successful, prominent families. Specifically, what happened to your uncle.”

  The image of her uncle in handcuffs, head hung in shame while he walked from the courtroom brought a tremor of panic. One she desperately hoped her stony expression did not reveal. “All you need to know about what happened to him is available in the court records. I assume you’re familiar with the Freedom of Information Act?”

  His mouth turned down at her condescension. “Yes, I’m fully aware of what I can access via public files. That’s not what I’m interested in.”

  “Then I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “What is it with your family?” He sat up aggressively. “Do you all take lessons on how to be completely apathetic?” His voice deepened, passion shining in his dark eyes. “Your uncle was addicted to a myriad of drugs that were most likely prescribed to him by some psychiatrist who made a killing off of rich, pretty boys who couldn’t cope with life. That doesn’t bother you? Doesn’t make you angry?”

  Oh she was angry, all right, but at the smug lumberjack wannabe sitting across from her. “My uncle had no need for a psychiatrist, nor was he unable to cope with life. He was…is… a strong, vibrant, intelligent man, who made a mistake. One he’s paying for, and he deserves better than to have his story exploited for a quick buck.” And with that she stood. “I’d like you to leave now.”

  Chase made no motion to leave. Instead he lifted the strap on his bag and pulled out a small spiral notebook. He flipped two pages, the sound grating her ears, and he started reading. “Yes, Bradley saw someone. Regularly. He was constantly trying to find a medicine that worked. First for his ADD then for anxiety and depre
ssion. He had so many prescription bottles, I stopped noticing them. Until one day I found a bottle with no labels. That’s when I knew things had escalated. I confronted him and soon after he quit calling.” Chase flipped the notebook closed. “That’s a direct quote from his ex-girlfriend, Amanda.”

  April continued to stare at him, her breath rushing through her nose like a bull ready to charge. “Amanda is a gold-digging liar who resents my uncle for dumping her.”

  “Or so he wanted you to believe.” Chase stuffed the notebook back into his bag. “I get it, you know. I’ve been there. I’ve been the ignorant family member who only sees what they want to. Only my sister didn’t end up in court-appointed rehab. No, she lost her husband, her kids, and then she drove her car into a tree.”

  “Well, Mr. McDonald, it sounds like you have plenty of skeletons already without filling your documentary up with ours.” She opened the door and waited.

  Chase snatched the bag from the ground and stormed toward her, not nearly as good at hiding his frustration. “I was told you’d be different. That unlike the rest of your ice breathing kin, you actually cared about your uncle.”

  She stared at him blankly. “If you come here again, I will consider it harassment.”

  “Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” But as he stood there, eyes locked to hers, his expression began to morph. The anger was dissipating and in its place was an emotion April detested above them all—pity.

  He let out a sigh and his voice changed to match that infuriating expression. “There were three questions I asked myself at my sister’s funeral. Why was she so depressed? And why is it that the only solution there is these days is to medicate all our problems away? And how come those who loved her most were the last to know how much she needed help?” He moved through the doorway only to turn a second later. “Be smarter than I was. Ask those questions while he’s still alive.”

  She didn’t have to tell him to leave again. He was already halfway to the first row of cubicles, lifting his bag strap over his head as he walked.

  Her throat thickened. Why hadn’t she paid more attention?

  But she already knew the answer to that one. She’d been too busy. Too busy for Sean, for her friends, and even for herself. She’d been far too entrenched in the pace of her own ambition to see anything else.

  Thoughts of her father bombarded her again, but it wasn’t his number she dialed when she stumbled to her phone.

  Aiden answered on the first ring. “Hey, miss me already?”

  “Why do you think Uncle Bradley needed the drugs?”

  “Bradley?” He paused and she could picture him sitting down in his big leather office chair, trying to reconcile this crazy person that had just called him without her normally controlled demeanor. “I don’t understand your question.”

  The desk stabilized her movements as she fell into her chair. “I never stopped to ask myself the why. Did you know he was seeing a psychiatrist? That Amanda knew? Aiden, they broke up years ago, long before he was ever arrested. How did Mom not know this was going on?”

  “Whoa, slow down. I can only answer one question at a time.” He paused. “First, where are these questions coming from?”

  “Chase McDonald,” she said, exasperated, as if Aiden had been in the room with her.

  “The documentary guy?”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah. I’ve thrown him out of the foundation’s building at least five times. He’s just trying to find a story where there is none. You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

  “No, of course not. I kicked him out, just like you did.”

  “Good.” Aiden released a long breath. “Then hopefully this thing will die as soon as he realizes no one is going to give him the exclusive he wants.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. It seemed so personal to him.”

  “That’s what he wants you to believe so you’ll trust him.” Aiden’s tone turned sharp, annoyed. “I promise you, April, he’s a two-bit wannabe film director with a selfish agenda. Toss his card into the trash and forget you ever heard his name.”

  She closed her eyes, her emotions warring with her mind for dominance until finally she could see past the unease. “Yeah, okay. He just… he made me think I failed him.”

  “You didn’t. Bradley is responsible for his actions, not you.” She heard a pen roll across his desk and then the squeak of his chair. “You okay now?”

  “Yeah.”

  It wasn’t lost on her that he didn’t circle back to her original question, nor did she want to ask it again. Maybe the why didn’t matter? Maybe the only thing that mattered now was being there to make sure when Uncle Bradley got his second chance, his family—his entire family—was there this time to help.

  “But now since I have you on the phone, what does Sunday look like for you?” he asked.

  “Open actually. The merger closed today.”

  “Excellent, I am too. I’ll pick you up at ten for brunch and then we can spend the afternoon together.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Why don’t I just go down there?”

  “Well, because I have a meeting in Austin Monday morning and I’d rather drive up the day before. Is that an issue?”

  “No. I just haven’t really told anyone in my circle that we’re together.”

  “Ahh… the Bentwood Brats.” The words did not come with any measure of affection. “Or is it your brother’s reaction that worries you?”

  No, it was the infuriating man next door that had her hesitating, but she certainly couldn’t tell Aiden that, not without the information finding its way to her parents.

  “I’m not worried about anyone. I just think waltzing into brunch together is going to make too big of a scene.”

  “Then tell them beforehand. You have plenty of time.” He sighed and she could hear the frustration in it. “April, I’m not interested in hiding in corners or engaging in secret rendezvous. Spending time with each other is part of the deal.”

  Her mouth turned sour. “I know that.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at ten, then.”

  She scoured her brain for a reasonable protest when she heard him speak up again.

  “You did good today. Your dad will be proud. You handled the situation exactly like a Duncan.”

  A promise and a reminder that she was irreversibly stuck.

  Chapter 25

  Sean fell into the chair behind his cluttered desk and let his entire body melt into the leather. His head had become an over inflated balloon, his chest hurt so bad, he’d taken four Advil just to make it out his front door, and he couldn’t seem to stay warm, even with the temperatures hovering near eighty degrees this morning.

  It was time to admit defeat: He was sick. Sick enough to want to go to his empty, cold apartment and curl up under seven layers of blankets. Sick enough that he should take the day off and go see his doctor, though he’d yet to make the call.

  If he were with April still, she’d storm his desk, force him out of his chair and into Dr. Brown’s corner suite. Then she’d take him home, make him hot soup, put cold washcloths on his forehead, and lay next to him until he fell asleep. Or at least she’d done that the last time.

  Another pain hit his chest, only this time it wasn’t due to the congestion. This kind of ache wasn’t going to go away with antibiotics. He was beginning to doubt if it would ever go away.

  A knock pulled him from his pity party, as Zane cracked open his door.

  “You ready for me, Coach?”

  “Sur—” A hacking cough interrupted his speech and he pointed to the chair across from his desk. “Don’t worry. It’s just pneumonia. I’m not contagious.”

  Zane raised a dark eyebrow. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I seem to get it every year. Sit. This won’t…” He coughed again. “Take long.”

  “Good, cause you look… baaad.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zane meandered over to the chair, kept his hands tucked cl
ose, and pumped a little hand sanitizer from the bottle on Sean’s desk. In street clothes the kid looked just like anyone else, cargo khaki shorts, an Under Armour pullover that didn’t quite fit the temperature outside, and a pair of Nikes that gleamed as if they’d just been purchased. It was only the cut line of muscle on his oversized calves that pinpointed him as an athlete. And it was those muscles that made Sean insist on his coming to chat after Zane had showered following their morning practice.

  “Do you know why I called you in here?” Sean asked, leaning back in his chair to help ease the tightness in his chest.

  “Figured it was ’cause I gave you attitude on the field yesterday,” he said with only a little contrition.

  Sean would take it. “No. I’m hoping you learned your lesson on that one.”

  Zane nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “What I really wanted to ask you is how you feel about playing quarterback.”

  “How I feel? What’d ya mean?”

  Obviously no one had ever asked his opinion on the subject. “I mean exactly what I said. How do you feel about playing quarterback?” There was something about this kid that reminded Sean of April. Not just the stubborn way he jutted his chin or the fire he’d get in his eyes when he got mad. It was more in the things he didn’t say, especially when Sean had seen his dad ream him on the sidelines for ten minutes after practice.

  “You can tell me,” he said when the boy remained quiet. “No repercussions. In fact, it will never leave this room. Just you and me, being fully transparent.”

  Zane narrowed his eyes. “’K then. You tell me first.”

  “If that’s what you want.” Sean shrugged casually, hoping the motion would keep Zane from going on the defensive. “I think quarterback is a waste of your talents. I think you will never play in college; your arm isn’t good enough. I think you get frustrated by how little playing time you get, but also feel guilty because you know Philip is better than you.”