Fragile Illusion: Stag Brothers Book 3

by Lainey Davis

  "That's fucking morbid, Emma." I shove a forkful of chicken into my mouth. I know I've hurt her. She's so interested in everything, always wants to research different things and learn more until all her damn questions are answered.

  She narrows her eyes at me. "Well, some things are morbid, Thatcher."

  Tim makes a face and puts down his fork. "Our mother was an organ donor," he says. We all stare at him, and Emma, sitting beside him, puts a hand on his shoulder. What the fuck is going on here? She has no right to be comforting my brother about our dead mom.

  "Nobody wants to talk about organs and dead bodies over family dinner," I grunt, emphasizing family and glaring at Emma. She pulls her hand back into her lap and raises an eyebrow at me. "Why don't you ever write about anything pleasant?"

  "Oh, like a smarmy ladies man who sticks glass in the gardens?" Emma tosses her napkin down on her plate. Ty and Tim stare at us, but I don't say anything. Fucking Emma keeps going, though. "Thatcher might be an interesting source for this piece about organ donation," she says to the room at large.

  Ty pipes up, "Why would anyone care about Thatcher for a story about that?"

  I shake my head and kick her under the table. Oh fuck. Please, shut up, Emma. Fuck. No. But I'm not fast enough. She blurts, "Because he's looking into the living donor program." I guess this is how she responds to me being rude on purpose. By airing out my shit to my nosy family.

  I breathe slowly through my nose, trying to hold my shit together. I want to throttle her right now. "I can't fucking believe you, Emma."

  She stares at me and I glare back at her.

  "What's all this?" Tim is in full dad-mode now, leaning forward past Amy, who starts to interject about all the living kidney donors she treats at work and how great that is.

  Amy looks at me. "Are you donating a kidney to someone?" She looks back at Emma, who is red in the face and shifting in her chair uncomfortably. I hope she feels bad now that she's stirred up the Stag family drama.

  "I think you should leave now, Emma," I say, my voice cold. My family all stares at me. I'm going to have to hash it out with them now. They won't fucking ease up until I tell them everything, and I am furious.

  Emma just nods and stands up. She stumbles a little walking toward the door, and Alice runs over to her. "Emma, wait. How are you going to get home? Tim will drive you."

  "Alice," Tim says, his eyes on me, his voice flat. "Call Emma a car service. I think my brothers and I need to have a talk." He stands from the table, throwing down his napkin and gesturing toward the garage out back. The Petersons all cough uncomfortably and Alice's brothers keep eating, but Ty stands up. Sighing, I follow them out back. Might as well face the music.

  Ty shoves me against the wall. "The fuck is wrong with you, talking to Emma like that? And why the hell would you get angry-drunk at family dinner?"

  "Enough," Tim says, crossing his arms, staring at me like he used to when I came in at 2am on a school night. "Tell me what the hell is going on. Leave nothing out."

  An hour later, Tim screams at Ty to put a shirt on and he drags us all into his Volvo. "Where the hell are we going?" I sneer at him from the back seat. He just grits his teeth. I know full well he's driving us to the hospital.

  "We're going to confront him," Tim says, "and tell him we hope he dies a slow and painful death, and that he is absolutely not risking your life to take one of your fucking organs, Thatcher."

  "It wasn't his idea," I say. "He doesn't even know I met with the counselor about it." I had gotten my results back earlier in the week and I am a perfect match for my father, in perfect health.

  "Tell me again what your plan was here, bro?" Ty grabbed another plate of food from the house and is eating in Tim's car, swatting his hand away when he tries to take the messy food. "You were going to get the money for your project and then, like, get your body parts chopped out and rest up for a year?"

  "Something like that."

  "At what point were you going to inform us of this master plan," Tim spits out. "Did you think we would just not notice when you showed up with a cane and a giant scar?"

  "Do you really think you would notice, Timber?"

  "Fuck you, Thatcher." He slams the car into park and starts walking toward the entrance. We follow him, the three of us slowing down as we approach the room where Ted Stag is fully unprepared to see us en masse, for the first time in 15 years.

  He drops the book he was holding as the three of us stand in the doorway. Tim grinds his teeth, seeping fury and pent up rage. Ty looks like he's going to cry, taking deep, heaving breaths. Our father looks back and forth at the three of us, our mother's grey eyes staring coldly back at him. I know we look intimidating. Hell, we were intimidating as kids. We're grown ass men now, all over 6 feet tall, and pissed as hell. Our father speaks first. "Good to see you again, Timber. Should I kick you out of my space this time?"

  "What is he talking about," Ty asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  "This asshole tried to crash your party," Tim says, not breaking his stare at our father. "After your first game with the Fury. I had him ejected."

  "What?" It's my turn to feel shocked. Our sanctimonious brother saw our dad and never fucking told us? And somehow I'm a dick for keeping secrets?

  "If he can't be there when we need him most," Tim grits out, "he doesn't get to be present when we celebrate."

  Ted Stag swallows and his head flops back against the bed. "I suppose that's fair." He looks out the window. "Thatcher told you this is it for me?"

  Now it's Ty's turn to speak up. "He fucking told us you have an opportunity to get sober."

  Dad scoffs. "You think I want someone's liver? You think I'd take that? Would you want your mother's liver to go to me?" Tim recoils like he'd been shot. God, now I'm thinking about who got our mother's organs, who got to use her final gifts.

  "Ok," Ty says, his voice shaking. "So you don't get a second chance at life. But don't you want to spend your final days sober? You only get one fucking life, Dad. You think Mom wouldn't fight like hell to enjoy every second of this?"

  "Your mother was always better than me," he says. "In every way." A tear rolls down his cheek, but I can't drum up the energy to feel bad for him.

  A few minutes of tense silence pass before I place a hand on each of my brothers' shoulders. I lead them into the hallway and, as soon as we're in the elevator, I pull them in for a group hug. For a long time, we just hold each other, not speaking, communicating everything and nothing all at once.

  Thirty-Seven

  EMMA

  I tell Tim's driver to take me to Nicole's office, where I collapse on her couch in a heap of tears. Nicole shouts for an intern to bring me soup from their kitchen and I marvel through my sobs at how different life is inside a tech startup.

  "I blurted his secret," I moan to Nicole. "And now he's so angry at me!"

  She furrows her brow. "Weren't you scheduled to break up with him in a week anyway? Sounds like fate took that out of your hands…"

  My eyebrows rise. "But…it wasn't supposed to be this way."

  "What way, Em? Did you think you'd become fuck buddies and then make your silent exit and never see each other again with no hard feelings from either side?"

  "Yes!" I shout, burying my head in my hands. My nose is running but I'm too upset to wipe it up. "No! I don't know."

  Nicole slides onto the couch next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders. "Honey," she says. "It's ok to have feelings for him."

  I shake my head. "He doesn't do feelings," I insist. "Have you seen him on the Internet? He's a cold-hearted snake."

  She pets my hair, speaking softly and comforting me. "It sounds like he's just defensive because the people he cares about keep dying or walking out on him."

  Nicole urges me to go home and take an extra puff on my vape pen before climbing into bed. I notice she's got a copy of the Post on her desk and I sob again when I see that my story on Juniper is on the front page of the Sunda
y edition.

  Over the next few days, I leave Thatcher five texts and two voicemails, trying to apologize for blurting his secret to his family. I've stopped crying as hard about it and start remembering how he was such a dick from the moment he picked me up that day. In fact, he had been rude to me since the morning after we last slept together, so maybe it's not me who needs to be in apology mode. Well. Anyway we both messed up sort of equally.

  What would a relationship with him be like? Constant fighting probably, his moody outbursts. Me always worried about blurting the wrong thing to his family members…Or maybe he'd always bring you just the right food and make you come until your eardrums burst, I think.

  I spend the week trying as hard as I can to get over Thatcher Stag and our fake, amazing-sex "relationship." I'm on the verge of getting there when my mother shows up at my apartment Wednesday evening. After I let her in, she stands in the doorway, sniffing uncomfortably as she looks around my home. She's only been here once before and it's better for both of us if she doesn't stay long. "Emma," she says, lifting one eyebrow at me while I microwave the dinner she interrupted. "You know your sister has such a lovely little home in the southern suburbs. There's a direct train line to downtown…"

  "My office is on the North Side, mom," I say, trying to keep emotion out of my voice and focus on the facts. "I'd have to transfer."

  She sighs. "Well, anyway, I've come to make sure you have an appropriate dress to wear tomorrow evening." When I look at her, confused, she points to a stack of mail on the coffee table. "Your father's fundraising event is tomorrow. I made certain to inform you via email and by post, as this one takes place in your…neck of the woods." Because of the weird way that voting districts are mapped out, my father's constituents mostly live in the wealthy suburbs south of the city, but there's one small panhandle that reaches the north side of the city. I'm actually surprised he hasn't hit me up to do more campaign propaganda for him before this.

  "I've been busy with work, since the hospital and all…" I wave a hand at the stack of mail. It's a total lie. Work has been amazing. At home I'm just wallowing in sadness that I messed things up with Thatcher.

  My mother frowns. "I hope you haven't been giving too much of your time to that man you're calling a fiancé."

  I sniff. Then I sigh and roll my eyes. "Give me the breakdown about dad's thing."

  She smiles. "It's in an art gallery! Andy something."

  "Dad's having a fundraiser at the Andy Warhol museum? I'm impressed. He must really be courting edgy voters." I start to slurp at the frozen soup I nuked for dinner. I don't invite my mother to sit, and she doesn't.

  "Yes! Well, voters are voters, dear. There are a number of artists whose work is being displayed, and they'll be present, mingling with donors. It's going to be a very impressive evening."

  I make a face at my mother. "You know artists do things like pierce their noses and grow long hair, right?"

  She clucks her tongue. "I'm certain that's only the low level artists who aren't used to the notoriety that can come with pricing their work at this level." She sniffs and her nostrils flare. "This will be a sophisticated event. I'll expect you there at 6pm. Dress is cocktail attire, Emma."

  She swirls out the door just as my phone vibrates with an incoming message. I snatch it up eagerly, hoping it's Thatcher, but my heart sinks when I see it's from Juniper. The programs turned out just perfect! Can't wait to show you Friday night at rehearsal!

  I feel like I shouldn't even respond until I hear back from Thatcher. I don't even know if I'm still supposed to be going to the wedding with him. Maybe the explosive Sunday dinner was the ending to this whole charade after all.

  Thirty-Eight

  THATCHER

  Maria paces around my workshop with me, helping to select the final piece to stick in the new showing at the Andy Warhol museum. It's a big fucking deal to have a piece in that museum, and I know that, but I'm so wrecked emotionally that I can't get it together to micromanage my display. Thankfully Maria knows her way around my work and the look I am shooting for. She's got Cody boxing up my new series of green glass. I'd been melting down old beer bottles and adding in bits of cobalt, sculpting ephemeral looking shapes. Lots of swirls. People are into swirls these days. I like them, but Maria frowns, walking past, tapping her fingers against a clipboard.

  She walks over to the shelf where I keep my Emma. I'd been calling the piece she inspired my Emma. I stare at it for hours each day, trying not to think about her, but unable to look away. I know I need to call her, talk to her. I haven't seen my brothers since Sunday, either. Just been holed up in my studio working at the furnace nonstop.

  "This one," she tells Cody, reaching for Emma.

  "No. That's not for sale." I fly off my stool.

  "Thatcher," Maria looks at me, puts her hands on her hips, and scowls. "You don't need to sell it. You just need to display it. This is the fucking Andy Warhol museum."

  I shake my head vehemently. "Not that one. That one's private, Maria. I told you that last time."

  "I remember. And I disagree with you." She turns to Cody and insists he box up the piece. "We'll display it in the center of the green glass swirls. I like how they go together."

  "If you so much as chip it, Cody, I'm going to pull out your teeth one by one." I start pulling my hair, which reminds me that I promised Ty I would trim my hair and my beard before his wedding. Just make it so it looks deliberate, he'd said. He really did ask nicely, and I make a mental note to visit the barber. Anything to keep my mind off all this shit with Emma and my family.

  When Maria and Cody take off with my glass, I feel unsettled. I don't like being in the studio without my Emma. I think back to how I was feeling the day I made that piece, how I'd just come from sitting with her in the hospital and then taken care of her like it was nothing. And it was nothing--it felt as effortless as taking care of my nephew. I do that for family. Not anyone else, though. It's too risky. Safer to just keep everyone distant before they get a chance to walk away from me when I'm an asshole. The thing is, Emma isn't going away. She left me a bunch of messages this week. I'm the one who isn't calling back. It's me not letting her in. I keep telling myself if I ignore her, she will go away and I can focus on my art in peace. Just how I like it.

  Only today I can't find any fucking calm. My refuge is buzzing. The empty space on the shelf makes me uneasy, and I don't want to be in here anymore. I close up shop and drive over to find my brothers. I can be near them even if we're all mad at each other.

  Tim's office is closest, and I'm surprised when I run into Ty at the reception desk. Then I realize he's probably there to fuck Juniper on her lunch hour. I'm not sure why that pisses me off, but it seems like everything irritates me this month. "Thatcher," Ty yells. "Good. You saved us a trip. Come on."

  "Where are we going? What's going on?" Tim walks into the hallway, adjusting his tie as I see Alice slink out of his office, smoothing out her work coat.

  I snort. "Jesus, Tim. Can't you guys do that at home?"

  He coughs and mutters something about the childcare at work, and then turns on Ty. "What was so important I had to leave my meeting early?"

  "Your meeting? Come on, man."

  We ride down the elevator and pile into Ty's new Range Rover. "You like?" he asks. "Juniper bought it for me as a wedding present."

  "You two are ridiculous," I mutter, punching Tim's shoulder since he made me sit in the back seat. "Where are we going?"

  Ty sighs. "I don't want to get married and start a new life with JJ until we hash shit out with dad."

  "Nope," I say, pulling on the door, which unfortunately locked when Ty put the car in gear. "Not going with you for that." I jiggle the handle to no avail.

  "Fuck you--I have it on child lock in case Petey rides with us," Ty says. "This is what I want from my best men. I want us to go together and tell our father to go to hell, but also I want us to invite him to clean his shit up and maybe stick around. Meet his daughte
rs in law and grandkids someday."

  For the next hour, I remain silent. When we get to the hospital, Ty tells him exactly what he said in the car. Ted asks questions about Tim's wedding band, waves around Emma's article from the Post, asking about Ty's wedding this weekend. I roll my eyes. "You don't get to know any of those details," I tell him, pressing Tim back into his seat before he has an aneurism. "You didn't show up for Ty's junior league games, you didn't pay the bills while Tim was in college working full time to support us, so you don't get to know about the ways we turned out happy despite all that." I'm just getting started now. "I fucking know you've read about me in the paper, too, and I don't care. Do you know I looked into giving you my liver? What the fuck was I thinking? You don't care enough about your own sons to get healthy, work on your grief, and be part of this family. Let me give you some parting comfort: we turned out ok. All of us. And it had nothing to do with you."

  Tim and Ty just stare at me, and our father starts crying then. He buries his head in his hands and sobs and Tim pulls us all out into the hallway. "Enough," Tim says. "Let's get out of here. We've said our piece. Now let's let it lie." I exhale, feeling the weight of the years lifting a little bit. We start walking toward the elevator, but a nurse comes jogging down, calling out, "Stags? Are you Ted Stag's sons?"

  Thirty-Nine

  EMMA

  I call Thatcher one last time before getting ready for my father's fundraiser. The call goes directly to voicemail, so he either has had his phone off for four days or he's declining my calls. I sigh. This was supposed to be simple. Hang out with him and his family a few times to get an interview. Get some great clips for my portfolio, and maybe earn some credibility at work. Why does it feel so shitty now that all of that has happened? I wonder what his family thinks about our apparent breakup. He must have told them he can't trust me…