Found Underneath: Finding Me Duet #2

by K. L. Kreig

  “What happened?” Willow asks, her voice a hoarse whisper. There’s both a softness and edge to her question.

  She deserves the entire story, but not now. Now she’ll get the condensed version because I’m not airing all of my family’s crap in front of someone I don’t trust. I flick my attention to Mergen, whose features are stone hard. I have no idea if he knows everything I do but I’m not giving him any more ammunition to use against me.

  “Somehow, she ended up on Schultz Bridge with her friends, every one of them drunk or coked out of their minds. She…” I hesitate, this part still grueling for me accept. My little sister wanted to die and had it not been for her father, I believe she would have succeeded. “She had climbed up onto the railing and was threatening to jump when your father came along.”

  Tears immediately flood her eyes. They spill over, running in thick rivers down her cheeks. Desperate to feel her, I close the three feet between us but she holds out her hand, forbidding me from touching her.

  But not him. She’s leaning against the table for support, flush to his side. Mergen’s arm is now around her slumped shoulders and she’s just looking at me, looking through me. Blinking, water flowing. Disbelieving. No doubt feeling as though she’s locked in the same nightmare I am, no escape in sight.

  “He saw what was going on and he stopped. He climbed up onto the railing with her when she refused to come down.” She brings a hand up to wipe her face. It’s shaking. I lick my dry lips and continue, trying like hell to ignore these thousand pinpricks of raw agony battering my heart because she’s leaning on him for strength. “She tried to jump. He lunged and threw her to safety but…” I can’t finish it. I can’t fucking say it.

  The air thickens around us, curdling with the stark realization that all these years she’s lived a lie. Her father did not take his own life. He didn’t leave her. He didn’t leave his wife. He gave his life selflessly to save my baby sister.

  “How do you know this?” she croaks. “How long have you known this?”

  Unable to meet her turmoil head-on any longer I turn toward the bank of windows on my right. I think, given time and introspection, she would be able to come to grips with this horrific scenario. She’s compassionate and forgiving that way. But the fact I’ve known about this for weeks and didn’t say anything? Inexcusable.

  “Long enough,” is all I say.

  “Long enough,” she repeats, her voice shaky. Her chest heaving. “The whole time? Have you known this the whole time?”

  “No,” I tell her adamantly. “No, Willow. If you believe nothing else, please believe that. I should have told you the second I found out but my only excuse was I was trying to process it all myself. It was wrong. I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry.”

  She blinks. “Is this why you’ve not been yourself lately?” I nod once. It hits deep she knows me well enough to know I was off. “Is this what was wrong in Charlotte?” Again, I nod. “Is this why you went to Charlotte?” I don’t respond. She knows.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She grabs the fabric covering her chest, balling it into her fist.

  “Willow.” I lean toward her, slowly bleeding out on the inside that she’s hurting so bad and I can’t do a damn thing. She looks pale. So pale.

  “Don’t. Just…don’t say another word.”

  “Fuck.” I jab my hand in my hair, tugging the strands until I pull a few out. The sting feels good. Right. I do it again. And pace. Three steps one way, three the other. I keep my eye on her the entire time. She’s far, far away. None of us speak. None of us dare. Hours pass, only I’ll later know it was mere seconds. Horribly short seconds before she’d walk right out of my life.

  “I…I need to go.” Her eyes are unfocused. Glazed over. Her face is streaked, makeup smudged under her eyes. She’s a mess, yet she’s the most exquisite creature I have ever laid eyes on.

  “I’ll drive you,” Mergen and I say at the same time, closing in on her.

  “No. I’m driving myself.”

  She pushes herself to stand but wobbles. I’m there to steady her. “You don’t have a car,” I remind her. She slaps my hand away. Damn stubborn woman. She can be pissed all she wants—she has a right to be—but she’s leaving here alone over my dead body. “I’m driving you, Willow. End of story.”

  She snaps out of her zombie state and her glare is so hot and stifling a ring of fire surrounds me. “You’re right about one thing. This is the end of the story.”

  “Jesus, Willow,” I plead, my voice strained. “Please don’t do this. Let me explain the whole thing. Please.”

  “And you,” she spits, turning that death glare on Mergen as she ignores my plea. “How dare you. Did you honestly think this was going to win you any favors? How long have you known?”

  At least the fucker has the decency to seem repentant. Willow may never forgive me for this but at least she’s smart enough to know that Mergen tipped his own hand while trying to make me look like the bad guy.

  He was with Willow when her father died. He witnessed firsthand her pain, her confusion, her debilitating grief. Years later it remains fresh and raw. He had to have known how not only the loss, but the way that loss occurred was devastating to her. If he cared about her one iota, he would have told her the second he found out. Not used it as means to hurt me, but as a way to ease her suffering.

  “Willow, you don’t understand,” he starts hoarsely.

  “I don’t understand?” Her eyes are wide, her voice dripping venom. “Oh, I understand perfectly.”

  Mergen moves toward her, his arms out, still trying to save himself. “I—”

  Throwing a hand up; she cuts him off. “Don’t. Don’t say another word. I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. I don’t want to see either of you ever again.”

  Her words are a switchblade at the edge of my wrist, the heaviness of them sinking the sharp metal into my flesh, nicking an artery.

  And that’s that. Mergen and I remain frozen, both watching the woman we love walk out of the room and out of our lives.

  It’s the single biggest blow I’ve taken in my thirty-six years.

  Chapter 23

  I’m numb. Dead inside.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  “What are you still doing up?” I hear the sound of keys hit solid wood, then footsteps. “In fact, what are you doing here at all? Shouldn’t you be with your hot coffee trying to make that fake baby?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m numb.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I see Sierra walk around the kitchen island. I’ve been sitting in the same spot since the second I walked through the front door. How long has that been now? Minutes? Hours? I’m not even sure I’ve blinked. Can you keep your eyes open for hours on end, not blinking? Is that possible? I think it is.

  “Why are you still wearing your coat?” She opens a cupboard.

  I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m numb.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  “What’s the matter? Your prince charming a little less shiny today?” she says sarcastically, laughing. She’s kidding, but oh, how right she is.

  But I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m numb.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  I hear the fridge open and liquid being poured. Orange juice. Sierra’s nightly ritual when she gets home from work. Orange juice and a snack-sized Baby Ruth. It’s surprisingly comforting to be part of her odd routine tonight.

  “Lowenbrau, what’s up? Why are you not answering me?”

  Because I can’t. I’m numb.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  She comes up behind me and spins me around to face her. My head is frozen at a thirty-degree angle, gazing downward. She slips her hands around my cheeks and lifts so I’ll meet her eyes.

  But I don’t. I can’t. I’m numb.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  “Okay, now you’re fr
eaking me out. This is the same way you acted when…” She lets that thought trail. “Willow.” She says my name with force and urgency. She shakes me. “Willow, look at me.”

  But I don’t. I can’t. I’m numb.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  A sting on my cheek brings me out of my trance, and I realize she slapped me. I latch on to her scared eyes and the dam I’ve worked tirelessly to erect weakens. Cracks appear at the fragile base first, rapidly worming their way up and soon the entire structure heaves and groans under the mounting pressure.

  “Tell me what the hell is going on or I’m calling Mercer.”

  That’s all it takes. His name. That’s all I needed to break into thousands upon thousands of tiny little pieces that I watch float aimlessly around me, names clear and visible on each minute shard.

  Shaw

  Charles

  Annabelle

  Shaw

  Reid

  Annabelle

  Charles

  Shaw

  Annabelle

  Annabelle

  Annabelle…

  They swirl, slow at first, speed increasing, sound deafening, until they all intersect, crashing with electrifying violence. They fall, landing in a heap at my feet, the reverberations thundering and terminal. Fragments embed in me so deep I’m bleeding everywhere. Inside and out.

  I am not numb.

  I am not dead inside.

  I am in so much fucking pain I can’t breathe.

  I stare into my best friend’s eyes crammed with worry and creeping anger, and I crumble into nothing.

  My father didn’t commit suicide.

  Shaw’s sister was responsible…and Shaw knew.

  Chapter 24

  “She okay?” My chest hurts so goddamn bad I’m sure someone is squeezing it. I’m oxygen starved, already slowly suffocating without her.

  “She didn’t say a word the entire way. She seemed pretty out of it. I got her inside and was going to stay until Sierra got off work but she told me to leave, so I stayed in my car instead until Sierra came home.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Who?”

  “Sierra.”

  “No. I didn’t talk to her. She didn’t see me.”

  “Thank you,” I reply dully. “For taking care of her.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t thank me.” Noah takes a seat beside me on my sister’s thrift store, vomit-green couch. The cushions are pilled, matted, and stained, the shitty décor straight from the seventies. It’s ancient. Eclectic. It fits her. “How’s Bluebelle?” he asks.

  “How is Bluebelle?” I echo.

  Well, let’s see. After I texted Noah and told him to get Willow home safely, I decided to get my ass in gear and go after her myself. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, I saw Annabelle, slumped against the wall in a stupor. The brat had followed me instead of going back to the party as I’d instructed. She overheard everything. Every sordid detail of a night that intersected the futures of two families in a twisted, horrific way. So, not only did I lose the chance to tell Willow on my own terms, I couldn’t break it gently to Annabelle either.

  The entire evening has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, and I have no one to blame but myself.

  “She’s too calm. I’m worried about her.”

  “Is she asleep?”

  I breathe out a heavy sigh. “Pretending to be.”

  Noah’s been gone for hours. It’s now after four in the morning. I’m surprised he showed up here, yet not. I’m not sure I want him here, though I don’t tell him to leave.

  I stare at the hideous piece of art on the wall directly across from us. It’s a picture of a woman’s body, seated, but the head is a single giant eyeball with a white turban wrapped around the top and draped over her shoulder. The eyeball watches you, follows you around the room. It’s bizarre and disturbing.

  Annabelle was so excited when she bought it at a garage sale for five bucks she could hardly contain herself. I told her she should have been paid to take it. She replied in her usual flippant way, “You should see it when you’re high.” When I attempted to rip it off the wall, she laughed, telling me, “Relax. I’ve never seen her when I’m high.” She stepped back and stared at it thoughtfully. “I know you see something disgusting when you look at her, but I see a reminder to stay the course, you know. Eyes open. One foot in front of the other. Be something more than everyone thinks they see.” She’s not only smart; she’s insightful, too. I love that introspective side of her.

  Now what? Now what happens after all the hard work she’s put in? I’m terrified. Absolutely fucking terrified. She knows I stayed and she knows why. Neither of us said it, but this is a suicide watch, plain and simple.

  “I could use a stiff drink,” Noah announces.

  “Yeah. Me too.” Only I worry I’ll fall into the bottom of the bottle if I get started. Plus, I can’t have that shit anywhere near Annabelle right now. No telling what she’ll do when I fall asleep. Which is why I’ve had three Red Bulls since midnight. I plan on keeping vigil right here until morning. Then I will drag her kicking and screaming to my house so I can watch her like a hawk until I’m sure she won’t go off the rails.

  “Did you tell your folks?”

  “No. I just played it off as boyfriend trouble. Wasn’t too hard to convince them.”

  “And Willow?”

  “Told them she wasn’t feeling well and I had you take her home since I was dealing with Annabelle.” Not a total lie.

  “They’re going to find out.”

  “I know. I plan to talk to them in the morning. Time to air all the dirty laundry, I guess. Besides, we’re all going to need to pitch in.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Bluebelle’s going to need therapy for years to deal with this. My parents aren’t going to be able to bury their heads any longer.”

  “I don’t think they mean to ignore it, Merc.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s hard shit to deal with. I get it. But if they don’t open their eyes, we will lose her.”

  Noah matches my position, sinking into the couch in a slumped position, legs spread wide. We’re both still decked out in our designer suits. Still wearing our high-priced loafers and $10,000 watches.

  I am a man with immeasurable wealth, yet in this moment, you won’t find a single soul poorer than me.

  The only woman I will ever love doesn’t want to see me again, and my baby sister is balancing on a high wire and if she makes one misstep, she could fall to her death.

  “Give her time, Shaw,” he says quietly after I think he’s drifted off.

  I blink back the burn behind my closed lids. I want to weep.

  “Which one?” I ask. The woman who hates me or the woman who knows what she’s taken from me?

  “Both.” He sets his hand on my thigh and squeezes once. “Both.”

  Noah scoots back, wedging himself in the corner and we fall quiet, nothing left to say.

  I know he’s right, but I’m here to tell you…as each second ticks by without Willow, without hearing from her, without talking to her, without knowing what she’s thinking, I fall a little further into despair.

  Only months ago, my life was easy and uncomplicated. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, why I wanted. I dated and fucked countless women without guilt or a yearning for more. I was free and content. I had it all, or so I thought.

  Then along comes this hellfire named Willow Blackwell, who tested my patience and hypnotized my soul. In her, I found what was lost in me. She’s color, she’s sun, she’s rain, she’s earth, she’s breath, she’s warmth, she’s salt, she’s sweet.

  She’s life.

  She’s mine.

  Without Willow, I am nothing.

  A ghost of the man I thought I was.

  I can’t give her up. No matter what she says or how many roadblocks she puts in my path, I won’t be like Mergen and walk away from us. It’s not in my makeup. Never gonna happen. My life was on pa
use before her and will be again without her.

  I’ve always considered myself a fairly selfless person but with Willow, I am beyond selfish. I want it all. I want every second, every day, every year, every decade with her until death do us part. I want to build a life with her that other people envy and I won’t give up until I have it.

  I’m desperate to go to her and force her to listen to me, make her accept my apology. Convince her we can weather this, somehow, someway. Never in my life have I been this torn. The more time I give her, the farther away she’ll get.

  But I can’t leave Annabelle. I can’t. Not for a second. Willow may be mad and confused and distraught but I know Sierra will take good care of her until I can.

  As hard as it is, I need to stay here. Annabelle is in a perilous place, and no matter how much I ache for Willow, this is where I need to be. I’d never forgive myself if I weren’t here and she did something irreversible.

  If there’s a hell, this is it, right here. I am balls deep in its blistering heat.

  Hearing Noah’s even breaths, indicating he’s nodded off, I jerk my phone from my front pocket and pull up Willow’s number. She said she doesn’t want to hear from me again? Tough. She clearly doesn’t grasp how persistent I can be when I want something.

  I type out a short message, my finger hovering only momentarily over the send button before telling the woman I love with every fiber of me in no uncertain terms I am not giving her up. I tell her the same thing I told her when I had her underneath me at the hotel after I swept her from the dance floor at Skyfall.

  I’ll give her time and space. I know her. I know she needs it, but the clock is ticking because this isn’t the end of us. Not by a long shot.

  You are worth fighting for.

  Nothing has been worth fighting for more.