Lies

by Aleatha Romig

  Wearing clothes I’d brought from Boulder—a small protest, but mine nonetheless—with my hair secured in a messy bun, which was about my only option without showering again, I was ready to take back the part of my life that I could.

  My first stop was the telephone.

  When the screen came to life, I entered the last four digits of my mom’s telephone number.

  My mom.

  Josey Marsh.

  A regained memory sent my mind reeling as I sank to the floor.

  My mother. My birth mother.

  I remembered.

  Araneae

  Splices of disjointed memories filled my thoughts: foremost among them, an older blonde woman sitting with Senator McFadden. I recalled wondering why it wasn’t his wife, the woman I’d met at the Sinful Threads dinner. The senator was looking at us—at me—with a darkened expression as we stood in the entryway to the club. His appearance was much different than the jovial senator and possible presidential candidate whom I had previously met. He wasn’t alone in staring me down. The entire room was turned our direction.

  And then she, the blonde, was in the bathroom. She reached for my wrist. My body shivered as I relived the coldness of her touch. I ran away...back to...Sterling? No, to the bar where he’d told me to sit.

  I remembered.

  My hand went to the bruise on my arm now covered with a sleeve. I didn’t get the chance to tell Sterling about the woman or her comment about my bracelet. Sterling was angry—no, maybe not angry but intense.

  I wasn’t falling when he grabbed my arm. I was sitting and he wanted to leave. I told him he was hurting me. He didn’t loosen his grasp as his determination to leave intensified.

  She—the blonde by McFadden’s side, the same woman in the bathroom—called out to me. She knew my name as Araneae. When I asked her who she was, she answered, I’m your mother.

  I sucked in a breath, pushing myself off the floor and running to the closet. I started pulling open drawers. I recalled one with velvet padding especially constructed for jewelry.

  I couldn’t remember which one it was as I pulled drawer after drawer until I found it. Once inside, I lifted the velvet covering that protected all the jewelry from dust and the silver from tarnish. Flinging it back, I surveyed the contents as my heart beat erratically.

  Where is it?

  Relief flooded my system as I found it.

  My bracelet.

  Placing the gold chain and charms in the palm of my hand, I secured my fingers around the entire bracelet.

  I wasn’t sure who that woman was, but she wasn’t the mother I remembered, the one who watched my track meets, sat and studied with me, taught me to sew and nurtured my love for silk, or dried my tears.

  I took a deep breath.

  Fuck them all.

  I was done with crying. Placing the bracelet back in the compartment within the drawer, I gently closed the lid and slid the drawer in place.

  Reminiscing was over. I needed answers.

  Walking back into the bedroom, I knew who possessed my answers: Sterling. He could help.

  I scrolled the numbers on the phone. It didn’t take long. There were only six.

  STERLING.

  My finger hovered.

  No. Fuck him, too.

  I’d given him the opportunity to tell me about last night and he hadn’t.

  I wasn’t letting him off the hook—I would confront him, we would talk. It just wouldn’t be on the phone.

  I’d waited twenty-six years for answers. I could wait another few hours or however long it took for him to return. In the meantime, I wanted my life back.

  The one I was living was too confusing.

  It was time to be Kennedy again.

  Instead of Sterling, my first call was to Patrick. As soon as he answered, I spoke, “I want my laptop.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “My laptop. It’s a computer that’s portable. It was in the plane. I need it now.”

  “Mr. Sparrow—”

  “If I thought Mr. Sparrow would bring it to me, I would have called him,” I interrupted. “The business day is officially over. I need to catch up on Sinful Threads, and I can’t do that on this cheap-ass burner phone.”

  “It’s not actually a—”

  “Sterling told you to listen to me.” There was something powerful about making my demands known and not waiting for his excuses. “I’ll be waiting. Hurry. I’ve already missed too much of today.”

  I hung up.

  The next call was to Lorna.

  “Ms. McCrie,” she answered.

  “Please, Lorna, call me Ken-Araneae.” Maybe if I wore a nametag, I could remember who I was. It could be two-sided—flip it when I’m Kennedy, flip it again when I’m Araneae.

  “Araneae,” she said.

  “Yes, I wanted you to know that I’m awake, but honestly, I’m not hungry, and I don’t feel right having you or anyone else waiting on me. I’ll come down and look for something when I am hungry, if you’re all right with me rifling through your kitchen.” I added the last part as an afterthought.

  “The kitchen is Sparrow’s but coming down is the concern. He said—”

  “Between you and me, I don’t care about the end of that sentence.”

  “It’s your decision,” Lorna said. “I’d be more than happy to bring you something. That is what he wants.”

  “I appreciate it. It’s not what I want. If you see Patrick, please tell him to hurry. I need my laptop.”

  “I believe I saw him take it to Sparrow’s office.”

  “His office?”

  “Yes, on the same level as the kitchen.”

  Like a bud growing stronger, hope bloomed in my previously heavy chest. “Is his office...accessible?”

  “It isn’t locked if that’s what you mean. However, it’s an unwritten rule of sorts that unless it’s being cleaned, it’s his personal space.”

  I looked around the bedroom where I was. This was his personal space. He’d said this entire level was our personal space. He’d invited me into his personal space, or perhaps a better explanation would be that he pulled me in kicking and screaming...I wasn’t sure. Either way, Sterling had been the one to blur the line of his space and mine.

  “If I came down, would you show me where it is?”

  “Araneae, I don’t...”

  “Bread crumbs, Lorna, something, please. I’ll say I found it on my own.”

  “Officially, I’m saying don’t come down until tomorrow. Unofficially, I’m coming up to the penthouse. You aren’t falling on my watch.” It was the same thing Dr. Dixon said.

  “Unofficially, regarding the office?” I asked.

  “Sometimes Sparrow listens to music. Jazz is his thing when he’s relaxing, which he sometimes does in his office. If you hear it...”

  “Thank you, Lorna.”

  After hanging up the call and putting the phone that was apparently not a cheap burner in the back pocket of my jeans, I went to the double doors. It wasn’t so much a key that I possessed, but access to a large lock button that twisted below one of the handles.

  Turning it, the mechanism clicked. Tentatively, I pulled the door inward, wondering if it was really that simple.

  I would have thought that there would have been a higher form of defense, something other than an old-fashioned lock. Then again, if no one could access this apartment or even see it—I wasn’t sure about that last part—except the people Sterling trusted, then I supposed an old-fashioned lock did what it was designed to do, which was keep out people who respected the symbolism.

  With each step along the hallway toward the stairs, my strength returned. Dr. Dixon explained how my body needed to eliminate the poison. Perhaps, my crying fit was an answer I hadn’t realized I’d sought.

  By the time I reached the stairs, Lorna was standing at the bottom, her head shaking as I reached for the banister and began my descent. Meeting me halfway, she smiled. “He’s going to be mad.”

&n
bsp; I nodded. “No doubt.”

  She didn’t help me as Dr. Dixon had done; instead, we took the steps together.

  “And you’re not worried?” she asked.

  “If I say no, I’m a fool. If I say yes, I’ll overthink this. I’ll keep my mind and computer usage on work. I did it yesterday on the plane. He can’t expect me to stay locked away in a gilded cage.” My feet stilled as the sound of music came into range. My cheeks rose as my smile grew. “Thank you.”

  She lifted her hands in surrender. “I know nothing. You called and said you weren’t hungry, and I stayed in my apartment.”

  “Oh, when you said up, you meant from the other floor—your apartment. I’m sorry you rushed up here.” We were now at the bottom of the stairs. Standing beside her, I could see that Lorna was a good three inches shorter than me, yet there was a spirit within her that was impossible to miss.

  She grinned. “I don’t mind. I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”

  My eyes widened. “Oh, please don’t let that stop you.”

  “In the six years Reid and I have been together, Sparrow has never brought a woman into this place.” She shook her head. “I don’t know all of why you’re here or even what happened to you last night.

  “I know you drank something you shouldn’t have, but I don’t know more.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “I hope you’ll stay. This place gets lonely when they’re out doing whatever they do.” Her smile grew. “And more than that, you give him shit. He needs that in his life.”

  “I don’t think he’s used to it,” I answered honestly.

  “That’s the thing. We’re kind of a family around here—or a pack. My man is fucking tough, smart, and capable of just about anything. So is Patrick. They could easily make their own way in the world without Sparrow, but they won’t. I do my best to keep this place...” She gestured about. “...all of it, a place where they can relax and unwind. We joke and laugh. We even grieve, but at the end of the day, in a pack there’s only one alpha. That’s your man.”

  My man?

  “I’m not sure,” she went on, “if he asked for that position or it was thrust upon him, but no matter how it happened, it’s his.”

  “So,” I asked, “I shouldn’t give him shit?”

  “No, you should because no one else will get away with it. One more thing...” Her green eyes widened. “I hope you don’t mind a bit of unsolicited advice. I tend to say what’s on my mind.”

  “Lorna, when it comes to all of this...” It was my turn to gesture. “...and Sterling, I’ll take whatever you have. I’m not certain of anything.”

  She reached for my hand. “I remind myself every time Reid leaves my sight: tomorrow isn’t a guarantee. I don’t know the specifics of all they do, but they deal with some heavy shit. He may piss me off.” She nodded. “He does, and I may piss him off, but before he walks out the door, even in the middle of the night, we kiss one another and reaffirm our love. He’s not dying without that being the last thing I said.”

  I blinked away the moisture filling my eyes. “I think Sterling and I are a little too new for love.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not something you can control.” Squeezing my hand, she dropped it. “Hey, I’m getting out of here before he finds you. Do you have that phone?”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Then if he’s here, you don’t have long.”

  “It has a tracker?”

  “Oh, rule number one. Those three men will know where you are at any moment.”

  I looked past her toward the source of music. “Well, fuck. Then I better hurry.”

  “Araneae?”

  My gaze went back to her green eyes.

  “For what it’s worth, seeing him with you makes us all happy. I hope you decide that one day it makes you happy, too.”

  “Thanks, Lorna.”

  “If they don’t find you, call me before you go back upstairs. I don’t want you falling.”

  I nodded as I went farther down the hall, the music growing louder with each step.

  Araneae

  The melody of Dizzy Gillespie’s signature trumpet came from beyond the partially closed double doors as I came to a stop, and memories of his office in Ontario filled my mind. There was something about entering that accelerated my heartbeat, its pounding threatening to drown out the tune. No. I wasn’t overthinking this. I was simply getting my laptop.

  Pushing one of the tall doors inward, I stepped inside Sterling’s personal space. Similar to the rest of his apartment, the first thing to catch my attention were the floor-to-ceiling windows filling one wall. Despite the fact that it was after seven at night, the cobalt blue summer sky still shone. I stepped closer. It was the same view as from one side of his bedroom. Turning, I took in the room.

  Sterling definitely had a thing for light and open; most of the office fit the bill. Perhaps he also leaned toward modern with some glass, chrome, and accent lighting. The word eclectic came to mind. That was not to insinuate that the decor was a hodgepodge, but more of an interesting combination that seemed to work. The focus of the room was a large wooden desk with ornate carvings. Next to the rest of the furnishings, it was a bit stuffier and more pretentious. If I didn’t know Sterling as I do, I may even think it was overcompensation for other inadequacies.

  Sterling Sparrow had no need to overcompensate.

  In one corner by the windows were two large chairs near a round table, complete with a chessboard. I brushed my fingers over the elaborate marble pieces. They weren’t set up to begin play, but instead as if a game were in progress.

  Keeping in style with the furniture, the paintings hanging upon the walls, spotlighted by the accent lighting, were an interesting collection. In other parts of the apartment accessible to more people, I’d seen some stunning photography, mostly of cities. This was art. It was altogether different. Walking closer to each one, I read the names of the artists and shook my head: Jean-Michel Basquiat, Jasper Johns, and Andy Warhol. These famous artists had works hanging in places like the Met in New York, and Sterling had his own private collection.

  I searched the room until I came to my carry-on, near Sterling’s chair on the other side of his desk. Sitting, I pulled the bag into my lap and unzipped it. I could say it was just as I’d left it, but it wasn’t. I’d left it sitting on the table in the plane. It was as Patrick had left it.

  Not thinking about where I was, my mind was focused on access to the Wi-Fi as I booted up the laptop. In my preoccupied state, I didn’t hear the door open farther or footsteps or anything until the deep clearing of a throat startled me. With my eyes still on the screen in my lap, I froze. Perhaps it was because I couldn’t feel his presence or maybe it was that the pitch of the throat-clearing was slightly off, but whatever the reason, I sat perfectly still, knowing that whoever had entered the office wasn’t Sterling. I was also pretty sure it wasn’t Patrick. As my gaze moved from the laptop to the man at the door, I drew a breath as I flinched back in Sterling’s chair.

  “Ma’am,” the incredibly large man in the doorway said.

  My eyes widened, looking at this person I didn’t know. My first impression was that he resembled Michael B. Jordan, not the basketball player, but the actor. He had the same stunningly ebony skin and dark eyes. His hair was short, more like the character in Creed than the one in Black Panther.

  Who was he and how did he get here?

  I forced myself not to retreat as he took a step closer. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt that stretched across his wide chest, he had heavy boots on his feet that made me wonder how I hadn’t heard him approach.

  I contemplated my next move. The phone I’d been given was in my back pocket. Maybe I could call Sterling or Patrick or even the mystery man, Reid.

  With his hands gripped behind his back, the man came to a stop in front of the wooden desk. “It’s good to see you’re feeling better.”

  I swallowed. “I-I am, thank you. And you are...?”

  “
Reid, ma’am, Reid Murray.” He leaned forward and extended his hand. “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d be able to figure that out.”

  My face blossomed into a true smile as I reached forward and took his hand. “Oh, goodness, I’ve heard all about you, but they seemed to have left out a few details.”

  His handshake was quick and solid. A small smile came to his lips as he stepped back to parade rest and nodded. “It was my height, wasn’t it? It’s because I’m an inch taller than Sparrow. He doesn’t like to mention it.”

  I shook my head, leaned back, and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that was it. It’s good to meet you, Reid. Are you here to kick me out and send me back upstairs?” To my room. Damn, that sounded juvenile.

  That small smile on his face grew bigger. “I’m here to enter the Wi-Fi code into your laptop and make sure you’re all right.”

  “Really?” I sat the laptop on Sterling’s desk and pushed it Reid’s direction. “And Sterling...I mean, Sparrow...” It seemed as though that somewhere along the line with this inner group, the Mr. had been dropped. “...knows I’m here?”

  Reid was bent over, looking down at my screen as his fingers flew incredibly fast on the keys, and yet still he was able to scoff—he actually scoffed—at my question.

  A few seconds later, he pushed the laptop toward me and turned it until the screen was my way. “Yes. He knows. He said something about discussing it with you later.”

  Oh shit. That didn’t exactly sound good.

  “Do you know when later will be?” I asked, thinking of the memories I’d recalled from last night. I had things to discuss with him too, things one hell of a lot more important than my disobeying his stupid note.

  “No,” Reid responded. “He and Patrick left earlier today and have been dealing with a few things. They’ll be back when they can.”

  “If I asked you what that means—dealing with a few things—would you tell me?”