One New Message (A Dark Romance Novel)

by Vivian Ward

  “Let’s not do this. You two are brothers, this is a public place, and this isn’t the time.”

  Instead of a fight breaking out, we all sit in silence for a moment until I can’t take it any longer.

  “So, Trent,” I turn my attention to him. “Did you know that Zack’s been seeing a girl named Jenny?”

  I want to pretend that I brought it up because it was the first thing that came to mind, but it’s not.

  I only did it because I want him to know that his brother is with someone.

  “That’s great,” he says. “Does he know that you’re with me?”

  There’s a hint of pain behind his eyes, but he hasn’t exactly pushed for the two of us to be anything official.

  Maybe because I’ve always been so against it.

  “I do,” Zack cuts in. “ And that’s awesome because she’s as beautiful as ever. I like being around her; she’s nice to look at.”

  O.M.G.

  I can’t believe he just said that! What the hell? Where did that even come from?

  “It’s fine; I get it. I’m out of here.”

  Trent stands and turns to walk out. I want to chase after him, go calm him down, comfort him.

  But I can’t.

  My legs remain frozen, gluing me to my seat.

  Chapter 14

  Guilt.

  It’s been eating me up ever since the other night when Trent walked into the bar and caught Zack and I casually chatting and drinking together.

  What I initially meant for two brothers to reunite turned into a complete disaster because of me. I should’ve stuck to my original plan of getting the two of them together to talk, but all I did was wedge the twisted knife even deeper between the two of them.

  I never meant for anyone to get hurt and I suppose things could be much worse, but I can’t get over how his retreating figure walked out of the bar, away from me.

  He stopped at the doorway and craned his neck, allowing our eyes to connect for a brief moment. Something deep inside of me resonated, something I’m not sure I completely understand, but it felt like a piece of me walked out the door right along with him.

  Instead of letting Zack give me a ride home, I called for an Uber at the end of the night.

  I feel so bad about the way everything happened.

  Maybe I should.

  No, I shouldn’t.

  I should not feel this way.

  Should I?

  No matter what the right answer is, I’m going to make up for it. All day I’ve sat around thinking about what I can do to make things up to Trent. Given the fact that he hasn’t called me in almost three days, I know he’s pissed.

  Beyond pissed.

  To smooth things over with him, I’m going to go to his house and make a nice, romantic dinner. Let him know that I’m committed to our relationship.

  Whatever’s left of it anyway.

  I want this to work. I didn’t realize how close the two of us had gotten until I screwed things up, but I’m desperate to get things back on the right track.

  Knocking on his door, I juggle the grocery bag filled with ingredients to prepare the best make-up dinner that either of us has ever had, and I hear his footsteps echoing off of the elegant hardwood floors.

  “Joline,” he says, opening the door.

  He doesn’t open it all the way, but enough to poke his head out.

  “What are you doing here?”

  What? Did he just ask me what I’m doing here?

  Wow.

  “I, um,” I hold the brown paper bag up. “I came to make us dinner.”

  He looks at the bag for a moment, almost as if he’s debating whether or not to let me in.

  “Of course. Come in,” he opens the door and steps back.

  I’ve only been in his house one other time since I’ve moved back home, but it’s just as breathtaking now as it was the last time I was here.

  Hardwood floors as far as the eyes can see; his house is huge. Marble lining the fireplace, kitchen counters, bathroom vanities and just about every other surface you can imagine. Tall, arched doorways—St. Louis style—and cathedral ceilings; another signature of the downtown area.

  “I’ll just take these into the kitchen,” I smile and make my way through the front parlor.

  That’s one thing that I love about St. Louis architecture. All of the fancy homes have parlors, and I also love all of the hand-carved wood, the wide open floor plans, the doorways, and the ceilings.

  I guess when you think about it, I just love all of it in general. In all the places I’ve ever been, this is my favorite style of design. Lots of the homes around here have hidden passageways within the buildings; the older homes anyway. Pretty much anything from the late 1800’s and the early 1900’s.

  Trent’s house mansion has been renovated but still maintains most of its original charm, and I love being in it.

  Sitting the bag of groceries on the counter, I begin to remove all of the ingredients from the bag and put them away in the fridge until I’m ready for them.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asks.

  It’s a simple question, but it feels loaded like there’s no right answer.

  “Thought I’d do something nice and make us a quiet meal that we could enjoy together.”

  I begin chopping the vegetables while the oven heats up. Letting me do my thing, he leaves the kitchen but somehow I feel tenser.

  Like I don’t belong here.

  Whipping up dinner, I can see him sitting at his desk in the den. He’s wearing a gray button-down shirt with a slate-colored tie that’s loosely hanging around his neck while he wears headphones, listening to something on the computer.

  I imagine he’s working, but I have no idea. For all I know, he’s in there listening to music or watching sports. A wave of relief washes over me as I realize that I’m just glad he’s giving me some space while I make us dinner.

  His kitchen is so big, and I like all the space it has to offer. This is something I could see myself doing on a regular basis; cooking in this big kitchen.

  Setting the table, I call out to him, letting him know that dinner’s almost ready. All I need to do is pour a bit of wine because I’ve perfected everything else hoping to please him.

  “Smells good,” he scoots my chair out for me.

  “Thank you. It’s rack of lamb with a brown sugar glazed sauce and seasoned asparagus.”

  He takes a bite and nods in approval but doesn’t say anything else. We eat the rest of our dinner in silence and I’m tempted to bring up the situation with his brother, but I don’t want to rehash things. I want to move forward, get past this.

  “I’ll take your plate,” he says finishing up his last bite.

  “Oh, I can clean up. I made the mess; it’s only fair.”

  “No, I’ll get it.”

  He takes my plate and disappears into the kitchen. I grab the wine and our glasses and follow close behind him, sitting them on the counter.

  “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I ask.

  His shoulders tense up, and he takes his time popping his neck, as though he’s procrastinating answer my question.

  “Sorry, I just remembered that I need to go back to the office to do some work.”

  Scrambling to find the right words, I try not to stutter.

  “Oh, um, okay. Should I, I mean, do you want me to wait here for you?”

  “No, I might be a while.”

  He places his hands on my shoulders and leans in. I close my eyes, anticipating a kiss that never comes. When I open my eyes, I see him standing before me and am immediately drawn to his eyes.

  His oversized crystal blue gems appear cold and frozen; duller than a thick, frozen pond. They’re concealed behind a silvery tint, making them almost gray. Ironically, they match his shirt almost perfectly.

  I feel foolish for thinking he would kiss me right now. He hasn’t spoken more than five minutes to me, and I’ve been here for over two hours. Hidden a
way in his den, he’s kept his distance, and during dinner, he held his tongue.

  “Go home,” he keeps his voice even, yet in a low, flat tone.

  It’s offensive.

  It’s not my usual sweet Trent.

  I hate it.

  Driving home, I wish that Zack and I were supposed to be at the underground casinos tonight, but Jesus couldn’t make it tonight, and we can’t go out without the right amount of people.

  We’re not scheduled to go back to any of the underground casinos for another night, but that doesn’t help me right now.

  By the time I get home, my dad’s fast asleep and for that I’m grateful. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to face him right now.

  Lying in bed, all I can think of is Zack. He’s the only person I’ve been able to talk to since Karli got married, and right now I want to speak to him.

  I want someone to want me, my company.

  I need someone to help me shake this dejected feeling that’s cloaking me thick, wet blanket.

  Contemplating what I should do, I toy with the idea of texting him to see what he’s doing right now. After tossing and turning for about an hour, I grab my phone from beside my bed and send him a message before I drive myself insane.

  All I want is someone to talk to and maybe hang out with; someone who will tell me things will be all right and help me forget about the evening that I just spent with Trent.

  Me: What are you doing tonight?

  Gazing at my cell phone waiting for his reply, fifteen minutes turns into an hour. Giving up hope that he’ll text me back, I click my phone off and roll over on my pillow when it dings.

  Him: Busy tonight. Go fuck my brother. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.

  His response hurts me, and it’s like a knife twisting in my gut. I can’t believe he said that to me, and he has no idea how wrong he is. I’m fairly sure that I’m the last person his brother wants to touch right now.

  Maybe thinking his friendship is special to me is a mistake. After a response like that, I don’t see how I can take it any other way.

  I should keep things strictly business from now on, forget about friends and focus on myself for a while.

  A long while.

  Maybe if I shut my eyes tight enough, it’ll all just be a nightmare. A bad dream that I can forget and neither of the brothers will be none the wiser about.

  Before I do, I send Trent a text telling him that I loved cooking for him and would like to do it again, hoping he’ll have a change of heart and invite me over.

  Staying up way later than I probably should waiting for him to reply, I finally drift off to sleep not long before the sun begins to rise.

  Waking up late in the afternoon, I feel like a bum, but the first thing that pops into my head is that I have to check my text messages.

  Rolling onto my stomach, I reach over the edge of the bed to grab my phone. I see the red letters flashing across my alarm clock.

  11:16 AM.

  Trent should be about mid-way through his work day. He might even be at lunch right now or getting ready to go to lunch.

  No messages on my phone.

  No voicemails, no texts, no emails, no missed calls. Nothing.

  During my late breakfast, I wallow in self-pity and wonder if I should call him. If only he’d talk to me, we could put everything behind us and start all over again, but my pride won’t let me be the one who picks up the phone.

  I’m not even sure that he’s still mad at me about his brother. We weren’t doing anything wrong. We’re just friends. Good friends.

  Or so I thought.

  It feels like our friendship is changing, turning into something more meaningful. And that comment he made when we were having drinks? I couldn’t believe he said that.

  Am I reading too much into our relationship?

  I’m not sure anymore, but it seems like Trent knows, he suspects.

  No, no, no. I shake my head, willing myself to believe the same thing that I want Trent to believe.

  I want him to believe that I’m here for him, that I don’t have feelings for his brother.

  And maybe if I say it enough, I’ll convince myself, too.

  Now that it’s almost evening and I have to start getting ready for work tonight, if that’s what you want to call my newfound illegal job, I muster the inner strength to face myself in the mirror.

  I can’t go out to the underground casinos looking like a rag doll. No, that’ll never do. I have to dress and look the part.

  Brushing my teeth, I see the sad droopiness in my eyes and eye bags beginning to sneak up, giving away my stress and worries.

  I’ll probably have to use every piece of makeup I own to get rid of these things.

  Pulling out my makeup kit, I begin working magic on my droopy, baggy eyes while I pay close attention to my phone.

  Even though Trent didn’t call me all day, I’m hoping that he was just busy at work and that he’ll call any minute but so far, nothing.

  Blending in my concealer, I try to focus on the lines beneath my eyes in an attempt to make it look like I slept well and didn't have a care in the world. After a few minutes, they gradually begin to disappear.

  Carefully applying my foundation, I do my best to make it all come together before I go to work on my eyeshadow. Since my last big payday with Zack, I splurged at Sephora and picked up some wicked deals that I wouldn’t have dared spent a penny on otherwise.

  Lining my eyes with my pencil eyeliner, I draw on long, sensual wings and line the inside of my eyes before I put on a couple of coats of mascara.

  Staring at myself in the mirror, I decide that the best thing I can do is apply a matte shade of lipstick and start doing something with my hair so I can get dressed.

  Just as I pick up the straightener from the vanity to begin straightening my hair, my phone goes off with a text alert.

  Oh, my god! I wonder if it’s him!

  Eager to check my message, I drop what I’m doing to see what he’s said, but I’m a little disappointed to see it’s a message from Zack.

  Running a little late. Be there in about an hour.

  I reply with a short, “No problem” and get back to working on my hair.

  Before I know it, I’m dressed to the nines and ready for a night out on the town, but I don’t feel like going. I don’t feel like playing cards. Hell, I don’t even feel like being here.

  I wish I were in some other dimension where feelings and time didn’t exist.

  In the basement of a prestigious club that caters to the richest men in the entire metro area, we find ourselves on the biggest, largest winning streak we’ve ever had. With me, Zack, Jesus and the rest of the crew working the tables, I know we’re cleaning up.

  The signals coming from all of the spotters are hot and strong, and the big players are smiling and drinking, having the times of their lives. Everyone’s having the time of their life.

  Except me.

  I’m still thinking about Trent, wondering if he’s sleeping like a baby or if he’s just as miserable as I am. I miss him. I miss his smile, his scent, his strong arms wrapped around me. I miss everything about him.

  On a break at the bar, I order a martini and try to forget about my problems. I wish I could enjoy myself as much as everyone else is tonight.

  Sitting on the barstool, I feel a pair of warm hands slide around the back of my neck.

  “Oh, hey,” I turn around and see Zack standing behind me.

  Typically, we all pretend we don’t know each other, so I’m a little surprised by him approaching me.

  “You doing okay?” he leans in and whispers.

  “Yeah, I'm all right.”

  Great, now I’m lying to him too.

  “I can tell that you’re not fine Joline. We’re on our best streak so far. We can stop if you need to. There will be other nights.”

  “No, really, I'm all right.”

  Nodding for him to leave, he ignores my motion and stands right by my
side.

  “I know you wanted to talk to me last night, but I couldn’t talk then. I’ll signal for the other guys to cut it short and we’ll all get out of here.”

  Without waiting for my response, he spins on his heel and walks away.

  I can’t say that I’m surprised. He’s always been good to me, but I really should put some distance between us. It’s not good for mine and Trent’s relationship—if we still have one—and I don’t want to mislead Zack.

  At the end of the night, he insists on taking me to a greasy spoon restaurant for a bite to eat before dropping me off at home.

  “What was going on last night?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  I’m going to go straight to hell if I keep this up.

  “This is about that night in the bar with my brother, isn’t it?”

  He knows how to read people. Well, he’s always been able to read me. It’s like he has this sixth sense about me and while I always found it sexy, I’m not sure what to think about it anymore.

  “He’s a good man,” I say. “I’d rather not talk to you about him. Besides, I don’t think it’s fair.”

  “Why not? I know my brother better than anyone else, and not fair to who?”

  “Him, me, you.”

  “Would it help if I told you about Jenny and me?”

  I wasn’t even aware that he was having problems. I didn’t think they were even a thing.

  “If you want to, you can.”

  I want to know what he has to say about her, even though it’s none of my business.

  “I think she’s interested in someone else,” he says.

  “So? I thought you guys were just friends with benefits. Why do you care?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t, but it bothers me. You know?”

  I did know.

  I knew exactly how he felt.

  “It’s like I shouldn’t care because we’re not a couple or anything, but on the other hand, I’m kind of jealous. Like what does he have that I don’t?”

  “Is that who you were with when I sent you that text?”

  My question surprised me. I shouldn’t pry and stick my nose in places where it doesn’t belong.

  “Yeah, I was trying to convince her that the other guy isn’t any good for her, but I don’t know if she actually heard any of it.”