Mr. Pink

by Tessa Layne

  I stick to my guns, determined to see this through to its awful end. “Ask him.” I know she will, too, because I see the second she realizes I’m not bluffing. I may be slightly exaggerating the circumstances - the girl was giving Jase a BJ, but fucking was definitely on the menu that afternoon - but it’s truth enough and has the desired outcome. It’s made her hate me, and now I can leave with a clean conscience. My jaw aches from holding it tight.

  Macey’s face crumples, and for an awful second I’m filled with regret. I’m not in the business of hurting women, and I’ve cut her where she’s most vulnerable. It’s quite possible I’ll go to Hell for this, but I can’t give in to whatever ounce of compassion is left in me. Not now, because I’m not done. I need to slam the last nail in the coffin with enough force it will never reopen. “I was pissed as hell at my brother. For all his talk about the cadet code of honor, to lie, to cheat like that?” I paused, gathering my courage, because this, this is my darkest secret. “I helped Ronnie get together with Nico.” I’m not proud of it. I reacted in anger, and I absofuckinglutely did it to hurt my brother. To get back at him in some small measure for the hurt he leveled on me as a little kid when I worshipped the ground he walked on.

  “Get. Out.” She cants her head away, refusing to look at me, but points at the door.

  I freeze. This is what I wanted, right? To be set free? I’m supposed to feel relief, not empty.

  “Out,” she repeats in that terrible tone that says so much more than the syllables she utters. “I never want to see you again.”

  In case I was wondering.

  I slip from between the sheets and pick up my clothing. I walk with purpose around the bed and pause in the doorway until she looks up. The expression on her face tears me apart. I put it there, and for the second time in as many minutes I wonder if I’ve made the right choice. “Just remember this, Gorgeous, when you stack me up against your husband, against Jase. In all that’s passed between us. I’ve never once lied to you.”

  I spin away before she has the chance to respond. I tiptoe quietly past Sophie’s room, and I can’t resist taking a peek at the angel sleeping peacefully on Princess Elsa sheets. I push down the balloon that’s pressing against my chest, filled with emotions I don’t wish to examine. I let myself out the front door, and step onto the porch, buck naked and proud of it. I don’t care if Mrs. T across the street is peeking through the curtains. Let the old biddy have a show. I toss my clothes onto the passenger seat and fire up the truck, revving the engine, not caring that it’s after midnight. Let the fucking world know I was here. I give no shits. I speed off with a squeal of the tires. But my dramatic exit is hampered by the truck’s sluggish response to a flattened gas pedal. It finally catches a head of steam halfway down the block, only adding to my dark feelings. Fuck my trust fund, fuck Jason, fuck her. I could have given her everything she’d ever wanted.

  As soon as I get to the house, I throw on my clothes and pull the Pagani out of the garage. I need to think, and I can only do that in a quiet car going one-ten. I make it to San Francisco in record time, stopping only to fill the gas tank and piss. I pull into the valet line at the Four Seasons and stumble out. I don’t even know what time it is, or how I managed seventeen hours behind the wheels without passing out. I bypass the bar and go straight to the elevator, shutting my eyes to the memory of Macey. It’s no better when the door opens to my suite - she moves through these rooms like a ghost. I strip down and step into the shower. And even though the heat pummeling my body brings welcome relief, it does nothing to erase the memory of her, the way her hands fisted against the tile as she came. Or dropped her head back into the spray with a satisfied smile. She’s everywhere.

  And gone.

  The force of the realization hits me like a rogue wave, dragging me under so that I can barely breathe. I stagger out of the shower, not bothering to grab a towel and drop face down on the bed. Only sleep will relieve me of the pain that relentlessly hammers me, tossing me like a piece of driftwood in a tsunami. My world fades to black.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I don’t know how long I slept, or what day it is. To be honest, I don’t really care. Maybe it’s been a week, maybe longer - it’s all a blur, and who fucking cares how much time has passed? I’ve lost everything that matters. The angle of the sun tells me it’s late afternoon. My mouth tastes like dog-shit laced cardboard. I stumble out to the living room and pour myself a full glass of Pappy. I drain it in four long gulps, bracing against the fire that burns its way to my gut. Then I sit and wait for the alcohol to hit my bloodstream, to dull the pain that consumes me. Thirty minutes later, relief hasn’t come. I pour another glass. I slam it down as fast as I can and throw the glass against the wall with a roar so loud my throat feels like it has skid marks. It shatters spectacularly. The booze hits me with the force of a baseball bat to the head, and I nearly don’t make it back to the bed. But my body refuses to give in, refuses to release me from my misery, and I manage to faceplant on sheets that somehow, magically, smell like Macey.

  “Austin,” a voice rumbles through the fog.

  I lift a hand that feels heavy as lead. “Go ‘way,” I mumble.

  “Austin.” This time the voice is accompanied by a shake.

  The voice is pulling me back to reality, and I fight it. “No.”

  “AUSTIN you sorry excuse, wake the fuck up now.”

  I’m unceremoniously yanked up by my shirt collar and dumped on the floor. I’m awake, now. And pissed as hell. Who in the fuck has broken into my apartment? “What the everloving fuck,” I say as I rise, attempting to sweep the cobwebs from my brain. My brain is having none of it.

  I recognize my brother just before his fist makes contact with my face in a punch that sends me spinning back to the floor. Pain explodes below my left eye. I don’t think he’s broken my eye socket, but I’m going to have a shiner worthy of a prizefighter. I struggle to my feet. “What in the hell was that for?” I’m slightly dizzy.

  “That was for Macey, asshole,” he snarls, winding up.

  I throw up my fists, but I’m in no shape to be blocking punches. Especially from Jason.

  “And this is because you knocked her up you worthless fuck.”

  His punch hits his mark. My nose breaks with a deafening crunch. The second time in my life my nose has been broken, the second time he’s busted it. I drop to my knees with a howl. The pain is blinding, and some part of me knows I deserve this, and worse. But another part of me, the part that’s sick to shit of being beat on by an abusive asshole, has had enough. I don’t bother to stem the bleeding, I’ll deal with that later. I charge, tackling his hips and knock him off balance. He lands halfway in the hall with a crash, head nearly coming in contact with the credenza. “And this, is because you’re the biggest asshole of them all.” My fists pound him, but they don’t land hard, and he’s trained and alert. My punches are no match for his defensive ability.

  With a yell, he flips us, and scrambles to his feet. “Fine. You wanna fight? Let’s do this.”

  I’m gasping for air, but I’m not backing down. Not anymore. “Great,” I yell, the taste of blood on my tongue. “Let’s talk about how West Point didn’t take the asshole out of you. No wonder you ended up in intelligence,” I spit. “Good ‘ole Uncle Sam finally gave you permission to torture.” I wipe the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand so I can keep talking. “How many kids did you make piss themselves because they were so scared? How many?” I’m sure they can hear us three floors below. “Did you tie up their brothers or sisters the way you did Nico? And make them watch while you beat their brothers? Or their parents?”

  Jason roars and charges, but I’m ready and I’m not playing fair this time. I sweep his prosthetic and the floor trembles when we land. We’re a tangle of fists flying, shouts, and insults. I land a good one on his face, acknowledged by his grunt of pain. Good. Let him feel half of what I felt.

  “Did Macey figure out that you gave me the cigaret
te burns? Did she? Or are you still trying to pretend you’re honorable?” Each word comes out broken, punctuated by punches and kicks. “Did you tell her you cheated?”

  “I didn’t have to, asshole. You did.”

  I’m losing this fight, just like I always do. Because I might be as big as Jason now, but he’s still a fighting machine, and I’m not. My m.o. is always to walk, to avoid. Always. But this time, I have nothing to lose, and so I bring it. I struggle to my feet and manage to land a few kicks to his ribs before he’s up and charging again. We flip back over the couch, landing dangerously close to the fireplace. I fleetingly wonder if this is a death-fight. We’re too stubborn to stop. None of us will call uncle. I’ll die before I ever say uncle again. I offer a silent apology to Macey. But I’m not done. Not yet. I poke the beast. As hard as I can. “I’m glad I fucked Macey,” I say between punches, scanning through the swollen slits of my eyes for something to pound him with.

  That sets him off, and his punches fly harder, faster. “You don’t deserve her.”

  Truth. I don’t deserve shit. “That may-” my words are interrupted by two powerful hands jerking me off Jason. I struggle to focus. There are people in here. Is that… “Miles?” My voice is as cracked as my lip.

  “What in the hell are you two doing?” he shouts.

  Jason is being restrained by two big men in black. They’re enormous. Some stupid twelve-year-old part of my brain is impressed it takes two people to hold him back. I might not have broken his nose, but I split his cheek and he’s gonna have a shiner as pretty as my own.

  “This stops now, or I call the cops and have you banned from the building.”

  “But I own this unit.” At least I think I do. The punches have rattled my brain, and now I’m not so sure.

  “I don’t care if you own the fucking Golden Gate Bridge. I will see to it that you’re banned and your unit seized.”

  “I don’t think you can do that. I’ll ask Dec. Dec would know. Where’s my phone?” Miles is looking at me like I’m delirious, which I guess I am.

  “If I tell them to let you go, will you play nice?”

  I glare across the room at Jason. He glares back.

  “Let me rephrase that,” Miles says tersely. “Can you behave, or shall I call the police right now? I’m sure the other guests will be happy to let the two of you duke it out from inside a jail cell.”

  It’s tempting. But I have a more pressing question. “How do you know Macey?”

  “McCaslin?” Miles’ brows disappear into his hair. “Is that what this is about?” He shakes his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I glare at him.

  “Okay, you’re not.” Miles’ hands come to his hips, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “Macey was the youngest person ever to earn the designation of Master Sommelier, which she earned at twenty-three. She grew up at a winery in the Hudson River Valley.”

  “I know that. How do you know her?”

  “Strictly professionally. Macey has consulted with us for years. Since before her daughter was born.”

  “Huh.”

  “Why does this matter?” Jason asks from across the room, still held back by the guards.

  “Just curious.” I realize the rest of my questions need to be directed at Macey, herself.

  “Are you two calmed down enough I can release you?” Miles asks.

  I stare hard at Jason. “I’m not done.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “But can you finish whatever is going on like civilized men and not animals?” Miles asks, exasperation putting an edge to his usually mild voice.

  “Punching isn’t my style.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Jason says wryly.

  “We’ll be fine,” I assure Miles, deciding for the both of us.

  Miles narrows his eyes. “Do I need to leave a witness?”

  Jason eyes me, then slowly shakes his head. “We’ll sit across the room from each other.”

  The guard behind me releases my arms, and I roll my shoulders, working the blood back into my hands. Jason stumbles as he’s released, then rights himself.

  “I mean it,” Miles warns with a hard stare. “Not another sound from up here.”

  We both nod and stand quietly as the men depart. I pass Jason, hands up and limp to the kitchen. I pull two ice-packs from the freezer, and grab a couple dish towels from the drawer. “Here.” I toss him one as I sit.

  “Wait.” Jason crosses to me. “Let me fix your nose.”

  “I can’t fucking believe you broke my nose,” I mutter.

  “It’s gonna hurt, but it will heal straight.”

  “Something else you learned from your torture days?” I snap.

  He answers with a growl. “Look up and shut your eyes.”

  I comply, because I don’t want a nose that rivals Quasimodo. He braces his fingers against my cheekbones, then pinches the bridge of my nose.

  “Count to three.”

  “One… two…”

  With a jerk, he snaps my cartilage back into place on two. The pain is so intense my eyes water, but it feels instantly better. “Thanks,” I mumble, placing the ice-pack on my nose. He sits a few feet away and leans back, ice-pack on his face. I give myself over to the dull pain that envelops my body. We sit in silence until my ice-pack is no longer cold. I pull myself off the couch with a groan. I’m pretty sure Jason cracked a few ribs. Jason places his ice-pack into my hand and I hobble to the kitchen and put them back in the freezer. “Beer?” I call.

  “Sure.”

  I crack two local IPAs and return to the couch. We sip in silence.

  Jason lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I was a shit.”

  “You were far worse than that.” Images flash before my eyes, and with it, the hurt rises. For some reason, I’m reminded of the look on Sophie’s face, the day I took her for milkshakes. My heart cracks, and my voice with it. “You have no idea.” I shake my head, doing battle with memories and feelings I desperately want to put to rest.

  “You’re right. I was horrible. And everything you did to me, I deserved. And then some.” Jason pauses, and the weight of his confessions sinks in.

  “Why?”

  Jason gives me a bleak look. “I don’t know. I was a kid when my mom died. Younger than Sophie. And you know how Dad is. Emotions aren’t part of his vocabulary. And when he married Angelique and she had you three, there was no room for me. I was alone in a way kids should never be alone. I acted out and there was no one to stop me, keep me in line.”

  He takes a long draw on his beer, gingerly wiping his mouth when he’s finished and starts again. “But you’re wrong about Johnny and Sterling. They saved me. Millie saved me. I was drowning when I came back to California. Slowly suffocating. I had to get away from Dad, from Angelique, from the memories, the guilt.” He drops his head, pressing the bottle to his forehead. “I should have come to you sooner. And I’m ashamed I never did.”

  The air is heavy between us. I should feel some kind of relief, a sense of closure. After all, this is the apology I’ve been waiting my whole life for, isn’t it? But I just feel empty. And really fucking tired. Then something Jason yelled before my brain kicked into gear registers, and hits me with the force of a Mack truck. “Did you say Macey is… pregnant?”

  I pull in a deep breath, then another, and another. Pregnant. There’s a good chunk of me that’s scared shitless at the prospect of being a father. Of the real possibility that I will fail spectacularly at fatherhood. So much so, I think I might pass out. Or be sick. But then I think of Sophie - her spunk, her sparkling eyes, her determination when she’s focused on riding her bike or climbing a tree. What if it’s another Sophie? Would that be so bad? Not for someone who knows how to be a good parent. But I don’t. My role models sucked.

  Jason makes a noise of pure disgust. “You could have at least been more careful, for fuck’s sake.”

  “We were careful. Fuck, we used double protection at first.”


  “At FIRST?” Jason’s look of incredulity is quickly replaced by a scowl. “How long were… wait. Don’t tell me,” he says with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Guess I just have super sperm,” I say with more than a note of pride. Nothing can stop my little swimmers, apparently. Not condoms, not the pill. I take a perverse kind of pride in that.

  Jason stares at me hard, then narrows his eyes. “That was you in the barreling room on my wedding day, wasn’t it? I knew it,” he says when I don’t answer right away.

  I poke the bear. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I grin. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Fuck you asshole,” Jason growls. “That’s my best friend’s wife.”

  “Your best friend, who decided it was better to end his life and leave his wife and child broken hearted,” I point out caustically.

  Jason glares. “Until you’ve walked in his shoes,” he warns.

  “It still doesn’t change the fact that he abandoned them.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “It was supposed to be a fling.”

  “And is it, now? Are you going to abandon a child, too?”

  “Fuck no,” I snap. “I’ve lost a parent. I’m not putting a kid through that.” I’m not exactly sure what that means, though. Macey may be pregnant with my child, but I think there’s a pretty good chance she’ll tell me to go to hell the next time I see her. My mind spins with the gravity of it. I’ll make sure the child is taken care of. Sophie, too. I don’t want Sophie to think she’s less important. But I’m the worst kind of father material. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad.”

  “Welcome to the club,” Jason retorts wryly. “I’m gonna be a dad before you are.”

  “I don’t wanna be like dad.” I glance over. “Or like you.”

  He grimaces, and it’s a full minute before he speaks again. “You won’t be. Because I’m gonna kick your ass to high heaven if you are.”