“At least I’m not an icicle,” Muriel huffed, and I immediately regretted my harsh remark.
“I’m sorry.” We pushed our way to the bar through a sea of people clad in black. Some wore multiple piercings in their face. Others had colored hair. Some had both. “I told you I was in a bad mood.”
Two stools opened up at the bar, and we slid into them before anyone else could take them over. The band started up, playing a cover of a Slipknot song. I leaned over the counter and spied Jack at the opposite end, radiating more hotness than seemed humanly possible. When he looked up from pouring a draft beer, I waved. He jerked his chin in response, collected payment from his customer then sauntered over to us.
“Hey, you made it,” he said. His chocolate brown eyes roved over my scoop-neck tank dress appreciatively. By the time his gaze made it to Muriel, she was ready to swoon. “Who’s your friend?”
“Muriel, Jack. Jack, Muriel.” I heard her choke on a gasp, and I really couldn’t blame her. He wore a white wife-beater T-shirt, exposing the rounded muscles of his shoulders. Tattoo sleeves covered his arms. The tight cotton of his shirt clung to the ripples of his abdomen.
“Pleasure, Muriel,” he said, flashing her a smile made of pure sex and dimples.
“Um,” she replied.
“What can I get you, ladies?” He tapped a hand on the counter and returned his attention to me.
“Um,” Muriel said again.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have a Crown and Coke. She’ll have a vodka tonic. And bring us a couple of Jaeger Bombs, would you?”
“Coming up,” he said.
I watched him go to work, admiring the play of his muscles as he moved behind the bar. He was hot in a bad boy kind of way, something I used to go for, but now I couldn’t help comparing him to Sam. I gave him a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He winked and went back to work.
The music was good but not great. The drinks were better than average. After awhile, Muriel relaxed and ventured out onto the dance floor with a guy named Heath. I sat on my barstool, pounding down the cocktails and thinking about my options.
The crowd thickened. The music grew heavier and darker. Muriel vanished in the sea of bouncing bodies. I watched Jack at the end of the bar, thinking he might provide the distraction I needed, but his attention was focused on another girl, someone I recognized. When he returned to refill my drink, I couldn’t resist asking him, “Who’s that girl over there? I think I know her.”
He blinked up at me from the bottle of Crown Royale in his hand. “What girl?”
“The one with all the curves and the dark blond hair.” Not wanting to be conspicuous, I jerked my head in her general vicinity. “You know, the one you’ve been staring at through your throng of groupies?”
Dimples flashed from either side of his devilish smile. “Oh, that’s Ally Taylor.”
I repeated the name, rolling the syllables over my tongue, searching the recesses of my memories. I shook my head. “Maybe not.” I returned his smile. “You like her?”
He shrugged. “She’s got a boyfriend. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”
In spite of my funk, I laughed. “Jack, I’m pretty sure she knows you’re here. So does every other female within a fifty-mile radius.” He didn’t reply, just winked and moved back to the other end of the bar.
The smile slid from my face when I spied Crockett standing near the dance floor, surrounded by his worthless friends. He wore a leather vest over tattered blue jeans and a black T-shirt. He’d spiked his hair into a Mohawk and colored the tips burnt orange. While I sipped on my cocktail, I watched him disappear a dozen or more times into the men’s room with various other people. A knot of disappointment tightened in my chest. I knew without a doubt he was in trouble again, back to selling drugs.
I’d just gathered my resolve to confront him when the bouncer, the one who’d greeted us earlier, began to stalk across the floor from the other side of the room, his gaze homing in on Crockett like a predator. The crowd parted for him with uneasy sidelong glances. I caught a glimpse of Jack in my peripheral vision. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes was replaced by something darker and more frightening. He reached beneath the bar, but Crockett drew my attention again.
A guy wearing black lipstick and multiple piercings in his ears pushed Crockett, and Crockett shoved him back. A brief but incendiary conversation ensued between the two men. The music was too loud and the distance too great to make out what was being said, but their body language left no doubt. I’d seen Crockett angry a time or two in my lifetime. I slid off my barstool, intending to defuse the situation, but it was too late. Crockett popped the guy in the mouth. In the space of a second, all hell broke loose.
Jack jumped over the bar, baseball bat in hand, and charged at the melee. The bouncer shoved through the crowd with impressive speed. By this time, Crockett and his adversary were rolling on the floor, knocking over tables, and throwing punches. The band stopped playing. The meaty smack of fists on flesh filled the silence.
Within minutes, it was all over. Jack wrestled Crockett to the floor and pressed a knee to his back to hold him down. The bouncer grabbed his opponent by the neck and slammed his head onto a table. Two uniformed cops arrived. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pushed through the gawkers, but by the time I reached Crockett, he was already handcuffed.
“You need to step back, Miss,” the officer said. He held Crockett by the arm and extended a hand to ward me away.
“He’s my brother,” I said. “I’m willing to vouch for him.”
Crockett refused to look at me. He stared across the room. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. A purple knot began to rise above his left eye.
“You can pick him up at the station,” the cop said. He yanked Crockett toward the exit. “He’s got an outstanding warrant. You can sort things out there.”
My hopes plummeted. Not only was Crockett on probation, he had an outstanding warrant as well, something he’d failed to share with me. I scanned the room, searching for Muriel. I needed to call a bondsman and Crockett’s attorney right away. Otherwise, he’d have to spend the weekend.
As my focus roved over the cluster of leather-clad, pierced, and tattooed onlookers, my gaze met Jack’s. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, showing the pink tinge of blood on his lips.
“Sorry, Dakota,” he said. “But he’s had it coming. He’s been dealing drugs in here for months now, and I just can’t have that shit going on here anymore.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “It’s okay, Jack.” I spied Muriel at a booth and turned toward her, but Jack stopped me with a touch of his hand to my arm.
“He’s in some deep shit,” he said. “The people he’s working for don’t play around. Maybe you should leave him in jail for a while. Let him think about what he’s doing.”
I stared at Jack. The thought of leaving Crockett to his own devices had never occurred to me. The idea made my guts ache. He was my family, my baby brother. All my life, I’d worried over him. Mom had said once that I treated him more like my own son than she did. I suppose it was from all the years I spent babysitting him while she was at work.
“What kind of sister lets her brother sit in jail?”
“The kind who doesn’t put up with shit like that,” Jack retorted without missing a beat.
Jack’s words stayed with me long after I returned home. The more I thought about Crockett’s situation, the angrier I became. Not just with him but with myself for putting up with his irresponsibility over the years. How many times had I bailed him out? The offenses continued to escalate in severity. Each time he promised to change, and each time he disappointed me. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was an adult, and so was I.
When the county jail’s number flashed across the caller ID of my phone, I turned the ringer to mute and went to bed. Thunder rumbled outside my apartment. I tossed and turned, troubled by disturbing dreams of Crockett and Sam and Mr. Seafort
h. Sometime around dawn, I glanced at the phone and saw a voice mail from my mother. I called her back immediately, fully awake, fear gripping me. The last time she’d called this early had been to tell me she was in the hospital.
“Crockett’s in jail,” she said without preamble.
“I know.”
“We need to call the bondsman. Can you pick me up, and we’ll ride over there together?” I heard her flurried movements, as if she was gathering her things into her purse.
The little shit had called Mom. She didn’t need this kind of stress with her weak heart. A renewed wave of anger swept over me at his selfishness. “I don’t think we should, Mom. Not this time.”
“I’m not asking you to bail him out. He’s not your problem to solve.” She exhaled into the phone. “I’ve got a little money put back. Maybe I can get a loan.”
“Mom, no.” I closed my eyes, overcome by weariness.
“I can’t leave him in there.” The dismay in her voice sent a wave of guilt through me.
“Mom, we’re not helping him.” I’d bailed him out time and again, keeping it secret from her, afraid her weakened heart couldn’t withstand the strain of the truth. In her eyes, Crockett was still the frail, sweet-natured baby boy of my childhood. “I don’t see the point in bailing him out when he’s so determined to go back in. Maybe he needs a little time to think about the consequences of his actions. This morning you said I needed to take responsibility for what I’d done and make things right. Crockett needs to learn that lesson, too.”
She was silent for a long moment. I heard a chair scrape across the floor. I pictured her taking a seat, presumably at the dining room table. When she finally spoke, her voice wavered with weariness. “He was such a sickly child, coming down with every childhood illness. I don’t think we missed a week without a visit to the doctor or the hospital until he was ten.”
“He’s a big boy now, Mom.” I felt her pain through the phone. “He needs to know he can’t keep doing this kind of thing. It’s like every time we bail him out, we’re giving him permission to do it again.”
She murmured something unintelligible, the sound thick with tears. “I did the best I could for the two of you. It was hard without your father. He needed a man in his life, but I just couldn’t bring myself to date again after your dad died.” Tears of empathy pricked my eyes. “I relied on you too much, leaving you two alone when I should’ve been there.”
“Mom, you did a great job. The way Crockett is—it’s not a reflection on you.” I cupped the phone to my ear, wishing I could reach through the phone and give her a reassuring hug. She meant so much to me. She’d been my rock and salvation when I might have crumbled. Crockett had no idea how lucky he was to have her.
“You were always the strong one, Dakota,” she said, sending a surge of love radiating through me.
After I hung up the phone, I didn’t feel like the strong one. The threads holding my sanity together were about to snap from the strain. I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. When I opened them a few minutes later, the first light of day filtered in gray and pink beams through the blinds of my bedroom window. A day had passed since Sam had taken me to bed, but I felt like I’d aged a year.
***
After a brief phone call to the jail for details about Crockett’s situation, I met with him. He was allowed a fifteen-minute visitation. It broke my heart to see him wearing handcuffs and a neon orange jumpsuit. He sat across the table from me, refusing to meet my gaze as if I was the one who’d disappointed him and not the other way around.
“How long until you can get me out of here?” he asked, sullen gaze trained on the far side of the room.
“I can’t get you out this time,” I said, steeling myself for his anger.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” An uncomfortable beat passed. “Your bail is super high. I don’t have enough money to get you out.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d been living from paycheck to paycheck for the last year. Any spare cash went to support my mother. By the time I paid rent, there was little left for anything else.
His knee bounced up and down, belying his frustration, and he ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “What about Mom? Can she help?”
“Leave Mom out of this, Crockett. You know she doesn’t have any money.” My voice rose, buoyed by anger. “She agreed that you need to stay in here for the time being.”
“What about the condo? She can put it up as collateral.”
“No.” I slammed a hand on the table between us. The guard narrowed his eyes, and I sat back. “You selfish little shit,” I hissed. “I’m so mad at you, Crockett. You promised to straighten up after the last time.”
He hung his head and studied his hands resting in his lap. “You’ve got no right to judge me.” The amount of self-righteous anger in his voice stiffened my spine. He’d never spoken to me like this.
“I’ve got every right,” I said, barely holding my temper in check. “I’m the one who’s paid your lawyers and the fines. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to keep you out of trouble, and you don’t appreciate any of it.” Blood thundered through my head, making my temples pound. “You’re twenty-six years old. Mom didn’t raise you to act like this.”
“You think you’re so much better than me with your fancy job and your education. We both know you didn’t get where you are by following the rules.” His face scrunched up the same way it had when he was seven, and he didn’t get his way. “You and I are the same, Kota. We’re just playing different games.”
I sat back in my chair, wounded by his accusations. Everything I’d done had been for his benefit, and he wasn’t the least bit grateful. The realization put my efforts into perspective. Life was all about making choices. I’d made bad choices for good reasons. The best I could do was to learn from my mistakes and do better. It was a lesson Crockett seemed unable to comprehend and one I’d prevented him from learning.
“Time,” the guard said. He stepped toward Crockett and twirled a finger in the air. “Wrap it up.”
Crockett stood. “I can’t believe you’re going to leave me here.” He changed tactics and managed to look contrite. “Come on, Dakota. Please help me.”
At his pleading words, my eyes blurred with tears. I watched the guard lead him away. He looked small and scared, a ghost of the fragile little boy he’d once been. As he walked through the steel door and disappeared, I tried to remember that I wasn’t responsible for his poor decisions, nor was he responsible for mine. I’d divorced Sam to save Crockett, but I’d only ruined us all. Maybe if I’d let Crockett face the consequences of stealing Mrs. Seaforth’s jewels, he wouldn’t be here now. I stood and walked out of the jail, leaving my baby brother behind. Next to leaving Sam, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
CHAPTER 28
Dakota - Now
A MISTY RAIN shrouded the city as I entered the building on Monday. I arrived late, following a dentist appointment, feeling the trajectory of my life had forever been altered by the events of the weekend. Butterflies whirled in my stomach at the thought of seeing Sam. I had no idea how he felt about our tryst. I could only assume by the way he’d left my apartment in secret that the encounter had meant nothing to him, while it had meant everything to me. With a sigh of resolve, I squared my shoulders and prepared to do battle. My heart might be broken, but innate strength flowed through my veins and shored up the tattered walls of my defenses. I’d been through a lot in my twenty-nine years, and I wasn’t about to give up now. If I did, it would mean all my efforts had been in vain.
Muriel brushed past me as I closed up my umbrella, clutching a cardboard box in her hands. Tears streaked her cheeks. Two building security officers flanked her side. She was so intent on leaving that she didn’t even notice me. I scurried after her, concerned, and touched her arm before she reached the revolving door.
“Muriel? What’s wrong?” She turned to face me with red-rimmed eyes. I saw the items in her box—a framed pho
tograph of her cat, a wilted ivy plant, and a plaque. “Oh my God.”
“I got let go.” She sniffed. “Reduction in workforce, they said.”
“No. That can’t be right.” Muriel played an integral part of the marketing team and her work had always been above par. No one in their right mind would let her go.
“Please, Ms. Atwell,” said one of the security guards. “We have instructions to escort Ms. Green off the property.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said to Muriel. She smiled through her distress, brave soul that she was. “Call you later?”
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” With a resolute squaring of her shoulders, she pushed through the revolving door and disappeared into the cityscape beyond.
When I entered the reception area of Harmony Enterprises, an eerie silence prevailed instead of the usual friendly banter. As I walked along the aisle to my cubicle, a few pale faces glanced up from computer monitors. A dozen or more desks sat empty. No one spoke. I went straight to Sam’s office, bypassing Valerie completely. She opened and closed her mouth like a landed fish sucking in air but let me pass. I knocked twice on the door and entered uninvited.
Dahlia sat on the corner of his desk facing Sam. She wore a tight red skirt with a slit up the side, revealing a slender stretch of calf and a trim ankle. Her left hand rested on his shoulder. Their laughter ended abruptly when I opened the door. Sam had been smiling, the full-lipped, white-toothed smile that always made my chest squeeze. He used to smile at me with the same brightness. It faded when his eyes caught mine. My stomach did a triple flip at the sight of him.
“Can I speak to you a minute, Sam—I mean, Mr. Seaforth?”
Dahlia’s eyes narrowed at the familiar address. Her gaze swept over my white suit, the navy ruffled blouse and my blue-and-white spectator pumps. I’d put extra care into my outfit that morning and, by the catty gleam in her eyes, had chosen well.
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