The Blame Game_A Brook Brothers Novel

by Tracie Delaney

  His face contorted into an expression he’d never worn before—one of pure rage—and for the first time ever, Indie feared for her life. His nostrils flared wide, the telltale spittle at the corners of his mouth making her heart pound against her ribcage. His fingers tightened, and he curled his lips back from his teeth like a rabid dog.

  “Please,” she managed to croak. “You’re hurting me.”

  In an instant, he released her, staggering backward as though an invisible force had shoved him. Indie lurched over to the sink, coughing. She grabbed a glass off the drainer and filled it with water. She took a couple of sips. Her head was spinning, and her arms and legs felt weak.

  “I’m sorry. Shit, Indie, I’m so sorry. I never meant to do that. To hurt you.”

  She slowly turned around, her fingers holding onto the counter because if she didn’t hang on to something, she’d fall. Her legs simply couldn’t hold her weight.

  “Who are you?” she cried, her voice rasping and hoarse. “You’re like a stranger. What the hell has happened to the brother I love—the one I grew up with, who protected me from Dad’s fists?” When he didn’t respond but simply hung his head, she shouted as loud as she could manage, “Phil!”

  His head snapped up.

  She touched her throat, the skin feeling tender to the touch. “This has got to stop. This vendetta you’ve got going on against Jax is poisoning you from the inside out.”

  He nodded, and her heart leaped. Maybe he was ready to let it go. But then his expression hardened, his eyes like sharp pieces of coal in a face that held only hatred.

  “You’re right. It is poisoning me. It’s poisoning us.” He went to grab her arms, and she flinched. “See? This is what I mean. You’re acting like I’m the enemy. We need this over with, Indie, so we can both move on with our lives. I want my sister back.”

  “And I want my brother back. But I worry for you, Phil. You’re turning into Dad.”

  Another flash of rage crossed his face, and he clenched his hands. She flinched again, readying herself for his fists. But instead, his shoulders sagged.

  “I’ll never hurt you again, Indie. You mean everything to me.”

  She swept a tired hand over her face. “This is all wrong, Phil. If you go through with this plan, I’m scared I’ll lose you forever.”

  His lips curved into a smile, but it was cruel, without mirth or tenderness. “But that’s just it, Indie. The only way I’ll come back is after that bastard has paid the price for what his father did to our father. What he did to us.”

  Hopelessness settled over her like a heavy cloak she couldn’t shake. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. She was on a collision course, and the destination was utter destruction.

  “I promise you, sis, when this is over, we’ll go away somewhere. Just you and me. Somewhere warm with a great beach and a never-ending stream of cocktails. You only have to hang on for a little while longer. Can you do that for me, Indie?”

  She nodded, even as a silent scream inside her skull made her feel as though she was going mad.

  “Good girl. We’re really close now, Indie. Soon, you won’t have to see Jaxon Brook ever again.”

  He gave her a goofy grin—the type he’d had when they were kids and she’d looked up to her big brother with an adoration she could now barely remember. She forced a smile in return. He seemed satisfied because he left, clipping her under the chin on his way out.

  As the door closed behind him, Indie tottered into the bathroom on unsteady legs. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Despair, anger, regret—all warred for equal time until she thought her brain might explode.

  She checked out her neck in the mirror. Two fingers and a thumb were clearly visible on either side. She wouldn’t be able to hide this from Jax, which meant she had two choices. Actually, that wasn’t true. She only had one choice. The other one—to tell him that Phil had attacked her again—was a complete no-no. Jax would go crazy, setting off a chain of events she couldn’t hope to control. No, the only choice was to avoid seeing him until the bruises vanished. She wasn’t due to go to the basketball game for five days. That gave her plenty of time to recover. In the meantime, she’d have to feign overwork and tell him she was clearing her diary before the Thanksgiving holiday.

  She opened the bathroom cabinet and took out a couple of painkillers. After swallowing them, she went into the kitchen and grabbed some ice from the freezer and made a cold compress, which she held to her neck in an effort to reduce the swelling and bruising. Fortunately, Phil had let her go fairly quickly, avoiding too much damage. She’d wear a fashion scarf to work the following day. It wasn’t particularly unusual for her to wear that type of accessory, so no one would question it.

  She tossed the ice in the sink and went to bed, but sleep eluded her. She doubted she’d ever sleep soundly again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jax opened the doors that led onto the balcony of the penthouse suite. With less than six weeks until opening night, he had only five more bedrooms to finish on the floor below. He’d made a list of niggling issues for the builders to fix, and once that was done, the place would be ready. He couldn’t believe how much work he and the team had done in such a short space of time. It was incredible, really, and his chest swelled with pride. This is what he’d fought so hard for, what he wanted: a career to really get his teeth into that would also provide a haven for his entire family, a place for them all to be together.

  Well, almost his entire family. They still hadn’t heard from Nate. Jax had given up contacting him about Thanksgiving. He’d set a place and hope for the best but expect the worst. At least the rest of the clan would be there, and Indie of course. His chest felt light every time his thoughts turned to her. Such an unexpected curveball. He hadn’t meant to fall in love, yet from the very first time they’d met, he’d felt a connection to her that was so intense that he should have guessed their affair wasn’t going to be a mere fling.

  He had it all planned out. After the Thanksgiving dinner, he was going to bring her up here and make love to her on the enormous bed that dominated the center of the room. Then he’d lead her to the Jacuzzi, and with the hot water bubbling all around them, he was going to ask her to move in.

  He wanted her by his side. He’d hated not seeing her these last few days but understood how busy she was. And if it meant they got the entire Thanksgiving holiday together, then the time apart would be worth it.

  And that holiday started tonight. The Knicks game. He’d taken a risk, but she hadn’t been faking her excitement. And who knew—if she liked it, she might want to go more often. He missed going to watch the games.

  Jax glanced at his watch. He’d have to leave in thirty minutes. She was meeting him at the stadium rather than traveling up from Midtown only to have to travel back down again to MSG.

  He took a last look around the penthouse. Apart from the finishing touches of candles, massage oil, and forget-me-nots that he planned to scatter over the bed—which he’d organize on the night of the game—it was exactly as he’d envisaged. Thank goodness he’d thought to plan ahead and make sure the builders worked on this space before finishing off the third floor.

  Downstairs, he grabbed his wallet, checking inside to make sure he had the tickets. He dropped a quick text to Indie to let her know he was on his way. He glanced around, looking for his keys. Damn, where were they? He spotted them on the kitchen window ledge and snatched them up. He had his hand on the front door handle when someone knocked. Frowning, he pulled back the door. And his mouth dropped open.

  “Nate?”

  His brother gave him a half-apologetic grin, accompanied by a shrug. “Are you going to let me in so I can take a look at my investment or just stand there like a fucking idiot with your mouth hanging open?”

  “Jesus.” Jax enveloped him in a huge hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “Can we go inside? It’s fucking freezing. I don’t miss New
York winters.”

  “Wuss.” He stepped back to let Nate in and slammed the door. After giving his brother another hug, Jax clapped him hard on the back. “A phone call to let me know you were coming wouldn’t have been a bad idea.”

  “You know me,” Nate said, sauntering down the hallway, peering into each room as he passed. He shrugged out of his jacket and hooked it over the coat stand. “So gimme the guided tour.”

  Jax grinned. “You weren’t mad about me buying it, then? I did try to get hold of you. Several times.”

  “Nah,” Nate said. “I trust you. Besides, it’s better to be invested in Manhattan real estate than the stock market.”

  “Dad didn’t do too badly on the stock exchange. Gave us a good upbringing.”

  Nate’s expression clouded over. “I guess so.”

  Jax’s heart squeezed. Nate’s relationship with their father had always been a difficult one. He was much more like their mother in both looks and personality. Unlike Jax and the twins, who had green eyes, Nate’s were a piercing blue just like Mom’s. He was also introverted, like their mother, despite his job as an actor. No one ever quite knew what Nate was thinking, which was made more challenging by the fact that he rarely—if ever—shared what was going on inside his head. And he’d become even more reclusive since Thanksgiving three years earlier, although he wouldn’t tell any of his brothers what the catalyst had been to make him withdraw farther into his shell. Jax had given up asking, because whenever he did, Nate simply dug his heels in further and became more morose and distant.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Jax said.

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Don’t go getting all maudlin on me. Otherwise, I’m straight on a plane back to LA.”

  Jax grinned. “Okay. Let’s get on with the tour.”

  By the time they reached the penthouse, Jax could tell Nate was impressed. He asked lots of questions and showed a real interest in Jax’s long-term plans. Nate flung open the balcony doors and shivered as the wind whipped through his hair. After a brief look outside, he came back in and closed the doors behind him.

  “So?”

  “It’s terrific,” Nate said. “You’ve clearly worked your ass off.”

  Jax nodded. “Not there yet, but we will be. You’ll come for opening night?”

  Nate inclined his head. “Maybe. I’ve got a couple of big castings coming up, so providing I get the callbacks—if I get called back—in time, then, yeah, I’ll be here.” He wandered over to the bathroom and poked his head inside.

  “Speaking of castings,” Jax said, “when were you going to tell me that you never liked stage acting and that TV and movies were what you enjoyed?”

  Nate’s head snapped around. His jaw tightened, and tension radiated from his body. “Calum’s got a big fucking mouth.”

  “You should have told me.”

  Nate’s gaze became shuttered. “What does it matter now? I didn’t go into stage acting.”

  “No, but you considered it.” He breathed out a deep sigh. “Am I so difficult to talk to?”

  A heavy silence settled over them, the room thick with tension. He’d broached a difficult subject, and Nate was doing his usual—retreating. He glanced around, avoiding Jax’s eyes. But Jax wasn’t going to let his brother escape this time. Whether Nate liked it or not, he was going to talk—and Jax would stand there all night until he did.

  Nate poked his toe at a loose thread on the rug at the foot of the bed. Eventually, he lifted his chin. He pulled in his lips and gave a quick shake of his head. “You gave up everything for us. I guess I thought I owed you.”

  “Jesus, Nate.” Jax dragged an irritated hand through his hair. “You don’t owe me shit. I did what any older brother would do—what Mom and Dad would have wanted.”

  Nate shrugged. “Well, it’s all moot now. I’m doing what I’m doing, and you…” He glanced around once more. “You’re doing this.”

  Jax made a frustrated noise. “Next time, fucking talk to me.”

  A frown drifted across Nate’s face. “I’m gonna fucking kill Calum.”

  Jax laughed. “Get in line.”

  At last, he managed to bring a broad smile to Nate’s face, a rare expression that changed him completely. Although the brooding, moody look probably fit in well in Hollywood, Jax preferred to see the sparkling eyes and the cute dimples that reminded him of a younger, happier Nate.

  “Maybe over the holidays, we can take in a Knicks game. Haven’t done that in years.”

  At Nate’s suggestion, horror rolled through Jax. He glanced at his watch. He should already be at the game. “Crap! Indie. I’ve got to go.”

  “Who the fuck’s Indie?” Nate called after him, but Jax didn’t respond. He sped downstairs and ran into the kitchen. He grabbed his cell. Three missed calls, all from Indie over the space of a few minutes. Shit! He hadn’t even heard it ring.

  As he ran out the door and sped toward the subway, he called her over and over, but she didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Indie left work with a ball of excitement unfurling in her belly. It was stupid really. She didn’t know anything about basketball, but the fact that it was something Jax loved made her want to love it too—not to mention she hadn’t seen him for five days, and she missed him desperately.

  Unable to catch a cab, she jumped on the subway instead. After disembarking at Penn Station, she headed out onto Seventh Avenue. It was a bitterly cold night, the wind whipping around her legs and biting into her skin. Indie tugged her hat over her ears and tightened her scarf around her neck. The bruises that Phil had given her a few days earlier were no longer visible. At least she wouldn’t have to make up some lame excuse about why she needed to keep her scarf on once they got inside the stadium.

  She stood on the corner of Seventh and Thirty-Second, where she’d agreed to meet Jax. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes early. She bounced from foot to foot, the cold still biting, even through her thick layers and the shelter from the nearby buildings. She stiffened her spine, although that made her back ache. Crowds of people were on the streets, some wearing Knicks sweatshirts or brandishing other memorabilia, others still dressed in work clothes or walking fast in noisy groups of friends.

  She took another peek at her watch. He was late, which wasn’t like Jax at all. She felt around in her purse for her cell. She called him, but it rang out without him answering.

  “Where are you?” she muttered as she paced up and down and stamped her feet, trying to get some feeling back into them. She glanced down the street. There was a coffee shop not too far away, but if she waited in there, she risked missing Jax in the crowds.

  After another ten minutes had passed, she called him a second time and then a third. Still no answer. The streets were less crowded now that most of the people heading to the game had already gone inside. She and Jax would miss the start at this rate.

  She sighed heavily. Five more minutes—that was all the time he was getting before she went home. And boy, would he have to grovel to make up for this. She wasn’t so pissed at missing the game as she was at the likelihood of losing her fingers and toes to frostbite.

  That was it. She’d had enough. She glanced across the street as a cab pulled into the curb. A couple got out. Indie waved her arms and began to run toward it, but the cab driver must not have seen her because he pulled away. Damn. She looked left and right but was too cold to stand still, so she began walking up the street, toward the subway.

  She took out her cell to call Jax again. This time, she’d leave a voicemail and give him a piece of her mind. She didn’t get a chance to dial, though, because the phone was ripped from her hand, but when the assailant tried to snatch her purse, she held on as tightly as she could.

  “Help,” she screamed as she grappled with the mugger. She managed to wriggle free from his grasp and tugged harder on her purse strap.

  That was when she felt her cheek explode with pain. Her legs gave out beneath her. The last thing she saw was a h
ooded white male wearing a Yankees beanie pulled low over his ears as he ran away, her purse and cell phone firmly clutched in his grasp.

  * * *

  Jax ran up the steps from the subway and headed toward the corner of Seventh and Thirty-Second. He scanned the area but couldn’t see Indie anywhere. Every time he called, it went straight to voicemail, so she was either declining his calls, or her phone was switched off. He didn’t blame her for being pissed. He was more than thirty minutes late, and it was fucking freezing. She’d probably gone home. He’d head over to her place and beg for forgiveness. Goddamn Nate. Jax had been so thrilled to see his younger brother that he hadn’t paid Indie a second thought until it was too late.

  He was about to flag down a cab when someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you Jax?”

  “Who’s asking?” He frowned at a tall grey-haired man he was certain he didn’t know.

  “Your lady.” He pointed to the shop behind him. “She was mugged. I sat her inside my shop, and I tried to get her to go to the hospital, but she won’t listen.”

  “Mugged?” Jax brushed past the man and shot into the shop. He immediately spotted Indie nursing a hot drink. Her right cheek was about twice the size of the other one, her nylons were torn, and her coat was dirty and damp. She looked up, and when she saw him, she burst into tears.

  “Oh, baby,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “What happened?”

  She shook her head as she continued to sob, the shock clearly kicking in.

  “I saw the whole thing,” the shop owner said. “I ran out to help, but it happened so quickly. I know what he looks like. I can tell the police, but she won’t let me call them.”

  With one arm still around Indie, Jax removed his cell from his jacket pocket.

  “Who are you calling?” Indie said between hiccups.

  “Cole.”

  She sniffed and nodded.

  Jax quickly briefed his brother when he answered. Then he turned to the man who’d looked after Indie. “Thank you for taking care of her.”