by Nina Levine
Fuck.
I shrug as easily as I can manage. “I have no idea,” I snap. “Does it matter? He obviously thinks this information will help him, so can you just think back to that day please?” I’m going to need a strong drink after this visit.
Her gaze darts away from mine, and she looks beyond me. A long few moments stretch between us before she finds my gaze again. “I’ll have to think about it.”
The tightening in my chest intensifies and as much as I want to slam my hand down on the table and scream at her to try harder to recall, I maintain my calm. Nodding, I say, “Okay. He also needs to know if you ever took the car to that car wash place down near the river?”
Her patience shatters and she stands. Looking down at me with more anger than she’s ever directed my way, she snarls, “I don’t understand the need for this information. And I don’t like the feeling I’m getting that you aren’t on my side. I’m your wife, Luke. The mother of your child! You promised to love me forever the day you married me. For better or worse, remember?” She bends her face closer to mine. “Well, this is the worse part of our forever, and you need to do better. I don’t want to see you again until you’re ready to do that.”
With that, she turns and stalks away from me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“She’s not going to give me the information you want.” I pace next to my car in the prison car park as I hold the phone to my ear and wait for his response.
“Luke, you know the score here. Either you get that information or we’ll be looking more closely at charging you for your involvement in that armed robbery.”
I grip the phone tighter. “You know I had nothing to do with that robbery.”
“What I know is that you were seen talking to the driver of the getaway car on the day of the robbery. Regardless of whether I can prove any involvement, I can sure as hell screw around with your life while I try. Do you really want that for your son?” His smug voice makes me want to reach through the phone and rip his throat out.
“No, Detective, the question you should be asking yourself is whether you want to put my son through that after every-fucking-thing he’s already been through. I’ve given you all the evidence that proves without a doubt that Jolene committed this murder. I have no responsibility in helping you prove she committed the other one you think she did. And my family has the money to take this further. I’ve played along with this for long enough; now it’s time for me to get my life back. I’ll see you in court if I have to, and don’t think for one second that I haven’t been keeping records of all this because I have.”
I don’t wait for his response before ending the call.
Taking a deep breath, I run through what I need to do.
First things, first—my mother.
Fuck, can this day get any worse?
“Luke!” My mother throws her arms around me when I arrive at the swanky hotel she’s having lunch in. She’s clearly been drinking, but that doesn’t surprise me. It’s what Estelle Ashcroft does well in life. That, and men.
I pull out of her embrace. Eyeing the guy sitting across from her at the table, I say, “Matt. I didn’t realise you two were seeing each other again.” Matt Breen and my mother have a friendship that has spanned roughly thirty years. He also happens to be the father of my half-brother, Tyler, after they had a brief fling. He’s been a constant in our lives and they often socialise. Yet, this lunch looks cosier than usual.
Matt’s mouth flattens. He and I don’t see eye-to-eye on many things—my mother being one of them. He likes to encourage her party lifestyle while I would prefer to see her settle down and get her shit together. Unfortunately, in her forty-nine years, Estelle Ashcroft has carried on her family’s tradition of drinking which her grandfather and father started. The fact she has old money behind her that won’t run out in her lifetime only assists her chosen style of living.
Before Matt can reply, Mum jumps in. “We’re not seeing each other, Luke. This is simply a lunch to discuss Tyler’s new job at Matt’s firm.”
“Because that requires a liquid lunch to discuss,” I mutter. Their body language screams sex, and I’ve spent my entire life watching my mother chase men—I know when she’s sleeping with one.
“Did you just come here to insult your mother?” Matt’s nostrils flare, but I couldn’t give a shit if I’m pissing him off. Nothing much changes in life.
“No, I came to talk with her about a private matter. Are you two nearly finished your lunch?”
Matt stands and drops his napkin on the table. “I have to get back to work. I’ll call you, Estelle.”
He levels one last glare on me before leaving us.
I take the seat he vacated. “Why are you going down that path again?” I ask.
She finishes the Cosmopolitan sitting in front of her—her preferred cocktail. Eyeing me over the rim of the glass, she says, “I’ve known Matt since I was nineteen, Luke. He’s one of my oldest friends. Just because we have lunch together does not mean we are sleeping together.” God, she’s smashed already.
I ignore the slurring of her words because if there’s anyone who can still function when she’s drunk, it’s my mother. “I need to talk to you about Jolene.”
Her face crinkles. “God, what is it now? What has that bitch done?”
“The police came to me about a month ago with evidence they have of another murder they think she committed. They asked me to get close to Jolene again in an effort to get information from her to help them prove her guilt. I told them no, but they threatened to haul me in for further questioning over that armed robbery from last year if I didn’t help them. So, I went back to Jolene and gave her a bullshit story to make her think I wanted us to be together agai—”
Mum cuts me off. “You’ve been seeing her for the last month?” Her words are riddled with disgust. It’s nothing I haven’t felt the entire time I’ve been part of this charade.
I nod. “Yeah, but only because I don’t need this shit with the robbery to come back and bite me in the ass. Sean needs me at home rather than in prison.”
“But you had nothing to do with that robbery.”
I sigh. “Right. But I did speak to Dermot when he was sitting in the fucking getaway car that day. That’s enough to register on their radar.” I will always regret approaching my old friend when I saw him sitting in that car. No good deed goes unpunished.
“Oh, this is complete and utter rubbish, Luke! They can’t hold that over your head.” My mother always did live in fantasyland. It goes hand-in-hand with never having to get a job in order to afford to live and being able to spend your days flouncing around with your socialite friends.
I rub the back of my neck and force a few frustrated breaths out. It will do me no good to lose my patience with her today. “They have and they are. But I told them today that I won’t do it anymore. I’ve come to ask you if you’ll help me with a lawyer if I need one.” I hate having to ask my mother for financial help, but I spent every last cent of my savings trying to prove Jolene’s innocence back when I thought she wasn’t a woman who could commit murder.
“Of course. You never need to ask me for help. Do you want me to call Barry?” Our current family lawyer.
“No, I want to talk to him myself and explain the details.”
She signals to the waiter to bring her another cocktail. “Do you need me to do anything else?”
I stand to leave. “No, there’s nothing else we can do except wait and see what this detective decides to do now that I’m not helping him.” My chest tightens with apprehension. I hate living my life this way, and it’s become all too familiar over the last two years. First, with waiting for the verdict on Jolene’s case, and now, with this. Always waiting for the police to make their next move.
Mum stands and wraps her arms around me. “You’re going to get through this, Luke. I know it must feel like a never-ending struggle to end this horrid marriage and get your life back on track, but soon y
ou’ll be free.”
If only life was as simple as my mother thought.
6
Callie
I type the fifth sentence I’ve managed to come up with this morning. I then delete that sentence and rewrite it, changing one word.
Ugh.
I hate it.
Delete.
Again.
Shoving my laptop aside, I move off the couch and stretch. I’ve been sitting here for two hours today trying to increase my word count on the novel I’m writing. I should have just stayed at the yoga class I did this morning. It would have been far more productive. I mean, hell, four lousy sentences to show for two hours work. It seems to be my new standard, though, and the reason why I’m not writing as much these days. I wish Avery hadn’t postponed our eBay shop work this morning. That would have kept my mind off how dejected I am over my writer’s block.
I switch on some music and blast it from my speakers. My closest neighbour is practically deaf; she won’t be bothered by the noise. Taylor Swift fills my living room, and I smile. Taylor offers me a happy place.
Heading to the front door, I decide to do something useful and check on my cats. Well, they’re not technically my cats, but I look after them. Strays always tug on my heartstrings.
Stepping outside, I call their names—the names I’ve given them. These two kitties have been with me for three months now. I’d move them inside, but my boy, Jasper, would have a fit. And I’m not sure how many survivors there would be.
“Callie.”
I turn at the sound of my name and smile as I see Mrs Harper approach. My almost-deaf neighbour has gotta be easily ninety. I’ve never asked her because that’s just bad manners. Mrs Harper made me feel welcome from the very first day I started living in this apartment complex three years ago. She turned up a few hours after I moved in and delivered two casseroles. ‘Because you won’t want to cook for a couple of days.’ She’s since learnt Mac and cheese is my go-to meal if I ever have to cook. Mostly I exist on salads and vegetables that don’t require much more than steaming, and meat that I can grill on my George Foreman. Mrs Harper takes pity on me some days and invites me over for dinner. It amazes me she cooks as well as she does, but she’s still smart as a whip.
“Hi, Mrs Harper,” I reply while filling the cat food bowls.
“I was just wondering if you’d be able to fill my prescription this afternoon, dear?” She has high blood pressure, which always worries me after my grandfather died of a stroke.
“Absolutely. I’ve gotta go out and grab some more cat food. Do you need anything at the supermarket?”
She shakes her head. “No, thank you. Also, I know you were having some trouble with getting work at the cafe, and I just saw an ad in the local paper for a job there that you might be interested in.” She hands me a paper clipping.
“Thank you.” I look down at the clipping and note the job is for a journalist. Looking back up at her, I say, “I’m not qualified for this kind of work, unfortunately.”
She shrugs. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, dear. There’s no harm putting a resume in.”
“So true.”
She gives me her prescription and some money. “I’ve got a roast on. Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?” She eyes my body. “You could do with some fattening up, Callie. What have you been eating?”
She hasn’t seen my thighs.
They’ve been inhaling fat from the air. I’m sure of it.
“I’ve been eating well, Mrs Harper. I’d love to come over for a roast, thank you. What time?”
“Five sharp.”
I give her a smile. “I won’t be late.”
“You never are, dear. Your parents taught you well.”
She turns and makes the short journey to her apartment while I bend to pat one of the strays that’s turned up for food. “Hey, Mariah. Eat up, baby, before Cyrus comes and steals all the food.” She rubs against my leg before taking my advice.
I shower love on her for a good ten minutes, while also waiting for Cyrus, but when I hear my phone ringing, I say goodbye and head inside.
Swiping the phone off the kitchen counter, I check who it is.
Luke.
Butterflies instantly crowd my tummy.
“Hey, you,” I say softly, biting my lip.
“Callie,” he says, his deep voice almost a growl that only intensifies my butterflies. “Are you free for a few hours?”
I clench my thighs together. What would be the chances of breaking a sex drought with a guy you can’t sleep with again straight away? Only you, Callie, only you. “I’m about to go to the shops. Why?”
“I’m coming over to take you out for lunch. We’re going to start that friend thing you want today.”
“I can drive to wherever you want to have lunch.”
“No, I’ll come get you.”
“Honestly, Luke, I don’t mind.”
“I do.” His voice is definitely a growl this time.
Oh, my.
Why have I never dated a man with a voice like this before?
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
I drop my phone on the counter after we end the call and proceed to freak out. My hair is a mess, and I don’t know what clothes I have clean that I can wear. Because lunch with Luke demands the exact right clothes.
You should have asked him how far away he was.
Well, I was hardly thinking straight, was I?
Then, it hits me—this is my first real date with Luke. The butterflies that took over my tummy a moment ago completely consume me now.
Jesus, Callie, it’s not like you haven’t been on a date recently. Dating is kinda your thing these days.
Shut it. I don’t need your sarcasm.
Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on one thing at a time. First, my clothes and then my hair.
By the time Luke knocks on my front door, twenty minutes later, I’m presentable. Not as presentable as I would prefer, but given the short time frame, it will do.
Luke’s expression tells me that he doesn’t share my hesitation with my appearance. His heated gaze makes its way down my body, taking in the tight jeans I’ve thrown on with a black V-neck T-shirt and black leather jacket. He spends a moment checking out my heels before his eyes meet mine again.
“I thought you hated heels,” he says.
“Not for special occasions.”
He watches me in silence, processing that.
When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “First dates are special occasions.”
“So this is a date?” The sexy smirk forming on his lips shows me where he’s going with this.
“Not a full-service date, Luke, so drag your mind from the gutter.” But oh, God, I wish it was.
His smirk forms completely. “A man’s gotta take his opportunities when they come, Callie.”
I love this side to Luke. Throughout the past year, he’s hidden away from us, and while I now understand why, I’m sad that he has. I can only imagine the darkness he’s been living his life in over the last two years. Keeping that smile on his face has moved up my list of priorities.
Following him out to his car, I admire his body and wonder where he fits in the time to work out. Because my guess is that with the muscles he has, it would take many hours a week to maintain.
He leads me to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I love his old-school manners. And when he slides into the driver seat and says, “What’s your favourite place to go for lunch?”, I wonder what I ever did to have this man in my life. I’ve dated a lot of men—a lot—and I could count on one hand the number of them who ever opened my car door, let alone offered to take me to my favourite place to eat.
“I love that little Thai restaurant near your bar.”
He smiles and nods before turning the car onto the road. The one thing I notice though is that his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something is off with Luke today.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“So, I know that your father passed away a year ago and that you have a wife, son, brother, and sister. What else is there to know about the Hardys?”
I expect him to hesitate with his reply because he’s kept his life private for so long, but he surprises me. “Well, that would depend if you were asking about the Hardys or the Ashcrofts. My parents divorced when I was six months old, so there are two sides to my fucked-up family.” His tone is tinged with bitterness, and I don’t fail to notice the way he grips the steering wheel a little tighter as he speaks.
“Tell me about your mum. Are you guys close?”
“We’re as close as I allow us to be. If she had her way, we’d be a lot closer. It’s a shame she didn’t think that way when I was growing up.”
“She wasn’t around much when you were younger?”
He grunts. “No, she was too busy socialising.” He glances at me. “Mum comes from a very wealthy family and has never had to work a day in her life. She makes the most of that freedom. Tyler and I were raised by nannies mostly while she flitted from man to man. We have different fathers. His has been around for him, but mine didn’t have a lot to do with me until I turned twenty-one. He figured I was a man then and needed a man’s guidance in life. He missed the memo that I needed to learn that shit when I was younger.”
I thought I had issues with my family. I’m silently rethinking that. “Did you guys become close then?”
“Kind of, yeah. He did try.” He blows out a breath. “Fuck, the older I get, the more I realise I don’t know much in life, but I do know that things aren’t always black and white. People aren’t perfect, and my old man was the poster boy for imperfect. But in his own way, he loved me. Your definition of close might be a little different to Max Hardy’s.”
I’m intrigued to know more about his dad, but even more so about his sister, so I leave the questions about his dad for later. “You mentioned that Tyler and you were raised by nannies, what about Paris? She said you guys weren’t close until her mum died. Did you spend much time with her growing up?”