I start shaking my head before he finishes. “I’m the lawyer. And if he tries to pull something, I’m your lawyer.”
He gives a small smile, even as the knocking on the door turns into an annoyed pounding. “I think they call that a conflict of interest.”
“Probably,” I say. Then, because I have no idea what we’re walking into, I lean forward and kiss him. When I break away, I inhale deeply and walk to the door. Opening it to…
“Nicole?” I ask in shock. She’s wearing a blond wig, possibly the same one she had on at her wedding.
I haven’t heard a single word from her this past week—not even in response to my text asking for her home address so I could forward her present. Her silence didn’t faze me, honestly. Given the way she and Damien carried on after their wedding, I figured they’d be busy on their honeymoon.
“You should try answering your phone,” she says with plenty of attitude, as if she hasn’t been sitting on two unanswered texts from me.
“Have you been trying to call me?” I ask, baffled by her sudden appearance, piled on top of the whole Glenn snafu.
“For half an hour,” she says, lifting her phone out of her pocket, face forward. I’m not sure what she intended to show me—all I see is a very graphic photo of her and Damien making out—but I step aside when she barrels ahead. I glance around outside, seeing the outline of her car at the end of the long driveaway, and shut the door behind her.
Two steps in, she sees Glenn on the couch. “Oh shit, you already killed him?”
“What? No! No one’s killing anyone. He’s asleep. He…”
“He was upset,” Jace says, “and the officiant from your wedding gave him a sedative tea.”
It’s a perplexing statement, but Nicole shrugs it off as if he’d made a comment about the weather. “Good. I’m glad he’s not dead. It would have really fucked up my plans.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, suddenly overwhelmed by all of it. “Haven’t you and Damien been away on your honeymoon?”
“We spent it in Washington, D.C.,” she says with a sharp-toothed smile. “With several detours to Northern Virginia.”
It takes me a good five seconds to connect the dots. Her location. The wig. That smile.
“You’ve been following Glenn around?” I ask in shock. This is what she chose to do on her honeymoon? I honestly don’t know whether to be touched or weirded out. Then, because the former emotion wins out, I add, “Did you find anything?”
She reaches into the crossbody bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out a thick manila folder. Shoving it into my hands, she says, “Merry Christmas, Mary.”
Jace clears his throat. “Is it illegal? Whatever he was doing?”
“Prostitution is still illegal in forty-nine out of fifty states,” she says. “Better yet, it would be very embarrassing for an uptight jackwad like him if the truth came out.”
I crinkle my face in disgust. “How long has he been doing it?”
It doesn’t matter anymore—my tests all came back clean—but for some reason, I still want to know. Maybe because I still grieve for the unhappy woman who thought she was stuck in that marriage, that life.
“Years,” she says.
Jace swears under his breath, and it’s obvious Glenn would be in serious danger of getting that beating if he weren’t currently snoring on my couch.
“Wait,” I say. “Did you know he was coming over?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Hence the several phone calls.”
“Then why’d you wait so long to call me?”
“Allow me some dramatic license!” she says. “I thought it would be better if we could hash it all out together, so I waited until he was close before I got in touch with you.”
“He was already here, Nicole!” I belt out in frustration.
She shrugs. “What can I say? It was our honeymoon, and we got kind of distracted at the last rest stop.” She waves at Glenn as he snuffles another snore. “Honestly, this is kind of a bummer. I was hoping to see tears. I wanted him to beg.”
“Because he’s an asshole?”
“Because he was an asshole to you,” she says, her eyes flashing. And, God help me, she does get to see tears after all, welling in my eyes.
Her phone buzzes, and she perks up. “Damien must have finished practicing his monologue.”
This confuses me because (a) he’s in the car (?), and (b) there aren’t any Danny Zuko monologues in Grease, are there?
I say as much, and she gives me her you’re an idiot look. “Not in the actual play, no, but Damien doesn’t allow himself to be limited by things like ‘supposed to’ or ‘it’s not in the script.’ He’s a free spirit.”
His director probably doesn’t love that, but given Damien just sacrificed his honeymoon to help Nicole dig a grave for Glenn, I don’t feel the need to say so.
“Thank you, Nicole,” I say, pulling her into a hug. She’s all angles, and it’s obvious she is not a hugger—frankly, neither am I, under normal circumstances—but these circumstances aren’t normal, and she may have just saved me and Jace—and Dottie, for that matter—a whole lot of trouble.
Nicole lingers for a second longer than I would’ve expected, and by the time she pulls back, her disgusted look is firmly in place.
“Please don’t do that again. Ever,” she says.
“Uh-huh.” Before she can run off, I dart over to the tree and retrieve her present. “Don’t forget your wedding gift.”
She takes it. Shakes it. “This better not be a toaster oven.”
“I can attest that it’s not,” Jace says. Then, sobering, he adds, “Thank you, Nicole. For everything.” There’s emotion underlying his words, and I feel choked up by that too.
Nicole acts disaffected, but I can tell she’s pleased. There’s a certain air about her—she’s not less prickly, exactly, but she wears it proudly.
She stops in the doorway and turns back. “We’re meeting Tina at Tea of Fortune at ten a.m. on New Year’s Day. Your presence is not optional.”
Then she leaves, and I stand there holding a folder full of what is, presumably, photos of my soon-to-be ex-husband in various stages of undress with prostitutes.
Flinching, I set it on a console table.
“I know I should confirm what’s in there,” I say, “but I don’t want to open that.”
“I’ll do it,” Jace says, a firm set to his lips. And he does. His eyes look stormy as he flips through the contents. Then he pulls out what looks like a thumb drive and pockets it. “It’ll be enough to get him to stay away. She made copies, and there’s plenty of backup.”
Relief and disgust war within me, relief winning out. “Thank God.”
“I’m sorry, Mary,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I sputter. “None of this is your fault.”
“I know, but this asshole treated you and Aidan like shit, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I wanted to throw him out on his ass, but if I had—”
“If you had, he would have figured out how to have you locked up for it,” I say firmly. “Which is exactly what he wanted.”
I can tell he’s seething with frustration, with helplessness, and I take his hands, needing him to know exactly what he means to me, and what it meant to me to see Aidan go to him earlier.
“And you don’t need to be sorry for the way he treated me, because in a roundabout way, it led me here. It led me back to myself, and it led me to you.” Emotion chokes my voice. “The way Aidan went to you earlier…it made me think. I know I’m getting way ahead of myself, and if this absolute freak show hasn’t completely scared you off, then maybe I’m going to do that now, but I…”
Fear pokes at me, telling me that I’m going to chase him off, that it’s too soon, that I should stop while I’m ahead (or behind), but I’m sick of listening to fear and judgment and what-ifs, and I’ve learned to push past them. So I finish, “Bu
t I love you. I love you. And I can see us having a life together, and it’s a life I like, Jace. One I love.”
The look in his eyes shifts, like the ever-changing ocean, and they’re so achingly warm as he pulls me to him, lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist, confident in the knowledge that Dottie’s with Aidan and won’t let him run out here—knowing that we’ll go in there together and make sure that he’s okay. Then Jace is kissing me, his lips warm and confident, and the hot press of them makes me warm inside. We lose ourselves for a moment, and then he pulls back, my legs still around him. “I fucking love you, Mary O’Shea, and I have no intention of going anywhere.”
There’s a stirring in the background, and then Glenn calls out, “What’s going on? Are you kissing?”
Jace and I exchange a look, and we both burst out laughing.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jace
I stayed at Mary’s house until after midnight last night. Glenn came to pretty quickly, and then Mary told him about the evidence she had in her possession. It didn’t take him long to figure out he was at a disadvantage and take off, although he made every moment in his presence unpleasant for all of us. Aidan was asleep by then, thankfully, but I haven’t had a chance to see him today, and it may be awhile yet.
I texted Amanda early this morning asking to see her today, assuring her it was legally in her best interest, since I knew she wouldn’t show otherwise. She replied saying she’d meet me at 11:00 a.m.
My hand is slick on the steering wheel of my truck as I drive down Main Street in Sydney. I haven’t been here in three and a half years, and it feels smaller and dirtier, like a pair of scuffed shoes I’ve outgrown. The same tired Christmas decorations line both sides of the street—candy canes wrapped with worn tinsel. I was so eager to come back after I was released from prison, to come home, but Sydney stopped being home a long time ago.
Amanda agreed to meet me at the gazebo in the park at the edge of downtown, but part of me thinks she won’t show. She’s never been one to make smart decisions. Working with Lester is proof enough of that.
I’m a few minutes early, but her old sedan is already parked next to the curb—the same car she’s had for over a decade. It’s cold today, so there’s no one else in the park other than a faded plastic Santa and several plastic reindeer. The city has reused them since Amanda and I were kids.
I pull into a space, grab the manila envelope off the passenger seat, and get out. My sister is huddled on a bench in the gazebo, sitting in the sunshine. She’s wearing a dark blue corduroy coat I recognize from before I went to prison and a gray stocking cap over her long, dark hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in person in years. She glances at me as I walk toward her, but she doesn’t get up to greet me, instead keeping her hands stuffed in her pockets.
As soon as I reach the top step, she says with a sneer, “What’s so all-fired important we had to meet on Christmas Eve? I’ve got baking to do.”
I come to a stop in front of her, but I’m towering over her, which is not how I want to have this conversation. So I take a couple of steps back and sit on the bench on the opposite side of the table, placing the envelope in front of me. “I know what you did, Amanda.”
Her gaze darts to the envelope. Then she leans her arm on the short wall behind her, a smug grin stretching her lips. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, little bro.”
“With Lester.”
Fear flickers in her eyes, but spite chases it away. “I think you’re confused. All that Asheville mumbo jumbo’s gotten to you. You’re the one who wronged Lester.”
“I know you fed him information about our family business.” My voice is tight, and I’m more emotional about this than I expected. “You’re the reason Hagan Construction failed.”
Her face pales for only a split second before she turns indignant. “Did you become a crackhead after getting out of jail?”
“No, Amanda,” I say calmly. Weirdly enough, I’m past being angry about her betrayal. I’m just sad and hurt. Amanda’s always looked out for number one, and I’ve never ranked very high on her list. Thankfully, Ben does. If she’s number one, at least she cares enough to make him a distant second on her list. “I have a good job and a good life.” I gesture toward the businesses at the other end of Main Street. “Far better than I would’ve had here.” Then, because I’m hurt and it’s almost certainly true, I add, “Probably better than you have now.”
“You’re probably stealing more cars and selling them for parts,” she snarls.
“Really, Amanda?” I sigh. “Give me a break. You’re the one with questionable morals.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I never hurt Dad’s business.”
Picking up the envelope, I rise from my seat and lean forward to hand it to her, then sit back down.
She takes it and quickly looks it over before her eyes return to mine. “What’s this?”
“Proof.”
Her face pales again, but it doesn’t take long for her self-righteousness to come back. “Proof of what?”
“Proof that Lester gave you money.”
“Of course Lester gave me money after Dad died,” she scoffs. “It’s like I said, he was there for us.”
“No, Amanda. Not just after. Before too.” I gesture to the envelope in her hands. “Copies of checks and proof of deposits, both before and after Dad’s death. There’s also an affidavit from one of Lester’s office workers who claims she heard you draw up the agreement—information for money.”
Her eyes round and she swallows. “So? I never did anything illegal.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask, even though I know she’s likely right. But that doesn’t mean I can’t scare her a little. “There’s no statute of limitations on felonies in North Carolina, remember?”
She gasps, and her gaze drops to the envelope.
“You claim I broke Mom’s heart,” I force past a lump in my throat, “but you did the same to Dad. He loved that business, and the thought of losing it killed him.”
“Yeah,” she says hatefully. Her head snaps up, and her eyes blaze with fury. “He loved that business more than anyone or anything—you, me, even Mom. It always, always came first.”
“So you decided to betray him?” I ask in disbelief.
“Oh please,” she scoffs, her disgust palpable. “Don’t sit there and pretend that you and Dad had some wonderful relationship. He was terrible to you too, Jace. Especially to you.”
“You sold him out, Amanda. We lost the business.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Please, it’s not like you wanted it anyway. You told him so. I tried to do you a favor, but then you insisted on trying to keep it running.”
“I had to find some way to support you and Mom,” I plead, although I’m not sure why I’m pleading. So that she’ll understand my motivations or because I want her to help me understand hers?
“I did you a favor,” she snaps. “Didn’t you just say you’re livin’ high on the hog in Asheville?”
“I’m only in Asheville because you turned your back on me.” My throat is tight, the grief damn near burning a hole in it. “I never would have willingly left Ben.”
“You left Ben when you went to prison!” she shouts, getting to her feet and looming over me. “Do you know what you did to him? What you did to me? I didn’t have anyone to help me anymore, especially after Mom died.”
“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” I ask quietly. Deep down, I’ve always known she was selfish, but I’d never considered it might go this far.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she demands, still furious.
“I want to start seeing Ben again,” I say calmly. I’m not feeding her rage.
She shakes her head. “What?”
“I thought I was pretty clear. I want to see my nephew. I’ve missed him. I want to be part of his life.”
“And I want to be the Queen of England,” she sneers. “We don�
�t always get what we want.”
“I have information on Lester too,” I say, looking her in the eye. “How he sold Dad and other business owners out. How he bribed his way into contracts. Some of it’s illegal. Some of it’s immoral. All of it makes him look like the slimy dirtbag he is.”
She takes a step back. “What the fuck?” She sucks in a breath. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“No,” I say, getting to my feet. “Not at all. I am turning that information in to the state attorney general, however, because the county prosecutor stinks as bad as three-day-old fish. We have proof that Lester bribed him and the judge to give me a stiffer sentence.” A slight exaggeration—it’s circumstantial—but the other stuff we have is more than solid to take care of Lester. “I’m just here to give you a heads-up about what’s coming.”
Panic has seized her eyes.
I gesture to the envelope. “That’s just a small portion of what we’re handing over next week. We already have an appointment to present the whole portfolio.”
“We?”
“Me and my lawyer.” No need to tell her my attorney is also my girlfriend. It might be a conflict of interest, like I joked with Mary last night, but she insists this is too important to entrust to anyone else.
“You’re giving them information about me?” she squawks. “You’re gonna get me sent to prison?” Her face reddens with rage. “Is that how you plan to see Ben? You’re going to try to take custody?”
“I don’t want to take Ben from you,” I say in an even tone. “But as you told me when I was arrested, we all have to pay for our crimes.”
She sinks onto the bench and sets the envelope down next to her. “You’d turn me in? Your own sister?”
“You mean like you turned your back on me? Your own brother?”
She seems oblivious to the tears welling in her eyes as she spits out, “I never took you as the vindictive type, Jace.”
“I guess there’s a whole lot about me you don’t know anymore, but one thing has never changed. I love Ben, and you broke both our hearts when you cut me out of his life. Having a relationship with him was all I ever wanted.”
Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club) Page 32