The Marriage Debt

by Waltz, Vanessa

  "We all have horrible impulses."

  "Ethan is a cancer throbbing inside me. I want him out." He spat the words.

  "You can’t force me to leave!"

  "I’m asking you to go. Please." He took my shoulders, his voice gentle. "We both need this, Naomi."

  "I—I don’t want to."

  "Neither do I. All I can think about is keeping you close, forever. We owe it to ourselves to give this a real shot. You can't decide unless you’re completely free of my influence, and I never gave you real freedom."

  "Fine." I stood from the couch, upset and confused. As long as it wasn't a final goodbye, I would give him space. "But I hate this."

  "I know." He wrapped his arms around me, fingers digging into me. "I’ll always love you. No matter what."

  * * *

  I gave Graham his space even though it killed me. His brief text messages offered zero comfort, but I didn’t want to push his boundaries.

  We needed space.

  Time away provided me the opportunity to mull over what I needed. I loved Graham, but I shouldn’t be involved with someone who was violent. It was a red line I couldn’t erase. If Graham wanted me back in his life, he’d bury the feud with his brother. Chances of that happening were depressingly low.

  Dad coughed a storm as he flitted about the kitchen. He kept trying to distract me by asking me questions he had the answers to.

  "I forgot," he said as he salted the gravy. "What’s better? Kosher salt or iodized?"

  Was he going to do this?

  "You know which is the best. You ran a restaurant." I was instantly rewarded with a wave of guilt, when he chewed his lip and turned away. "Sorry."

  "It’s okay, honey."

  We hadn't talked much since Graham showed up with me on his doorstep. Dad never said a word, but his worst opinion of Graham was confirmed. He patted me on the shoulder and took my suitcase to my room, promising a fantastic breakfast in the morning.

  The days passed with agonizing slowness. Dad watched CNN and argued with the television. I went to Loretti’s every day to stay busy. Daddy lavished my cooking with over the top praise. He tousled my head in reassurance.

  It was strange, him trying to cheer me up. We’d reversed roles, and I couldn’t find my return to the positive, supportive daughter I’d always been. He occasionally brought up Ethan, but I was quick to dismiss any mention of my ex. Eventually, I’d have to come clean.

  "Want me to turn on the game?" I asked, flipping the channel to ESPN. "It’s the Flames against the Vipers."

  He moved his cup to the side table and sank into his leather recliner. He sipped the green tea, mustache bristling at the taste. His hooded eyes sought me. "The Flames—isn't that Ethan’s team?"

  My mouth thinned. "Yeah."

  "How is he?"

  I shrugged. "I wouldn’t know."

  Dad leaned forward, unable to contain himself. "You haven’t said anything about him since you got here. He was a part of your life for years. It seems odd."

  "Because it hurts to think about him." I talked around a lump in my throat. "Both of them."

  "I’m sure if you talked to Ethan, he’d be more than happy to take you back."

  "Dad, I don’t want to see him again."

  Sighing, I muted the television.

  Then I told him everything.

  Graham

  I wandered into my parents’ crowded living room. Mom was a fussy woman who required a freezer overflowing with frosted martini glasses, squashy furniture, silk handkerchiefs for her hair, and the list went on and on.

  A mob of female voices chimed from where Mom sat, her molten copper hair stark brushing her creamy shoulders and flowing Alexander McQueen gown. Her friends were similarly dressed, looking like peacocks. They sipped cocktails while leafing through their bibles. I never understood why she bothered with Bible study groups.

  Mom held the book gingerly, as if she could barely stomach touching it, and spoke in her mild voice. When she noticed me, she broke off from reading.

  “Hello, Graham.”

  It was as though I were a casual acquaintance passing through.

  She closed her Bible and offered her cheek. I kissed her, inhaling a dozen floral scents. Mom's features were flawless from years of careful plastic surgery. I recognized her fake smiles from her genuine ones. She didn’t want me here.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Sorry to interrupt.”

  Everyone put their books away, losing interest in them at once. “Is that a ring on your finger? When did you get married?”

  Mom faced the woman, still wearing a sweet smile. “It was a small ceremony.”

  I guess it was. “Would you mind if I borrowed my mother for a moment?”

  Mom wasn’t in a position to deny me, not when the alternative was to let me be grilled embarrassing questions from her high-society friends.

  “If you ladies will excuse me for a few minutes," she said. "Lydia, take over for me?”

  I offered Mom a hand, which she took. She had tiny hands for such a tall woman—she was barely shorter than my father at five-foot-nine. She moved with a dainty elegance that was at odds with her personality. It always struck me as such unusual behavior. Now I saw it for what it was—manipulation.

  When we swept into my father’s office, she took the position of authority behind his desk. Her back straightened, eyes blazing.

  “You should have told me you were coming, Graham. I haven’t prepped anyone for the news.”

  Why we needed to prep anybody was beyond me. “I’m sure they’ve read all about it. Much as they like to play dumb.”

  She got right into it. “I cannot believe you did something so stupid. You’re supposed to protect the family’s interests.”

  “That’s what I’ve always done.”

  “Is that what you call the last few weeks?” She stood from the chair, her eyes shining. “I have never been so humiliated.”

  "Are you referring to my wife or the fact she was engaged to your other son?"

  Mom got quiet. She shut her eyes, her lash extensions sprawled over her cheek.

  “He is not my son.”

  I’d had enough of the charade. “You’re his mother. You carried him for nine months.”

  Mom had her reasons for abandoning Ethan, but she'd never shared them. After I met him and loathed him on sight, I didn't care what they were.

  All that mattered was that Mom chose me.

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk about your other son.” I blocked her when she tried to exit. “Why didn’t you tell us about him? Why wasn’t he part of our family, growing up?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  "He's hell-bent on destroying my life. I deserve to know why."

  Two small tears hung on her lashes. Was that all she could muster for her firstborn?

  “I hated him. Ethan’s father.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I met your Dad and fell in love. That’s it.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  Her tone turned feral. “It’s private.”

  Fine. “Then I’ll go in there and make a scene in front of your friends. I don’t give a shit about my reputation."

  "I care."

  "Then tell me.”

  Bitter tears streaked her face. She sniffed hard, seizing a napkin at my dad’s desk.

  “I was pregnant with you. I had to choose. Leave Jared and give up Ethan, or stay with him and lose you both.”

  “What?”

  “You have no idea what he’d done to me. If he found out you weren’t his—if I’d have tried to take Ethan away. He’d never be mine, so—so I said my goodbyes.”

  I gaped at her. “You could’ve gotten joint custody. Asked the judge for a protective order.”

  “Oh, Graham,” she said, patting my cheek. “You don’t understand these people like I do.”

  Buried behind her maudlin facade, there was some truth. Jared could've easily swayed a judge in his favor. He might’v
e made it so that it'd be impossible to see her sons. He would've done anything he wanted.

  “I had to let him go. I don’t expect you to understand." Mom dotted her face frantically. "Please don’t ever ask me about him again.”

  Pity twisted sharply in my gut. "You'll be happy to know that he grew up into a monster."

  * * *

  "You’ve looked better."

  I sighed, disappointed. "Hey, Blair. How’s school?"

  "Fine." She eyed me suspiciously, wrapping an arm around me. "Liam wasn’t kidding. Physical chemistry is kicking my ass. What’s new with you?"

  Besides wallowing in my despair? "Nothing much."

  Blair slid a paper bag across the white marble in the kitchen, her suspicion darkening. "I brought poppy seed bagels."

  "Thanks."

  I spilled one onto a cutting board before realizing I hadn’t eaten anything all day and still had zero appetite.

  My sister frowned, craning her neck into the other rooms. "Where’s Naomi?"

  I walled my heart with concrete before glancing at Blair. "She’s at her dad’s."

  "Oh." Blair sucked in her bottom lip and chewed. "Had a fight?"

  I sighed. "Not exactly."

  "You seemed to get along really well." Blair hovered close, her presence melting my defenses. "If I didn’t know better, I would’ve guessed you were several years into your relationship."

  "You don’t understand."

  "So explain it."

  Blair crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. I didn’t blame my sister for her fix-it attitude. The scientist in her wanted to test her hypothesis, but there was no way she’d get it. She grew up on the other side of the fence. Dad hadn’t groomed her to be the head of the family. She had clue about our family’s mafia connections.

  She had no idea I broke his arm.

  "I’m dealing with stuff I don’t want her involved in. Things you couldn’t begin to understand without being in my position."

  "Like Dad’s cozy relationship with organized crime? Yeah, I know."

  My mouth went dry. "You do?"

  She looked frustrated. "I read the news, Graham. You treat me as though I’m a kid, sometimes. I’m fully aware you’re brushing elbows with our dirt bag cousin Damon. I know all about the fake charities, the under the table bribes, and the manipulation of the political system. Why do you think I don’t want anything to do with our family’s money?"

  I sank into a breakfast bar stool.

  "You really thought I was in the dark? Oh, Graham." Her voice was incredulous.

  I leaned over the counter, palms swallowing my face. "You knew the whole goddamned time."

  "Yep."

  "Are you disgusted with me for living like this?"

  "Never," she said. "I’ve got nothing but love for you, bro."

  "Back at you." I chucked her under the chin, and she jerked her head out of my reach.

  "So why is she gone?"

  "I’m not a good person because I hate him so much. I can’t have her around me when rage consumes me."

  Blair’s mouth thinned into a white line. "You need to let go of it."

  "Fat fucking chance."

  "Look at what it’s done to you," she boomed when I walked away from her. "It’s wrecked your marriage."

  "What do you care?"

  "You miss her." Blair gestured at the two bagels left on the counter.

  "I’m depressed because I won’t eat?"

  She shoved the bread back into the paper bag and rolled it shut. "Do you want to live your life as a bitter, old man?"

  I unclenched my fists. "No."

  "Then stop acting like a martyr. You’re not Pablo Escobar."

  Blair’s emerald stare bored into my soul and unlocked the padlock chaining my heart.

  "You’re my brother, and I love you. No matter what."

  "I’m no good to her like this." My stomach caved in. "I just can’t."

  "Then go to Ethan," she insisted. "Forgive him."

  Graham

  I sent an email to Ethan.

  Blair was right.

  If I didn’t purge this hatred from my veins, I’d never deserve Naomi.

  My stomach clenched when he stepped out of the elevator. Suppressing the instinct to punch his face wasn’t easy. A hint of a sneer graced his high-boned features as he took in the atrium filled with flora and the waterfall.

  “Nice digs,” he said.

  I hated everything about him, from his Ralph Lauren polo to his khakis. He looked ready to hit the golf course.

  “Where’s Naomi?” he asked.

  “She’s not here.”

  Something from my tone must’ve hinted at problems.

  He was a bloodhound for vulnerability. "Trouble in paradise?"

  I shot him a look. “Don’t.”

  “God, you’re so easy to taunt. It’s even not fun anymore.”

  “I want this to stop. I want to quit hating you with every fiber of my being.” I shook with adrenaline. “But when I look at you—“

  “—You imagine my hands all over Naomi. Grow up.”

  “No, I was going to say I see me."

  Ethan absorbed that with a dead-eyed stare. "We’re nothing alike. Is that why you broke up with her?”

  “We didn’t break up. I let her go.”

  "What’s the difference?"

  I couldn't tell if he was being intentionally obtuse. "She needs to choose me. I can't force it down her throat."

  "Well, that’s one difference between you and me. I would’ve never turned her loose.” Ethan chuckled, shrugging. "I guess you had your reasons."

  Inviting him over was a terrible idea. We weren’t any closer to a cease-fire.

  I slammed a tumbler on the bar cart and poured a shitload of gin. It tasted like tar. I didn’t care. If it made staring at Ethan’s face easier, great.

  Ethan seized a glass and made himself a martini. After dropping an orange twist in the drink, he wandered into my library. He gave the wall-to-wall shelves an impassive glance. Then he fingered the green hoodie Naomi left on a chair. He touched the sleeve with a sad smile. When he noticed my presence, his softness faded.

  “I apologize for the arm," I said. "That was over the top.”

  Ethan studied me as though to gauge whether I was sincere. Finally, he nodded.

  “This makes us square,” he said in a ringing voice. “And for what it’s worth, I regret being an asshole in school.”

  “Enough damage has been done.”

  "Agreed." He stepped closer, eyes flashing. “And I want a relationship with my sister.”

  "I don’t think so." That was harder for me to agree with. “No.”

  He didn’t raise his voice. “Why shouldn’t I get to know her?”

  “You hurt people. That’s what you do.”

  The sneer entered his tone again. “Both of you are determined to see me as a villain, but I’ve never broken anyone’s arm. I’ve never rubbed elbows with organized crime.”

  “Why do you want to talk to Blair?” I asked.

  “I need a reason to communicate with my sister?”

  Half-sister, I nearly gritted through my teeth. “Fine. She can do whatever the hell she wants, but my wife is off limits. Forever.”

  He stuck out his hand. I stared at it as though he offered a poisonous snake. Plenty of misgivings shone from his eyes, but I shook his hand. If both of us kept our word, maybe this would be worth it.

  “Do you—do you want to see Mom?” I asked.

  I could imagine the idea rolling in his head. His eyes had gone dead again, and I couldn’t tell how he felt about it.

  “No.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. Apparently, neither did he.

  “Well, this has been interesting, but I have to get going—oh.” He snapped his fingers. “One more thing."

  I braced myself. "What?"

  He reached into his pocket, made a call, and spoke one word: "Now."

  Smiling, he
tucked the phone in his pants.

  "The hell was that?"

  His energy shifted. Storm clouds gathered above him and darkened his features. He changed from calm acceptance to deadly menace, and then pain darted my heart. Everything he’d said was a lie. He was a cat playing with his mouse.

  "The police are on their way," he boomed. "I’ll save you the suspense. You’re under arrest on suspicion of arson."

  "Is that a joke?"

  "Loretti’s is gone. Of course, you’d know that if you’d bothered to pick up your phone."

  My insides collapsed.

  I turned it off because I wanted a break from the endless litany of gossip articles and speculation about whether or not my marriage was over.

  "What the fuck did you do?" I grabbed his shoulders, slamming him into the shelves. "Answer me."

  The elevator pinged. Boots stomped through the apartment. Several voices shouted.

  "Police!"

  * * *

  They slammed me into a holding cell. In an hour, I was supposed to meet the judge to be formally charged for burning down my wife’s fucking restaurant. The charges wouldn’t stick. I had alibis—my mother and sister were with me all day.

  What was he playing at?

  I wrenched my wrists against the handcuffs, pacing the three walls of concrete. A police baton rapped the bars as Ethan slid into view. An officer unlocked my cell, and my bastard of a brother strolled inside. He palmed the steel and slapped his hand.

  "They’re giving me an hour alone with you. I bet I’ll only need fifteen minutes."

  He wanted me to beg. I wouldn’t.

  The officer shut the cell, locking us in together.

  Rage throbbed in my gut, growing into a clawed monster that scratched and bit.

  He swung. The baton crashed into my ribs. I felt them break with a loud snap. It was searing, walking-on-hot-coals pain. I doubled over. Another blow knocked me flat, and then one caught my shoulder. Pain exploded like thousands of glass shards lodging into my nerves. He kicked me over, and I blocked with the cuffs. He smashed my hands and clobbered my side.

  Something deep inside me tore.

  A scream burst from my chest. He kicked me onto my back. The stick dug into my solar plexus.