“Our father’s a bastard. So, it’s actually worse, talking to me.”
“The timing wasn’t excellent, I give you that.”
“You think?”
“But it was real, all right? My night with her was real.”
“I don’t fucking believe you.”
“How is it with Carter?”
Locke stills. And thank fuck, he drops his hand.
I suck in a huge gulp of air, then say, “Do you feel different with her? Better? Happier? Fuller? ‘Cause that’s what I felt with your sister. She made everything different. There’s a lot going on with me, man, more than I can admit, but Astor, she made me forget all that was wrong in my life and became everything right.”
“You made her think she was nothing but a bet.”
“Not intentionally.” I rub my throat, but I’m wishing Locke would strangle it again. I hate that I did this to Astor. “I was caught up in…her. Wasn’t thinking about any sort of repercussions, because what we did was pure. Honest. It was only in the aftermath that I—that things went to shit. And she hasn’t believed me since. It’s why she hates me, man. And it’s taken me a long time to stop hating myself enough to want to do something about it.”
Locke’s head comes up. “And are you? Do you want to? Fix things with Astor?”
“More than anything.”
The words come so easy, and taste pretty sweet on my tongue, too.
Locke digs a hand into his hair, but he’s not breaking our stare. “I want my sister to be happy. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Our dares were fucked up. I’m the first to admit it, for obvious reasons.”
I nod in agreement.
“Astor thinks we’ve never grown up from it. That we’re still those guys who fuck shit up and bang chicks for fun,” he continues. “If it weren’t for Lily…hell, Astor would just be waiting to throw more screwups in my face. If you can make her understand that what happened in college was nothing like what she thinks, well, I wish you luck, man. Because she’s not easily convincible.”
“You’re tellin’ me.”
I’m also waiting for the right moment to admit I want more than the truth from Astor. I want her. I would like her beside me when the truth sets me free—all of them. But I don’t know if he’ll be okay with it.
“We’ve been friends a long time,” I say to him.
“Yeah, we have.”
“We’ve never come to blows.”
Locke sighs. “No. We haven’t.”
“Locke, I—”
He holds up his hand. “Let’s table this for now. I have to go or I’ll be late for the boys.”
I nod, relieved and disappointed I can’t completely unload.
“I’ll see you later, bro,” he says while swinging on his sports bag.
“Yeah. See ya.”
Locke leaves, and I bask in the peace and quiet for a brief moment before starting my life up again. On a sigh, I heave on my jacket.
The doors burst open, drawing my attention, and a trio of men in suits barge in, devoid of any gym bags.
I say to them while zipping up my coat, “No aliens in here guys, you might want to try the women’s change room next.”
Right at the moment I look up and recognize the smirking guy on the left—what the hell is Mike doing in Brooklyn?—the one in front says, “Ben Donahue?”
“Yeah,” I say on automatic. “Who’re you?”
“Altin Yang. A pleasure. We have something to discuss, you and I.”
26
Astor
2 Hours Earlier
My heart’s at my feet.
It’s like trying to walk on the bottom of the ocean when I move, but I push through the barrier and get out of the hired car, hook my tote on my shoulder, and step through security of my firm’s building as if it’s any other day and not the one where I ruin Ben’s life.
“Miss Hayes, you’re late,” one of the security men, Mortley, jokes.
My usual mornings consist of getting here at 5:30, six if I’m slacking. This morning I’d been planning to arrive at—gasp—7:30, after talking to my brother, but I guess Mortley will just have to accept I’m here at a random, unpredictable, half past six.
“Big day?” he asks as I fish for my swipe card.
“Always,” I try saying in my usual voice.
“You okay, there?”
I can’t turn my attention from my bag, to him. If I do, I’ll see concern, and I have to fix this mess before I worry about insulting a security guard I’ve known for two years and who’s always been kind to me.
“Yes…I’m…uh, I can’t find my swipe card…”
“It’s alright, Miss Hayes. Go on through.”
“Are you sure?” But I’m already pushing through the waist-high turnstile next to his desk.
“You are who you say you are, unless you’re an agent with a Mission Impossible human mask.”
Mortley chortles at his own joke.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “And I’m sorry I forgot to bring you coffee this morning. It’s been a crazy day.”
“Not even sunrise, and you got crazy in your day. You need the caffeine more than I do.” Mortley winks. “See you soon, dear.”
I wave as my heels clack across the polished marble and to the hallway of elevators. One comes immediately, and I rehearse what I’m going to say to Taryn, to Yang, to fucking Mike.
Each of them have a very different outcome.
The matte metallic doors slide open and I step through, into the firm’s lobby area, sparse in furniture but chic with uncomfortable white leather chairs and a half-circle receptionist’s desk. No plants are allowed, because nobody in the office ever remembers to water them.
The floor is also sparsely populated, as most high-level attorneys like to pull all-nighters rather than come in at dawn.
I’m half-walking, half-sprinting down the hallway of glass-sided offices when I see Taryn at the other end, flying out of one of the conference rooms.
“Taryn!” I say.
She glances over at me, then scurries to meet me halfway. “Astor, where have you been?”
“Battling bridge traffic. How much do they know?” I say while still walking to my cubicle. Taryn keeps pace close to my side.
“We hadn’t gotten all the way to the check’s endorser, but I had some emails with your theories. A lot of our work on the cloud has been deleted. Do you know anything about that?”
I keep my face carefully blank. “Nope.”
“I’ll ask about that later,” Taryn says pointedly. “Considering the hellfire occurring right now. Mike found the emails between you and me that I kept in a personal folder. He’s saying the boy is Ben Donahue. That famous NFL player. Can you believe it? Don’t you know him? Or your brother? Something like that?”
“Yes,” I say through my teeth.
“What kind of protected witness goes into the NFL? What kind of fuckery is this?”
I ignore her questions. “What’s Yang’s plan? And where’s Mike?”
“They’ve already left.”
I stop in my tracks, and Taryn stumbles to a halt a few steps ahead.
“Come again?” I say.
“They left to track down Ben Donahue.”
I hold up a hand. “No. No, that can’t be. That’s not Yang’s style. He’d want a plan of attack, he’d sit down and delegate—”
“Not this time. There’s too much pressure, and the state as put an offer on the table for Garcia and Lopez.”
“There’s a plea deal?”
“Looks like. And Yang wants to see what Donahue knows before that prosecutor does, then come to a decision with the defendants.”
My tote thunks to the floor. I dig my hands into both sides of my head. “Jesus. No. We have to stop them. Do they even know where Ben is right now?”
Taryn looks away.
“Taryn? Taryn, talk to me.”
She nibbles on her lower lip before saying, “Mike knew.”
&nbs
p; “How?”
For some reason, that one-syllable question is what cases Taryn to break. She hisses, “He’s your fiancé, Astor! How do you not know? Why didn’t you see what Mike was doing behind your back? Or is it me who’s the moron? All the work you and I put in, all the hours, the effort—it’s gone. Turned to nothing, because you went behind my back and teamed up with Mike—”
“I didn’t tell that asshole anything.”
The way I seethe the words makes Taryn hitch back a step. “I don’t think just because we’re the only female lawyers we should be friends. But we at least need professionalism. Why should I believe you?”
“Because Mike and I aren’t together anymore.” I hold my hand up so she can see my ring finger. The barest indent remains on where my ring once was. “We broke up last week.”
If I were feeling the ocean before, Taryn’s feeling it now. Her mouth opens and shuts, like she’s sucking for air. “And you decide now is the best time to bring it up?”
“It’s been complicated. And personal,” I add. “I didn’t think it had anything to do with my work—”
“Apparently it has everything to do with it. I knew Mike was underhanded, but now he’s pissed and underhanded. Willing to make you not exist.”
“Well, I’m not gonna let it happen. Where did Mike take Yang?”
“Ben works out every Wednesday. Mike had this information, and knows where his gym is.”
“But that’s not possible. Ben’s not at his gym on Wednesdays. He goes to Brooklyn to work out with my brother…” I trail off as my stomach rises into my throat. “Shit. Oh, motherfucker.”
I race the rest of the way to my cubicle, with Taryn following close behind. Her voice is nothing but background to my fears as I drop everything onto my chair and dig for my phone. When I tap in my passcode and open it to my calendar, my fears are confirmed. Locke’s routine meet-up with Ben is in my phone, since he and I often trade schedules due to Lily.
“My calendar’s still synced with his,” I mumble through the thickness in my throat, but Taryn hears.
“Mike’s out for blood, Astor. And we’re already on the ground. We’re splayed out, bloody victims of Mike’s betrayal.”
“We’re not,” I say as I shove my phone back in my bag. “We’re going to go there, confront them, and stop this.”
“Stop it? Why?” But Taryn’s rushing for her coat, thrown over her chair in the cubicle next door. “We want to be a part of it. Yang needs to know how much work we put in. That if we hadn’t, Ben Donahue would never have been found.”
And that, right there, is what’s making me sick.
“I’m all too aware of that,” I say, all while in an attempt to school my expression. “And I’ll make sure Yang knows your part in this. Mike isn’t going to steal the show. Come on.”
Taryn keeps up at my side as I punch in coordinates for another car to pick us up. At this point, it’s way too late to beat them there, but there could still be time to—
To what? Save this?
Or save face in front of Ben?
God knows what he’s going to think when Yang and Mike rush him. Shock, betrayal and outrage will be the least of his emotions. Hatred might be at the top.
You did this.
I try calling Ben, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I frantically text:
Ben, whatever you do, don’t talk to Yang. Tell him no comment.
I shake my head at such an emotionless, numb words, then try again.
Ben, a man named Altin Yang is coming to see you. Ignore him. I’m on my way to explain everything. And I’m on your side, I swear. Please, whatever you do—
I hiss at my phone, drop it to my side, then lift it and stare at the screen.
“You okay?” Taryn asks while we’re in the elevator.
I nod absently, then type:
Ben, I didn’t mean to do this. I’m so sorry.
Too late. The elevators open to the lobby and I delete what I typed, rewrite my original text, and pray Ben reads it in time.
“Hurry,” I say to Taryn as we clear the expansive first floor.
“I’m doing all I can in these maniacal pumps,” Taryn pants beside me. “They’re not meant for marathon sprints with you.”
I can’t feel my toes anymore. Or my cheeks, or my heart.
I rush out of the building much faster than I went in.
Twenty minutes later—record time for getting from Midtown to Williamsburg—I’m pulling up in front of Locke’s gym.
Ben hasn’t answered any of my texts or calls, and, in a desperate attempt to make some kind of contact, I called Mike, but he didn’t pick up, either.
I open the door before the driver pulls to a complete stop, who sends expletives my way, but I’m past caring as I stumble out of the vehicle.
Sensing Taryn behind me, I push through the gym entrance, ignore the person at the reception desk, and scan the work-out room frantically for Ben or my brother.
“Do you see them?” I ask Taryn.
Taryn peruses each and every male that’s lifting weights or pounding their feet on the treadmill, as if she knows who to look for.
She has no idea what Locke looks like, and probably has only a vague image of Ben in her head. Then again, I guess the man in a suit we work for would be easy to spot.
“I don’t recognize anyone,” she says.
We make our way past the equipment and a man in a neon green polo shirt telling us to stop immediately, and approach the men’s change room.
“Are we really—” Taryn starts, but I’ve already thrown open the door.
We almost plow into the back of Yang’s back, but I’m not noticing that. What I’ve picked up on is Ben’s face as he’s studying Yang, colorless and flabbergasted.
“Ben—“ I say behind Yang’s broad back. I’m even harder to spot with Mike flanking him.
Whether it’s my height, my proximity, or my relation to the men who’ve had ample time to nuke his carefully crafted world, Ben’s eyes go to me.
And they ignite.
Yang turns. “Miss Hayes. I was unaware you were going to make it.”
“Um,” I say, catching my breath, shockingly at a loss for words. But the way Ben’s looking at me…
“We hit bridge traffic,” Taryn pipes up beside me, remembering what I said to her earlier. “But we wanted to be here, too. Mike hasn’t been altogether honest with you about—”
“What ever do you mean, Taryn?” Mike’s soft voice cuts her off.
“Astor?” Ben’s voice, the best of them all, comes through. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“The…” Christ, I still haven’t found my voice. Speak up. “There’s been a mix-up…”
“We were just in the middle of explaining to Mr. Donahue, here, about his options,” Yang says, and it’s in a tone that warns against further unprofessionalism. “Perhaps you’d like a little privacy, Mr. Donahue?”
Ben blinks at being spoken to.
“Privacy?” he repeats slowly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve lost that. After you’ve brought three other people along with you.”
“Everything you say to us is completely confidential,” Yang lies.
It’s that untruth and Yang’s complete ability to smooth out any impropriety, whether it be to extend a motion deadline or tell a man his life is about to be put back in danger, that finally releases my vocal cords.
“Don’t say another word,” I say to Ben.
Yang guffaws. “Excuse me, Miss Hayes?”
“Not. One. Word,” I repeat. “Get out of here.”
Ben looks between me and the crowd of people in suits—and one neon green guy behind us, frowning.
“Do it,” I repeat. “Ben, you have no obligation to speak to anyone here. Whatever you say to us will not be privileged—”
“Now wait just a minute—” Yang shouts.
“—and in fact can be made part of the court record for our defendants. So get out, Ben. Leave.”
&nb
sp; “It’s too late, Astor,” Ben says. “Your boss has already made clear what he knows.”
Ben enunciates Yang’s title like it tastes bitter and sour.
No, oh no. I suspected, but suspicion always contains some hope that you could be wrong. On the drive, I thought, maybe I could get here in time. Maybe I could stop this before it starts…
Except, I’m the one that lit the match.
“You can still walk away,” I plead to Ben. “You don’t have to say anything more.”
“Yeah, because it turns out, you said it all for me.”
When he says it, Ben’s words hit me like bullets. I recover enough to respond, “I didn’t say a word—”
“Without Astor’s elbow grease,” Mike says to Ben, “we’d never have figured out who you were. Hell, who knows how this trial could’ve gone. But thanks to her, we get to ask you some questions, see what you remember about that terrible, tragic night. Honestly, we all have Astor and Taryn to thank, who worked tirelessly to bring you forward as a witness.” Mike cocks his head at Taryn. “See? I told you I didn’t leave you two out.”
Mike’s attention then slides to me. “I’d never take credit for such detailed, thorough work that’s clearly the result of Astor’s sharp mind.”
My lips peel back from my teeth before I can stop them, and I hurl myself at Mike. “I hate you!”
Neon Green catches me by the arm. “Whoa, there, miss—”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Yang says to me, eyes wide. His hands are up like I’m about to pounce on him, and Mike hovers behind Yang’s form like Yang’s a protective father figure.
“Mike here is giving you due credit,” Yang continues, “and you’re snarling like a lioness and frankly, ruining what was an entirely professional and polite meeting of minds.”
I’ve lost all decorum. “Ben, listen to me. What Mike’s done—he accessed my private files. He brought forward information that was never meant to come to light.”
“So you had files on me, huh?” Ben says.
With each second that ticks by, I witness the trust in his eyes flicker out.
Daring You Page 20