by Sara Cate
The only time my son actually calmed down was when he met Emma. I had nothing to do with those two years where he resembled a man instead of a boy. That was because of her.
Before he died, I envisioned all the terrible ways I would lose Preston. Overdose, drunk driving, getting involved with the wrong people. I never expected it would be like it was, a little too much fog around the mountain and a father who should have known his son wouldn’t check the weather.
At the funeral, I turned everything off that I could. I didn’t think. I didn’t feel. My eyes could not absorb the sights, Preston’s picture on the stage, the absence of a casket, my parents with tears running down their cheeks, my son engulfed in an anger that would never fade. The girl bawling into her hands across the aisle. There were so many images from that day that found their way into my memory, and her face throughout the service was one of them. I hated the pain she emitted, but I made myself watch it. I wanted to punish myself with her grief.
After the flight attendant brings me some coffee, I move to sit next to Nash. When he ignores me, I knock his knee with mine, until finally he pulls out his earbuds and heaves a sigh, looking in my direction.
“I saw you talking to the reps from that Dutch manufacturer. What were you talking to them about?”
“I was just talking to them.”
“I know the director. They have a good program based out of Amsterdam. Not that you need it, but it might be fun to look into it. They train all of their engineers in house.”
He levels his glare on me before I notice his jaw clench and he shakes his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My tone has gone cold.
“Where will Zara be while I’m in Amsterdam?” he snaps. When I don’t answer, he adds, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’d love that wouldn’t you?”
“Zara would be wherever Zara chooses to be, Nash. Where is this coming from?”
“How can I possibly compete with you? Who would want to? You’re so fucking smart. She was mine and you couldn’t stand that. You couldn’t stand me having something you wanted.”
Luckily the one flight attendant on our flight is at the back of the plane and can’t hear our conversation, but still, I grit my teeth and speak quietly.
“You wanted this, remember? This was your fucking idea. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with it a week ago.”
“No one can have an ounce of happiness around you unless you’re the one to thank for it.”
“You know what, Nash?” I argue back. “I think you like the competition. This isn’t about Zara for you. It’s about fighting with me over something, or someone—anyone.” This conversation is getting out of control fast, and I don’t care. He wants to fight, then we can fight. At least we’re talking.
He shakes his head. “Oh yeah, it’s always about you. You want all the thanks. All the control. You make the plans. We just follow through.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Nash. Are you high?”
“I wish.”
“Fine, you want me to move out of the way, Nash? Is that what you want?”
“Does it even fucking matter? The only reason I chose to share is because I knew you’d try to fuck her anyway. She’d be sneaking out of my bed to go to yours, wouldn’t she? You clearly don’t care about boundaries where your son’s girlfriends are involved.”
Growing irritated, I lean closer but my volume goes up. “Is this about the night of the ballet? She wasn’t your girlfriend then, Nash.”
When he turns toward me, his voice seething with hatred, my blood goes cold. “I’m not talking about Zara.”
As he pins me with his harsh glare, my mouth falls open. Before I can respond, he puts his earbuds back in and turns toward the window. My mind is racing as everything from the night Nash is referring to comes back to me. I have to fight the urge to throw up as my guilt assaults me again. I thought I could let it go, but apparently someone found out, and not just anyone, but my son.
36
One day before the crash
In my dream, Zara’s hand is working its way up my body, and as she touches my face, I let out a groan. When I try to reach for her, I can’t move.
She leans down and presses her lips to mine. “Wake up, Alistair.”
My eyes open with a jolt. The room is dark, but I can still make out the golden tint of her hair in the moonlight. She’s kneeling next to me on the bed, nested on her folded knees and staring at me with a pursed lip smile.
“Shh…” she whispers.
When I try to sit up, she presses me back down. “What are you doing here?” I mutter. My brain is still lost in a dream, and I can’t seem to process what’s happening as her hand cascades back down my bare chest. She bites her lips as her fingers grow dangerously close to my dream-induced erection. Quickly, I snatch her wrist before she makes contact.
“You don’t want me to touch it?”
I look toward the door, making sure it’s closed and my sons can’t see me in here with a twenty-year-old.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “No one knows I’m here.”
“What—” I move to ask what she’s doing here again, but I’m too afraid to ask. If I push her to answer, she might leave and this dream of mine will be over.
“I know you want this. I see the way you look at me, and I’ve been fighting this for so long. It’s crazy, I know, but I want you.”
This time when she leans down, I kiss her, attacking her lips with mine. She lets out a sweet moan as I dig my fingers in her blonde locks. Everything happens so fast. Her legs straddle my hips and she grinds against my erection. A husky groan vibrates through my chest.
“Oh my god, you’re so fucking sexy,” she whispers as she tears her top off. My hands palm her bare tits, and I want to come in my boxers right there.
This is really fucking happening. I have everything I’ve ever wanted right in my hands right now. It all feels so possible now, having her like this all the time. Who gives a shit if she’s my kids’ age? The chemistry between us is like electricity.
When she pulls my boxers down to release my cock, I realize she’s not wearing any underwear and I feel her bare pussy against my skin. Then, I’m inside her.
And it’s fucking heaven.
She’s riding my dick, and her moans fill the silent darkness. My fingers pinch the soft flesh of her hips as she thrusts herself on top of me. I watch her silhouette in the darkness as she pinches her own nipples and lets her head hang back.
“Oh my god, I’m going to come,” she moans a little too loudly.
“Come all over my dick, Zara.”
She freezes. At first I think it’s her orgasm, so I try to move her body for her, to keep the friction on my cock, but then her words cut through silence. They cut through my heart.
“Zara?”
I hesitate, trying to connect the dots here. Then I study her face in the moonlight, and everything comes crashing into place. A little too roughly, I toss her body off of me, making my dick ache as it slides out. The heat is sucked out of the room so quickly, I think I’m going to be sick.
“What the fuck?” I snap.
She covers her tits, sitting at the foot of my bed. “You seriously thought I was Zara?”
Quickly I pull my boxers up over my quickly deflating dick and climb out of bed. Trying to keep my voice down, but also wanting to fucking yell these walls down, I face her. “Of course, I thought you were Zara. Why else would I let you—”
I turn my back on her, running my fingers through my hair and wanting to scream. This was an accident. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t—
“Fuck.” The word bursts through my lips. “My son hates me enough as it is. Why the fuck—”
“Preston and I aren’t happy anymore. I know he’s cheating on me. I know he has been for a while.” She’s crying now, and I’m too fucking mad to feel bad about it.
“So you break up
with him, you don’t—god dammit.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries.
“Cover up, Emma.” I manage to make it a little less harsh as I hand her the T-shirt she was wearing.
“What’s wrong with me?” Her voice is a little louder than I’d like it to be, so I sit down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Fuck, I’m not good at this. I need to get her out of here so I can pretend it never fucking happened.
“Emma, you’re a beautiful girl.”
“But you want to fuck my sister.” She sniffles.
“Your sister isn’t dating my son.”
A sob shakes through her, and I try to quiet her again. This time I apologize. For what, I don’t know. My dipshit son cheating on her. Her thinking there’s anything wrong with her. The pain she’s feeling. The rejection.
“I thought you liked me. I thought you wanted this,” she whispers as her cries start to subside.
I don’t answer her because I can’t lie to her. I can’t tell her that when I was looking in her direction, it was because her sister did steal my attention. I can’t tell her she is beautiful, but it’s that dark expression on her sister and the wisdom behind her eyes that draws me in.
“Emma, you need to go back to your room.”
“I know,” she mumbles. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
The room sits in silence for a moment before I run a hand along her back. “No, I won’t tell him.”
She whispers, “Thank you,” before standing and moving toward the door. “I’m sorry again, and for what it’s worth, he doesn’t hate you.”
I wish she was right.
“Hey kiddo, don’t worry about it, okay? And if you know he’s cheating on you, then you fucking dump his ass, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, her voice cracking. Before she gets to the door, I call out her name.
She turns, hope in her eyes. “Why don’t you go with him to the app launch? You deserve to be there more than he does.”
I know it’s not what she wants, but she puts on a brave face anyway. “Thanks, Alistair.”
Then, she’s gone, and I stare wide-eyed into the darkness.
37
My heart leaps when I hear the distant chopping sound of the approaching helicopter. My talk with Alistair this morning has me feeling hopeful. Did he understand what I was trying to convey? When I told him I was excited that tonight was his night, what I meant was that I wanted every night to be his night. Things with Nash have calmed down lately, and I’ve noticed that with the tension gone, it’s just sex between us. I still love him, and I know we will always have this intense connection, but I can’t keep ignoring what my heart is telling me.
Either way, I need to be with Alistair tonight.
As they land, I notice the grimace on each of their faces, but I try to ignore it. It’s probably just the jet lag. They still don’t talk much, but it’s all about progress.
I run out to the helipad, not quite sure whose arms I’ll run to first. I guess the first one that gets out, which will probably be Nash. My smile fades when I notice him toss the comms on the floor and throw the door open.
When he approaches me, I try to show him my smile, but he doesn’t smile back. He pulls me into his arms, being a little more rough than usual.
While hugging Nash, I watch Alistair get out of the helicopter, and I know by the look on his face that they must have had an argument. He looks like he saw a ghost. “What happened?”
Nash doesn’t answer my question, but as he pulls away, he holds my face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight.”
My cheeks flush and my eyes widen. “But—”
“I need to talk to you, and I need you tonight. Please?”
Holding Nash’s face in my hands, I bite back the sudden urge to cry. He looks so much like the version of Nash I found four months ago and not like the confident, happy Nash that left two days ago.
As Alistair approaches, I look to him for help. Please, say something. Don’t give in, not this time.
“It’s fine,” Alistair says, and my heart drops. “Just go with him.”
My chest heaves with each breath. Why is he doing this? What happened out there?
“Welcome home,” I mutter, hoping he hears my anguish as I turn and march toward the house with Nash close behind me.
I shouldn’t go into Nash’s room tonight. I know that. I’m too emotional, too hung up on Alistair’s reaction, too in my head about the whole thing. Does he not care about me? Is this all about sex to him? Why does he treat me like I’m something he can just give away? Why don’t I have a choice whose room I sleep in?
All these questions keep rolling through my head as Nash pulls me into his bed. From the first second he touches me and I want to recoil, I should know this is a bad idea and nothing good can come from this.
“I missed you,” he mumbles against my neck as he pulls me toward him. He’s sitting on his bed, but I’m still contemplating whether or not I’ll get in. I’m not punishing myself anymore. A moment ago, I thought I would be celebrating.
“Nash,” I whisper.
When he looks up at me, his jaw clenches, and the air grows thick.
“Don’t you fucking do it, Zara. Don’t fucking say what I think you’re going to say.”
Pain builds in my throat as I try to swallow, but I softly pull my hand away from his. Nash’s head drops to his hands, and I almost shatter. I love Nash. Why would I want to hurt him? How can I make him understand that if it were just him, I would love him and be happy until the day I die, but it’s not just him, and I can’t hide the way I feel anymore.
“It’s not fair to you, Nash,” I mumble as my tears start falling.
“No, fuck you!” he bursts, standing up and pacing across the room. “You don’t know him, Zara. You think you want him, but you don’t fucking know him. You were mine before he came in.”
“No, Nash, I was not yours…”
His fist lands with anger against the door, and I yelp. In response, I run to him, throwing my arms around him, hoping I can calm him and bring back the boy I love.
He lets me hold him as he sways in his spot, his arms wrapped around me. Then, I feel his lips against my neck. And I know I should stop him, but in the moment I’m weak. I do love him, and his touch has started to feel so familiar I seek that comfort.
But I should know better. Nash’s touch isn’t gentle and before I know what’s happening, I’m being thrown onto the bed. He tears off his shirt as he stalks toward me. The look in his eye sends chills down my spine.
“Nash, I’m not playing this game tonight, I’m serious,” I say, trying to get up from the bed.
When he grabs me, it’s rough—too rough, but his hands are in my hair and I’m being shoved back again. “I hope you’re pissing me off because you want me to fight with you, Zara.”
His hand is around my waist, and he drags my body toward his. This is what we’ve been building up to isn’t it? A fight, a real one. We were playing with fire, and now we’re both about to do something we’ll regret.
Tears are streaming down my face, and I start swinging at him, hoping to connect to his face. Sobs shake my chest as I make contact, but he’s quick to grab my wrists and he thrusts them against the bed above me. Then, his face is on mine, but I turn my head as he sneers into my cheek. “You’re pushing me because you want me to act like a monster, don’t you, Zara? You don’t want to be the only one that’s fucked up.”
Fighting against his hold, I don’t look at him as I cry. “Nash, you’re as fucked up as I am.”
“Tell me you give a shit about me, Zara and I won’t fuck you against this bed like I fucking hate you.” He’s fumbling with his zipper, and I can’t stop crying. We’ve gone too far, and I sob knowing that this is the end of us. But I want it. I don’t fight him or kick him away. Instead, I wrap my legs around him. Why? Because for a moment, I was happy, and it feels easier to sabotage all of that than lose it again.
“I h
ate you,” I cry, and it feels like I’m drowning in my tears as they cascade down to my hair.
“Oh, I know you fucking hate me. Not as much as you hate yourself, right? Is being with me enough of a punishment for you?” He’s shouting now, his loud voice ringing in my ears as he thrusts himself against me. I still have pants on, and he never fully got his cock out, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that this is way, way too far.
Then, he’s gone, no longer on top of me. Instead he’s flying across the room, landing against the dresser with a crash. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alistair’s booming voice shocks me enough to stop my crying.
He puts his body in front of me as he stares down at his son. Sitting up in a daze, my eyes connect with Nash’s and I am splintered by the remorse he’s wearing on his face. Wide eyed, he stares back at me. Quickly, Nash stands up and stares toe-to-toe with his father.
“Tell her right now. Don’t make her choose until she knows the truth. All of it.”
Wait, what? My gaze dashes to Alistair’s face, and I realize he’s avoiding my gaze. Staring up at that warm face that brings me so much comfort, and I never thought he would keep secrets from me.
“What are you talking about?”
He doesn’t really love me. Or he cheated on me. These are the only reasonable explanations. I was always just sex to Alistair, and he doesn’t want me.
No. After everything, all of the talks and moments we shared, that can’t be it.
When Alistair doesn’t speak, Nash steps in. “Tell her what happened the night before the crash, Dad. Tell her what you did.” After another moment of silence, his voice booms, shaking me to the bone. “Now!”
Alistair finally speaks, but it’s so flat and quiet that the words don’t really sink in. “I thought it was you, Zara. You should know that first. I thought it was you.”
“What are you talking about?” I yell. None of this makes sense and I’m growing impatient.
Nash buds in again. “I couldn’t sleep the night before the crash. I was up at two in the morning. Standing right there in the kitchen, I heard someone having sex. I heard the moans. Then I saw her come out of his room.”