by W Winters
Although Carter’s talking to Jase, the statement is directed at me. “Until we find the footage he’s blackmailing you with, his head stays on.”
My blunt nails tap along the polished wood in a soothing rhythm, so at odds with what I feel. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Let him scare her? Let him get to her?”
“No,” both Jase and Carter say at the same time. My eyes dart between the two of them, judging their response for sincerity until I can nod.
With my thumb brushing against the fleshy tips of my fingers, I ask Carter, my older brother and the one I rely on in order to move forward every day in this shit of a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into with a dirty cop, “What can I do?” I feel weak asking them rather than acting. I hate this and I know they can feel the turmoil rolling off of me in waves as I close my eyes and try to loosen my tight throat. “I need something to give her. Something to make all this better.” There’s nothing to make it better, a voice hisses inside my head and I lean forward, burying my face in my hands. I grit out the words between my clenched teeth as I add, “I fucking hate this.”
“For now, I’ll remind Walsh that our women will be respected and they stay out of it—”
“She said…” I have to swallow the hard lump in my throat before continuing as I stare past him again at the ambers and emeralds of the trees. “She said he seemed concerned, then he was… gauging her. He’s trying to flip her.”
“Concerned?”
“She isn’t handling the recent events well.” I can barely get out the words. Each syllable claws the back of my throat before it’s spoken. “He approached her, she said, because she didn’t look like she was doing well.”
The leather behind Carter groans and protests as he readjusts in his chair opposite the desk from me.
“If he thinks she’s a weak spot, he’s wrong,” I tell him and there’s more defensiveness in my cadence than I wanted. “She would never tell anyone anything.”
“No one thinks she would.”
“That’s why he brought up the foster fuck? You think he was gauging her to see if it was true? To see if she knows anything?” Jase asks.
“That’s what she thinks,” I answer him. “If he’s trying to get more dirt on us, we need to end this now. Finish him.”
“He can’t know for sure about her foster father, how many fucking years ago was it? And Addison would never give anything up.”
“How did he know?” I question them. It happened a decade ago. No one ever knew. It was only us.
“Forensics, maybe evidence.” Jase sounds suspicious but shakes his head at the thought and shrugs as he adds, “Maybe word on the street, but I don’t see how.”
“He’s bluffing. He had a hunch and he’s testing us to see if we’ll play into his hands.”
It’s quiet as the information is digested. This balancing act is getting harder and harder. What was once planks of wood feels like a thin tightrope now.
Carter takes a deep inhale before speaking. “Let’s make him feel comfortable. That’s the only way we can use him until we’re safe to get rid of him.”
Make him feel comfortable… I’m seething inside. This isn’t the way things used to be. It’s complicated and every move we make only gets us deeper and deeper into bed with the devil.
“Did you tell Addison about her father—” Carter starts to ask, but stops and corrects himself. “Foster father?”
I simply nod before replying, “Last night when she told me.”
I remember the way she couldn’t look me in the eyes before I told her. The way she turned her back to me to go to the bathroom. The way her knuckles turned white as she stood there gripping the doorknob, not moving but not asking. She wanted to know, but she knows better than to ask. That’s what we decided. I tell if she asks, but she never asks. She doesn’t want to know. “I told her because I thought she’d want to know the truth.”
“It’s been years.”
“A decade.”
“She never even considered it was us back then.” I repeat my thoughts, but out loud now. “No one did.”
“What did she say?” Jase questions, concern clearly written on his face.
The vision returns to me of her eyes closing slowly, her chin dropping as she took in a shuddering breath. Her response came out as nothing but a whisper and then she closed the door to the bathroom, leaving me sitting there, watching the glass knob and wishing it had been my hand she was holding when I confessed.
“She said, ‘thank you,’” I tell them.
“Do you think she gave anything away to Walsh?”
“No,” I say and my answer is hard as I glare at Jase. He stares back, unmoving, but there’s sympathy in his expression.
“He can’t prove anything,” Carter says between us, cutting through the thinly veiled tension.
“Since when do we let someone make us feel threatened?”
“Since he has evidence that will put me away for life,” Jase answers me. “We tread carefully until Declan can find something on him and get rid of every shred of proof Walsh has.”
“He’s digging into everything he can so we’ll work with him,” Carter says, then clears his throat and sits back farther in his chair. “I’ll send him a message, letting him know not to go near Addison and that his concern is unwarranted.”
“A message?”
“It’s the safe—”
Anger forces me to rise from my seat. “A fucking message?”
“Calm down.”
“You aren’t the one who lost a baby! I lost my child.” The strength in my voice is all but forgotten as I voice it for the first time. They already know, but I haven’t said it yet. I haven’t had the audacity to breathe that truth to life. “Your wife is still pregnant. Mine isn’t.” Everything cracks. The air, my voice, my damn insides shatter to brittle shards.
They sit there in silence as I slowly retake my seat. Just breathe. Calm down. How can I do either when everything is falling apart?
Jase’s firm hand squeezes my forearm as he tells me, “I know it’s difficult on her; we need to keep her safe and protected.”
“It was stress. That’s what the doctor said. She lost the baby and this bullshit isn’t stopping. It’s getting worse.”
All that surrounds me is silence. All that lingers inside of me is guilt. I don’t know how to fix this, and I don’t think anyone else knows either.
“She isn’t supposed to know anything. That was our deal. But she sees how tense everyone is. She knows how much danger we’ve been in. She’s witnessed shit firsthand… I don’t think she can handle this. She wasn’t supposed to know any details. That’s what she wanted.” The admission flows from me like a Catholic at church. Safe in the confessional, waiting to hear my penance, praying for it all to be okay. Just tell me what to do to make it all right.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Carter suggests, and I lift my blurred gaze to his dark one.
“What?” At least my question is presentable.
“Maybe she should know,” Jase says before Carter. “Maybe if she knew details, she’d feel like she has more control. Control is a damn good way to deal with stress. Even if it’s only in details and not action.”
I don’t have time to answer; a knock at the door interrupts the conversation. It’s a soft rap, quick but firm.
Before Carter can tell whoever it is to come in, the heavy door creaks open, bringing with it the light from the hall, and Addison’s shadow spills into the room before she does. Her hand stays on the edge of the door when she asks, “Is it all right if I come in?”
My brothers don’t answer for me, but I nod once.
The room’s so quiet I can practically hear her swallow as she steps into it, not shutting the door for privacy. “I just remembered something. Something I didn’t tell you.” Our eyes lock as she wrings her fingers around one another. Her hair’s still damp from the shower, making it look darker than her dirty-blonde should be. Her lack of sle
ep is just as evident. Still, she’s beautiful.
She clears her throat, staring at the intricately woven rug beneath the desk and stopping a small distance from me in her bare feet.
Her small form clothed in loose pajamas is at odds with the three of us. She belongs here though. She is my counterpart in every way. I only wish I didn’t hurt her like I do.
“He brought up my last name,” she finally says clearly. Her admission makes a deep crease settle in my forehead.
“Fawn?” I question and that gets Jase’s attention.
She nods, glancing between Jase and me. “He asked if I was related to Bethany.” She speaks directly to Jase as if he’d have an answer, but he wears the same expression I do.
“I never really knew my family, so… I don’t know.” The insecurity in her tone is undeniable, as is her curiosity.
“You should ask her,” Jase comments. “We can have dinner tomorrow night.”
“That would be good for us,” Carter agrees. “I’ll ask Aria if she’s up for cooking.” All the while I stare at Addison, waiting for her to give me some sign that she’s all right.
Anything. I need something from her.
“I’ll ask her,” Addison quickly speaks up, then adds, “I’d like to talk to her anyway.” A weak smile lingers on her lips as my brothers nod in agreement. It’s quiet for a moment and I can see the questions in her eyes.
“Anything else?” I prod.
“Were you talking about Walsh?”
My brothers stay quiet. They handle their relationships the way they want and I do the same. I seem to be the only one failing though. “Do you want in on the details?” I always ask. She knows when something’s wrong, when I’m worried. When things have gone to shit. I’d never make her an accessory, but I’ll give her what I can if she wants it.
“No,” she answers, and her smile turns tight, forming a straight line before she drops her hands to her sides and says she’ll head out to talk to Aria.
“How are you doing, Addie?” Jase asks her before she can leave.
“Better. I think I just needed a hot shower.” Time passes with a click of the clock, a second that waits for what else is on her mind. A piece of me is dying to scream for her to speak up. To ask. The piece that wants to tell her everything. The other part of me, the bigger part, wants to shield her.
She leaves as quickly as she came, which is probably for the best.
The less she knows, the less stress she’ll have. She doesn’t need to worry about this shit. It’s our mess. Not hers.
I need to fix this. I just don’t know how.
Addison
Cody Walsh. A million questions linger in my mind after looking up his name online all last night. More questions scream in my head when I think about what Daniel confessed. They killed a man years ago who deserved to be hurt. They killed him because of what he did to me. They killed him.
How many moments have gone by where I’ve mentioned my childhood in passing? Or lack thereof, rather. We talked about how I was in home after home. When we found out I was pregnant, it was all I could think about. All I could talk about.
I was worried I wouldn’t know how to be a good mother, because I never had one. It opened the floodgates for all those memories. When I was young, I didn’t even think I’d ever be able to get pregnant. Just the thought makes my stomach churn; it’s because of what he did to me. The doctors said the scar tissue on my cervix could make it harder to open. I had problems and complications. All the aftermath of the man who was supposed to take care of me.
I brought it up maybe three or four times in the last two months when we found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t not talk about it. No matter how much I hate to go back to those times in my life.
Daniel had so many opportunities to tell me, but he never did.
I never asked, but how would I have even known to question it? Fear has been replaced by something else. Something larger than it. A dying need to know.
“Hey.” Aria’s tone is already consoling when she greets me, ripping me from my thoughts as I place the heavy porcelain plates on the counter.
I didn’t expect to feel this way toward her. There’s a gap between us now, when only weeks ago, nothing separated us. Now I’m careful with what I say and how I say it. I’m careful I don’t put this sadness on her. Just like she’s careful with me now.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
I can hear the emotions in her voice just as easily as the clank of the dishes. The sympathy, the guilt I know she feels because she’s still pregnant when I’m not. She and Chloe, Sebastian’s wife, are carrying so well. Glowing is the correct term. And then there’s me, dull with a forced smile as I turn to her, leaning the small of my back against the granite counter.
“Hey, yourself,” I answer her with enough pep in my voice to lighten the tension. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. It’s life. It’s death. It’s whatever fate has in store. I don’t want her to look at me and feel pity. I’d rather she look at me and see how happy I am for her.
That’s one shining light in all this darkness.
“We’re cooking for everyone tonight, if you’re up for that?” I ask her.
“Family dinner tonight?” Aria eyes me curiously as one perfectly plucked eyebrow arches. She knows something’s up, but she doesn’t ask. She used to always ask.
“Does that mean something’s going on?” Chloe asks as she enters, the faint sound of bags rustling carrying through the kitchen with her. Her husband is best friends with Carter and his right-hand man, but she doesn’t live in the main house of the estate like the rest of us. She and Sebastian have a place deeper in the woods; it’s still protected though. At first, I thought it was sweet for all of us to live so close. But the more I think about it, the fact that we need to be protected, the more it startles me.
I watch as she sets a large brown paper bag down on the table, her belly protruding, round and an obvious sign that she’s in her second trimester.
Taking off her light jacket, she lays it across the chair and then smooths her flowing cream blouse down her front.
“Carter told Sebastian and he told me,” Chloe says, answering the unspoken question. “I brought everything for cheesecake,” she adds easily with a genuine smile. She doesn’t look at me like I’m broken, but that’s because she doesn’t know me well. She doesn’t see how off I am like Aria does. She can’t tell that I’m damaged goods because she doesn’t know what I was like before. It’s comforting, really.
“So?” she questions. “Is something going on?”
“What do you mean?” I have no idea what she’s referring to. “Something is always going on.”
“Well, have you guys been doing family dinners where this is normal, or is this a way for the guys to keep us in line?”
“I never thought about it like that.” The murmured words are accompanied by a deep line settling into my forehead as I consider it.
“If something’s up, Bastian better tell me,” Chloe comments as she unloads the contents of her bag on the table.
“No, nothing’s up. It’s a little tense right now. But no more than usual. The only thing eating at Carter is a cop who’s getting to Jase. He caused a little stir yesterday.”
“How do you know for sure?” I ask her.
“Carter keeps me updated. We have a little ritual. It calms him and keeps his head clear to talk things out.”
“I can’t imagine how that could be calming.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken until the words are out there and the room goes quiet.
Chloe’s huff is amused when I look at her with wide eyes. “You’d be surprised how much a conversation is worth.” Her gaze falls for just a moment, but I see it happen. The haze of a smile falls along with it. “How have you been?”
Aria’s been popping grapes in her mouth, but she pauses when Chloe ventures into that territory. Her bump isn’t so visible. Our babies would have been about a month apart.
It
’s hard to contain the deluge of emotions.
“You can say it sucks. Or that it hurts. Or that you’re better or worse… You can tell me to shut my mouth too and mind my own damn business,” she offers after rattling off a list of appropriate responses.
I feel like it’s my fault. Like I should have known better. I say the words in my head, because I can’t admit them. Not to Aria and Chloe. Not to Daniel. I don’t even want to know that’s how I feel. But I do.
“We should make dinner,” I suggest in a whisper. “Just because I’m suffering a loss doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for all we have,” I add and Chloe gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“The dinner for the non-worrying mob wives,” Chloe jokes.
“We are not the mob.” Aria hisses the admonishment before eating another grape. “It’s been hectic and there’s always something to worry about, but—”
I don’t want the tears to fall, but I can’t hide them. My face is hot and my breath comes in short pants. The next inhale is harsh, and with it, both women come to me. “I’m sorry,” I say, and my words are strangled as I rush past them for a napkin on the table so I can stop it all.
“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry for crying. I’ve always thought that was the silliest of things.”
“It’s good to cry.” Aria’s voice is so soothing. She is my rock in all of this. She’s steady and we share so much in common. She grew up in this life though. She didn’t run away from it all. “Sometimes crying — showing mourning, showing vulnerability — leads to the best things.”
I respond with the one truth the last six months has taught me and say, “You can’t be vulnerable in this world.”
She counters my statement as I swipe the napkin under my eyes, drying them, calming my breathing and feeling foolish all over again.
“Of course you can,” Aria corrects me. “We all are. Trying to hide that isn’t going to fool anyone.” She emphasizes, “We’re all vulnerable.”
All I have in response is a sniffle and then I rest my head on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to cry though; I don’t want you to think seeing you guys makes me sad.” I can barely get the statement out, because it’s not entirely true. Still, I don’t want them to think it.