Текст книги "Under My Skin"
Автор книги: J. Kenner
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“Go.” Jackson’s voice is firm and clear.
I blink. “What?”
“It’s Ethan, right? And he wants you to go tonight instead of tomorrow.”
I nod, acknowledging that he got it right.
“You should go.”
I want to protest—to tell him I don’t want to go, because now going feels like I’m being pushed away. But at the same time I don’t want to argue or play games. And I really do want to see my brother.
With my eyes on Jackson, I speak into the phone. “Okay,” I say. “When and where?”
As soon as the details are worked out, I end the call and look back at Jackson. “Do you want to meet us later?”
His mouth curves up. “I thought this was the no-significant-others gathering. Cass without Siobhan. You without me.”
“Maybe I don’t like you without me.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. “Maybe that’s good to know.”
“Jackson,” I blurt. “Are we okay?”
He steps forward so that he can press his hands to my shoulders, then kisses me tenderly. I close my eyes, relishing the connection, the heat that inevitably comes merely from his proximity. I have come to depend on this sizzle. This spark of awareness. But today, when it all feels slightly off, I cannot help but fear what will happen if that flame is ever extinguished.
“Of course we are,” he says, and I wait for relief to flood me.
It doesn’t, though. Because the truth is, I’m not quite sure that I believe him.
twelve
I hesitate on the sidewalk outside Gemini Rising, one of the trendy bars that are forever opening and then usually folding in and around Santa Monica. This one is owned by twins, one of whom Cass dated almost a decade ago, and she assures me that the atmosphere is great—as in you can actually have a conversation—and that both the food and the drinks border on orgasmic.
Which, of course, is why she chose this place.
The thing is, even though I’ve been looking forward to drinks with my best friend and my brother, now I’m not so sure I’m in the mood for conversation. I’m too busy pretending like my entire world isn’t teetering on the brink of complete and total disaster.
In other words, I’m a mess. And while an evening out is probably a great idea, I really don’t want to dump all my problems on Ethan and Cass. But I have a feeling that once I’ve gotten some wine into me, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
With a sigh, I grab hold of the door handle and give it a tug, the motion fueled by a mental shrug. After all, that’s what friends are for, right?
The lighting inside is dim, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. I finally find them at a table all the way in the back, and as I head over there, I have to agree with Cass’s assessment—the place is funky and fun, but not so loud you can’t come to catch up with friends.
A circular bar is the centerpiece of the room, and as I walk past it, I hear the familiar sounds of flirting, pickups, and the hum of new relationships. The sound is bittersweet, because a week ago, I would have walked smugly past the bar, secure in the knowledge that I was with the only man I ever truly wanted—and certain that he wanted me right back.
Tonight, though, I’m weighed down by the fear that I am going to lose him.
I force the thought away, then school my features into a happy smile of greeting when I see them at a back booth.
Cass is dressed simply in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt with some graphic on it that I can’t see from this angle. Even casual, she looks awesome. The shirt covers her shoulder, but there’s no ignoring the vibrant colors of the tattooed tail feathers that trail down her arm. Her hair is raven black with streaks of blue, and she wears no jewelry that I can see—with the exception of the occasional glitter from the diamond stud in her nose.
My brother looks equally amazing. And if he wasn’t my brother, I’d go so far as to say he looks hot. He’s also in jeans and he’s wearing a light cotton button-down that he’s left untucked. He has a casual I-don’t-give-a-fuck air that goes with his slightly mussed hair. He almost looks like a beach bum, but his bearing suggests otherwise. Yeah, sister or no, I’ll say that he looks hot. And if the women in the bar shooting him interested glances are any indication, I’m not the only one who thinks so.
He and Cass sit opposite each other at a booth, and they’re deep in conversation as I arrive.
“Hey,” I call as I get closer. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
Cass looks at me, then frowns. “Are you okay? Other than the obvious, I mean. I’ve seen all the social media bullshit.” She must decide it’s too intense a question to start out with, though, because before I have time to even think how to answer that, she looks at my brother. “The bloom must be fading. I don’t think she got laid this morning.”
Ethan actually chokes on his drink, and I laugh. A genuine laugh, which reminds me why I love Cass.
“Actually,” I say, as I scoot into the booth beside Cass. “You’re right.” I grin wickedly. “But last night was exceptional.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” my brother says, his interruption so on cue that Cass and I look at each other and grin. “Do not even go there, or I will have to start running down the list of women I’ve met in Orange County. Laguna Beach is a happy hunting ground, I kid you not.”
I debate silence for a moment, but I just can’t deny the truth. “Sorry,” I say to Ethan. Then I turn to Cass and say, “Honestly, Jackson is just so—”
Across the table, Ethan groans as if in pain.
“Fine,” I say, then turn my attention back to Cass. “How’s your love life?”
“Oh, hell,” Ethan chimes in. “Why not skip the romance and jump straight to your sex life?”
We both turn to him, and he grins and raises his hands. “Hey, girl on girl and no sister in the picture? I’m perfectly fine with that.”
I smirk at Cass. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s an ass.”
“But such a cute one, don’t you think?”
“He is pretty adorable,” I say, and though we’re bantering to get a rise out of him, the fact is it’s true.
I adore my brother, and I always have. He’s the only good thing, in fact, that came out of the horror of my childhood, because when it was all said and done, he walked away healthy.
He’s been living in London and only recently returned to the States. And between work and the soap opera that is now my life, I haven’t gotten to see him nearly enough. He’s got a few weeks off before he starts back up at his job, so he’s been using our parents’ house as a home base. That’s not a situation that’s conducive to visits as far as I’m concerned, because the only thing I want less than to shove bamboo under my fingernails is to visit my parents. So I was beyond thrilled when he called and suggested drinks with me and Cass. “No significant others,” he’d said. “Jackson’s awesome, but I want the dirt.”
Apparently he meant it, because now he’s all about the gossip. He kicks back, looks me square in the eye, and says, “I’ve read all the tabloid shit. What’s the real story?”
The waitress arrives with the fried avocado, tuna tartare, and specialty martinis they’d ordered before I arrived, so I wait until she’s gone to run down all the drama. At least, all the drama I’m willing to share.
“No way,” my brother says. He grabs a slice of fried avocado and points it at me. “He didn’t do it.”
“Kill Reed?” Cass asks, as though we could be talking about anything else.
“I spent time with him. Jackson’s not a killer.”
“Thanks for the assessment.” It’s one I agree with, actually. Jackson isn’t a killer. But he is a man who would kill when necessary. And if he ends up convicted, how the hell will I live with the knowledge that he killed for me?
“Anytime.” Ethan smiles, but it seems a little sad.
“What?” I demand. “What happened with Mom and Dad to send you racing up to Los Angeles?”
He waves the question away. “Nothing. Really. I just needed my space. And I wasn’t even thinking about that. It just sucks that you have to deal with this murder stuff and all the crap that the tabloids are printing and posting all over the web.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s just all a mess.”
Since I can’t argue with that, I don’t.
“I think the hardest thing on Jackson is that he didn’t get to bring his daughter home,” I say.
“Well, yeah,” Cass says. “You guys went all the way to Santa Fe and then got slammed with the news he’s a prime suspect. It sucks,” she adds, in what might be the understatement of the century.
Ethan’s reaction is entirely different. He’s staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Jackson has a kid?”
I nod, realizing that although Cass has known this for almost as long as I have, I never told my brother this little family secret. “The media doesn’t know. He wants to keep it quiet to protect her from, well, from all of this mess. So don’t, you know . . .”
I trail off, and he swats my words away as if they are a nuisance. “Of course I won’t say anything, but Jesus, Syl. You’re dating a guy with a kid?”
“He’s just a guy,” Cass says. “Fatherhood isn’t his defining characteristic.”
Ethan cuts her a quick glance. “No. No, it’s not. But if it’s serious between you and Jackson, and if you’re thinking that he’s your guy and maybe there’s marriage down the line—”
He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to. At least not to me. Because he and I have had more than our fair share of conversations about parenting. And in every single one of them we both acknowledged the fact that with parents like ours, we needed to stay far, far away from that particular vocation.
Ethan doesn’t know the hell I went through with my dad, but he does know how distant I am from both our parents. And even though they treated him like a prince when he was ill, the truth is that even his relationship with them is strained, because they never really saw him as a kid. More like a fragile commodity. And while he is willing to spend time with them and truly loves them, he’s told me at least a dozen times that he’s not sure he could be a dad, because what the hell does he know about genuine closeness?
I don’t know if he’s right about his parenting skills, but I see that distance in the way he handles his relationships with women. Hell, I saw it in my own, too. Or, rather, I saw it until Jackson.
“What’s the matter with you?” Cass snaps the question at Ethan even as she takes my hand and squeezes. “You’ve told me she’s a little angel, right?”
“She is,” I say, glancing at my brother as if to underscore the point. But the moment I see his face, I regret looking that way.
I see all the years of my childhood. All of my pain—most of which he doesn’t even know about. I see the way my mother ignored me. I see my anger at my father and his distance toward me.
I see the fragility of children, and the knowledge that it is so easy to fuck up a life.
I see it, because that fragile child stares back at me every morning from the mirror, and the woman she is now has no idea how to be a mom. Hell, that girl isn’t even certain how she survived childhood.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say.
“Oh, shit. Syl—”
“Forget it, Ethan. It’s okay. It’s just been a long, weird couple of days. And the fact is, Ronnie’s not really at the top of the problem pile, you know? Keeping Jackson out of jail is what’s keeping me up at night. Not whether or not I’ll be watching Sesame Street every morning.”
I turn pointedly to Cass. “So. All well with Siobhan?”
Thankfully, Cass understands my need to change the subject. “Everything is perfect,” she says. “I’m in that lovey-dovey floaty place.” She releases an exaggerated sigh and then pats her hand rapidly over her heart. “I’m all pitty-pat and gooey and sweet. It’s disgusting, really. On anyone else, I’d want to smack them for being a walking case of sugar shock. But I’m just giddily floating along.”
I lean over to shoulder-butt her, then raise my brows as I look at my brother. “Of course, she’d drop Siobhan in a heartbeat if Kirstie Ellen Todd was available and willing.”
Cass tosses her hand up to her forehead like a Victorian-era woman with the vapors. “Alas, she’s off the market again. She and Graham Elliott made up. Pregnant,” she adds in a stage whisper.
Ethan looks at me, a little hesitant at first, but then his grin widens with Cass’s antics.
“She has a little crush,” I say.
“Hell, who can blame her? Todd is hot.”
“Exactly,” Cass says. “Of course, Siobhan is hotter. Be still my heart.”
Ethan tosses an olive from his drink at her, and I ask Ethan about his love life.
“Happily non-monogamous,” he says. “Or did you miss the part where I pointed out that Laguna Beach is like a buffet of hot women?”
“Neanderthal.”
“And proud of it.”
We move from insults to his house hunt. “All I really need is two bedrooms in a complex with an exercise room. I’m not picky, you know? Mostly I just want to get out of Mom and Dad’s house.”
“I don’t blame you,” I say dryly, and beside me Cass grabs my hand under the table. She’s known part of my story for years, but it’s only been recently that I told her about my dad’s role in what happened to me as a teen. Ethan doesn’t know any of that, and I will go to my grave protecting that secret.
“Dad said he’s been calling you,” Ethan says. “I really think—” He cuts himself off. “You know what? Never mind.”
I should just drop it, but I don’t. “You really think what?”
“I just think—you know. You should see what he has to say.” He doesn’t look at me when he answers, and the tuna sits uncomfortably in my stomach. Because I have no interest in hearing what my dad has to say. And Ethan knows that.
Beside me, Cass winces, and I realize that I’ve been squeezing her hand so hard it’s a wonder the bones are still solid. I shoot her a silent apology and release her hand. As for Ethan, I just shake my head. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“He pissed you off at dinner,” he says, referring to the dinner he, Jackson, and I shared with my parents the night Ethan got home from London. The night that Jackson—damn him—told my dad what Reed did to me.
“I get that,” Ethan continues. “But don’t you think—”
“No.” I really was pissed as hell at Jackson, and we worked past it. But that doesn’t mean I want to get all warm and fuzzy with my father. That, in fact, is the last thing I want.
“Silly . . .” He trails off, leaving my nickname hanging in the air.
I pull out my phone and check the time. “Listen, I have to go,” I lie. “I told Jackson I’d meet him after drinks.”
“Shit, now you’re mad.”
“I’m not,” I say. “Really. Just don’t push me on this, okay?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Don’t,” he adds, when I start to put cash on the table. “I’ve got it.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later, all right?” I lean over and give Cass a hug. She squeezes tight, whispering, “Are you okay?” I nod in reply, then give her another squeeze.
Ethan stands as I leave, and I hug him close. “I love you. But I can’t deal with—”
“Yeah,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor. “I know.”
I’m still not sure what’s up with my brother. I mean, I get that he wishes we could be one big, happy family. I wish that, too. Or I used to, a long time ago. But I’ve made peace with the fact that my parents are not and never will be part of my inner circle. Or, frankly, my outer circle. And I wish that Ethan could make peace with that, too. Because if he’s going to keep pushing on the parental reunion thing every time we get together, that’s going to get ugly.
I want my brother, but I really, really don’t want the baggage.
I’m in the car and firing up the engine when I see Ethan sprinting toward me. I’d parked next to my parents’ silver Camry, but I don’t think Ethan is racing for his car. No, he’s making a beeline to me.
I roll down my window. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know. I get that. I’m sorry,” he says. “Listen, can I get in for just a sec?”
“I—okay.” I adore my brother too much to deny him—or to stay mad at him. “Get in.”
He does, and then he just sits there. His hands are in his lap, and he’s picking at his cuticles. It’s a habit that he broke when he was a freshman in college, and seeing him doing it now only reinforces what I’ve already figured out—whatever he has to tell me, it’s bad. And while I’d started out thinking that this was about me or our father, now I’m wondering if there’s something else on his mind.
“Are you in trouble?” I ask.
“No—no, I’m fine. Well,” he adds with an odd little shrug, “I’m not fine. But that’s not the point. Oh, hell. Listen, I want to say I’m sorry about that. About Jackson’s little girl, I mean. It’s just that you surprised me. And I was on edge after the stuff with Dad yesterday, and—shit. Dammit, I wasn’t going to say anything about that. Fuck.”
“Is he sick? Come on, Ethan, you’re scaring me.” I may not have the greatest relationship with my dad—hell, I may not have any relationship with my dad—but I don’t wish him ill. If for no other reason than I know that losing our father would hurt Ethan.
Beside me, my brother takes a deep breath. And then, very fast, he says, “He told me.”
For a moment, I truly don’t have any idea what Ethan is talking about. But then the horror sets in. My stomach twists into a knot, and my hand slowly rises to my mouth. I want to cry out, to protest, but I can’t seem to form words.
“Oh, god, Syl. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands. He’s breathing hard. He may be crying.
“Why?” My whispered word is muffled behind my hand, and I’m surprised I can even force it out. I’m no longer real. I’m ice. I’m frozen. Trapped someplace harsh and unfair. Someplace where secrets are revealed and nightmares are relived and it never, ever stops no matter how much you think you’ve gotten past it all.
That one word keeps running through my head—why why why why why—and there’s nothing else. Just darkness and betrayal and the haunting pull of my nightmares.
It’s not until I feel Ethan’s hands on my shoulders and hear him saying, “Syl? Dammit, Syl—oh, hell, oh, shit,” that I realize I’ve gone away. And although I don’t want to, I know I have to come back. Because this is Ethan and I love him, and I never wanted him to know how much I suffered. But now he knows, because his words have kicked me under.
Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.
“Syl.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, then leans over so his whole arm can go around me. “It’s okay. It’s okay. And I’m so sorry you went through that, and I’m so sorry it was because of me, and—”
“No.” The word bursts out of me from the dark place, so forcefully that my throat hurts from the effort of it, and I sit up straight. “No, don’t you dare feel guilty. Dammit, Ethan, I didn’t want you to ever know. Why did he tell you? Why would he put that on you?”
“He—he said he didn’t really understand what was happening—”
“Bullshit.”
“He said that now you were being blackmailed. That Jackson told him. Is that true?”
I nod.
“He said I needed to know—”
“No! I never wanted you to know!”
“He said I needed to know in case it came out,” he continues, his voice soothing. “He said it might because it was Reed who took the pictures, and with the murder the police or the press might find out. And if it goes public you’d need me.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say. “He doesn’t care about what I need. He never did. He’s protecting himself. Making sure you learn the truth about the money from him and not from the tabloids.”
“Syl, no. He’s really sorry. He wants—”
“No.” I scream the word then slap my hands over my ears. “I don’t care what he wants.”
Beside me, Ethan sags. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, then pulls me awkwardly to him again. He rocks me gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I let him hold me for a few minutes, because I love him and I know that he’s hurting, too. But I need to be alone.
I pull out of his embrace, then blink at him through my tears. “Ethan, I—”
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he says, and I am grateful that at least I do not have to explain that I need him gone.
“I’ll be okay. I just need—I just need to sit here for a bit. Please, Ethan? I’ll be okay.” I’m not actually sure that I will. I’m holding on by a thread, but the last thing that I want is for him to see me snap and fall. “Please,” I repeat.
He looks at me, as if trying to assess how serious I am. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.” His voice is soft, and a little too careful. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Yes. Thanks.” And then, because I know that he is hurting, too, I grab for his hand, catching him just as he has pushed open the door. “It wasn’t your fault, Ethan. You know that, right? It wasn’t your fault.”
He looks at me, his eyes full of sadness. “I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.” He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “We’ll be okay, you and me.”
“Promise?” I can’t bear the thought of losing my brother, and the fact that my father has so blithely risked everything the two of us have built over the years only fuels my anger.
“Cross my heart.”
He slips out quietly, then shuts the door. I watch as he climbs into the car parked next to me, then I tilt my head back and force myself to breathe. My instinct is to call Jackson, but I tell myself not to reach for my phone. I’m still too unsettled from our parting. I want him—god knows I want him—but I need to get my shit together first.
I hug myself and breathe deep, then jump at the sound of an engine firing. I’ve been so lost in my own world that I didn’t realize that Ethan has been sitting in the Toyota beside me all this time.
He turns my way, and his parting smile is both sweet and sad. I smile back, then blink away tears when he blows me a kiss before pulling out of the space. As soon as he disappears from sight I lean back again and focus on breathing. On trying to calm down. To quell this rising fear.
And even as I’m fighting, I think how much has changed. Before, I would be jamming the key into the ignition and driving blindly to someplace like Avalon, with cheap drinks, dim lights, and a pounding beat. I’d be finding a guy. Taking him. Fucking him. But with me in control. Me, proving to myself that I can keep it together. Me, saying fuck you to the world.
And then, goddammit, I’d go to Cass and have her ink that fungible man’s name on my thigh, just one more toss-away man I cared nothing for, who only served to prove that I could keep my shit together. That I wouldn’t lose control. That I could keep the nightmares at bay.
Now, I don’t want to keep control. Now, I want to let go.
Now, I want Jackson.
I want to surrender to him. To let him hold me, to let him help me.
Want, yes. But more than that, I need it.
Need it so badly in fact that it scares me, because how would I get through this without Jackson? How will I manage if I lose him? If he’s behind bars.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, because I can’t think about that. Not now. Not when I’m so damn raw.
And despite my lecture to myself about waiting until I got my shit together, I grab my phone from my purse. Fuck waiting; right now, I need the man I love.
I am about to dial when the phone vibrates in my hand—Jackson.
“I’m on my way,” he says, the moment the call connects, and it is only when my body sags with relief that I realize just how tense I have been.
Ethan, I think as I clutch the phone tight like a lifeline. Thank god for Ethan.
“Don’t hang up,” I beg. “Stay with me.”
“I’m right by your side, baby,” he says. “I’m always by your side.”
