5. Lemon
Chapter 5
Lemon
I sit on my bed in the guest room, staring at my phone like it might suddenly hold all the answers to all my problems. My mind’s a mess from last night. Watching Atticus and Ezra was freaking intense. I'm not sure what I saw or how I feel about it. My thumb hovers over the screen, scrolling through news updates, hoping for any information on Dad's situation. Nothing new. Just more articles rehashing his arrest.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, biting my lip until it stings. The room around me feels too quiet, the silence pressing down like a weighted blanket but with none of the comfort you would expect. I wish there was something, anything, to distract me. I need my anxiety to be smothered.
Suddenly, my phone rings, shattering the quiet. I jump, almost dropping it. Heart pounding, I look at the caller ID.
Mr. St. Pierre. Great, just what I need.
"Hello?" My voice is shaky, barely above a whisper.
"Ah, hello Miss Vaughn," his voice slithers through the speaker, making my skin crawl. "How are you holding up, dear one?"
"Fine," I lie, trying to keep my tone polite but firm. Fuck, he gives me the creeps. Images of his mansion flash in my mind—dead animals mounted on walls, glassy eyes staring. "Is there something you need?"
"Well, I thought I'd offer my assistance during these trying times of course," he says smoothly. "Perhaps you'd consider staying with me until things settle down?"
"Thank you for the offer, Mr. St. Pierre," I reply quickly, my stomach churning. I can practically smell the musty air of his trophy room, mingling with the scent of old leather and something metallic, like dried blood. "I'll manage."
"Are you sure? It wouldn’t be any trouble at all," he insists, his tone dripping with false concern.
"Yes, I'm sure." I try to sound resolute, but my hands are shaking. I don’t want to be anywhere near him, so I lie through my teeth. "I’m at a friend’s and we’re just having fun. Kinda like a slumber party."
"Very well," he says, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "If you change your mind..."
"Sure," I cut him off, eager to end the call. "Bye."
I hang up and throw my phone onto the bed, feeling a wave of nausea. God, I need to get out of here.
Without another thought, I grab my swimsuit. The fabric of the crochet swimsuit is soft between my fingers, and I can’t wait to feel it against my skin. As I slip into it, I can't help but notice how snug it fits. Every curve of my body seems exaggerated, barely contained by the sage green and sand colored patterns that swirl across the material. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—dark, wavy hair cascading down my back and dull eyes. I just look sad .
I frown at my reflection, adjusting the straps until they sit more comfortably on my shoulders. "It's like this thing got smaller overnight," I mumble, rolling my eyes. My ample curves stretch the swimsuit to its limits, accentuating every dip and swell of my full figure. It’s whatever, giving a sarcastic smile to my reflection. If anything else goes wrong today, at least I'll look pretty good doing it.
Leaving my room, I head straight for the pool. The hallway echoes my hurried footsteps, and I hope I don’t disturb whatever Uncle Atti and Ezra are up to in my desperation to get away from St. Pierre's oily voice that still lingers in my ears. It doesn’t help that he's a trophy hunter and not just deer. Exotic animals line his walls that have no business being there. They deserved to die with dignity and be laid to rest in their natural habitats.
The cool, crisp air hits me and the pool shimmers invitingly, a liquid sanctuary in the midst of my life being a freaking dumpster fire. I take a deep breath and dive in, the water instantly cooling me and slicking away the gross feeling lingering from the unwanted phone call.
For a moment, everything fades—the worries, the fear, the uncertainty. Underwater, the world is muted, serene. My limbs move effortlessly, cutting through the water. I resurface, gasping for air, feeling a sense of rejuvenation wash over me.
For a second, it’s just me and the taste of chlorine on my lips as I grip the edge of the pool and let my lower body buoy so I can float.
I let go, floating on my back, staring up at the sky through the canopy above. The sun streams in, casting glimmers of light across the rippling water.
I close my eyes, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks despite the cool water surrounding me. A shiver runs through me, but it's not from the cold. What would it be like to be caught between them? To feel their hands on me, to hear their groans in my ear?
The thought alone makes me feel guilty, especially with Dad in jail. Shame coils in my gut, but it doesn’t stop the image from replaying in my mind. Atticus' strong, confident hands; Ezra’s wicked, teasing smile. They’re both so different yet somehow complement each other in ways that make my head spin.
I submerge, trying to drown the shameful urge. When I come up for air, my lungs burn, but the wanting persists.
"Hey there, mermaid," a voice calls from the edge of the pool. I blink away the water from my eyes and see Atticus standing there, his expression unreadable.
"Jesus, Atticus, you scared the hell out of me," I say, dragging a hand through my wet hair. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you," he replies, tone flat but loaded with something I can’t pinpoint.
"Do you always sneak up on people like this? I don’t remember you ever being like that before."
"Only when they're alone and vulnerable," he says, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. It feels like both a joke and a threat.
"Vulnerable, huh?" I tread water, keeping my distance. His gaze never wavers, and I can feel it like a physical touch, sliding over my skin. It's unnerving and thrilling all at once.
"You're avoiding my question," he says, stepping closer to the pool's edge.
“Was there a question? All I heard was a statement.” I sass back at him, feeling part of my personality peeking through the despair.
"Rough morning? "
"That's one way to put it," I mutter. My mind flashes back to Mr. St. Pierre’s creepy phone call. I shiver, not from the cold, but from the memory of that man's slimy voice in my ear.
He looks at me with an intensity that makes me tingle, like he's peeling back layers and seeing right through me.
"Hm, so are you enjoying your swim?" His voice cuts through the air, deliberate and controlled, as always.
"Trying to," I shoot back, letting derision drip from my words. "But the universe seems determined to ruin that, too."
"You're upset." It's not a question, more an observation.
"Gee, what gave it away?" I snap, kicking off from the side to float on my back again. The water sloshes around me, but I can't shake the weight of his gaze. "Maybe it was the fact that my life's gone to shit, or maybe it's just you standing there like some brooding statue."
"Watch your tone, Lemon," he warns, but there's something in his voice.
"Or what? You’ll throw me out?" My voice wavers, betraying the fear lurking beneath my bravado. "Go ahead. It would be fitting."
"I see you lash out when you’re overwhelmed." His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see a flicker of concern.
"Yeah, well, desperate times," I mutter, annoyed at being called out.
"Desperation doesn't really suit you," he says, his tone softening just a fraction. "You're stronger than you think."
"Strength won't pay my bills or get my dad out of prison," I counter, feeling the weight of reality crashing back in.
"Mind if I join you?" His voice is smooth, almost too calm, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
"Uh, sure," I reply, unsure of what else to say. My heart beats faster as he sits down. He kicks off his shoes and socks and dips his feet into the water, sending ripples across the surface.
"And did you sleep better after your three am meal?" he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Not really," I admit, biting my lip nervously. The memory of last night flashes through my mind. Him and Ezra, the way Atticus dominated him and the sheer pleasure that never left either of their faces. I’ve had sex before, but I know that look has never been on my face.
"Want to talk about it?" He leans back, giving off a false sense of security, but there's still that undercurrent of dominance, of control.
"Not really," I confess, swirling the water around me with my hand. "Just need a break from the stress."
"Mm," he says, his voice low. Yet, there's something else there, something that makes my skin prickle.
"Why are you here, Uncle Atti?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity and the slight edge from my voice.
"It's about your father," he replies, leaning forward, his intense gaze locking onto mine.
My heart sinks. Of course, it’s about Dad. Everything is about Dad right now.
"What about him?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
"We need to ensure his legal defense is as robust as possible," he says, leaning closer to me. The smell of his cologne, bergamot and pepper wafts over me, making my head spin even more. "I know a few people who can help."
"But I can't pay these people." My voice cracks, and the vulnerability slips out despite my best efforts to hold it together. "I don't have anything left."
Atticus' expression remains unreadable. "I understand that," he says slowly, enunciating each word as if he's trying to calm a spooked animal. "And that's why I'm here."
"What do you mean?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
"No one's asking you to pay them anything," he says, his voice steady but laden with something unreadable.
"Then how?" I ask, feeling desperation bubbling up inside me.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back again, staring thoughtfully into the shimmering water between us. The silence stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken words.
"I've already spoken to them. They're willing to work on a contingency basis for now as a favor to me."
"So, what do you need me for?" I ask, suspicion curling its way around my heart. "Why tell me this if it's already handled?"
"Because there are always strings attached, Lemon." He leans even closer, so close that the water ripples between us. "Nothing in life is free."
I swallow hard, my throat dry despite being surrounded by water. "What kind of strings?"
"Your father’s legal defense will take time and resources," he continues, his voice low and measured. The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. "And those resources will need replenishing."
"So what? You want me to find a job? Start paying them back? I thought you just said no one is asking me to pay them but now you’re saying this." He’s talking in circles and if he’s telling me I do actually have to pay, then I wish he would just say so. I know whoever they are, their time isn’t cheap.
"No." Atticus' eyes darken, a shadow passing over his features. "But I have a proposition for you.”