Chapter 22 #2
“You should have gotten help before now. Professional help. You realize you get caught, you go back into the system. Maybe even worse.” Nix grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged at it. He clearly needed something to do with his hands.
“I know,” I said on a sigh, feeling like the biggest sack of shit ever.
With his hands on his hips, he questioned. “So, what else?”
“What do you mean? I was confused.
“Is there anyone else we know whom you’ve fleeced?”
I closed my eyes, struggling with whether to say anything more about last year, but knew I had to. If I kept it to myself, I would never be free of the guilt.
It would never be over!
My shoulders slumped as I wrapped my hands around my body. “Yes. At the beach party last year. The cell phones that went missing after the game. I took them.”
“What?”
“Shannon Cummings and Ellie Slater’s iPhones.”
Phoenix then turned on me, immediately putting two and two together. “So, you were the one who stole the phones that forced Hudson and Reed into a fight?”
“Yes.”
“The fight that distracted them both from having Micah’s back.”
I hadn’t thought about that part of it; it was too painful to process. “Yes, and I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath through my nose and tried to calm down.
“You do realize that’s why Micah was stabbed. Because his brothers weren’t there for him. Hudson has spent the last twelve months blaming himself. To the point where he had to increase his meds whilst Micah was recovering.” Phoenix’s hands dropped to his sides and were fisted.
Shaking my head, I moved back towards him, my face pleading with him to be reasonable.
“That could have happened at any time, you know that. Micah was the one who involved himself with the Creeds. If he hadn’t gotten into those types of drugs, he wouldn’t have been a target.
” I remembered how Hudson had stolen from Anton Creed’s drug-dealing eldest son and how that led to Molly being kidnapped.
It wasn’t my fault, yet it appeared I was now being blamed for the stabbing.
Was that right or wrong? I couldn’t process what Nix was accusing me of.
“It wasn’t my fault. Micah owed a drug baron money.”
“That may be so, but without your little indiscretion that night, the attack on Micah would never have happened, at least not like that.”
That gaping hole in my chest grew bigger. “Phoenix, no…”
Phoenix was now yelling at me. “He lost his shot at playing pro football due to his injury. Did you know that?”
No, I didn’t know that. I had never thought Micah wanted to go pro. He never talked about the NFL like the others did. He was a physics major. Was Nix saying that to hurt me, punish me somehow?
“So, due to your little habit, you changed the course of our brother’s life.”
“No,” I said with a half-sob. I couldn’t believe that I ever thought Nix would be OK with my problem. That he would understand.
My breath hitched in my throat.
The noise brought Nix’s head up, his eyes drilling into mine. He looked at me like he hated me, and I couldn’t stand that. “Why didn’t you say anything at the time. To stop the fight.”
“I didn’t know that’s why they were fighting, I only found out that night at the beach after the game the other week. I swear.”
Throwing his hands out, Nix started to move around the room again.
“I can’t do this now. I’m supposed to be meeting my old man tonight.
I have my own hell to deal with.” I watched as he started pulling the rest of his clothes on.
I had forgotten he was going to see his father.
My news could not have come at a worse time.
If only I hadn’t kept my pain relief in the same drawer as that damned photo and purse.
“Please, Nix, don’t go. Not like this.” He was like a crazed person, stomping around my bedroom, grabbing his stuff.
I tried to take hold of his top to stop him, but he batted my hands away, growling. “I can’t even look at you right now.”
“Nix,” I begged, wondering how I would ever claw myself out of the trouble I had unknowingly caused.
“No, Harper.” The tension in his shoulders never faltered as he left, slamming the door on his way out. His rejection and refusal to look at me was like a fist punching through my chest and ripping out my heart. Phoenix was blocking me out, just like before.
Fix this shit! My head screamed at me.
I had messed up. I should have told him about my sick addiction before he found the evidence of my deceit.
My heart was in a million pieces, and I felt like I was going to break down like a little kid.
And that’s exactly what I did, I dropped onto the floor and cried for the first time in years.
It suddenly felt like my world would never be the same again.
Just when I thought I was coming up for air by being with Phoenix, that sick twisted darkness inside dragged me back down again.
I had lost him, and why?
Because what is left when the trust has gone?
Nothing.
Only emptiness.
PHOENIX
Harper’s complexion as I left her room was sheet-white, and in that part of my brain which was working, I knew I should have eased up. Given her time to breathe and explain more about her condition and why it made her feel the way it did, but I was so damn angry.
I wasn’t stupid; I knew kleptomania was considered a mental health issue, like self-harming and OCD, nasty stuff. It wasn’t like Harper was some hardened thief that had an urge to steal out of pure greed.
Harper Radcliffe had an impulse control disorder. Why did you never see it?
That was the secret she had been keeping from me. It would have been the reason why, at times, she seemed so cagey when she came back from school, that backpack she used to clutch so tightly. I knew something was off, but I’d never thought it would be something like pickpocketing.
It probably wasn’t fair to throw what happened to Micha in her face, either, and to be honest, that wasn’t the main reason I was so furious.
By stealing, Harper had put herself at risk, and the thought of her attempting to survive the horrors of Juvie pushed me over the edge.
The Jacksons’ house, fuck, even Dalton with his twilight visit, was a cakewalk compared to what girls went through in the detention center.
Especially those that housed both sexes.
The thought of Harper being violated by an anti-social, drugged-up juvenile set my teeth on edge.
I needed to get the hell away from her before I said more stuff I would regret.
Was Harper Radcliffe more broken than you had thought? And why wouldn’t she be, after what she had gone through as a child? She almost died in that fire and had the scars to prove it, both inside and out.
Maybe part of her urge to take stuff was due to having been so privileged when she was younger and now having nothing. I knew she’d come from wealth before it had all gone tits up. If you can call your father burning your house down with you and your mother inside, something so blasé.
I needed to hit something.
Reed had left me his keys, and I grabbed them and bounded from the house.
As I got into the Jeep, part of me wanted to go back in there and make it right, but a) I couldn’t trust myself, and b) I was running out of time.
In bed last night, I had decided to go to the gym before meeting my old man to pound out my angst on the punching bag, before seeing him.
Going to see my father in his fricking castle was a scary thought, as I had no idea how I’d behave in his presence. Why had I agreed to meet him again?
Because you want answers, and you liked the guy, before you found out you were related.
But right then, I wanted the looming discussion as much as I wanted a hole in the head.
Harper needs you more than a man you didn’t even know existed a week ago!
Firing the engine, I made my decision. Once I left Dominic Summers’ estate, I’d come straight back home and speak with Harper, sort that shit out.
I had told Hudson I may swing by Molly’s house to fill him in after my meeting, but my fight with Harper couldn’t be left alone. The girl was a grudge-bearer, as past experiences had taught me. If things were left unsaid, they would do more damage.
As I drove to the gym, regret sank like lead in my stomach. If anything, Harper needed my support, not my shitting ire. But I was a hot head. React first and think later would be written on my fucking tombstone.
As I drove away, my phone kept ringing, and I knew it was her, so I turned it off. Immediately after the gym, I would be going to see my father, and I needed a clearer head. Plus, I wasn’t at my best when talking on the phone; I always said the wrong thing.
My session in the gym went as expected, and I forced all my pent-up aggression into the bag, messing up my almost-healed knuckles. One of the PTs gave me a cool pack, but it didn’t do any good. The skin there was just too busted up.
It didn’t take long to get to the mayor’s estate. I checked the clock on the dashboard in the Jeep. I was early. Great.
I had agreed to meet him using Molly and Hudson as the messengers, and I’d promised them I’d let him say his piece.
Turning my cell back on, I saw I had several missed calls from Harper and a few other messages. I decided I would deal with them later and pushed my phone into the glove compartment.
I then drove the Jeep up the long driveway and put it in park.
As I got to the door, I started to fidget with the hem on my hoodie; what the actual hell? I never fidgeted. I’d showered again that morning and put on fresh clothes at the gym, but I still felt like I probably looked like shit. Too rough to fit in at the mayor’s fancy house anyway.
As I’d driven Reed’s Jeep through the electric gates into the estate, I’d felt calm. So why did I suddenly feel like I was going to hurl?
You look fine, and who cares anyway?
Whoever they’d dispatched to answer the fricking door was taking their sweet time.
Releasing a puff of air in frustration, I jammed my hand through my damp hair and contemplated pressing the buzzer again.
But would that suggest I was too keen? Either that or as impatient as fuck.
And of course, the latter was the most accurate.
As I rocked back on my feet and attempted to see into the house through the blurred glass panels at the side of the door, I heard a click, and it started to open.
Clearing my throat, I prepared myself for the unexpected.
And there. She. Stood.
The unexpected, Mrs. Summers.
What? I hadn’t prepared myself for that. Did she even know?
Rachel Summers was the spitting image of her daughter, Storm. A tall, elegant woman with dark hair and the same slate gray eyes. Eyes that could put you in your place without their owner muttering one single word.
I got the answer to my question about her knowing about me as she looked me up and down. “Nic was right. There really is no need for a paternity test. You’re his double at the same age.” Her eyes then narrowed as she added, “I can’t believe I never noticed that before.”
I cleared my throat but remained silent. Her use of the name Nic confused me at first until she finished that sentence, and my brain clicked back into place. The mayor’s wife shortened her husband’s name to Nic, rather than Dom, apparently.
“You’d better come in. He’s waiting for you,” she added, standing back and pulling the door wider. “What happened to your hand? Do you need medical attention?” I frowned as I glanced down to where she’d motioned. My knuckles were still red and raw.
“Why do you care?” I said rudely as I walked through the door and turned to face her.
“I don’t care, but if you get blood on one of my rugs, you’ll have to pay for it.”
Bitch.
“It’s fine, it’s an old injury.” I placed said hand behind my back.
“Suit yourself,” she deadpanned.
“I always do, ma’am,” I replied with feigned charm.
Talk about frosty. She clearly wasn’t pleased to see me, even though I was expected, and why would she be? I was the result of her husband cheating on her. Major bummer.
The woman turned her back, and I glanced around the space. It looked different. Bigger somehow? That was probably due to it being clutter-free. On the day of the party, most rooms were filled with guests and obnoxious party decorations.
After closing the door, she set off down the corridor.
“Follow me,” she said. The mayor’s wife was dressed in a silk blouse, cream slacks, and killer heels that clicked on the floor as she walked; the noise was like Chinese torture.
I kept my eyes off her ass out of misguided loyalty towards her daughter, aka my half-sister.
It was a miracle that my head didn’t explode.
She led me into what appeared to be the mayor’s study. It was a large room, clearly modeled on the fricking Oval Office of the White House, and failing miserably. There were paintings everywhere, flags, and general election-type memorabilia.
“Do you want a drink or something? I’ve opened a bottle of Nic’s favorite bourbon,” Mrs Summers explained with a sweep of her arm.
It was barely four in the afternoon. “No, I’m fine thanks,” I replied as I watched her turn away and walk with a purposeful stride towards a drinks trolley.
Above it, mounted onto the wall, was a large oil painting of the Summers family.
Father, wife, and daughter stared down at me.
It must have been commissioned a few years ago, as Storm looked much younger.
They appeared in that canvas like a picture-perfect family, oh, the irony.
“So, I suppose you’re my stepson? You can call me Rachel rather than stepmother. Stepmother makes me sound like the villain in a fairytale,” she muttered.
You said it, sweetheart.
I dashed a hand across my jaw; her words made me uncomfortable. “I don’t think either label is necessary,” I informed her tartly.
“It’s your choice, of course, sweetie,” she cooed with a flirtatious wink.
What was that about? My evening was getting weirder by the minute.