Chapter 32Bryan
Chapter Thirty-Two
brYAN
Truittism No. 16: Don’t believe everything in print.
Don’t print everything you believe.
“Where is she?” I demand when I run into the pub and find Walker.
She looks as if she’d like to come over the bar and throttle me with her bare hands.
“It doesn’t matter where she is. You’re never going to see her again,” the tall brunette spits at me.
So she’s heard, too.
“Walker, this is all a big misunderstanding…”
“Oh? Then how come there’s so much proof to the contrary? Doesn’t seem like a misunderstanding to me. In fact, it seems to be all laid out in black and white for the whole world to see—if they happen to know what your real name is.”
“Please, I just need to see her. Just to explain…” I say, making a move to come around the bar.
In the blink of an eye, Walker O’Halloran has a baseball bat in her hand. She must keep it behind the bar in case things get really out of control.
“Step the hell back,” she hisses in a soft but deadly voice. I hold up my hands and do as I’m told.
“Walker, put the bat down.”
From behind her, Hennessy’s voice is small and defeated. When she steps around, I can see her beautiful face, temporarily disfigured with the bloat and staining of hard crying.
“Hennessy, oh, thank God. I have to explain to you?—”
I stop mid-sentence when I catch sight of a familiar, very unflattering picture of myself in her hand. It’s a photocopy from the front page of a newspaper I’d hoped to never see again. And now she’s got it in her hands.
“What’s to explain?” She levels her blue eyes on mine. They’re so arctic that I feel a chill run through my body. “That’s you, isn’t it? Bryan Broadmore ?” she asks, wagging the papers in my direction.
“That’s not my name.”
“Oh, but it was , wasn’t it?” I don’t reply. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Go ahead, read it,” she suggests.
“I don’t have to. I already know what it says,” I inform her flatly. “Hennessy, I swear to you, this is not what it looks like.”
“No? Cause it looks kinda like you helped to defraud hundreds of innocent people out of millions of dollars. Is that the gist of it?”
Oh hell.
This situation is going down fast, and I don’t think I can get it back on course. She holds the paper up and starts to read the headlines aloud.
“‘B roa d more S cam L ea v e s H un d re ds o f S enior s B roke an d B roken .’”
She looks at me with sheer disdain. It’s nothing new, of course. I’ve seen it thousands of times in the five years since this article was published. But somehow, it’s never hurt as much as it does right now, coming from Hennessy O’Halloran.“I’d never have known,” she continues.“Nobody would have. I mean, the way you changed your name and all. You could just breeze into town, take what you want and then get out before we were any the wiser.”
And here I thought I was finally past this.
“Look,” I object, holding up my hands to slow her accusations, “I haven’t done a damn thing but get to know this town and the people who live here. I tried to buy the pub for above asking price, if you recall. I tried to work out a deal where we’d both come out ahead. So how, exactly, have I swindled you, or anybody else out of anything since I got here?”
“Is that you in the picture?” she asks me instead of answering my question.
I nod.
“Is your name really Bryan Broadmore?”
“It used to be,” I say quietly.
“Were you charged with fraud?”
“Yes, but I was cleared…”
“Did you have anything to do with this, Bryan? Were you in any way connected?”
“Yes, but Hennessy, you have to understand—there’s a lot more to the story,” I protest, the volume of my voice climbing.
“Oh, I’m sure there is,” she hisses at me with a sneer that makes my blood run cold. “Because things like this aren’t planned overnight, are they? How many days, weeks, months did you spend plotting this? What happened to the money? And how on earth did you end up back in business when your father was rotting behind bars, Bryan?”
“No. No, no, no… You’ve got this all wrong…”
“Do I? Somehow I doubt that. I’ve defended guys like you because it was my job. But you know what? Those days are over. I will never again stand in defense of a hateful, hurtful, callous criminal like you. Starting right here, right now. I. Am. Done.”
“Hennessy…” I try one last time, but she won’t stand for it.
“I don’t think there’s anything else to say, Bryan Broadmore, or Truitt, or whoever the hell you are. When everyone else finds out—and trust me, everyone is going to find out—you might find yourself in need of a wheelchair. So, I suggest you get out of town while you can still walk.”
“Someday soon, you’re going to realize the mistake you’ve made,” I begin slowly and softly. “And you’ll feel bad about this moment, right here. What you’ve said, what you’ve done. And you’ll wish you had it all to do again. But you won’t, Hennessy. You won’t.”
Her cheeks are flaming red, and she looks as if she’d like to throw a bottle at me. When I turn to go, I’m half expecting the shattering of glass, bracing for it until I’m out the door and walking down the quiet street.
You’d think I’d be used to this by now. You’d think it wouldn’t bother me after all this time.
You’d think.