Chapter Thirty-Two
Rocky
It’s not an easy stroll down the sidewalk. I drive several miles out of the center of town to a gated property on fifteen acres of land. Along with the address, Jake texted me one thing.
Jake: Meet me at the stables
I called Phoebe right after that text. “I think he’s sincere,” she said.
“He’s sincerely shady,” I refuted. “He might as well have told me to meet him behind the dumpster or out in the middle of the woods. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know how this shit goes down.”
“He wants this fake dating thing with me to work out and that means being nicer to you.”
“Being nice doesn’t involve asking me for help, Phebs.”
“But admitting he needs your help for something is an olive branch. Major white flag territory. And anyway, we’re more dangerous than him.”
Her last statement was what changed things for me. She wasn’t wrong. I’m the con artist, and if Jake had a manipulative bone in his body—he wasn’t using it well.
She added, “This is the perfect opportunity for you to figure out why he’s being so shady. Go with it. Keep your phone on. Text me if you run into trouble.”
I smiled, feeling like this was a mini-job. Back to our old ways.
Now, I’m parking my sleek black McLaren in front of a large horse stable. No other person in sight. But the security guard at the gate let me in, so Jake should know I’m here by now.
I lean against the hood of the car and take out my phone, a second away from texting Phoebe about how this feels like a setup. Maybe he does work for our parents. Jesus, that thought wreaks havoc in my head.
A chill whips through the air, and the sound of crunching gravel stops me from typing. A blue Porsche approaches and slows to a park next to me. Jake exits and zips up his navy windbreaker, his gaze heavy on me.
“Thanks for coming.”
I smile dryly. “Coming is only enjoyable when I understand why I’m getting fucked.”
“You’re not getting fucked, Rocky.” He takes a tensed breath, stress clear in every microscopic movement he’s making. Down to the shifting of his polished loafers.
“Okay.” I hold out my hands wide. “Then what am I doing here?”
“Let me just show you...” Worries cinch his brows, like he thinks I’m going to jump in my car and make a quick exit.
But I’ve made it this far. There’s no reason for me to hightail it out. No offense to Jake, but he’s not that fucking scary.
“All right.” I follow him to the stable. The closer I get, the more I realize how giant this place really is. Off in the distance, I spot an enclosed riding arena where a horse trots with an older man. Another area has obstacles for equestrian events.
Inside the stable, I count twenty stalls. All are full except the one at the very end.
Jake brings me to a middle stall where a chestnut horse stands poised. The animal has a blaze: a white marking along its forehead and down the bridge of its face. The name Bowie is carved on a wooden sign. I tilt my head and scan beneath its torso. Male.
I scrutinize the animal quickly. It’s been a while since my mom quizzed me on horse breeds, but I just round out a guess. “Warmblood?” I ask.
Jake narrows his eyes on me. “You know horses?”
“Just a little bit. I took some riding lessons when I was younger, but I didn’t love it.” That’s all truth. I give Bowie another once-over. Horses, I don’t like. Most animals, I don’t like. I can trick them. Deceive them. But it takes more effort than deceiving a human.
Oliver has always been the best with animals.
Jake stares harder at the horse, a sadness washing over him. And then I remember something—a phone call I overheard months ago. My first day at the country club, he was arguing with someone about selling the horse.
“I’m surprised you needed my help, considering our history.” We literally just had a public confrontation this morning at the Harvest Festival. The only thing that’s changed is his need to ensure I don’t ruin his fake relationship.
Jake drags his gaze along the dirt floor, wrestling with his decision to call me. His blue eyes hoist to meet mine. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
The wrong foot. “I’d say we got off exactly how the universe intended.” Am I going to take pleasure in him asking me for help? A favor?
Yes.
Yes, I am.
I wait for him to speak. Tension coils between us now that it’s clear I’m not brushing aside our rift.
Jake takes a tight breath. “Just hear me out.”
“It’s why I’m here,” I say, flashing a smile.
He has to take a second, steadying his breath. Then he says, “This was my sister’s horse. My parents aren’t sentimental about Bowie, and they’re ready to sell him so they can bank more money boarding another horse.”
“I’m not seeing the issue,” I tell him. “If you’re sentimental about him, then why don’t you buy the horse?”
His jaw sets, nose flaring as his breath inflates his lungs. Elevates his chest. He holds my gaze so long that I wonder if he thinks I can read his fucking mind. More likely, he’s just hating that I’m not bending that easily.
And then he says, “I’ve tried, man. But there’s another buyer ready to purchase him in all cash, and my trust fund has its... limitations.”
I don’t ask about his savings. I’m sure they’re all tied up in stocks or IRAs or accounts so complicated you’d need three brokers to explain it to you. All these rich heirs are the same.
“So you want me to buy Bowie?” I just come out and ask. It’s why he didn’t ask Phoebe—he knows she doesn’t have the cash.
He nods. “I know it’s not a simple request.” He runs a tender hand down Bowie’s nose. “But Phoebe told me you’re the kind of guy who’d do anything for his friends—”
“I missed the part where we became friends,” I say sharply, using the exact words he’s said to me.
Breath knocks out of Jake like I sucker punched him, but he recovers fast. “It’s in you to be one, isn’t it? And yeah, maybe I don’t see it, but she does.”
Talk of Phoebe vouching for my character tenses me in a different way. In my head, I had questioned whether she was shitting on me to Jake at the festival, and now I feel like an ass for questioning her at all.
I shift toward the horse and ask, “How much?”
“He’s a hundred grand.”
I whistle lowly. “I’m going to be honest with you, Jake. I don’t much like horses, and unless this one pisses gold, I’m not interested. Maybe take it up with one of your actual friends.” I’m about to leave.
“Wait.” He jolts forward to stop me.
I pause.
His brows cinch, his eyes troubled. “They all basically said the same shit.”
“But I’m the out-of-towner that will take the bait, right?” I stuff my hands in my leather jacket.
He frowns deeply. “This isn’t some trick.”
I still don’t know that.
“It seems fishy,” I tell him. “You’re so desperate to keep a horse that’s definitely not worth the price—all to remember your sister by? It’s sweet, sure, but take a picture and frame it. It’ll serve the same purpose.”
He shakes his head repeatedly like it won’t. Like there is no alternative. “I can buy him back when some of my funds become less tied up. You can call it a loan, if you want. With interest.”
See, I’ve been here before.
On both sides.
I’ve been handed money. Only instead of paying back the “loan,” I disappeared with it.
I’ve handed over money. Only that had a purpose. It was a stepping stone to gain trust, and there’s nothing for me to gain here. I don’t need Jake’s trust. I don’t need anything from him, other than to ensure he won’t fuck with Phoebe.
He’s the desperate one—the person I could so easily screw over in a heartbeat. It’s like the universe is dangling a carrot out in front of me, tempting me to just... con him.
But easy isn’t right.
It’s not even smart.
I stare harder at Bowie. He neighs at me, and I cringe. Yeah, still don’t like horses.
I tell Jake, “It’s just not going to happen.” Sorry, not sorry.
He blinks hard like I impaled him, and I’m beginning to realize that I was his last-ditch effort. Which isn’t shocking at all. He’s not fond of me—I wouldn’t be first in line for him to grovel to.
Jake rubs his mouth a few times; dropping his hand, he says, “I thought you’d get it because you have a little sister.”
“Luckily my sister’s hobbies and sentimental memorabilia aren’t worth a hundred grand. Throw a paperback at her and she’s happy.”
He nods over and over in an attempt to stop emotion from splitting apart his face. He loses that battle and runs a palm over his eyes. “Fuck.” He whirls around quickly and mutters more curses under his breath.
I wonder if his parents chastised him for crying. Made him repress certain emotions. My mom taught me about toxic masculinity when I was little. When to feed into it to be one with my peers and when to abandon it because it’s not who I should be. And despite that, I’m still bad at dealing with my emotions. I bury everything and let it feed on me.
Jake clutches the stall with white knuckles, and I’ve been there before. Different situation. Same battle.
“Be real with me, Jake.” I step closer. “This is really just about a horse?”
He doesn’t reply immediately. He’s trying not to cry. “Yeah.” His voice fractures.
Even with his genuine emotion. I. Don’t. Believe. Him.
Never be seduced by others’ emotions. Another hard taught lesson.
“You want me to buy the horse,” I say. “Turn off the security cameras.” I spotted two when I walked into the stables.
“They’re already off.” Interesting.
“Show me.”
He unburies his phone from his slacks pocket, clicking into a security app, and he passes it over. I verify that all the cameras are down, and then I put his phone face down on Bowie’s gate.
Jake waits.
“Beg me,” I tell him.
He blinks. “What?”
“I want to know how badly you want this horse,” I say. “So beg me for it.”
He glowers. “You’re a fucking asshole—”
“You’ve never thought I was a nice guy,” I retort. “Yet, you called me. You asked me for a favor, knowing that I am a fucking asshole. So if you really, sincerely want this horse, you’re going to drop on your goddamn knees and you’re going to show me just how much you appreciate my act of kindness.”
Jake is full of blistering anger, his scowl hardened. “Fuck you.”
“How much is your dignity worth? Is it worth your sister’s memory?” I say, driving in the knife deeper.
His hands clench at his sides, a nerve struck. “Is this because of what I said at the festival? Or because I’m fake dating your ex-wife?” Jake snaps. “Is this your sick, twisted way to get back at me for that?”
Yes... and no.
“She deserves to be with someone who’s not weak,” I tell him. “You’re a pathetic piece of shit who’s crying over something so damn trivial—”
“Shut up,” he grits out.
“Boo-hoo, son of one of the richest families in the country can’t buy a horse—”
“I said stop!” He’s a second away from lunging at me. Rage scorches his eyes.
“I guess you’re just going to have to bury that memory of your dead sister.”
“She’s not dead!” he screams, and instantly Jake’s face breaks in surprise like he’s shocked he even said it out loud.
I control my body not to blow backward, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect that. I go so still, my muscles cramping. My mind reels in a million directions.
His sister didn’t die. So he what—lied about her death? Orchestrated her disappearance? Every theory leads to the same gnawing thought.
I didn’t peg Jake Waterford correctly. From very beginning, my read was wrong. I saw him as too uptight, too ethical, too moral to deceive even a stranger. Has he been pulling the wool over his entire family? Or are they in on this, too?
“Shitshitshit.” His hands fly to his head.
Pushing buttons to surface the truth—not my finest moment. Usually, I couldn’t give a shit when I go this far, but usually, I go this far with the bastards of the world. The seemingly untouchable men who treat Phoebe like she’s nothing more than a warm body at night.
Jake isn’t one of them.
It doesn’t feel right breaking good men.
A biting sensation eats away at my core, and I have trouble looking at him. Because it feels like Jake is where I should be. And I’m no different than the men I’ve always hated.
Disgust with myself—what a new wretched feeling. Guess it’d catch up with me in time.
I’m still motionless. Watching.
Jake crouches, breathing harder. “You can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone.” His wrought gaze strikes me. “Rocky.”
I run my fingers over my sharpened jawline. Fuck. If the Waterford family is behind this... I’ll be bought off to keep my mouth shut? At best.
Threatened to leave town? Second best.
Followed and stalked and possibly killed? Worst.
Except, he’s begging me. He’s not spinning the knife in my direction.
“I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to, Jake.” But I see his earnestness, and a raw honesty that’s hard, if not impossible, to fabricate.
With another exhale, he stands. “Let me explain,” he pleads, hand outstretched. “Can we take a walk?”
“All right. Lead the way.”
We end up among a thicket of trees, walking along a wooded horse trail, and through all this, I think about Phoebe and her horror movies. “Don’t murder me, yeah?” I ask Jake casually.
“That’s not in me.” His gaze dips to me, wary. “How about you don’t murder me?”
“Deal,” I reply.
We’re on a trust teeterboard. Going back and forth with having confidence in each other.
We keep a slow pace, and Jake starts talking. “Our parents were hard on Kate. The only girl of the family. She was pushed at every moment.”
“They planned her whole future?” I’m guessing. I’ve seen it before among affluent families. They place their hopes and dreams on one specific child, and it’s suffocating.
He nods once. “Her life was dictated to the smallest degree.” He lets out a tight laugh. “My mother had a weekly schedule for her, and Kate never even had time to eat lunch. Dance recitals, morning tutoring, after-school French lessons—once she mastered that, then Dutch and Swedish. Equestrian events, charity galas, tennis, book club—the list never ended. If there was a minute untouched, my mother touched it.”
I look over at him, a pressure rising in my chest. If there was a minute untouched, my mother touched it. I understand what it’s like to be used.
Smothered with backhanded affection.
Trapped.
It’s easy for me to feel for Kate, but even easier to feel for Jake. The depth of his empathy for his sister is... relatable.
I hate that it is, because again, never be seduced by others’ emotions.
Thing is, he’s not trying to play me. Or outwit me. I believe he’s just being frank. Candid and truthful. And I’m just the cynic afraid to lower my guard.
Jake stares ahead, emotion barreling through him. “Every year, I saw her get smaller and smaller. Sadder and sadder. And then one day...” He takes a beat, his eyes welling and reddening. “I caught her in the stables with Bowie. She’d taken a whole bottle of our mom’s Vicodin... I got her to the hospital in enough time.” He gazes out at a large oak tree. “I thought... things would change for her after that. I thought our parents would change for her.”
Our shoes crunch fallen leaves, and Jake comes to a stop near a babbling stream.
He twists around to face me, more resigned than angry. As though he’s accepted what his parents are, and I’m not even there when it comes to my own parents.
Fury isn’t dormant in me. It’s living, breathing. Awake at every step, every turn. But I’ve mastered the art of control, just so it won’t consume me.
Jake holds my gaze. “Nothing changed. When Kate got home, they just went back to their normal routine like it never happened.” He skims my features. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“These social circles aren’t foreign to me,” I remind him, since I’m supposed to come from Manhattan. Raised in New York. “Your parents were more afraid of the social repercussions of admitting their daughter almost took her own life than they were of losing their daughter. I’m not shocked they didn’t want to self-reflect and question whether they could’ve been at fault. Because even if people want to look in a mirror, sometimes they spend their whole lives convincing themselves there are no flaws.”
I’ve never wanted that to be me.
I intake a breath. “And I appreciate the backstory, but how did that get you here? To where your sister isn’t actually dead?”
“We were out riding one day. A trail farther north.” He points in the direction. “And we came across some old remains. A battle in the American Revolutionary War was fought around here, then the War of 1812. The bones could’ve been that old, I wasn’t sure at the time.” He pauses. “But once I saw them, I saw an opportunity for Kate to leave town and get away from our family for good.”
“You staged her death?” I question, unable to be impressed since I’m stunned it wasn’t a ploy concocted by his entire family.
It was just Jake.
He nods. “They were bones. Not the body of a girl who had died a week or month ago. So she had to disappear. I bought a little cabin in a remote area...” He trails off, deciding not to share the location, and I respect that. “I drove her there. She stayed, and I came home alone to the fallout. There were search parties. It was even in the news. ‘Daughter of Koning Beer Empire Goes Missing.’?”
“I saw,” I say.
“You looked me up?”
“You’re my sister’s landlord and now my ex-wife’s fake boyfriend—if I didn’t dig into your family, I’d be a fool.”
Jake wears a weakened smile. “After a year passed with no news of Kate, I made sure another search party went out in the right direction.” We both look to the north. “They found the remains, which turned out to be from the late 1700s, but I paid the coroner to say it was my sister.” He winces. “I’m paying the coroner.”
“That’s where some of your money is tied?”
“Yeah, but I always told Kate I’d get Bowie back to her. I just... I needed more time.”
Too many feelings churn through me. I run both of my hands through my hair, feeling the soft strands slip between my fingers.
I must look skeptical because Jake sighs out, “I know it seems impossible.”
Not impossible.
Faking a death? Child’s play.
Done it three times.
But I can’t tell him that. Can’t even say that I didn’t think he had it in him.
Jake touches his chest. “I love my sister. I’d do anything to make sure she’s still on this planet. Do you get that?”
I take a pained breath. “Yeah, I get that.” But I can’t buy into words. I need proof. “Can I see your phone?”
He pulls it out.
“Show me her number.”
He scrolls down to a number, no contact info. I hold out my hand, and he passes it to me. I text her: Call me. It’s important.
I wait.
Jake waits.
And then an ABBA song plays. “Chiquitita.” Little girl in Spanish. I answer the call. The line is quiet, so I look at Jake.
He speaks. “Kate, everything okay?”
“Yeah, you’re the one who texted me.” She sounds young, her voice having a breathy cadence that’s so distinct, I recognize it from the interviews on YouTube. The ones with her and her family, praising the Koning beer.
I hang up on her and hand Jake his phone back. It’s becoming hard to hate him. Even harder not to brush aside the deepening crater of jealousy.
Jake Koning Waterford is everything I can’t be.
He’s a good guy who pulled a con to save his sister.
He’s done what I could never do. What I’ve never tried to do. I’ve only pulled cons for my own gain—or my family’s gain. Any altruism is a side effect, not the main cause. I’ve never convinced myself I’m a vigilante with a moral backbone. I know what I am, and yet... here he is.
I want to hate him.
But I want to be him more, and that scares the shit out of me. I’ve never wanted to change. Never hated myself to warrant it. And I don’t dislike who I am—I don’t.
But could I be better?
“I’ll buy the horse,” I say.
Shock pierces his face. “What?”
“I’ll buy Bowie. You can pay me back later.”
He shakes his head over and over. “I don’t understand. Why?”
Because maybe a path exists where I can be good. Maybe I want to keep him close because he could be useful down the line—and I have so much blackmail I could fill a landfill with it.
Or maybe I think his friendship would be good for me.
Maybe it’s all those things.
“I don’t know,” I whisper out. “I just am.”