8. Lincoln
It painsme to admit that I’ve stared at my cell phone screen for much too long after sending the text to the number Vince gave me. The internal debate—text her, don’t text her—was agonizing in itself, but I decided to damn it all to hell and put myself out there.
If I’m going to get her back, it has to be me making the first move. Or moves. And apologies. She’s got a lifetime worth of apologies ahead of her.
At one point, I see three bubbles pop up like she’s typing back, and my heart races as I wait for a message to come through. Only, it doesn’t. The bubbles stop, and crickets are all that follows.
Ouch.
Can’t say I blame her, though. The Lillian I knew would have sent back a thank you right away. It’s maybe a little bit what I was banking on, but I seem to have underestimated the grudge she’s held onto for four years.
Still, I’m a little let down that I didn’t at least get a picture of little Grace using the tent I got her. I took a gamble and guessed Lillian may have passed on her love of Disney movies to her daughter. And, okay. Sure. I got maybe too excited shopping through Disney merchandise for Grace. But I’ll deny that if anyone asks.
Just as I start to formulate a follow-up text in my head, my phone lights up with an incoming call. There’s only a little pang of disappointment that it isn’t Lil, but that feeling is followed by more than enough guilt when I see it’s my sister. Looking at today’s date on my phone before answering, I curse that I let it get to four days between phone calls this time. Lillian’s sudden reappearance in my life has been distracting, to say the least.
I pick up the call before it gets sent to voicemail. “Hey, Becca.”
“Hey, big brother,” she drawls in a semi-annoyed way that makes me feel even worse for not calling her sooner.
I wince. “How are you?”
“Oh… you know. Lonely,” she whines.
“Listen, I’m so sorry I haven’t called–” Her tinkling laugh cuts me off.
“Wow. You’re too easy. I’m kidding. I’m sure you’re very busy. Important lawyer shit to deal with and what not.” The laughter in her voice does ease the guilt.
“Language,” I admonish half-heartedly. It’s more out of habit than actually giving a damn. An adage passed on from our parents. Which, now that I’m thinking about it, is one I’ll actively try to avoid. Lest I be anything like those assholes.
“Sure, sure,” she says. The eye-roll is implied. “So what’s new with you, big bro?”
Oh, not much. My soulmate just walked back into my life.
“Same old shit. Different day,” I respond back, but my voice gets high pitched on the last word like my own body refuses to lie to my sister.
There’s a beat of silence before her curious, too-interested voice starts in with the questions. “Why did your voice just squeak? What are you hiding from me? I thought I was your favorite sister. You can’t lie to your favorite sister!” I pull the phone away from my ear at the last, screeching exclamation.
“You’re my only sister,” I respond dryly. For something to do, I pick up the pen on my desk and start clicking the top of it over and over. It’s early in the afternoon at the office, and the people in office are starting to get the end of the day jitters. A lot of standing around desks and gossiping before clocking out, so the buzz outside the door is low but steady.
“Exactly. So why are you trying to hide things from your only sister?” Damn. Love her, but the little shit can be annoying when she feels like it. No part of me wants to entertain that. I give her a half truth.
“Just my piss-poor dating life. You know how it is.”
A beat of silence, then she grumbles, “No, I don’t know how it is. No dating, remember?” Right. One of the rules of the ranch. Another reason to get her out of there. It’s better than the alternative, but it’s still basically a fucking convent. She needs to have normal teenage girl experiences.
“Right. Sorry, squirt,” I sigh, rubbing my brow with my thumb and forefinger. An urgent email comes through that I have to answer; I switch my cell to speaker and place it on the desk so I can use both hands to type out my reply.
“It’s fine. Only another month, right?” Hope limns her voice, and it lifts some of the pressure from my chest. I did that. I brought that hope, that happiness, to her voice.
I smile, genuine and broad, and reply, “Right. I already have your room cleared out and the bed set up. You just need to decide on the paint color, and I’ll have that done before you move in.” I’m responding to her as I’m typing, and she must hear the click of the keyboard down the line.
“Do you never stop working?” She huffs. “Never mind. I actually think I want to paint it myself. I really like my art therapy classes and thought I could do my own room?” There’s a hint of nerves in the question, but I couldn’t give a fuck less. The condo could use some color.
“Okay. We’ll go shopping together for whatever you need when I pick you up.” I hit send on the email and lean back in my chair, swiveling left to right, and drop my head back.
“You’re the best!” she screeches. “Wait.” The screeching stops so abruptly I stop my own swiveling. “My room isn’t right next to yours, is it? I don’t want to hear any of your…dating life.” I imagine her shuddering through the phone, and I laugh. Not that I would bring random women back to the apartment with her there.
One person, maybe. Hopefully.
“No, there’s another room and a bathroom in between us. I think you’ll be fine.”
“Thank God. Speaking of…I didn’t realize you were even dating.” The way she says that may as well have air quotes around it. It’s no secret I haven’t been trying to settle down, and I’ve never told my sister about any one night stands.
“I’m…not. Not really.” Not yet.
“Sounds like there is a story there. Tell me!” she demands, a grin in her voice.
“There isn’t anything to tell. Yet.” There. That’s something.
“Yet? So you’re trying to date someone?”
“Yes. I’m trying to date someone, okay?” I respond, only half-annoyed.
“I mean…I’m impressed. You haven’t dated in a while. Not since Lillian at least.” Just hearing her name puts my heart in a chokehold. Like someone reached in and squeezed it. ”What’s she look like?”
I release the breath I’m holding. What does she look like? Like the same stunning woman I loved four years ago. Only somehow even more beautiful. “Uh…blonde,” is what I tell my nosey sister.
“Blonde?” she snorts. “Well. You certainly have a type. What else?” Why is she asking so many questions?
“What do you want to know?” I grouse. “Her fucking social security number?”
“Don’t cuss at me, dumbass. Tell me anything. What’s she like? Is she nice? Does she like the same things as you? What does she do for work?”
My brain responds on autopilot, incapable of not telling the world how perfect Lillian is, I guess. “She’s smart, kind, beautiful, funny. She’s everything.”
Silence.
So much silence I look down at the phone on my desk to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Woah,” she says after a beat. “I haven’t heard you talk about anyone like that since Lillian. She must be serious.”
“She is,” I respond, clearing the lump in my throat.
“Well what’s her name? I want to look her up.” Her voice gets distant, making me think she’s put me on speaker, too, to pull up Instagram or something.
“No,” I shoot back. Too quick, apparently.
“Why not?” Suspicion in her demanding question.
“Because,” is my eloquent response.
“Because why? What’s the big deal? You let me look up that hooker with the big boobs.” She’s talking about one of the parent-approved dates I had to bring to a gala a year or so ago. I didn’t even take her home after.
“First of all, she didn’t mean anything to me. Secondly?—”
Before I even finish my sentence, she interrupts me. “OH MY GOD! IS IT HER?” Her voice is so loud, I would bet it can be heard from the hallway. “Is your new girl Lillian? Are you dating her again?” she bellows in question. How in the hell did she come to that conclusion?
I don’t respond right away. What do I say? Do I tell her the truth? Ignore it? My slow response is answer enough for her. “Oh. My. God. This is so exciting. I’m so happy for you. Maybe I’ll actually get to meet her this time. Then I’ll just ask her why you guys broke up since you wouldn’t tell me yourself. What was her last name again?”
I’m so lost in the past and thinking about how she will never know the real reason I had to end things—never have to carry any guilt over it—that I actually answer her. “Frasier.”
“Lillian Frasier. Such a pretty name,” she mutters absently. Not even ten seconds go by before she speaks again. “Woah. She is freaking gorgeous. And way out of your league. I don’t know how the hell you tricked her into dating you, but you better not mess this up again.”
“Don’t I know it,” I whisper, not sure if she heard me or not. “And thanks. I love you, too.”
“Oh, shut up. You know I love you.” There’s yelling in the distance on her end. Becca must put her hand over the mic because her voice is muted as she yells back, “Hold on! I’m coming.”
“Go have fun with your friends. I’ll call you later.” I pick up my phone, ready to hang up.
“Okay. Talk to you soon. Love you!” She’s clearly distracted now because I barely get to rush out my own ‘love you’ before the call drops.
Leaning back in my chair again, I twirl my cell around between my hands and stare off into space. There isn’t a chance I get any more work done, so I check my emails one last time before I log off, grab my briefcase, and head toward my office door.
Just as I get close, my mother walks through the door frame and almost slams into me. Surprise lights up her eyes when she sees me so close. I don’t buy it. Nothing surprises this woman.
“What do you need, Gwen?” The ice in my tone is absolutely warranted, but it still displeases her. She also hates when I call her Gwen. The thin set of her lips one of her tells. She doesn’t call me out on it though, which has distrust stirring in me.
“Do I need a reason to come see my son?” Suddenly, I’m transported back to a different time, when she said those same words to me. The night that started all the heartbreak and lies.
“Yes,” is my only response.
She huffs. “Never mind. I was just coming to make sure you got the amendments to Revel’s contract, but it can wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to hold up your evening.” She turns and walks out. Red flags and warning signs are jumping out at me in every direction.
This woman, my damn mother, never does anything just to make someone’s life easier. If it inconveniences her, she doesn’t do it. Fuck everyone else’s schedule or feelings. I should call her back. Demand she tell me what she came to tell me. Figure out what she’s running from. But I can’t muster up the emotional strength. All I want is to go home and try not to obsess over Lillian.
As I’m in the elevator, my cell rings again. I groan, slamming my head against the elevator wall in frustration. “Does this day never end?” I grumble before picking up. “Lincoln.”
“Linc. It’s Vince. I found something you might be interested in.” Vince’s deep voice filters through, my shitty mood evaporating in an instant.
“About Lillian?” Too much excitement. I do my best to relax, but I’m eager for any tidbit he can find.
“Well…” he starts, and I’ve never known this man to beat around a bush, so I straighten, bracing myself. “Have you, uh, ever heard of Club Ecstasy?”
I hadn’t realized I was tapping my toe against the elevator floor until it stops, and the enclosed space goes quiet. “The sex club?”
I haven’t been myself, but I’ve heard Tyler talk about it, and I don’t like where this is headed.
“That’s the one. Well, I saw her name on the list for this coming weekend for their key party.” He sounds like he’d rather be having any conversation other than this with me, and I can’t say I blame him.
Heat crawls up my neck, and my ears feel too hot. “What the fuck is a key party?” My voice is low like there are other people in the elevator with me. And why is she going to a sex club? The Lillian I knew would never.
Not that she wasn’t fucking amazing in bed. Experimental, maybe even a little wild. But that came with weeks of forming comfort and connection. She wouldn’t do that with strangers at a party.
“From what I’m reading on their website, the women come to the club and drop their keys in a hat. Then, the men draw from the hat at the end of the night for their…partner.”
Or maybe she would?
What the fuck.
Suddenly, the only thing I know is that there isn’t any chance in fucking hell I’m letting her go to a party full of horny, creepy men by herself. “How do I get on the list?” I ask Vince, privacy be fucking damned. It’s not like I care if he knows about my sex life.
There’s a beat of silence as I assume he looks through the website. “Hmmm. Looks like there’s just a buy in for the men. Fuck, that’s a lot of money.”
“I don’t care. Charge it to my card. Send me the details.” He’s got my card on file for whenever I need him so he doesn’t have to bill me for every little thing.
“You got it.” He hangs up so fast a little chuckle slips free. Sex talks with the boss don’t seem to be in his comfort zone.
At least I know what I’ll be doing when I get home now. I’ve got a sex club to read up on and almost a week to plan out how I’m going to be able to make sure I pick her key from that hat.
It’s not until I’m laying in bed that night that I think back on my conversation with my mother and realize she didn’t have any contract in her hands when she left my office.