Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gage
I bitch at myself all the way home, pissed I let my insecurities out around her. I’m supposed to be the strong one, and I shoved my weakness onto her. She stood up to it, though. Stood up to me.
Zarah’s a lot stronger than she thinks she is.
In a shitty mood, I drop into bed intending to read some more of Max’s journal. I don’t like Zarah seeing Willow Black. The idea gives me the creeps, as I’m sure it did Zane, but she’s been under non-stop surveillance since her husband and son were taken into custody.
Willow can’t do anything to Zarah under house arrest. She’s monitored twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They can’t talk about anything more than the weather and the latest fashions. Maybe that’s all Zarah needs. Maybe it’s all she wants.
I’ll have to do better to find time for her, but it’s difficult. She lives so far out of the city and Pop and I are neck deep in missing persons and the cases Ross threw at us.
Hopefully after Christmas things will calm down and I can figure out how we can spend more time together without balding my truck tires in the process.
Whenever I flip through Max’s journal, I torture myself and read the passages where he writes about Zarah. I don’t know why I do it except I hate picturing them together. I know, it confuses me too.
How she can say she loved him but then says she loves me? We’re nothing alike. We had nothing in common besides our jobs which Pop keeps insisting are similar. I guess they are—only his was more on the legit side of things...and paid better.
I didn’t know Zarah before Ash locked her up and threw away the key, and who’s to say they would still be together now. Once Zarah’s her own person, she might not love me anymore. I wonder if Max stayed up late at night worried about that, too.
Tonight, a different name pops out at me in Max’s precise and strong writing:
Dad and I got into a fight tonight. I don’t know what we were fighting about, really. He doesn’t want me seeing Zarah. The only thing is, I didn’t tell him I was. All my time so far has been spent with Mel and Richard, going over what we’ll do at the gala, or writing articles for the paper. It’s not like I’ve been photographed all over KC living it up like a VIP. We stay pretty close to the Crowne. I don’t know how he knew, but when he was yelling at me to keep my dick in my pants, I wasn’t wondering about the how, only the why. He said I could do better than a woman passed around a party like a joint, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to hit him. Fuck him and fuck Mom who didn’t say a goddamn thing to stand up for her. Feminism is alive and well in the Cook household, I see. Gage wouldn’t have put up with it. His fist would’ve been down my father’s throat before he finished the sentence. I need to be more like him. I would have asked for his help, but I want to tackle this on my own. Make him proud of me. Maybe he’ll want to be my brother again.
I close the journal as tears leak from my eyes. I didn’t know he felt like that. He never called, never texted. The handful of times I saw him at Mom’s, I thought it was enough...for both of us.
He’s right about one thing. I won’t let Rourke talk shit about Zarah. If he didn’t like the idea of Max being with her, he won’t like me dating her, either.
Maybe what Zarah said about people gossiping about her wasn't that far off the mark, but you can't stop living because you're scared of what people will say. It's none of their goddamned business.
Baby crawls across the bed and lays her head on the pillow next to mine. She always knows when I'm out of sorts.
I place Max's journal on my nightstand and turn off the light. I set my alarm to go off at seven.
We have a lot of work to do.
After a crappy night’s sleep, I drag my sorry ass to the office.
Zarah needs to move back into the city. That’s all there is to it.
I look like shit in jeans and a t-shirt I picked up off the floor. Even the two huge mugs of coffee I downed didn’t make a dent.
“The Mesas won’t talk to us,” Pop says as I fall into a chair. “They claim holiday obligations, but that’s just shit. Their daughter’s gone. They won’t be celebrating anything.”
I need a minute to remember who the Mesas are. I feel like I’m living two separate lives. Sitting with Pop in our office couldn’t be any further away from Zarah’s mini mansion letting Lucille serve me my dinner, even if she does pat the top of my head like I’m a little kid.
“Can’t talk your way into everything,” I mumble.
“What’s with you?”
“Zarah showed up at the apartment yesterday. Said she and her brother got into a fight over her going to see Willow Black.”
Pop raises his eyebrows. “Willow Black? Why would she want to do that?”
“Don’t know. Lonely. She doesn’t have many people in her life. She and Willow probably hung out when her mother was alive, and she got to know her. Clayton and Kagan were good friends, maybe Lark and Willow were, too. Anyway, Zane didn’t like it, and Zarah thought she’d move in with me. I stopped that quick enough, but when I brought her home, I got hung up out there and didn’t drive back into the city until late.”
“You didn’t happen to ask her who her therapist is.”
I wince. “Didn’t think to. She was pretty upset she made Zane pissed.”
“So you aren’t making any progress with what Max wanted you to do.”
“I still don’t know what that is, Pop. I’ve been paging through his journal, trying to get a feel for what things were like when he was helping them. Get a feel for what Zarah was like.” Guiltily, I think of the pile of discs I have yet to watch. “The present seems more important than the past right now. She’s getting better, but she’s still this scared little girl frightened of her own shadow. I like being with her, but even that has its challenges. Fuck.”
“It’s a mess,” Pop says.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
I roll around what I want to ask him, how to put it delicately. To buy some time, I shove a pod into the Keurig and feed Baby who had retreated to her corner the minute we stepped into the office.
Holding a mug of rich black self-preservation in the form of coffee, I settle nervously into a chair in front of Pop’s desk. He knows I want to ask him something, and he does busywork while he waits.
“If Zarah and I figure it out—” This is hard for me to ask, but it’s going to be harder to wait for his answer. I admire Pop, respect him in a way most people never look up to their dads. Pop has an integrity I try to emulate. I don’t know how I’ll feel if he disappoints me in this one thing. “You won’t care about what Black made her do.” The words rush out, and my muscles turn to stone as I wait for him to speak.
“She let that bastard sell her to protect her family. Can’t be any braver than that.”
My breath whooshes out of me. “Thanks. Rourke had...problems with her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I read a little of Max’s diary last night. Somehow Rourke found out Max was seeing Zarah and he told Max to keep his dick in his pants and find someone...less used.”
I will never repeat Rourke comparing her to a joint passed around at a party. I will never say it out loud, and I will never let anyone read it.
His lips forming a thin line, Pop staples a stack of papers together and shoves them into a manila envelope. “You don’t know much about the rich and famous, about the politicians in this country.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you watch the news? The mayor, the senators, maybe the governor. Hell, especially the governor. They all play. Buy hookers, play cards, bet on the ponies. That stuff is okay on the side, on the down-low, but don’t you dare bring it into real life. Rourke knows that. What Black did to Zarah turned her into someone he wouldn’t want Max to marry. He had lofty aspirations for Max. Even Zarah’s billions wouldn’t have saved her.”
I chew on that. “You think Rourke cheats on Mom?”
He scoffs. “I'd be shocked if he didn't.”
“You don't seem upset about it.”
“Delilah knows the score. She trades fidelity for money. That's her choice.”
“He wasn’t on Black’s client list.”
“That we’re aware of. Slimy things have a way of slipping through the cracks.”
“How come we’ve never talked about this?”
“I’ve always taught you to mind your own business, and that’s something I stand by. We do what’s right, yeah, get involved when we have no choice, but your mother hasn’t been my business for a long time. We’ve been divorced for over thirty years. If she wants to look the other way, that’s none of my concern.”
I see his point, but I don’t have to like it. Trading fidelity, monogamy, trust, for status and a fat bank account will never feel right to me, but I can’t judge my mother for her choices.
Like hell I want anyone judging me for mine.
They will, though. Zarah had it right when she wrote her therapist that list. They’ll accuse me of looking past what Ash made her do because I want her money.
It will always come down to money with this crowd.
I’m not a rich senator’s son. Not like Max was.
Zarah thinks she won’t fit in? She’s got nothing on me.
Pop and I are pounding the pavement when she texts and asks if I want to go out to her place to eat dinner and let Baby run with Sansa and Arya. I’m exhausted and I shouldn’t, but I accept. I have a feeling that no matter what Zarah asks me to do, the answer will always be yes.
Zane’s waiting outside as I pull up and a strong sense of déjà vu hits me. He’s shoveling the soft layer of snow that fell as the sun went down, clearing the walk and the concrete in front of the garages. If he would’ve left it, I’m sure a snow removal company would’ve take care of it by morning, but it’s a nice evening and I don’t blame him if he needs some space.
Life has been stifling lately.
I cut the engine and open the door. Baby scrambles out, her new home away from home.
Zane wedges the shovel into a snowbank and says, “You can let her in. The women are in the kitchen helping Lucille cook dinner.”
Baby rushes into the house, but I stay outside. No doubt Zane wants to tell me a few things. I guess we’re clearing the air sooner rather than later.
Self-consciously, Zane shoves his hands into the pockets of his work jacket, and he exhales, his breath streaming out of his mouth white in the cold. “I want to thank you again for bringing my sister home yesterday. Christ, when I found out she went to see Willow Black...I saw red. After all they’ve done to us, and Zarah went to see her. I felt betrayed.”
“I get it. I didn’t like hearing it either, but she’s lonely. All she has is you and Stella, Ingrid, and Lucille. Her life is very small.”
“I thought we were enough, and I don’t know how to fix the fact we’re not.”
I’m on shaky ground. No one tells Zane Maddox what to do, but he waited out here to talk to me, so he must want to know what I have to say.
“Have you tried talking to her?”
He frowns. “I do talk to her.”
“Look, I don’t want to get between you two. All I know is what she tells me. Do you talk to her like you used to? Before. Before Black prostituted her to whoever could pay? Like you did before he drugged her to shut her up? She wants her life how it used to be, and I told her that’s not going to happen and to deal with it. But some of the parts she misses, she can have back. Like the relationship she had with you.”
“You don’t understand what I see when I look at her.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Max...I bet you didn’t know he even had a brother until he died and his attorney contacted you to arrange for me to pick up his things. We weren’t close. We were so different, at least, I thought we were, and I didn’t want anything to do with him. I can’t fix that now. I hurt him by shutting him out, and I didn’t understand he wanted me in his life until after he was gone. You feel guilty, but you gotta let that go. What’s done is done. Sometimes there are things you can’t fix and you have to make peace with the knowledge they’ll always be broken.”
“I didn’t know she felt like that,” he mumbles.
“She’s scared to talk to you. She forgives you, and she needs you to treat her like you’ve forgiven yourself. Even if you haven’t. That’s not her problem.”
“God. I was such a fucking asshole. Forgive myself for letting her rot in Quiet Meadows when nothing was wrong with her? That’s going to be damned near impossible.”
“This is something that’s probably none of my business, but sudden moves make her flinch. She tries to hide it, but it’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Maybe if you would hug her, or, I don’t know, play around with her—that sounds stupid—but if she can get used to you touching her again, maybe she’ll get used to me. Men in general.”
“I’ve noticed. I just stay away from her. It’s easier.”
“You can’t do that. It feeds into her thinking she’s dirty. She called herself a piece of trash last night and it broke my heart.”
Zane hunches his shoulders. “Jesus Christ. She’s supposed to be working with her therapist about stuff like that.”
“I’m sure she’s told you, the therapist, I mean, that it’s going to involve her whole family.”
He cuts me a glance. “How did you know her therapist is a woman?”
“You would never let Zarah spend an hour alone with a man. Not now. Especially two or three times a week. And she wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”
“You’re right. Jerricka’s been working on a lot of—”
“What?” I cut in. “What did you say?”
“Jerricka. Her therapist. She’s been—”
“Jerricka Solis?”
“Yeah. You know her? After I discharged Zarah, Jerricka contacted me about the kind of care Zarah would need outside of the facility. She’s very qualified—”
“Yeah, I’m sure she is. Pop and I questioned her a few days ago. She’s connected to two girls who recently passed away.” I talk him through JodiAnne’s and Marci’s deaths.
“That doesn’t sound like anything,” he says, tilting his head back and looking at the sky full of stars. “But I learned nothing is ever what it seems. Zarah’s sessions are done until the new year. Then we’ll decide if seeing Jerricka is still in her best interest. She’s been making progress.”
“That might not be to Dr. Solis’ credit.”
“Maybe not. Fuck. Maybe Max is right after all. I’ll never be free of anything the Blacks did to my family.”
“It’s wise to hope for the best but be prepared for the worst,” I say, kicking at some snow. “I’ll keep poking around. I don’t like coincidences, but I have to agree, right now it doesn’t sound like much.”
I want to be frank with Zane, no holding back, but I know he won’t go easy on me. Hell, Stella warned me trust doesn’t come cheap. Zarah might say she loves me, but her skittishness gives her away. She doesn’t trust me not to hurt her.
I haven’t been in her life long enough to earn it.
“Was there ever a time when you thought you and Stella wouldn’t make it?”
Zane walks into the yard, his posture stiff. “Pick an hour, pick a minute. Stella, she forgives in an instant, you know? The second I apologized for trusting Ash, she forgave me. She’s like that. But that didn’t mean she wanted me or the life I wanted to give her. When she found her parents and went to Florida to get to know them, weeks turned into months. I thought, yeah, why would she want me, but I forgot one important thing. She loves me. When it comes right down to it, there’s not much that will beat out love. We say all the time that sometimes love isn’t enough, but God, that’s got to be some shitty circumstances if love can’t fix it. Are you worried about how Zarah feels about you?”
I shrug. I can’t admit how I feel.
“She’s got a ways to go, but the best thing I can suggest is not to give up on her. I gave up on Stella. Believed she left me for another man. Had I trusted her, believed in us, I never would have swallowed Ash’s bullshit. Maybe none of this would have happened. Don’t make my mistakes. If you love my sister, if you want her, you have to be all in. She needs steady ground under her feet.”
I say what’s been bothering me this whole time. “I don’t want her to date other men. I see the sense in it, I do, but I can’t watch it.”
“Christ. The pictures...” He fades off, his voice sad and full of regret, and then says, “If she doesn’t want to, I won’t push her.”
“She doesn’t.”
Zane meets my eyes. “If you hurt my sister, I will kill you.”
His words don’t scare me. “You know damned well I’ll hurt her, and before this is done, she’ll hurt me too. It’s that we come out the other side that’s important.”
He stares at me for a moment, then nods. “Agreed.”
Stella pops her head out the front door. “Are you guys coming in to eat?”
“I was telling Gage to behave around Zarah or I’ll kick his ass.”
Even from our distance away, I can see Stella’s eyes dart between us. “I’d like to watch that.”
The door slams shut.
Zane laughs. “Fuck. I better start working out more.”
I’m pleased Zane didn’t forget our talk, and in the kitchen, he steps behind Zarah and wraps his arms around her. She stiffens for a second then melts into his embrace as he rubs his cheek against hers.
“You did a good thing,” Stella says, holding a huge bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and squeezing my arm with the other. “Let’s give them a minute.”
Carrying a bowl of vegetables, I follow her into the dining room. “How do you stay so down-to-earth?” I ask, setting the bowl onto the table and snagging a dinner roll to feed Baby.
She tugs at the university t-shirt she’s wearing with a pair of faded jeans. “Life doesn’t change that much. I was never impressed, and for a long time, I thought money caused more problems than it solved. It seemed that way for Zane and Zarah, and Lark and Kagan. But I only saw the bad side. The greed, the entitlement, the utter violence that comes from being able to afford anything you want. And I mean anything. Like Zarah...or me, I guess. I will never be able to wrap my mind around the fact that if you’re rich enough, you can buy a person. An actual human being. When we met, I gave Zane a hard time for being rich when I grew up poor. Reverse discrimination didn’t make me right, it only turned me into a different kind of snob. I’m always having to remind myself to relax, that life doesn’t have to be so serious. Surprisingly, the best thing about having money,” she drops her voice, “is the primo booze.”
I laugh. That wasn’t what I expected her to say.
“Zane got a shipment of beer from Ireland. Do you want to try some?”
I’m completely charmed. “That sounds great.”
I pull up to my apartment building bone-dead tired, but that’s something that won’t change anytime soon. I’m glad Pop didn’t want to celebrate Thanksgiving, and Zarah never mentioned celebrating the holiday, either. I guess things don’t feel very festive right now, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they decided to keep things low-key.
Zarah and I walked the woods after dinner, and it was romantic despite the cold. The dogs had a great time playing hide and seek in the dark.
We sat on a log and kissed a little. It’s nice not hopping into bed two minutes after meeting someone. I like courting her, whispering naughty things into her ear and watching her blush.
I told her bits and pieces of what Zane and I talked about, and tears filled her eyes when I said he wouldn’t pressure her to date other men.
That made me happier than it should have. Selfishly, I’m the only man I want her to want.
The house was dark and still when we walked back, and I could tell she wanted to invite me to her room but in the end couldn’t dredge up the courage to issue the invitation. I would have declined anyway. I would have fallen asleep in her bed and come morning that would have looked bad for everyone.
On the drive home, I slid my windows down, the chilly air keeping my eyes open. Baby liked it too, sticking her head out, her tongue flapping. I haven’t worked out in a while, either, and she’s probably missing our runs. I need to carve time into my schedule, or it won’t be long before Zane will be able to kick my ass.
Baby trudges across the parking lot, the run through the woods catching up with her. She loves the forest though, and I bet she wouldn’t miss me at all if she stayed at the country house for a while.
The glass door slams shut and the sharp sound bounces against the brick walls and metal staircase.
A figure is sitting at the top of the stairs near my door, and she looks up. Tears streak her little face, and despite her thick jacket and a knit hat covering her hair, she’s shivering violently in the cold.
“Are you lost?” I ask gently. She could be a runaway looking for a warm place to hide, but the hallway in my building isn’t heated.
Tears make her voice squeak. “Are you Mr. Davenport?”
I am, for all intents and purposes, but I think she’s looking for Pop. I nod to move things along.
“I heard my mom talking to you on the phone. She said she didn’t want to talk about my sister.”
The hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle.
“My sister would never kill herself.” She drags her sleeve under her nose, her leg bouncing a mile a minute. “She liked to party, and she got into trouble sometimes, but she was going to marry Troy. She loved him. She wouldn’t have killed herself.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” I say it low, soothingly. She’s two seconds away from snapping.
“Meredith Mesa. Savannah’s sister. She didn’t kill herself. I have proof.”