Chapter Three #3
The moon and stars are twinkling above us, the scent of woodsmoke in the air.
“Maybe not tomorrow. I can’t ask you to give me all your free time. But what about New Year’s Day? I’d like to see you, kiss you Happy New Year.” She smiles tentatively, knowing just as well as I do that the coming year may not be so happy. “Douglas can drive me into the city, and we’ll have lunch somewhere.”
“That sounds perfect.” I kiss her goodbye and brush a tear off her cheek. “Things are going to be okay.”
“If you’re in my life, I know they will be.”
That’s a lot of faith, and I hope I can live up to it.
I’m quiet on the way back, and Pop’s lost in his own thoughts. I drop him at home, and he says mournfully, “Tomorrow night.”
“Black tie.”
“Of course it is.”
He slams out of the truck, but he’s not annoyed. He knows as well as I do that’s how Mom works.
I fight traffic, people heading to the bars to celebrate the New Year early, and finally park in my building’s lot. Sitting in the dark cab, I text Mom and let her know Pop and I will be at her party. She doesn’t ask about Zarah, but I’m sure she will tomorrow night. She reminds me it’s black tie, but I say I already know and to have a good night. I’m surprised she’s not sleeping, but maybe my text woke her or she was hoping I would get in touch.
I’ve been a crappy son. I need to change or she’ll pass away and I’ll feel like I did when Max died. The way I still feel. Guilty as fuck. I shouldn’t be an ass just because I dislike Rourke. I have been, and that’s not fair.
I feed Baby and flop into bed with Max’s journal. I’m behind reading it and sorting through the discs he left me. Now that Zarah’s case is a priority, I can carve more time into my schedule to do what Max asked me to do.
I fall asleep paging through his diary, wishing like hell the answers to all of Zarah’s problems would leap out at me.
They don’t.
I spend New Year’s Eve Day working at my new table, enjoying the fact I can spread out paperwork for easy reference later instead of tossing it on the floor. Pop’s doing me a favor, letting us take on Zarah and Stella as clients, and the work I do clearing up other cases will unruffle some of his feathers for a little while. People will tell you anything to get you off the phone, especially when they want to party.
I cast a guilty look at Max’s lockbox. After the holiday, I’ll start to dig. Put the fifteen grand to good use. I’m reluctant to unravel the truth, if there is any. I don’t know what it will mean for Zarah and me if she can’t get better.
God, do I feel sorry for Zane. If she can’t beat this, he’ll blame himself forever. What will that do to his and Stella’s relationship?
It’s a depressing thought, but one all too real.
My tux is getting a workout, and I can’t help but correlate it to meeting and dating Zarah. It’s not true, not this time, but it’s the kind of life she leads. Or did lead. Will lead.
Baby’s happy, her body quivering with joy. I buckle a faux diamond studded collar around her neck and fasten a hot pink service vest onto her back. It wouldn’t fly in a formal situation, but Mom’s guests won’t know the difference and they won’t be able to complain about a dog in the house.
I pick Pop up, and stiff and uncomfortable in his own tux, he latches his seatbelt.
“You look good,” he says.
“You’ve seen me dressed up before.” I back out of his driveway.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” He scratches Baby between the ears, and she leans into his hand, slobbering all over his chin.
“Nice.”
“You’re dragging me to this God-awful thing. Why am I going to be nice to you?”
“It’s free food and free booze. You’ll enjoy yourself.”
“You’re only telling yourself that so you don’t feel guilty dragging me along. I could be home in my underwear scratching my balls.”
I have no argument. If I wasn’t going, more than likely I’d be doing the same. But I figured this would be a good time to talk to Rourke—in a place where he has to keep his cool. And in a place where I can’t kill him.
The drive out to Mom and Rourke’s isn’t as long as going out to Zarah’s, but traffic packs the streets and red lights slow me down the entire way.
There’s a valet parking cars, and I have to wait in a line that snakes down the entire driveway. Their house will be as packed as the streets, and the open bar will be welcome, indeed.
We finally reach the front, and I toss my keys to the stressed-out kid who looks like he passed his driver’s test over the summer. “If you slide into a snowbank, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
His mouth drops open, and despite the sub-zero temperatures, he rubs a bead of sweat out of his eye. I let Baby out of the back and ignore his sputtering. If I have to be miserable, we all do.
Mom’s housekeeper opens the door, and a Frank Sinatra song floats onto the stone walkway. “Your mother is positively beside herself,” she says, beaming. “She is so happy you said you’d be here tonight. Do you want me to tell her you’re here?”
We step into the foyer and Pop and I take off our jackets and let an attendant hang them in the large closet. “No, thanks, Hilda. I’ll find her. You’re plenty busy without me bossing you around.” I wink, and she blushes, but the ringing doorbell pulls her attention away, and reluctantly, I turn mine to my mother’s friends.
The entire house is crowded, and Pop disappears the second we step into the living room. Maybe to the bar, maybe to the bathroom, maybe to the den where he’ll watch a football game with a few other miserable blokes brought along against their will. This isn’t his kind of party, but he’ll tolerate it smoking one of Rourke’s cigars and drinking a bottomless bottle of beer.
Baby’s familiar with the house and I lose her just as quickly. Mom’s cook loves her—she knows where her bread is buttered. Literally. I hope she doesn’t eat too much. I don’t want to clean up puke later.
Standing at the edge of the room, I scan Mom’s guests. Neither she or Rourke are around, but Rourke and his cronies are probably gossiping and deciding the fate of the world and Mom’s harassing the catering staff, her eagle eye ensuring she’s getting what she pays for.
As I head to the bar, no one stops me to talk, and that’s fine. I wait my turn, ask for a Manhattan, rest my elbow on top of the shining black lacquer, and do my damnedest to look like a grownup.
A kid no older than the one who parked my truck sets my drink on a cocktail napkin, and I tip him five bucks. He pockets it, nodding appreciatively, and glides down to a pretty thing who asks for a glass of champagne.
I feel vaguely out of place, like I always do, and it’s disconcerting. I’m straddling a fence between Zarah’s world and mine. How badly do I want to fit in?
Stella looked calm and confident at Max’s award dinner, ignoring people who stared and speaking to only a select few throughout the night. She adapted to her surroundings, perhaps not easily, but I don’t know how I can at all. I see glitter and greed. Men who use whomever they want because they think they’re entitled and women who look the other way for the privilege of spending their husband’s money.
There isn’t an honest person in this room.
Holding out her hand, a wedding ring that means nothing sparkling on her finger, my mother approaches me. “Gage. There you are. I’m so happy you could come. Where’s Zarah?”
I grasp her hand and kiss her cheek. “She had a prior commitment.”
“Someone else then?” Mom smiles hopefully. All she’s ever wanted was to marry me off. I think she wants the wedding more than she wants me to have a wife.
“Yeah.”
“Well, where is she?” she asks impatiently. “I’d love to meet her.”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
Mom frowns but smooths the lines on her face. She’s always worried about wrinkles. “Whatever is she doing in there?”
“Looking for food, I imagine.”
“Gage, really. There’s a buffet set up in the sunroom. It’s no wonder you’re still single. You have no idea how to treat a woman.”
“I’m doing my best,” I say, tongue-in-cheek. “You look gorgeous, as always.”
“Thank you. It’s a sample...Carolina Herrera.” She says it like it should mean something to me. No doubt a man like Ash, or Zane, even Max, if he were still alive, would nod and hum, but I don’t know who Carolina Herrera is, and I don’t care.
Gesturing to the giant Christmas tree in the center of the far wall, I say, “The house looks nice. I’m sorry I didn’t come for Christmas.”
“The holidays are hard on all of us without Max.” Her eyes grow damp, and she blinks away the tears. “I try not to let his death get the best of me. He died doing what he loved. It’s what anyone can hope for.”
“I still have to pack up his apartment. Will you help me?”
Mom clutches at my arm in dismay. “You’ve been paying his rent all this time? Good Lord, Gage, whatever for?”
“I’m trying not to admit I was a shitty brother. Going over there, looking at all of his things. It’s a reminder we could have been closer and it’s my fault we weren’t.”
Her eyes widen. “Max never thought that. He loved you and looked up to you.”
“Then that makes the way I treated him even worse. He would have fit in here. I don’t.”
“And you can’t decide if you want to despise him or envy him. You don’t fit in because you don’t want to. Don’t blame your brother or the people in this room. You made your choice. I saw the way you glared at my guests, sneering, feeling better than them, and for what? There are good, kind people in this room. Let me prove it to you.”
“Okay.” I say it so she’s happy. I say it because of what Stella said. Reverse snobbery won’t hurt anyone but me. “If you help me pack up Max’s apartment.”
“Of course I will, and let me reimburse you for the rent. Don’t say no. He’s been gone for over a year and I know you can’t afford that. You treat me like a witch you have to placate to stay on my good side. I love you. You’re my first-born son. And I love your father—he gave me you.” She straightens my bow tie. “You’re so conflicted, and you don’t have to be. Come now, Bunny Mapplethorpe’s daughter is here. She’s about to graduate from Harvard. Social Justice or some such. I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”
Just like that, the little progress Mom and I managed vanishes in a puff of vanity and disgust. Designer dresses hold more weight in her life than the social injustices people have to fight against every day.
Bunny’s daughter is actually very intelligent, and she’s pretty, too. We spend a surprisingly pleasurable hour talking about Nora Guthrie and the shit she’s in helping Ashton Black sell girls into the sex trade. She’s impressed I know Stella and asks if I can introduce her. I think the two women would appreciate each other, and I promise to pass along the request. Smiling her thanks, she excuses herself to mingle.
At 11:55 PM I text Zarah. Happy New Year, sweetheart. I love you, and this year will be our year.
She doesn’t respond, and that worries me and lets me down. I wanted to exchange mushy words as the New Year came in.
Mom passes around sparklers, and Baby trots to my side, excited by the anticipation in the room. Pop joins us in the corner, and the only way I’d be any more content is if Zarah was with me too.
Max might be gone, but life is good. I need to appreciate what I have. Even if Zarah’s recovery has slowed to a halt, we found each other and that’s the most important thing.
Mom’s guests start the countdown and as the clock strikes midnight, everyone breaks out into “Auld Lang Syne.” I don’t see Rourke anywhere, and I clench my jaw. He should be bringing in the New Year standing next to his wife, but she’s with a group of her friends, the sparks lighting her face.
“Happy New Year, Gage. I have a feeling this is going to be one helluva year,” Pop says.
“Yep, I agree. Happy New Year to you, too.”
He hugs me, clapping me on the back, and I’m grateful we have the relationship that we do.
Rourke’s absence bothers me, and I refuse to let it go. “I’ll be right back.”
“Let’s get going after you’re done.”
“We’re on the same page.” No, we’re not. He thinks I’m hitting the head and I don’t correct him.
The party sounds fade as I move deeper into the house. I walk past two gentlemen I don’t recognize, but they nod like they know me.
I haven’t been in this part of Mom’s house in many years, but Rourke’s study is the same large airy corner room on the main floor, all wood and dark colors. I slide the door open a crack. I don’t see him, but I hear him. Baby appears by my legs, and I press my finger to my lips. If he’s doing business, I don’t want to interrupt. I may not like him, but as far as politicians go, I’m surprised to say I don’t have many arguments about the way he represents our state.
“It’s been over a goddamned year. We need progress made. I don’t care how.” He pauses, tension thick, and I keep back, out of sight in case he walks closer to the doorway.
“For fuck’s sake, yes, I know there have been setbacks, but if we can’t work around them, work through them, this will all be for nothing. We’ve come too far to let a few bumps stop us.”
There’s another pause, and Rourke has come close enough I can hear the buzzing as the voice on the other end sputters in defense.
“We need to complete the testing or we’ll never know what the drug’s full capabilities are.”
Rourke stops, and when he replies, he’s farther away from me. “Then make it happen. I don’t care how.”
There’s a beep, and I think it means Rourke ended the call. I count to thirty, knock, and slide the door open. “Rourke. We missed you at midnight.”
Smoothly, Rourke slides his phone into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. Not a hair is out of place, and he looks like the elegant senator he is. “Gage. Your mother told me you’d be here. Did you bring Zarah?”
Baby growls low in the back of her throat and bares her teeth. My dog hates Rourke. Even as a puppy, she couldn’t stand being in the same room as him.
“Shh,” I say, but she doesn’t stop. “No. She had her own obligations tonight.”
“That’s unfortunate. I would have liked to have seen her again.”
“Yes, well, that may not be the best idea, considering how Max’s award dinner went.” I pause and let that sink in. Let the fact that I will never let him see her again sink the fuck in.
He doesn’t react, only sips his drink.
“I saw Willow Black yesterday,” I say, stepping farther into the room.
Baby starts to whine, but it’s more preferable to the snarling and I let her be.
“I know,” he says, walking across the hardwood floor to the bar. “Have a New Year’s drink with me before you go. You don’t stay at these things any longer than necessary, and I appreciate you finding time in your busy schedule,” he says, slightly sarcastically. “Delilah couldn’t keep the smile off her face all day. That means a lot to me.”
Baby lingers near the door hoping for a quick getaway, but I accept the drink, sip, and savor the smoky flavor.
I brush aside the smarmy compliments and zero in on the one thing that matters. “How did you know?”
“Paparazzi camp outside her building, and they report anyone coming or going. Truth or Dare ran a story speculating what you and Stella Mayfair were doing there.” He raises an eyebrow, inviting me to share.
“She said you two were having an affair.”
Rourke smiles, a wisp of humor touching his mouth. “We were. Have you ever had a woman against a wall? The perfectly sized woman who fits against you just right that it’s a dream to slide your cock into her. She wraps her legs around your hips and it’s heaven on earth. That’s Willow. She lives up to the name. Strong, but lithe. She doesn’t care what you want to do to her. She bends and takes it all.”
“How can you tell me that?” I’m glad Pop and I already had this conversation or Rourke’s revelation would have surprised the shit out of me.
Now I know better and I keep my fists to myself.
“Come on. Men need more than missionary. I love your mother, Gage. We’ve been married for over thirty years. Men don’t do that with women they only tolerate. We lasted as long as we have because Delilah understands I need more in bed. I simply like things she doesn’t. Our marriage shouldn’t have to suffer.”
“Then Mom knows you cheat.”
“She knows, but I would never be so crass as to share details or throw it in her face.”
“Big of you.”
“Our arrangement doesn’t concern you. Is that why you’re here? I didn’t think it was to wish me a Happy New Year. We all can’t be as noble as your father. That man can do no wrong.”
I ignore that. “You weren’t afraid of Clayton Black finding out?”
“No. I own this fucking state and everyone in it. I do whatever, and whomever, the fuck I want, but there’s something to be said for discretion and Willow and I kept to ourselves. Still, I couldn’t have given two fucks if Black found out. When you’re up against this much power, you honor it. You remember that, son.”
I grit my teeth. I’m not his son, and I have never considered him my father in any capacity.
“Then you’re not afraid of him finding out now?”
Rourke scoffs. “What are you going to do? Run and tell him? The man’s in prison, and will be for the rest of his life. He says he’s waiting for his pardon...I don’t see how that can happen unless the president himself signs the order for his release.”
“Are you still seeing her?”
“Have you seen me on Truth or Dare ’s website? I think not.”
I open my mouth to ask another question, but he cuts me off. “Stay away from Jenny Mapplethorpe. You don’t want your old man’s leftovers.” He cuts me a sharp glance. “Though, I could be wrong about that. You seem to like licking someone else’s...plate.”
“She’s half your age.” The visual of Rourke doing Jenny against a wall churns the whiskey in my stomach. And here I thought she was a nice girl.
“I’m not the only one dipping my wick in young pussy. Zarah’s what? Ten years your junior? She’s got a lot of miles on her, Gage. Are you sure you can’t find someone who’s not so used? What do you do after you fuck? Does she compare you to Max? Is his cock smaller than yours?” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Have a little respect for yourself, unless you like trashy sex.”
I could have gotten angry, thrown my drink against the fireplace in a fit of rage, the glass shattering against the hearth. I could have lunged at him, given him a fat lip and broken his fancy designer glasses. I could have walked out.
I do none of those things.
I down the inch of whiskey in my glass and set it empty on the corner of his massive desk. “What happened to her wasn’t her fault.”
“Ashton Black is an asshole like his father, but he had a reason for everything he did. He had a plan . He could see a future few of us can see, and he used Zarah Maddox to make his visions a reality. She’s collateral damage. It’s not your job to put her back together.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ash was a bastard and sold her because he could. The worst part is, he had buyers. Cowards who would pay to smack a woman around, rape her, because they’re so spineless they couldn’t prove their masculinity any other way. I’d like to meet them in an alley. See what they could do when they’re up against someone more their size. What would they do then?”
“For as long as the male species has been on this planet, they have sought dominance over others. You can’t tell me you’ve never fucked a woman too hard, made her cry out, and found pride in her pain. Or kicked the shit out of a druggie rat, got in an extra punch or two to watch him bleed. You’re no better, Davenport. I can see it on you, so don’t act superior to me or anyone else. You want to fuck a whore, fuck one, but be prepared to pay. And you will, just a different kind of price. I’m warning you to stay away from her. I can’t guarantee what will happen if you don’t.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t need to threaten you.”
At this, I do leave, hooking my fingers under Baby’s collar before she tries to rip his throat out...and I let her. He was too close to the truth. Too close to the fact that sometimes I’ve gone too far. In bed and out.
I’m not like him, fucking everything that moves, and I’m not like those men who paid Ash Black to hurt Zarah. We all have a monster in us, and I have no reason to be ashamed of mine.
Pop’s looking for me when I step into the living room. Half the guests are gone, and the waitstaff’s serving the last of the champagne, eager to go home and get off their feet.
“Where have you been?”
“Wishing Rourke a Happy New Year?”
“Does his jaw still work?”
“Never touched him.”
“Then let’s get out of here before you find a reason to.”
“I have plenty of reason. Didn’t see the point.”
Pop nods but doesn’t say anything. Mom catches us near the door and thanks us for coming, hugging me tightly despite the anger rolling off me. I’m glad I can make her happy, but I may have to reconcile with the idea she’ll never be the kind of person I need her to be to earn all of my respect. I can still love her, but I’ll never approve of her choices.
I don’t check my phone until I drop Pop off and I’m home, tossing my keys and wallet onto the little table near the door.
Zarah texted me while I was speaking to Rourke.
I love you, Gage, but sometimes things aren’t meant to be. If we’re one of those things, don’t be sad. You’ve taught me so much, shown me so much, that I’ll never regret letting myself fall in love with you. I’m sorry. I’m a little melancholy tonight. See you tomorrow. I’ll have Douglas drop me off at your apartment around noon. If that isn’t good for you, call me. Happy New Year.
It’s eerie she sent me that at the exact moment Rourke was warning me off her. Like she could feel the vibes. I’m never giving up on her. The only thing that would make me walk away is if she recovers and doesn’t want me anymore, and the possibility of her recovery seems less and less likely.
I would trade us, trade our future, if she could one day look at me with clear eyes and tell me that she doesn’t want the life I want to give her.
I would trade us, because that’s what you do when you love someone as much I love Zarah.