Chapter 41
CHAPTER 41
BETH
Two Months Later
I figured if Nigel was going to fall off the wagon when it comes to how he treats me, he would’ve done it by now. So, I’ve relaxed and fallen into a decent routine. He has loosened the reins and given me more freedom than he had before.
Now, I can come and go as I please…for the most part, anyway.
Nigel still won’t let me go back to the house, even just to prepare for my mother’s return home. We’ve still got another month to go, but he wants there to be a separation between me and the woman who birthed me. He even didn’t want me to go see my mother at the rehab, but I did it anyway with Oliver as a chaperone, but he stayed in the car.
I’ve never seen my mom so sick in my life, not even when she was pregnant with my brother who she miscarried when my dad passed away. The stress was too much for her body to withstand. She can deny it, but I know that has something to do with how far she has fallen.
* * *
“Beth, we need you downstairs,” Charlie yells through the door as I tug down my shirt. I had to come upstairs to change since some drunkard accidentally spilled his beer on me. Personally, I think it was intentional just to see through my shirt since it was a white tank top. He didn’t account for me wearing a bra, though. Shame on him either way. No one should ever be so drunk that their drink pours on someone else, and everyone in this town knows Nigel claimed me. He hasn't exactly been discrete about it either.
“For what?” I groan. Slipping on my jacket, I pull open the door and am surprised by the worried look on Charlie’s face. “What is it?” I ask, on edge from his expression.
“There’s some girl that just showed up uninvited. She’s looking for Nigel,” he explains, and my back straightens.
It’s common to have uninvited guests at a party. Hell, that’s how Nigel and I met. It’s also common for girls—usually drunk enough not to be worried about the consequences—to sniff around Nigel. What is uncommon is for someone to show up uninvited, asking for him.
“Is he not back yet?” I press. Nigel left right before the beer-dumping incident to get more beer. It was his turn to go on a run.
“Not that I know of. You should probably deal with this. She’s not listening to any of us.”
He knows it won’t be pretty if he pulls me into this.
“Why don’t you ask Oliver?”
Everyone is scared of him. The girl is bound to run off after one of his psychotic smiles. The only ones who aren’t scared of him are me and Martin and, for obvious reasons, Martin isn’t here.
“He tried,” Charlie adds, and I freeze up.
Whoever this girl is, she isn’t scared of Oliver, and that is a red flag in itself. What kind of psychotic woman–except me, of course–isn’t scared of Oliver Doyle? That’s sketchy as fuck.
Without another word from Charlie, I leave Nigel’s room and take one stair at a time, watching the door where the three remaining guys block the view of a woman screaming.
“Get out of the way, or I swear by all that is holy, I will call the cops and have this party shut down.”
An amused smirk lifts across Oliver’s face as he moves in. Oisin and Ronan take a step back, allowing me through. Oliver has her caged against the door, an evil smile across his lips, as the brunette scowls up at him.
“And what’s stopping us from burying you in the backyard, little girl?” he taunts.
Her blue gaze hardens as her lips thin. Then, she drops the anger and gives off a faux sweet demeanor while batting her eyelashes at him. “Oh, you’re not going to hurt me, Ollie. I don’t fit in with your rules.” She presses her fingers against his chest and trails them down his shirt before whispering, “I’m innocent in all the ways that matter and none that don’t.”
My eyes widen at the gall of her. I kind of like her. She’s ballsy as hell.
Even if it is him she’s touching.
Oliver and I haven’t really talked or done anything since the night I was brought back, but I still catch glances from him and I can’t say they are exactly unwanted. We’ve just kept our distance in a silent agreement to keep the peace as much as possible.
She flattens her hand and pushes him away, stunning him. That’s something I’ve never seen anyone do. “So, back the fuck off and get Nigel out here,” she demands with the anger back on her face.
I have so many questions.
Who the hell is this girl?
How does she know what the Bastard’s rules are?
How the hell does she know Oliver’s nickname? The only ones who even hear it are the guys and me. Not even Arely knows that nickname.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, and her eyes snap to me before looking at the other guys.
“I’m trying to talk to Nigel, but his dimwitted friends won’t let me in,” she answers easily.
“Well, the hostility is not necessary because Nigel isn’t here. Besides, why are you looking for my boyfriend?” I cross my arms over my chest as Oliver remains unmoved, but Ronan and Oisin take a step back to allow us some breathing room. Then, the girl’s eyes widen.
“You’re…Nigel O’Reilly’s girlfriend?” she asks, the defensiveness gone from her tone, left with confusion and astonishment.
“Duh. Everyone in this town knows that, youngin,” Charlie laughs.
She scowls at him. “Fuck off, Kennedy. I’m older than you, for god’s sake!”
“How the hell are we supposed to know that?” Oliver mutters, and her big blue eyes settle on him.
Then, I see it. Disappointment. Heartache. I don’t know what it's from or if it’s directed at what Oliver said, but it’s affecting her.
“You…don’t remember me?” she asks, her voice small and vulnerable.
He throws his head back, laughing while clutching his stomach. “I don’t remember every pussy me or my friends fuck. Sorry, little girl.”
Okay. I’m at a loss from this conversation, but Oliver is being a dick, more so than usual, and somehow what he says affects her.
“Back off, okay?” I growl at him before moving to her, blocking his view. “Why don’t you guys go enjoy the party? I’ve got this.”
“Hell, no. I want to enjoy the show.” Oliver .
I want to slap him silly for that comment, but my attention remains glued on the girl fighting tears. “Why do you want to talk to Nigel?” I ask, my voice soft.
“Because…” she trails off, wiping at the outer corner of her eye. “Nigel is my little brother.”
Everything falls silent, including the thoughts racing through my brain, as her words settle in the stagnant air.
His sister.
The sister his mother took with her when she ran off in the middle of the night.
“Come on, Beth. Don’t fall for this bullshit.” Oliver scoffs from behind me, but my eyes examine her face and the features she possesses.
She looks…like Nigel if he were born a girl. Her face is softer, cheeks more plump. Her lips are fuller, and she has a face full of freckles dusting her skin.
Icy blue eyes and brown hair so dark it’s almost as black as the midnight sky.
“You’re Aimee?” I ask, taken back by the sudden appearance of Nigel’s sister.
“No, she’s not.” Oliver scoffs, but she doesn’t respond to his words. Instead, her lips tremble, and she looks like she’s going to cry.
“Fuck off!” I yell at him, but she steps out from the shield my body provides just as I do. Aimee glares daggers at Oliver even as the tears fall down her face. She has no shame in her emotions, a trait I wish more people had.
“How would you know?” she says, her words affected. “You don’t even remember what I look like. You said it yourself. For all you know, I’m some girl you or your friends fucked. You didn’t even ask why I’m here. You just wanted to get rid of me. I guess some things never change. Am I right, Ollie?”
Oliver Doyle softens–his expression going from irritated to solemn. Something in her words changes his mind about her.
“Aimee?”
She doesn’t offer him another word. Instead, she turns on her heels and dashes off the porch like a modern-day Cinderella, making her escape at the stroke of midnight.
“Wait!” I call after her and make chase down the hill their house resides on. I collide with the side of her car as the ignition roars to life. “Don’t leave. What about Nigel?”
“This was a mistake,” she cries as more tears fall down her face. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, but if my brother turned out anything like Ollie, I don’t want anything to do with him either.” With another sob out of her lips, Aimee punches the gas and races down the street just as Nigel’s truck turns the corner.
This is a fucking disaster. Aimee was here. Nigel’s sister was here, and Oliver upset her so much that she ran off.
Nigel has told me so many times how much he misses his sister. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his mother. She abandoned him and took his sister with her. She might as well be dead. That’s how little love he feels for her, but not Aimee. She was still a kid when their mother took her in the dead of night. She probably had no idea where they were going when they left.
Aimee was innocent in it all, and she sought Nigel out.
Nigel barely pulls into the driveway before I jump into the front seat and slam the door shut.
“Follow that car!” I demand vehemently.
The look on his face is purely pensive. “What? I just got?—“
“Nigel, follow that car!” I push again, and he doesn’t fight me on it. He busts a U-turn on the front lawn and zooms out of the neighborhood.
I give him the cliff notes, enough for him to understand what is going on and who we’re trying to find, but not enough for him to want to turn back to the house and murder Oliver.
“Of all the fucking times for her to show up,” he growls as he punches the steering wheel, aggravation clear on his face. “Why the hell did she run off?”
“No offense, but your friends can be major dicks to girls. They didn’t recognize her, and Oliver didn’t believe her at first.”
“Then, how can you be so sure it's even her?” he asks, his voice full of anxiety.
My gaze turns from the road to the side of his face as Nigel zooms down the highway, searching for the navy blue Town Car I described.
“She looks like you and she called him Ollie.”
His head snaps around, staring at me blankly without losing his direction. I know those two things must’ve been shocking for him. This whole situation is something out of a TV drama. Hell, it would’ve been even if Oliver hadn’t been a dick to Aimee. Her showing up out of nowhere was unexpected.
Oliver wasn’t callous enough to warrant such a reaction from Aimee, but if I had to guess, there’s something in the past that added to her running off.
“Were Oliver and Aimee around each other much when y'all were kids?” I press, trying to put the shattered pieces of the picture together to fit some type of narrative.
“I don’t know,” he answers, flabbergasted, as he jumps off the highway and heads back toward Grove Hill. We made it to the outskirts of Houston. If we haven’t found her by now, we’re not going to.
Sadness thrums in my heart as my shoulders fall. “You don’t know?”
“Ollie is ten years older than me, butterfly. I don’t know much about his childhood other than our parents wanted him and Aimee to end up together before my mother ran off with her. Something about keeping it within the families, or at least that’s what Ollie said about it. He hated the idea, though. He’s never liked anyone trying to make decisions for him.”
It doesn’t paint a complete picture, but his statement gives me a general sketch of the past. From what Aimee said earlier, Oliver hurt her at some point, and according to Nigel, Oliver detested the forced union. Maybe Aimee didn’t hate it so much. Perhaps she actually liked it and wanted that kind of future for herself. Maybe Oliver Doyle was her childhood Prince Charming, and he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with that arrangement, leaving Cinderella heartbroken on the steps of the castle, wondering why midnight ever had to come. The spell was broken, and every crush leaves a mark, some positive and some not.
You just wanted to get rid of me. I guess some things never change.
“How old is she?” I ask. He said Oliver is ten years older, which makes him twenty-eight, but what about Aimee?
“Twenty-four.”
My mind circles the numbers.
Nigel’s mom ran off with Aimee when he was seven, which meant Aimee was only thirteen, and Oliver was seventeen at the time.
She was just a kid. No wonder Oliver was against the idea of him and Aimee. He watched her grow from a baby to a toddler to a child, and she was just starting to become a teenager when she was snatched in the middle of the night. I don’t blame him for being against the arrangement, but something is still missing from the puzzle.
What did Oliver do to Aimee all those years ago that scarred her so badly? Knowing Oliver, I could imagine the heinous things, but she was a kid. Oliver’s morals are askew, but he has a soft spot for kids. His protection of them goes above and beyond the call of duty.
Oliver told me before that he’s never broken the rules.
As Nigel turns onto Telge Road, a street that connects the highway to Main Street in Grove Hill, I spot a flash of navy blue in the La Quinta parking lot.
“Turn in there!” I couldn’t be sure what the flash of color came from, but my gut spoke for me.
Nigel turns into the parking lot.
“Go around the back,” I demand, and Nigel follows my instructions, rounding the building until the navy blue sedan comes into view, parked beside the dumpster.
She was trying to hide the car. She parked in the one spot that wouldn’t be easily spotted from the street, and yet I got a small glimpse—just a flash of color.
She doesn’t want to be found.
“There! That’s it!” Nigel hadn’t fully parked before I jumped out of the truck and ran to Aimee’s car. Gripping the handle of the door, the car opens up, completely unlocked, and I look around inside, needing to find something as definitive proof that this is the car Aimee showed up in.
Yanking on the armrest, it separates and reveals a small stack of papers and a feminine wallet. I flip open the wallet and find her driver’s license.
O’Reilly, Aimee Rae
11/17/1977
1522 Falcon Ridge Drive
Hempstead, TX, 77445
A chill runs through my bones. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? That’s why I thought I’d seen her before. We lived in the same town for eleven years.
I could’ve crossed paths with her when I went back. Maybe she was at the diner or the store.
“What did you find?” Nigel asks as I move out of the car, still holding the stack of papers and her wallet.
“I thought she looked familiar. It just didn’t click,” I explain as I look up at him. “She was in Hempstead.” I hand him her license, and he looks down at it, tension covering his face.
“Isn’t Hempstead where you were hiding out?” he asks before looking up at me.
“Yeah, I was born and raised there, but it doesn’t make sense. That address…it’s my mom’s old church. People don’t live there.”
His gaze moves far off, deep in his head. “It’s a fake address. Something smells rotten.”
People don’t just put false addresses on their license unless there’s a reason they don’t want to be found.
Nigel pulls out the license and inspects it before saying, “It’s a real I.D.” He shoves it back in its slot as I look at the documents.
“It’s a rental from Austin. She got it this morning.”
This makes no sense. If she came from Hempstead, why would she rent a car out of Austin instead of Houston or Grove Hill?
Then, it clicks.
“Misdirection,” I mutter before looking at Nigel’s confused gaze.
“What?”
“It’s a kind of reverse psychology. The point is to make your opponent look in the opposite direction of your destination. If she was going from Point A—Hempstead—to Point B—Grove Hill—why would she start going north instead of heading south? It sets her off course by hours. If someone were to track where she rented the car?—“
“They’d think she was going north or to the airport.”
“Exactly.” I let out a ragged breath as it all seems to click for Nigel.
“She’s on the run.” His skin pales as the seriousness of the situation registers. Is it the cops after her, or is someone trying to find her and she doesn’t want to be found?