23. Aspen
Chapter 23
Aspen
“ T hey found him?”
“They sure did.” Lyra smiles lazily at me from across the table.
“Is he alive?” I’ve practiced this response a few times.
Harvey warned me that it would eventually make the news and he would be identified. I didn’t ask him how it happened or what his last words were. I thought that I would, that I would want to know if he suffered, but once Harvey was back home, in our bed, none of that mattered to me anymore. Connor Blake would simply be a bad memory, one that would eventually dissipate from my brain, lost in a forgotten haze of indifference.
That short conversation with Harvey is the most I’ve spoken about Connor or his death since it happened.
“Oh God, no.” She laughs. “The bastard was found dead in a no-tell motel in Mexico. Apparently, he’d paid for a month up front so nobody checked on him until the cleaning lady wouldn’t stop complaining about the rancid smell.”
“Oh my goodness.” I clutch my imaginary pearls. “Do they know what happened?”
She shrugs, sipping her second martini. “He was murdered for sure,” she says, not giving any more details than that and I don’t press. “I’m not surprised. I’m just sad I didn’t get the pleasure of cutting out his tongue.”
“His tongue was cut out?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice as I lean halfway across the table at her.
“Yeah, felt fitting considering the man loved to hear himself talk. Anyway, the FBI and Mexican authorities spoke to me and I told them I had no interest in anything to do with his death. I was granted a divorce the second the charges were brought against him and I don’t want or need his money so until they sort all that out with the courts, I’m just living my best life with that piece of shit in the dust.”
“Did they question you about it? I know he had made some unsubstantiated claims about your family and connections you have.”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s been saying that stuff for years, all nonsense, of course. I mean, anyone with half a brain that has had more than a two-minute conversation with Connor would know that if I did have those kinds of connections”—she leans in—“I’d have taken the bastard out a lot sooner than this.” She winks, which makes me giggle. “Cheers.” She lifts her glass toward me.
“Cheers,” I say, taking the smallest sip of the overly strong martini. “And thanks again for inviting me out. I was curious how you were doing but I didn’t want to overstep a boundary. I know we aren’t exactly friends. ” I’m not sure if she picks up on the uptick in my intonation that I struggle to hide because while she does intimidate me, she is the kind of person I’d like to be friends with.
“A boundary?” She piffs away my comment. “You saved my life. You and I are connected forever.”
I smile at her and it feels good to trust my gut. There’s something about Lyra that tells me she’s the kind of ally you want on your side. The loyal kind who won’t throw you under the bus when the shit hits the fan just because she has an image to upkeep.
“But I did have one question for you.” She lifts that eyebrow at me again, her finger delicately running along the rim of her glass.
“Yes?”
“I received a call from one of my accountants. He noticed a substantial increase in one of my offshore accounts a few months back. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
I’m still shit at hiding my emotions because I can feel my face grow white. “I do.” I nod. “When I was”—I glance around, not wanting to say words that might perk up any ears—“researching, I found this online wallet that had a decent amount of crypto currency in it and… I knew it wasn’t something that would be missed. He had enough liquidity in other accounts to pay back what he had embezzled from Outside Media and I knew his funds would be tied up forever once he got caught, possible drained by legal fees so I… I moved the cryptos into an account I found in your name.”
“Aspen,” she says my name softly, her hand coming to rest atop mine.
“I’m sorry, I took some,” I confess. “I—there’s nothing I can say that justifies it, but I stole from him. I took $78,954 which was the sum of my mom’s still unpaid medical debt. I will gladly pay you back over time, I pro?—”
She holds up her hand and slowly shakes her head. “I’m not angry. I didn’t ask because I thought you took some; I don’t care that you did, Aspen. I already have more money than I could spend. I don’t need that. What I’m wondering is why you did that?”
“I saw,” I say, feeling foolish that I thought moving money into her account could atone for the police record I found when going through all of Connor’s dirty details. “The police report and I know I shouldn’t have read it, but I did and when I saw the account with your name and hers…”
“It’s okay,” she says with tears in her eyes. “I understand.”
Perhaps it’s just her attempt to get me to stop talking about what I assume is probably the hardest, most traumatic experience of her life… losing an unborn child due to a mysterious fall down the stairs. The report had listed Lyra’s comments as redacted and no charges were ever pressed. Something I’m sure Connor played a major role in.
The report didn’t list the child’s sex or name but when I saw the account that had been created about five months before the police report and listed a girl’s name with deceased next to it, I made the assumption it was for her unborn daughter. I’m sure when she created that account with her and her daughter’s name on it, she had a purpose in mind.
“Again, I’m sorry. I’m realizing how far I overstepped and I stupidly thought that it would go unnoticed.”
“It probably would have if you’d chosen any other account.” She laughs, reaching for a cocktail napkin to dab at her eyes.
“I don’t know what I thought it was going to atone moving the money into that account or how it would help, but maybe it was just me wanting you to know that someone else knows… and believes you.”
“I hadn’t expected to be confiding in you today when I invited you out.” She gives me a sarcastic scowl but there’s still an edge to her voice. It’s evident that opening up and sharing any feelings is not a welcome experience for her. “I appreciate it, though. It’s not something I’m used to.” Her chin quivers and she does her best to still it. “I was a prisoner in my own home with him.”
She can barely eek out the last few words but a flood of emotion releases from her just saying that one sentence, like she’d been holding it in all this time.
“Nobody believed me. I remember trying to tell my mother when she just smiled this sad, hollow smile and told me that it could be worse, he could be dead. I remember thinking in that moment that she had misspoken, that she had meant to say that it could be worse because I could be dead, but it wasn’t what she meant. And that’s when I realized she too was a prisoner, shackled to this life of expectation because of money.”
“My mom was in the same situation, only it wasn’t money that kept her with my father; it was the threat of violence against me and her.”
“Did she get out?”
I nod my head. “Eventually, yes, but by then, cancer had already started to take her from me.”
Lyra and I sit in the silence of each other’s company, the laughter and merriment of the other customers around us fading into the background. Neither of us need to say anything; it just feels good to sit here in this moment with each other, knowing how strong and resilient we both have been to get here.
By the time I’ve finished my drink and said goodbye to Lyra, Harvey has pulled up out front of the bar, standing beside the passenger door of his Chevelle. He’s resting against the side of the car, his arms crossed over his chest. His brow softens and a slow smile spreads across his face when he sees me emerge from the bar.
“Damn.” I tilt my head, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “You look good enough to eat.” I instantly break into a fit of laughter, my attempt at being more confident in my sexuality still has a long way to go but it feels good to express the little thoughts that pop into my head like that.
“Really?” He grabs me around the waist, his other hand grabbing a handful of my ass. “Because I was thinking the exact same thing when you came walking out here in this little dress.” He holds me out with one arm, twirling me as he whistles. “Fuck me, I want to tear that thing off you.”
“You saw me before I left the apartment.”
“Yes, I did”—he nibbles my neck—“and you kept smacking my hands away, telling me you were off-limits till you got back.”
“And are we back yet?” I pretend to scold him, a fun little role-play I like to pull out when I’m wanting him to turn into that alpha, possessive caveman. My finger presses firmly against his chest, his eyes dropping down to look at it before he grabs my hand and tugs me forward.
“You know I’ve really come to like when you pretend to deny me.” He lifts my hand that he’s still holding, bringing the finger I pointed into his chest to his mouth and biting it. His teeth graze the pad of my finger gently, followed by a swipe of his tongue. “But as your soon-to-be husband, maybe you should learn to enjoy obeying me.”
“And I’ve really come to like when you pretend to be angry with me… and try to tell me what to do.” His eyes get that dark, hooded look, the one I’ve come to realize means I have about thirty seconds before this man is going to devour me.
“Does my girl like to be punished?” His hands are wrapped delicately around my jaw, holding my head still as he towers over me. He leans in, his tongue lazily dipping between my lips for a brief second.
A year ago, I couldn’t imagine being the girl outside the bar getting pressed up against her fiancé’s car while he tells her in vivid detail all the ways he plans to please her. I know I’ve come a long way in my confidence and self-assuredness, but I also know I couldn’t have done it without Harvey.
“Yes.”
“Mmm, that’s my good girl.” He releases me, spinning me around and smacking my ass before helping me into the passenger side seat.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. America!” Marcus’ smile is so wide it almost reaches his ears. After noticing Harvey and me coming and going together a lot, Marcus started to secretly pull me aside, trying to get the gossip on if we were together or not. It was cute and I would tease him, giving him little breadcrumbs here and there until one day, we were just together and it wasn’t even a question anymore. That’s when the nickname started, Marcus telling us that we were too good-looking to just be an ordinary couple.
But when I came down the morning after getting engaged, you would have thought that he won the lottery. He cried and hugged me, truly sharing in my joy in a way that melted my heart.
“That man is in love with you,” Marcus whispered to me after only the third or fourth time seeing us together. I remember hushing him, telling him that he was imagining it, but secretly I was hoping it was true, that I wasn’t the only one who was falling.
“Evening, boss.” Harvey shakes his hand, grabbing his bicep. “Hey, easy with those weights, man. You’re gonna outdo me pretty soon.”
Marcus falls into a fit of laughter. “You’re too much, man. I might be an old man”—he gets into a fighter stance, throwing a few pretend jabs—“but I still got it.” Harvey mimics his stance, tossing a few punches and an uppercut his way which Marcus deflects.
“We should get in the ring together. I haven’t sparred since I enlisted. I could use a refresher from a pro like yourself.”
“Get in the ring with a beast like you?” He laughs. “It might be a fight for my life!” Their laughter echoes through the lobby of our building. Harvey assures Marcus he would go easy on him and both men agree to meet after Marcus’ shift this Thursday to hit up the boxing gym he’s been a member of since the seventies.
“Oh wait, Miss Aspen.” Marcus holds up his hand once we’ve said good night and start making our way toward the elevator. “I almost forgot.” He pulls an envelope from the lapel of his uniform. “Someone dropped this for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking the unmarked envelope from his hand. I glance down at it briefly but there’s no return address or any sort of writing on it at all.
“And one more thing.” He smiles. “I got a new riddle for you. What costs nothing, but is worth everything. Weighs nothing but lasts a lifetime, and cannot be owned but can be shared between two people?”
He’s like a kid with a giant secret, glancing between the two of us. I already know the answer, but I glance over at Harvey to see if he’s going to attempt a guess. He slides his arm around my shoulders, planting a kiss against my temple.
“Love,” he whispers.
“Good night, you two.” Marcus winks at us, turning to walk back to his post as the elevator doors close.
“I’ve got a riddle for you.” Harvey’s hands are on me, his lips nipping my neck as he walks us down the hallway to the apartment we now share.
“Oh yeah?” I’m lost in a haze of lust already as he pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, his tongue and lips still teasing me.
“Who is going to have you wet, throbbing, and begging for more all night long?”
We barely get through the door before we’re tearing at each other’s clothes, leaving a trail of discarded items leading to the bedroom. I’m lost in him, like I always am.
He’s attentive, taking his time like he’s memorizing every inch of my body.
“You are the most amazing, beautiful woman,” he pants as he lazily pumps in and out of me during round two or three—I’ve lost count. It’s only after he stumbles to the kitchen to grab us a glass of water that we remember the envelope.
“I forgot he gave this to you,” Harvey says, handing me the envelope as he walks back into our bedroom with the water.
“Oh.” I sit up, taking it from him. “I did too.” I flip it over to double-check for any sort of clue as to who it’s from but there’s nothing. “It’s sealed,” I say, tearing at the corner. Suddenly it’s hard to swallow, a nervous energy buzzing through my body.
He’s dead.
I tear open the envelope and pull out a folded piece of paper.
“What is it?”
“Oh my God.” I stare at the paper, reading it again.
“What?” Harvey sinks down next to me, reading over my shoulder. “Holy shit, is that—?” He takes the paper from me, holding it closer to his face. “Am I reading this correctly?” He glances over at me. “Does this say thirty million dollars?”
“Yes.”
He hands the paper back to me, both of us staring at it, then each other in complete disbelief.
Per Lyra Forsythe, who has since gone back to her maiden name, one thirty-million-dollar donation has been made to the following organizations to be divided up evenly. Below it are three nonprofits that help to provide shelter, food, and resources for battered women and single mothers.
Then there’s one other account listed. A trust fund in my name with another thirty million dollars in it. I swipe away a tear when I read the handwritten note she’s left at the bottom of the paper.
For our mothers.
May no other woman experience the things we have but if they do, they have a place to go where they can feel safe, loved, and protected in a way that so many never did.
I don’t even have the words to say anything. I fall against Harvey’s chest and sob. For so many years, I spent my life feeling like I didn’t matter, like my mom didn’t matter. I thought nobody would save us, but then Jaxson stepped in, reminding me that I have the power to save myself, and then Harvey stepped in, showing me that I’d never be alone again.