3
EMERSYN
“Hey.” Tara flopped down on the sofa beside me. “Where did you fuck off to last night?” She leaned closer, peering at my laptop screen, and snorted. “Finding your next victim, huh?”
After encountering Gable Thornton at the club, I’d gone home to scroll through photos of the Thornton wedding, and I was back at it now. You wouldn’t be able to tell of any previous scandal from the smiles on their faces. They posed as the perfect couple. The perfect family. The perfect brothers.
But I knew better.
Tara smelled of stale cigarettes. I shifted away a little, and she held up her hands. “Easy. I was only looking.”
“It’s work,” I snapped. I’d never been a morning person.
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer. I resisted the urge to cover my nose. If there was one thing I hated, it was the smell of cigarettes. Weed I could handle—it had a sweet scent—but tobacco was another story.
She reached out and touched the screen, her bright orange nail making a tapping sound. “I know one of them.”
I yanked my laptop away. My head was still ringing from the night before. It amazed me that even without drinking, you could still feel like you had a hangover. I blamed the volume of the music. God—I sounded old, even if it was only inside my own head.
Tara rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Suit yourself. I just thought you might want some info for that blog of yours.”
“It’s not a blog. It’s a website.”
“Same thing,” she replied.
I gritted my teeth. Somehow, calling my site a blog annoyed me. It felt dismissive, as though it were nothing more than a hobby. This was my business. A business that no one really knew about and didn’t really make money, but a business nonetheless. Tara was one of the few people who knew I ran the site. She didn’t read it and usually showed no interest at all, so I was surprised and slightly annoyed she was looking over my shoulder.
I closed the laptop and turned to her. “Which one?”
“Which one, what?” she said, absently examining her nails as though we hadn’t just been discussing the pictures of the Thorntons. I sighed. “Which of those men do you know?”
“Oh, that. So you’re interested now?”
“Just spit it out, Tara.”
“You’re in a lovely mood this morning, aren’t you?” When I didn’t respond, she huffed, “Fine. The big one. The one with all the hair.”
“Jake?”
She rolled those dark eyes of hers dramatically. “I don’t know his name.”
I’d only written one story about Jake. He was harder to find information on than the others. He mainly kept to himself and didn’t have the copious number of friends and acquaintances the others had. He only had one social media account, and all it contained was a single image of a sunset over a desert. In the end, I’d talked to someone who claimed to be a friend of an ex-girlfriend and had written that his time in the army had supposedly changed him. It was a pathetic article that verged on outright lies and never gained much traction. People were far more interested in the love lives of the other two brothers, so I hadn’t bothered to write about Jake again.
I sighed. “So how do you know him then?”
Usually, I’d be eager for any information regarding the brothers, but today I was tired. I’d messed up my routine and stayed up too late, scrolling through the same pictures I was looking at now, hoping for inspiration. So far, everything had been coated in the usual wedding fairy sprinkles. Love. Perfection. Happily ever after. Urgh.
My site didn’t operate on those things. It operated on scandal and drama, family fights and bitter feuds. The good stuff.
“Right. Well…” Tara hooked her leg up onto the sofa. She needed to moisturize, and I had to pull my eyes away from the cracks around her heels. “I was out one night and a little drunk, so keep that in mind with this story. Anyway,” she took a deep breath, “I met this guy. He was older than me by quite a bit, but he was looking for someone to share a good time with and was flashing all this cash around, so I—” She shrugged. “I decided to keep him company. He took me to this motel, you know, the type you can hire by the hour, not by the night.” She looked at me, her eyes hardening. “Don’t judge.”
“I’m not,” I insisted.
“You are. I can tell just by the way you’re looking at me.”
I smirked slightly. “I was judging the cracks in your heels, not the fact that you decided to keep someone company for money.”
Tara shoved her feet under a cushion. “I still feel like you’re judging me.”
“Fine,” I huffed and turned away from her. “Now I’m not looking at you at all. Better?”
“Much.” The sofa slumped as she leaned back against it. “Well, this guy was literally throwing money all over the bed—”
“Jake was throwing money around?”
“No. The guy I was with. The older guy.”
“Who was?” I asked, still turned away from her.
“Fucked if I know. I didn’t ask his name. I asked what he wanted to be called.”
I faked gagging and turned back around. “And what did this man want to be called?”
“I can’t remember.” She swiped her hand through the air as though the detail was nothing more than an annoying fly to swat away. “He’d just come into money and wanted to celebrate. That was all I was interested in.”
I smiled slightly to myself, wishing I had some of the boldness with which Tara lived her life, but although we’d become closer friends since living together, we were total opposites. Everyone who looked at her remembered her. She was like a brightly colored painting with everything outlined in black, whereas I was all muted colors and indistinguishable shapes.
Tara stopped talking, pretending to be distracted by her nails again, and I had to prod her to keep going. “And?”
She laughed. “Oh, right. Yes, well me and this guy—”
“This guy and I.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Correcting people was a bad habit of mine when I was tired. Or in a shitty mood. Or simply existing.
“Well, me and this guy were, you know, having fun,” she wiggled her brows again, “minding our own business, when the door burst open and your mate there—”
“He’s not my mate. I’ve never even met the guy.”
“Well, your person of interest—”
“Jake?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Sorry, I’m tired and grumpy.”
“No shit.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Anyway, this Jake—” She emphasized his name. “He barges in, hands me this big wad of cash, tells me I didn’t see him, and kicks me out.”
“That’s it?”
“Nope.” Tara lifted her hand and started chewing on her nail.
“And . . .” I prompted again.
She jerked her hand away from her mouth and scolded herself before laughing. “And then he beats the shit out of this guy.” She widened her eyes. “And I mean beats the shit out of him. I watched through a crack in the curtains. This guy was seriously messed up. I have no idea what he did to deserve it, but he assured me he deserved it.”
“You talked to him?”
“Only when I met up with him at the bar later.”
“The guy who got beaten up?”
“No, with Jake.” She shook her head. “For someone who writes stories, you sure aren’t very good at following along with plots, are you?” She sighed exasperatedly. “The other guy was in no state to be going to a bar. Jake was throwing back drinks faster than…” She stopped, confusion knitting her brows as her words failed her. “Well, he was throwing them back really fast anyway.”
“And then what happened?” I was getting sick of prompting her to keep talking, but I needed something to wipe some of the fairytale sprinkles off my wedding article, and I was hoping this story was it.
“He lit my cigarette and kept on drinking. I left not long after. I’d hoped maybe he wanted, well, you know.” She wiggled her brows. “But he wasn’t interested.”
“Weren’t you scared of him? I mean, after what you’d just seen?”
Tara shook her head and reached into her pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. “I was a little at first, but I got this feeling that he was on the right side of things, you know?”
“The right side of beating someone shitless? I’m not sure there is a right side to that.” I scratched the rough patch of skin across my wrist.
“Believe me.” She let out a low breath. “There is.”
She blinked once, and I got the feeling there was more to her response than she was letting on. But it wasn’t her story I was interested in. As disgusting as it was, my readers didn’t care about people like her. Everyday people. Regular people. Good people. They were far more interested in the likes of the Thornton brothers. The good-looking people who advanced through this world merely because they had the fortune of being born into wealthy families.
And there was something about this version of Jake that appealed to me. The army veteran exacting revenge. The ignored brother who couldn’t control his own fists. The broken man trying to forget the memories that haunted him. I could see the story developing in my mind. Of course, as yet, I had nothing to go on. Not really. It was all just made-up fantasy, but it was something I could see potential in.
“What happened to the man he beat up?”
Tara placed the unlit cigarette between her lips and shrugged. “No idea.”
“Huh.” My brain had already begun to whir. I narrowed my eyes. “I thought you only smoked at night?”
Tara’s eyes slid toward the brightly lit open window, and she grinned. “Is it daytime?”
“Tara,” I warned.
She took the cigarette from between her lips. “Calm down, psycho.”
Her bedroom door opened, and Cody appeared, bleary-eyed and half-dressed. He didn’t acknowledge us as he stumbled into the kitchen.
My mind returned to the Thornton brothers. Maybe Jake was the brother I should have been concentrating on all along? Maybe there was a dark and dastardly story to his past. A shudder of excitement ran through me. It was a familiar feeling. The feeling I got when I knew there was a story hiding beneath the surface. All I needed to do was dig for it.
“What was the name of the motel?”
“Dunno.” She placed the unlit cigarette back in her mouth, and it bobbed as she spoke.
“The name of the bar?”
She shrugged again and unfolded herself from the sofa. “You know, I’ve never actually noticed, but I go there often. It’s the only bar left in town that still lets you smoke inside.” She yawned, and the cigarette fell to the floor.
“Would you take me there?”
“The bar or the motel?” she asked as she bent down to retrieve her cigarette.
“Both.”
Reaching into her pocket again, she pulled out a lighter and lit her cigarette. Smoke curled into the air. I resisted the urge to remind her there was no smoking inside, but I wanted something from her, so the timing wasn’t right.
She winked as she inhaled. “I’m busy for the rest of the week. Maybe in the weekend? I’ll let you know.”
Just then, Brady came into the room. “No smoking inside,” he barked. He reached for her cigarette as he flopped down onto the sofa between us and flicked it out the window.
“Hey!” Tara exclaimed. “You owe me for that.”
“There’s no smoking inside,” he repeated as he jostled my laptop aside and placed his head on my legs.
“Fuck, I’m tired.” He yawned. “What time did you leave last night?” He made noises with his mouth as though he was settling in to go to sleep again, even though he’d only just appeared from his room.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I asked, pushing his head off my lap. He worked security at the hospital—night shift usually, but every now and then, he worked a day shift, like he was supposed to today.
“I’m sick. Can’t you tell?” He coughed pathetically. The door to his room opened again, and Brittney appeared, dressed in nothing but knickers and a singlet top. She stretched before coming over and squeezing into the spot on the other side of me. She rested her head on my shoulder.
“There’s more than one sofa in this room, you know,” I grumbled, feeling like a piece of furniture.
“Yeah, but this one’s the only one in the sun.”
It was true. Our house was dark and damp. The bathroom had patches of mold on the ceiling. Only one ring worked on the stovetop, and the washing machine sounded like a tractor when it was on. There were blankets spread all over the living room to keep us warm, even in the summer, but the rent was cheap—especially since there were basically five of us living in a three-bedroom house. Sure, Cody didn’t pay rent, but he did buy an awful lot of groceries.
I looked up to see Tara retreating into the kitchen, so I wrenched myself out from between my flatmates and followed.
“So was that a yes?” I pestered her.
“I’ve got to get to work. You know, that thing some of us have to do in order to live?” She raised her brows pointedly. It was a sore spot between Tara and me. She considered my telemarketing job merely talking on the phone. It didn’t count as work in her opinion—not like cleaning.
“You didn’t answer my question!” I yelled as she slipped out the door.
Pulling out a chair, I plopped down beside Cody, who was sitting at the small table in the middle of the cramped kitchen. Even though there were enough chairs for each of us, only three could be used at a time, or else no one could actually walk around the kitchen. He tore a piece of cinnamon scroll off with his teeth and chewed it noisily. I reached across and ripped off a piece as well. Cody didn’t even react. He was used to me.
“What was that all about?” he asked, nodding toward the door.
“Nothing,” I replied, letting my frustration show in the aggressive way I ate. Everything seemed to be pissing me off today, including Cody sitting at our kitchen table. “You don’t live here, you know,” I muttered.
He chewed noisily with his mouth open. “And yet, here I am.”
The photo of the three Thornton brothers floated through my mind again. They looked so happy. So confident and successful. But I knew better. I knew there was more to their story than they showed. And I was going to find out what it was.
Reaching across to tear another bite from Cody’s scroll, I shoved it in my mouth and pushed back my chair. Seeing Gable last night had inspired me. Maybe it was time to stop reporting from afar. Maybe it was time to stop scrolling through social media feeds and talking to people who claimed to know them.
Maybe it was time I met the Thornton brothers myself. And I knew just how to do it.