CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
As for the suit, it wouldn’t ever see the light of day again after I stuffed it into the back of the closet.
Just as I ended the call, I sensed someone behind me, and I saw Zach coming to a stop near the stairs, his gaze on me.
My heart somersaulted. Had he heard my conversation with Mom? His eyes consumed me, and something in them told me he’d had. I was dying to know what he was thinking, but I couldn’t ask.
I moved past him, my heart beating a mile a minute and my mouth going dry.
I didn’t stop, nor did he stop me, but I felt his gaze on me until I disappeared up the stairs.
And I couldn’t help the smile that played across my lips the whole way to my room.
“For the first time, I feel like I can do something right. For the first time, my life doesn’t feel like a stretch of monotone colors.
I can finally see a different path. A path toward something else.
Something better. I’m not just a puppet.
I don’t exist just to make my family happy.
I can finally do something to make someone else happy.
To make myself happy. And for the first time ever, I’m so sure of something I can feel it in my bones. ”
I stopped the recording, excitement coursing through me as I turned off my camera. I’d been impatient to record a video ever since my conversation with Mom today, and with each word I said out loud, I felt lighter . . . and more at peace. Happier.
I smiled and made my way downstairs, deciding to go for a walk outside.
The night was quiet, the sky full of stars. Crickets sang their tune, and I closed my eyes as I surrendered myself to the breeze. The air carried a floral fragrance that reminded me of long afternoons at mountain cottages and candlelit baths.
Something clanked nearby, and I turned to see a figure sitting in the gazebo with their back turned to me, almost completely swallowed by the dark.
My feet took me there, like a puppet drawn by invisible strings.
I felt my pulse quickening as I stepped inside and saw Zach sprawled on the bench with a can of beer in his hand, his head tossed back.
The moon provided enough light for me to see him clearly, and I noted several more cans standing by his feet, some of which were still unopened.
Maintaining that position, he raised his brow at me, then looked me over, and a rush of warmth poured over me. He looked so sexy it was hard for me to breathe. The memory of what he’d done to me on that bench flashed in my mind, and I wondered if he thought about it as well.
I licked my lips, tucking my hair behind my ear. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He tipped the can back, almost gulping it down.
“That’s how you spend your downtime? Getting drunk?”
“Got a problem with that?”
“No. It’s your problem if you want to become an alcoholic.”
He snorted. “Who said anything about becoming an alcoholic?” He looked away, but then he looked back at me, tilting his head. He ran his finger over his lower lip.
“What?”
“Why don’t you join me?”
My brows shot up. “You want me to join you?”
“You said you never tried beer. And if you’re so worried I’d overindulge”—he rolled his eyes at that—“you can help.”
My stomach fluttered. I didn’t even think he’d remember that I never tried beer. “What’s the catch? You want to get me drunk so I’d do something you can use against me?”
“Don’t you think I have more than enough material?” He took one can and offered it to me.
He had to be drunk to want me to drink with him. But even though everything in me screamed at me that this was a bad idea, I snatched the can from him and sat down next to him, making sure there was enough space between us.
I opened the can and tipped it back, grimacing at the taste. “This is awful.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“No way,” I said, but I took another swallow anyway. “Okay, this is torture. Now I get why you wanted me to try it.”
He barked a laugh, and I halted with my can midway to my mouth.
He was laughing, but not at me, and now I was certain he was drunk because there was no way he’d act like this with me sober.
Still, I couldn’t stop looking at him, mesmerized, watching him gulp his beer.
It didn’t help that he smelled so good or that his nearness made my fingers tingle with the urge to touch him.
Since the collar of his turtleneck T-shirt was down, the scar on his neck was also exposed, and I yanked my gaze off him as I imagined kissing it all over.
The crickets chirped around us, the ivy rustling in the wind. My pulse picked up as I saw him watching me from the corner of my eye.
“I heard your conversation with your mother this morning. I also heard what you said to her publicist over the phone. You didn’t want the media to come.”
“Of course I don’t want that. Those people shouldn’t be exploited for our gain.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me, and my breathing turned uneven. I cleared my throat, looking down at my can.
“You really care,” he said.
I sipped my beer. This time, the taste wasn’t as bad.
I sighed. “You were right, you know? The world is a fabricated reality. A lie. Last night was a glaring sign that said just that. I don’t even know why I went along with my mother and attended the fundraiser.
And a lot of things about me are shallow.
Like I’m existing without a purpose.” I ran a finger along the rim of the can.
“After everything, I don’t want to be part of the same old charade.
I don’t want to be near people like Lana.
With frauds.” I gave him a curious look.
“How did you even find out all that about her?”
“I have my resources.”
“You have your resources,” I repeated quietly. “How? What happened to you after you left? Did you win the lottery or what? Because you needed capital to start your business, obviously.”
His brow curved upward. “What? Your private investigator couldn’t tell you that?”
I gaped at him, sitting up a little. “How do you know that?”
“How do I know you hired a private investigator? Easy. He wasn’t as subtle as both of you may have thought.”
I tightened my grip on the can. “I needed to know the truth, Zach. I needed to know what happened to you.”
“Why?”
A sigh left my lips. “At first, I told myself it was because I wanted to use it against you. To get you to leave this house somehow. But it wasn’t. I needed to know all I could about you.” I took another sip.
“Why?” he repeated.
“You tell me your secrets, and I’ll tell you mine.”
We continued drinking in silence. His presence unnerved me. I was of two minds whether to leave or not, feeling like I was treading a thin line and would fall into the abyss at any moment now. But I finished the can and took another one.
He watched me open the can and take a gulp, his gaze shifting between my throat and my mouth.
His eyes hooded, and he tipped his own can back.
His Adam’s apple bobbed sensually as he swallowed, and I was incapable of looking away.
What would it feel like to trace that area of skin with my tongue? Feel him shiver against me?
I tore my gaze away and took another swallow of the beer.
“I was adopted.”
I choked on the beer, turning my head to gape at him. “Adopted? When? How did it happen?”
“My adoptive mother’s car broke down near the bridge by the trailer park where I wanted to take my life after the fire.”
My body froze. A bridge. That was how he’d tried to kill himself. Oh my God.
My mind conjured up the image of him about to jump, and the pain squeezed my chest. I wasn’t even aware I’d lowered my can on the bench next to me, turning to lean closer to him.
“She saw me move over the railing and grabbed me right as I pushed myself off it. She held for all she was worth.” He half smiled.
“After that, she and her husband decided to adopt me, since my mother was already dead, and paid for my surgeries, therapies, and tutors so I could finish high school only a year late. They saw how interested I was in tech, so they helped me start my business, giving me the funding I needed. Luckily, the software I made blew up, so I don’t have to depend on them today. ”
A wave of gratitude washed over me. These people were there for him right when he needed it the most, helping him pick up the pieces of his ruined life and get back on track.
“They sound like good people.”
He took a swallow of his beer. “They are.”
“Do you . . . do you miss your mom?”
His brow furrowed. “No.”
My breath caught, and I found myself leaning even farther toward him. “No?”
“No. I didn’t feel anything when she died.”
My heart stuttered against my rib cage. He’d said it so easily, and I tried to imagine what he must’ve gone through for him to feel that way.
“How?”
He snorted. “It’s not that surprising. All my life, I had to watch her waste away, whether by drugs or alcohol.
I kept waiting for her to remember she had a son and love me back, but it was as if I were a ghost. Invisible.
Not that she was aware of anything those days anyway, since she was so out of it, it was a miracle she was still alive.
So when she died, I couldn’t care less.”
Although he wanted to make it sound like he didn’t care, his words were sharp enough to refute that, and I wanted to offer some comfort.
“Maybe the presence of your adoptive parents is life telling you it’s not all bad.”
He riveted his hooded eyes on me, and I found it hard to breathe. “Maybe.”
I looked away and emptied my can, starting to feel alcohol taking hold. “Do your adoptive parents know you’re here? Do they know about . . . about your plan?” Somehow, I doubted it.
“No. They don’t.”
“And the change of your name?” Because he obviously wasn’t Zach Curtis anymore. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine. I had my plan figured out even then. I thought the name change would allow me the privacy I needed to put everything in motion.”
“So that explains why your trail disappears after you left the trailer park.”