Chapter 11 Keaton
KEATON
He made her feel like she shouldn’t eat.
I’m not sure what went down.
But I know that she was going to stop herself from eating this because there was a voice somewhere inside her telling her she shouldn’t.
Motherfucker.
And I know one more thing.
It shouldn’t have turned me on so much watching her take that bite. The combination of the white icing on her lips with the look of pleasure on her face… Fuck.
We finish eating and clean up, and as I’m putting the plate back, my phone vibrates across the counter. I see Julian’s name flashing on the screen, and my heart starts to beat faster. Fuck.
I try not to look as anxious as I feel as I swipe it off the counter.
“I gotta take this. I’ll be right back,” I say, nodding toward the study. I walk hurriedly down the hall and shut the door behind me.
“J,” I breathe into the phone. “What did you find out?”
I hear my brother sigh on the other end.
“It’s…it’s so much worse than we thought, Keat,” he says, just above a whisper.
“How…how much worse?” I ask. I feel my fist clench at my side as I lean back against the desk.
“There are over twenty,” he says. “But there could be more. We have only gone back the last ten years. She’s going to do some more digging and call me back. We need to meet with legal again tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” I say. We hang up, and I immediately feel nausea setting in. I put both hands on my desk, trying to let the cool surface bring me back to earth a bit, but it’s not working.
My eyes are burning.
The anger is swelling inside of me.
My fucking father.
I always knew he was a piece of shit. But not like this.
Not to this many people. Not to women who were just trying to make a goddamn living.
I feel the anger building up inside of me, and I swipe the phone off the desk and send it flying across the room.
It hits the wall with a bang, and I push myself off my desk and walk toward the windows, locking my hands behind my head.
And then I hear the office door creak behind me, making me jump.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just heard a noise and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I don’t turn all the way to look at her. I turn back to the window, afraid that I’ll fall apart when I see her.
“Sorry about that,” I try to say casually. “I’m fine.”
But she doesn’t leave. Instead, I hear her walking across the hardwood toward me. And then I feel her standing right next to me.
“You can lie to yourself, Keaton,” she whispers. “But you can’t lie to me.”
Fuck. This girl. After all this time, she’s right.
Which is exactly why I can’t look at her.
She reaches her hand out and grips my sleeve.
“Keat,” she whispers, “look at me.”
I shake my head slowly, but I feel her move in even closer until our bodies are touching.
Fuck.
She slides her hand down my arm and interlocks our fingers, then she slides her other hand around my arm so that she’s hugging it.
And I feel the wall I’m desperately holding up start to crumble.
Finally, I can’t help myself anymore, and I turn and look down at her.
Our eyes meet, and I feel myself melt. I start shaking, and her eyes grow wide.
She turns me so we’re facing each other, and she wraps her arms around me, pulling me in for a long embrace.
I hate laying this on her with everything, but the truth is, I need someone right now. I need her.
“Talk to me, Keat,” she whispers in my ear as she holds me.
I hold back for a moment. This is supposed to stay confidential. It’s critical that no one catches wind of any of this.
But it’s her.
We may have gone our own ways all those years ago.
But it’s still her.
I still trust her with my life.
I slowly nod, pulling apart from her, and lead her to the desk. I sit down at the computer and log into the private, encrypted email account that my brother set up for us while we are working through the case. I draw in a long, slow breath, and then I open up the initial letter.
Mr. Everett,
Enclosed, please find a detailed statement from a source who says that she was employed by your father during the period listed below and was repeatedly sexually harassed.
The source also claims that there are additional victims and that they are also willing to make statements.
I would like to meet with you to discuss these claims. Kindly respond by the end of the week.
Otherwise, I will have to go to print with the information I have.
Thank you,
Wren Wright
Business & News Managing Editor
Manhattan Times
She turns to me slowly, her hand moving to her mouth.
“Fuck, Keaton,” she whispers. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’m…I’m so sorry.”
I nod.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s a clusterfuck. My brothers and I have been meeting with legal to figure out what we need to do—well, brother. Brooks has been scarce, as usual, when the adults are talking. Wren has agreed to give us some time in exchange for us providing whatever we find out.”
Her eyebrows knit together.
“Wait…you’re providing her with information?” she asks. I nod.
“We always knew that Cato was…Cato. But this…” I say, standing up from the desk and pacing the room, “he’s gone too far. He’s hurt too many people. And his ‘reign’ needs to end now before we lose everything and can’t help anyone ever again.”
She stands and walks toward me slowly.
“So you’re helping to build a case against your dad,” she says, putting it all together.
I nod. She walks closer to me and takes my hand in hers again.
God, it feels good when she touches me. “I fucking hate that you have to do this, Keat. But I’m so fucking proud of you for it.
” We look at each other for a moment before she clears her throat and lets her eyes drop.
“But I’m so sorry that this has been going on and you’ve…
you’ve had to deal with me on top of it all. If I had known, I never…”
I scowl and step even closer to her.
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I growl, cutting her off. “There is nothing that should ever stop you from calling me, Evie.”
She swallows. I step closer.
“I need to know that you hear me.”
“I hear you,” she says. But then, I see the look on her face change, and she tilts her
head up to me. “And I need you to hear something too. You always say that I have you. Well, you have me too, Keaton. You always have. I never told you that, and I should have. But I’m telling you now.”
I smile down at her. She’s cute when she’s stern.
“I hear you,” I repeat after her. She nods.
“Good,” she says. “So, wanna get drunk and talk shit about our fucked-up families?”
I laugh, and it feels good.
“Hell yeah I do.”
I grab us some beers from the kitchen, we eat some leftovers, and watch trashy TV.
And after a few more beers, she gets up to throw some of the bottles away.
As she makes her way back to the living room, she stops and looks down at the giant tablet that controls all the electronics in the room.
She gives me a devious look then picks it up.
She hits a few buttons, and the lights dim a bit.
She giggles. Then she hits another button. I hear her type something in, then a Beyonce song starts playing, and she starts to sway her hips some. She sets the tablet down, and I lean back into the cushion, just watching.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
And the way her sweatpants are clinging to those hips?
I’m a fucking dead man.
She sways more, lifting her long hair off her shoulders and letting it fall back as she
moves, singing alongto the song as she does. Her eyes are closed, and she looks like a goddamn angel.
A very, very sexy angel.
Her eyes open slowly, and she trains them on me. A shy smile creeps over her lips, and she bites her bottom one. I smile back. Tipsy Evie always got a little more free-spirited, but then she’d catch herself and straighten up.
I don’t want her to straighten up right now.
I want her loose, relaxed. Safe.
“You have always loved this song,” I say to her, taking a long sip of my beer. She nods.
“Yeah,” she says. “This one is my favorite.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Because it reminds me of you,” she says, then she stops moving. She stares at me, eyes wide as saucers, like she can’t believe she just said that. If it’s possible, she has even more of my attention now. I sit up slightly, taking another sip.
“Why is that?” I ask her. She swallows, biting her bottom lip. Then she shakes her head slowly.
“Nope,” she says. “No reason. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
She starts swaying again, turning her back to me.
But now I need to know.
I scoot off the couch, setting my beer down on the coffee table.
As I draw closer to her, it feels like the music is slowing down.
It feels like the room is getting a little bit darker, and the only light I see is her.
I close the space between us, and she’s staring up at me, those long eyelashes batting in my direction.
Then she slides her hands up to cover her face.
I reach up and gently move her hands from her face.
“Why does this song make you think of me, Evie?” I ask her again. She takes in a breath.
“Because I had my first orgasm thinking about you while this song was playing,” she blurts out. She slaps her hands over her mouth, turning away from me and putting some space between us. So many things are going through my head right now.
The fact that she thought about me in that way all those years ago, when I was across town thinking about her the same.
The fact that I never knew it.
The fact that she still thinks about it.
And the fact that she’s talking about touching herself to the image of me.
My tongue juts out to wet my lip. I close the space between us and reach out to grab her arm. I gently turn her around so she’s facing me.
I want to do so many things right now. I want to make her show me. I want to start the song over, pull up a chair, and watch.
I want to help her. With my hands. My mouth. My dick.