Twenty-Five
I smooth a palm over the shimmering emerald dress sprawled across my lap, half convinced it might sprout a mouth and demand I pay penance. It’s midday. The sun stands high overhead, bathing the freeway in a stark glare while Nathan maneuvers his SUV with the sort of focused precision that, under different circumstances, might comfort me. But right now, my heart’s pounding in my throat for an entirely different reason.
I’m in the passenger seat of his sleek, late-model SUV because apparently, it’s “neither safe nor practical”
for me to Uber with a dress that costs roughly the same as a minor surgery. Truthfully, he insisted. Something about how LA in broad daylight can still be dicey and how there’s no way he’s letting me lug a designer garment bag alone. Despite my initial protest, I found myself relenting.
His eyes keep flicking from the road to my face and back again. I wonder if he picks up on my tension, if he sees how tight my grip is on the handle of the garment bag. I try not to think about how he just bought me a dress.
I’ve been hyper-aware of him all morning. Of this swirling sense of chaos that seems to intensify whenever he’s around. The confrontation in the dressing rooms, the way he pinned me against the wall with his gaze alone, the near-predatory look he got when rating every dress. My cheeks heat at the memory.
His phone buzzes against the console, momentarily drawing both our gazes. He shoots me a glance.
“You should probably answer that,”
I say. “Might be business.”
He shrugs, pressing a button on the steering wheel. The screen on the dash lights up with a random number. No name.
“No idea who that is,”
Nathan mutters. The call ends. “Probably a lawyer.”
He merges into a faster lane, and my mind drifts back to earlier events. My body still buzzes from the tension that flared between us. This is supposed to be a strictly business arrangement—helping him impress some investor at a fundraiser tonight—but the lines blurred the moment his gaze dipped below my neckline in the dressing room. My body’s still half-charged with unresolved electricity.
I clear my throat. “Thanks, by the way.”
He blinks. “For what?”
“For the dress.”
“I’m sure it’s not your idea of fun to call me in a panic.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, it wasn’t. You’re the last person I want to call when I’m half ready to commit a crime just to escape a department store.”
There’s no real bite in my tone, just leftover embarrassment.
His lips quirk. “Next time, let me know, and I’ll commit the crime for you.”
I snort, but any retort I plan to make dies in my throat because his phone buzzes again. This time, the screen reads Mom in big, bold letters. Nathan stiffens. Instantly, the atmosphere changes. Tension thrums from him like a taut wire. He growls, pressing the accept button with one abrupt tap.
“What?”
he barks into the line.
A woman’s voice answers, shrill and frantic. I can’t make out every word, but I catch Simon and going to kill me in the same ragged breath. My heart lurches. Nathan’s face drains of color.
“Calm down,”
he snaps. “I can’t understand you when you’re screeching.”
Another pause. Then, more softly, “No, no, I’m—I’m on my way, all right? Don’t do anything stupid. Just—just stay in the house.”
His knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. “Yes, I heard you the first time,”
he grits out. Then he mutters, “I’m coming,”
and ends the call abruptly.
I watch him jam the phone onto the console. “Nathan—?”
He yanks the wheel, changing lanes without signaling. “My mother,”
he says, voice tight. “Who knows how serious it is, but I can’t risk ignoring it.”
My pulse spikes because from the way he’s driving, he’s about to break every traffic law. My rational mind says I shouldn’t be part of this, but another part of me cringes at leaving him alone in something that clearly rattles him to the core.
“I’ll drop you off first,”
he says, jaw clenched tight.
The phone buzzes again. He hisses a curse, ignoring it before merging onto another highway, cutting across two lanes. My stomach flips.
“No,”
I say, surprising even myself. “Don’t. You’ll waste time. If she’s in danger, every minute matters, right? Just go.”
He shoots me a glare, half frustration, half panic. “I don’t want you involved in this. She’s… messy. It’s not your problem.”
“I’m already here,”
I argue, voice unsteady.
His jaw works. “Fine,”
he bites out. “But you stay in the car. Understand? I’ll handle my mother. You wait—”
“Okay,”
I agree softly. Part of me bristles at the command, but the tension in his voice is too raw to fight. “I’ll wait.”
Not long later, when we turn into a wide, tree-lined street, I spot the house at the end. By all external appearances, it’s a lovely place, but that calm veneer cracks instantly when a man staggers out the front door, nearly tripping on the porch steps.
“Stay here,”
Nathan orders, throwing the SUV into park. He’s out of the car before I can argue, slamming the door behind him.
I fumble to unbuckle my seat belt. My heart is hammering so loudly I can hear it in my ears.
The man who must be Simon spots Nathan striding up the driveway and sneers something inaudible. I can see fresh scratches across his face, dark streaks that might be blood.
Nathan’s posture coils. I crack open the passenger door.
“Your mother’s insane!”
Simon slurs, stumbling sideways. “I can’t do this. She’s… she’s going to kill me at this rate.”
Nathan’s breathing is ragged, shoulders tense. “What did you do to her?”
“Me?”
Simon scoffs, gesturing to the scratches on his arms. “I’m the one bleeding here. She went ballistic, started throwing shit. Threatened me with a damned bottle. I’m done.”
Nathan is close enough now that with one swift move, he grabs Simon by the collar and slams him into the side of the house.
I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth. This is not the careful, controlled man I’ve seen over the last number of days. This is raw and unfiltered.
Simon chokes out a strangled sound. “Get off me, man, what the hell—”
“Touch her again,”
Nathan snarls, “and I’ll end you.”
My pulse spikes. I push the door fully open and step out onto the driveway. “Nathan,”
I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don’t—”
He flicks his gaze toward me, just a flash of embarrassment and anger, but he doesn’t immediately let Simon go. The other man coughs, his eyes wide with some combination of drunken panic.
“She’s the one who went batshit, I swear!”
Simon sputters. “I’m done with her. She’s crazy. You want to keep paying her bills? That’s your funeral.”
Nathan presses Simon to the wall a fraction harder, jaw clenched before he shoves him away. Simon stumbles, cursing under his breath.
“Get off this property,”
Nathan growls. “Now.”
Simon rubs his neck, staggering down the steps. He shoots me a bewildered glance, mutters something about “fucking psychos,”
and storms off down the sidewalk. I remain frozen, unsure if I should return to the car and stay there like he told me or run to Nathan’s side. My chest is tight, hands clammy.
He stands there for a beat, chest heaving, before dragging a hand over his face.
When he finally looks at me, his eyes are swirling with too many emotions to name.
“Stay behind me,”
he says, voice rough. “I’ll handle my mother. Then I’ll take you home.”
But I find my feet carrying me closer. “Nathan—”
His gaze hardens. “Sienna, don’t.”
The front door is ajar. Even from here, I can smell the sour stench of alcohol.
A shrill voice calls, “Nathan? Baby, is that you?”
He curses softly, pushing the door open the rest of the way. I hesitate only for a second, then follow him in.
The interior is a nightmare. It’s dim, despite every light being turned on, thanks to heavy curtains blocking out the day’s sun. The smell of stale booze, sweat, and something rotten hits me like a wall. Empty bottles line the coffee table, and the couch cushions are overturned, revealing suspicious stains.
“Nathan,”
a woman slurs, emerging from the hallway. She’s in a tattered robe, eyes bloodshot, hair an unwashed tangle. But there’s something in her face—under all that haze—that might have been pretty once.
She blinks unsteadily. “Oh, you came… good. I thought… he was going to kill me.”
She half collapses against the wall, scowling. “Where’s that bastard?”
Nathan catches her before she slides to the floor, hooking an arm under her shoulders. “He’s gone,”
he says curtly. “What happened?”
She laughs, the sound sharp. “I told him to pack his shit. He didn’t like that.”
Her eyes drift to me. “Who’s she?”
My spine stiffens. Nathan’s mother calls me she, like I’m an unwanted insect. Or maybe she’s just too drunk to form polite words.
His lips press in a thin line. “Sienna,”
he says. “A friend. Look at me.”
She shoves at him half-heartedly. “You never tell me anything,”
she mumbles, her voice turning sticky-sweet with complaint. “My own son, a big shot. Too big to come see his mother unless I practically die.”
Exhaling, the muscles in his jaw work as he helps her to the ratty couch. She flops down, rubbing her hand over her face. Her robe slips, revealing bruises or maybe just smudges of filth on her arm.
“Why do you always have to be so—”
She burps, blinking heavily, “—so…disapproving, baby?”
I stand frozen near the door, uncertain whether to approach.
Nathan glances at me, a flicker of helplessness crossing his features. He opens his mouth to speak, but his mother slaps a hand on his shoulder.
“Water,”
she declares, like a queen giving an order.
I snap into action. “I’ll get it,”
I offer, wanting to do something. He shoots me a cautious nod, like he appreciates the help but hates that I’m witnessing all of this.
I pick my way through the debris of scattered bottles, an overturned stool, and crumpled newspapers. The kitchen is in no better shape—dirty dishes, spilled alcohol on the counters, reeking of old sour wine. I find a relatively clean glass, rinse it quickly, and fill it with water.
When I return, Nathan has pulled the curtains open, allowing some light to enter. His mother flinches at the sudden glow. I step carefully over a puddle of… something I don’t want to identify and hand her the glass.
She takes it with an unsteady hand. “You’re too nice,”
she slurs at me, focusing those bleary eyes. “You shouldn’t waste your time on my son. He…he doesn’t know how to love properly.”
Then she giggles, a bizarre, broken sound, and tries to pat my cheek.
Nathan tenses, fists clenched at his sides. “Stop,”
he snaps at her. “Let’s just…get you cleaned up, all right?”
She smirks, swaying. “Should’ve just let Simon kill me. At least that would’ve brought you running faster.”
My stomach twists at the cruelty in her tone. She’s not just drunk; she’s manipulative, cotton-candy sweet with a bitter core. No wonder Nathan was so reluctant to bring me here.
He kneels by the couch, rummaging for any sign of injuries, lips set in a grim line. “You’re done with Simon,”
he says flatly. “I’m changing the locks. This time, don’t give him a key.”
She scowls. “Like you don’t give me the money to do anything I want anyway.”
She hiccups, then tries to stand. Nathan steadies her, guiding her back down. She mutters a half-apology that dissolves into a complaint about the room spinning.
I watch as he wipes a smear of something from her cheek with a rag he found on the floor. The tenderness in his motions is overshadowed by the anger etched into his face.
She sniffles, then suddenly goes rigid, eyes blazing. “It’s your fault, you know.”
His spine stiffens. “What is?”
“You never learned to keep your father happy. He only hit you because you…you were always—”
Her words trail into an incoherent jumble. Then, with renewed viciousness, “He was right. You never knew when to shut up. Always fighting him—”
“Stop,”
Nathan bites out. “You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re saying.”
She snorts, leaning forward, jabbing a finger at him. “I know exactly what I’m saying, baby. You took your fancy scholarships, your big city dreams, and left me behind.”
Her voice rises to an ugly shriek. “You left me.”
His eyes flick toward me, full of pure dread. He doesn’t want me to hear this, but I can’t tear my gaze away. My chest aches as everything inside me screams that this is heartbreak and manipulation twisted together.
He says nothing. All color drains from his face, and I realize with painful clarity that she’s done this a million times—guilt-tripping him, rewriting their history to make him the villain.
I take a shaky breath. “I’ll—uh—check the kitchen,”
I mumble, stepping away to give him space because the look on his face, that raw flicker of shame, demands I give him some privacy.
He nods in stiff gratitude, turning back to his mother. “You’re done,”
he mutters, rubbing his temples. “Lay down. Sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow, or not at all.”
She’s still ranting about how everything’s his fault, but I try to tune it out as I slip into the kitchen, flicking on a harsh overhead light.
A few minutes later, the sound of cursing fades. I hear softer murmurs and then a dull thump. Maybe she collapsed on the couch.
The kitchen is as bad as the living room. Dirty dishes, half-eaten food crusted on plates, a sour odor of old beer. I fight a wave of nausea and start tidying up on instinct, collecting bottles and scrubbing counters. Anything to keep my hands busy. My ears strain for sounds from the other room. I hear his mother’s voice rise once or twice, then hush as Nathan presumably tries to calm her. There’s a distant crash, followed by more muffled curses. My heart bangs against my ribcage.
Should I check on him?
Before I can decide, footsteps echo behind me. I spin, expecting to see Nathan. But it’s not.
A man stands in the doorway, maybe in his early thirties, with hair the same dark shade as Nathan’s but hanging in uneven lengths around his ears, like he gave up on haircuts. He’s dressed in worn jeans, a rumpled flannel, and scuffed boots. His features are sharper, leaner, and there’s a faint bruise along his jaw. Despite the differences, I see a flicker of Nathan in those eyes. Though, these ones are clouded by something harsh and jaded.
“Who the hell are you?”
he demands.
I swallow.
This must be Nathan’s brother. The one he never speaks to. The tension rolling off him sends a chill through me.
“I—uh—Sienna. I’m Nathan’s friend.”
He scoffs. “Friend, huh. Didn’t know he had those, ‘specially female ones he brings around.”
His gaze rakes over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Saw his fancy SUV out front. Figured it was him or the mailman delivering his big checks again.”
I tense. “Right. Um. He’s with your mother,”
I manage, pointing lamely toward the living room.
“Of course he is,”
the brother drawls, stepping inside. He opens the fridge and rummages until he finds a beer.
Popping the tab, he takes a swig and smirks. “So she called him too, huh? Guess that means I can get the hell out.”
He strides to the small kitchen table and drops heavily into a chair, elbow resting on the shaky surface. An uneasy prickle races down my spine. I shift, clearing more trash from the counter, telling myself Nathan is just down the hall. I’m safe. Still, something about the brother’s presence screams danger.
“How often does this happen?”
I ask quietly, glancing his way. It’s half rhetorical. I’m not even sure I want the answer.
He gives a short laugh. “Whenever she’s bored or needs new drama. Golden boy rides in to save the day. The rest of us aren’t worth her time, or maybe we’re not rich enough.”
He sneers the last words.
I press my lips together. “Nathan’s just helping her.”
The brother’s eyes flick to me. “That’s what he does, right? Mister Perfect. Fixes everything. Some of us see right through it.”
He leans forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You sleeping with him?”
My cheeks burn. “What?”
He chuckles, a low, humorless sound that sets my teeth on edge. “He always liked to keep his personal life hush-hush. But you’re here, in broad daylight. Means either you’re special, or he’s losing his edge.”
His gaze slides across my body in a way that’s more invasive than any of Nathan’s deliberate stares.
A tense silence lingers. I edge around the counter, tossing more trash. Every muscle in my body hums with unease.
“So, do you live here?”
I ask, grasping for something normal to say.
He gives a short bark of laughter. “God, no. I sure as hell don’t live under Nate’s dime. Been a while since I stepped foot here, but she called me earlier, babbling about Simon. Didn’t bother to show until now. Guess I was curious.”
He rakes his eyes over me again, a shiver of revulsion slithering down my spine. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
I press my lips together. “I’m just helping him. He’s handling your mother, so I figured I’d tidy—”
“That’s what he does. He handles things. Except me. I handle myself.”
Another swig. “Maybe if he’s busy, that means you’re free to keep me company.”
The compulsion to call Nathan’s name spikes, but I don’t want to drag him out of dealing with his mother. This is my problem for the moment.
His twisted grin widens. “Oh, come on. He never was good at sharing. Maybe I should find out if he’s changed his ways.”
He stands, drifting closer. “How about it? Think your fancy boy would mind if I borrowed you?”
Revulsion slams through me. “Don’t even—”
Suddenly, there’s a voice behind me, colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Watch your fucking mouth when you speak to her,”
Nathan growls. “In fact, don’t even look at her.”
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. I whip around. Nathan stands in the doorway, fists clenched, eyes burning with rage. The brother smirks, but I see a flicker of fear. They face each other in taut silence, two men who share the same bone structure but carry entirely different energies.
“Nate,”
the brother drawls, “long time.”
“Not long enough,”
Nathan hisses. “Sienna, come here.”
I obey instantly, a wave of relief crashing over me as I skirt around the brother’s chair. The tension in the cramped kitchen is suffocating. Nathan’s glare never leaves his brother’s face, not even when I reach his side.
He shoves the car keys into my hand, then brushes his thumb down my cheek in a gesture so tender it leaves me breathless.
“Wait in the car, baby,”
he says, the possessive note in his voice sending a rush of warmth through me. He’s staking his claim for his brother to see. I’m untouchable, and we both know it.
I hesitate, glancing at the brother who’s sprawled in the chair again, that sneer on his lips. My gut wants to stay, but Nathan’s gaze is ironclad, commanding. The silent plea: Go. Trust me.
My throat bobs. “Okay,”
I whisper. Even though I’d rather not leave him here to handle this alone, I can’t defy that look. Gently, I curl my fingers around the keys and slip out of the kitchen.
My pulse pounds all the way down the hall. I pass the living room, where Nathan’s mother now stands unsteadily, hurling slurred words at no one in particular. The entire house reeks of stale anger and rotting hopes. My chest aches with the realization that, for all his polished success, this is the environment he escaped.
Stepping onto the porch, the afternoon sunlight nearly blinds me. I cross to the SUV, the keys biting into my palm. Sliding into the passenger seat, I slam the door and lock it. My heart’s still racing, adrenaline flooding my veins. The brother’s seedy stare, the mother’s drunken manipulation, and Nathan’s absolute fury. How did he ever grow into the man he is?
My Google search wasn’t enough. He’s done everything to bury any mention of his past online. If anything, today only makes me more curious about the man inside.
It’s surreal. Just hours ago, we were playing dress-up in a fancy store, the tension purely sexual.
I can’t deny a newfound awe for him. Not in a romantic sense, though that is there too, gnawing at my mind, but in a deeper, more human sense. He built an empire from a foundation this broken?
I swallow hard, eyes on the front door. Even with the windows up, I can hear faint shouting. Nathan’s voice, low but furious. Then nothing. Silence, or maybe they’ve moved further inside. My knuckles whiten around the keys.
Is he safe?
The memory of him pinning Simon to the porch flares in my mind. The memory of him half-snarling at his brother. He’s more than capable of defending himself, but I still worry. This is his family. As awful as they seem, there’s no easy out for him.
Minutes trickle by, slow and suffocating. The sun bakes the car. I crack the window open for air, refusing to turn on the AC in case I need to hear some sign of trouble.
A clang inside the house startles me. My pulse jolts, but then it fades. Another minute drags on, then two, then five. My phone sits on the passenger seat, tempting me to text him. I decide to wait it out.
It hits me how bizarrely I trust him. After all, we’re practically strangers, roped together by a business arrangement. Yet I trust him enough to ride along on a family rescue mission. Strange how quickly illusions of distance can dissolve in the face of real vulnerability.
Finally, the door creaks open. I sit up, heart hammering. It’s not Nathan. It’s the brother again, stepping onto the porch. He lights a cigarette, scowls at the afternoon glare, then stomps back inside.
Time crawls.
At last, Nathan steps out, his chest rising in a heavy sigh. He closes the front door behind him and stalks down the porch steps. Our eyes lock through the windshield, and my heart twists with relief.
He climbs into the driver’s seat.
I look at him, searching his expression. “Are you…”
“I’m fine,”
he snaps, though the tremor in his voice betrays him. Knuckles tight on the wheel, he avoids my gaze. “Let’s get out of here.”