“Emily? Sweetheart?”
I blink and Shane is standing in the shower door, his jacket and tie gone. “Shane. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Why is the gun lying on the bed?”
“I should have put it away. I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just needed to escape from everything for a while.”
He begins to strip, and in a matter of moments, he’s a gorgeous naked distraction, and that burn in my chest eases. He steps into the shower and, to my surprise, sits down next to me, then pulls me between his legs, facing him. My knees go back to my chest, and his hands settle on top of them. “Talk to me,” he orders.
“You talk to me. Have you talked to Adrian?”
“No. But I will tomorrow.”
“What about Ted? I never got to find out what happened on the call.”
“His wife cried. It gutted me. I made financial promises Seth is going to solidify for them tomorrow.” He pauses. “Emily. Sweetheart. You’re avoiding what brought you to this shower. If this is getting to you—”
“No. Or yes. Of course it’s getting to all of us. It’s not that.”
“The gun is for your protection. I know it’s hard to think—”
“I’ve carried for years, Shane. I couldn’t take my weapon on the plane when I left Texas, so I ended up without it. Guns used to be a problem for me though. I took lessons and bought one to overcome that.”
He strokes my cheek. “Why was it a problem?”
I inhale, and that burn is back. “It just … was. And I saw someone, a therapist, and he said to use the water to mentally erase my bad thoughts.” I shove away from Shane and sit under the direct spray, my legs still at my chest, eyes closed, my face to the water. “And so that was what I was doing.”
“What bad thoughts?”
“He said to imagine it washing away the blood.”
The minute I say the word “blood,” he drags me to him again, cupping my face over my knees. “What blood, Emily?”
“This is not the time for this.”
“It can’t be your stepfather. You haven’t seen a therapist since then. What blood?”
“Shane—”
“Oh shit. Your father. Did you find your father?”
I swallow hard. “Yes. I found my father after he shot himself. I tried to save him and I was covered in it. You know. It. In his blood.”
“Holy fuck. You were a teenager.”
“Yes, which means I’ve had lots of time to deal with this. It’s honestly not logical that I’m thinking about this now.”
“Tell me what you were thinking about tonight.”
“Your mother is so different from what mine was, and yet they are alike. Our brothers are…”
“A mess,” he supplies.
“Yes, but we both still want to save them. And our fathers.” My eyes burn. “Your father … I like that he’s real. He’s mean. He’s underhanded. He’s dying. But my father. He was kind and sweet. He was alive and had so much ahead of him, and he just quit.” Realization hits me hard and fast. “I know why this is affecting me.”
“Tell me,” he urges.
“It’s not about me. It’s about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. All night, all day, I’ve known that I have to make you think about tomorrow morning. Really think about it, Shane, and I’ve dreaded that. I hate it now.”
“You mean that I may never see my father again.”
“Yes,” I say, the word rasping from my throat.
“I know. I drew that meeting out with him today because of that. I knew I was doing it. Derek knew I was doing it. My father knew too. Pops knew.”
“Pops?”
“The name we called him as kids.” He laughs without humor. “And he was still a total dick today.”
I give a sad smile. “He is what he is.”
“I guess we can never say he wasn’t true to himself. Come.” He stands up and takes me with him. “The water is getting cold and we’re both in need of rest.”
He leads me out of the shower and wraps me in a towel, tenderness in his eyes, in his touch, that has nothing to do with sex. It’s about intimacy. It’s about the emotional whirlwind we share compliments of our families, and each other. Returning the favor he’s given me, I grab a towel and knot it at his hips, which earns me one of his sexy smiles. His fingers snag mine and he leads me to the bedroom, and bed, where he’s thankfully already moved the guns out of sight. “Where’s Cody?” I ask as he pulls the blankets back. “It’s strange to have someone else here.”
“He’s in his suite,” he says. “We’re alone.” We climb into the bed, underneath the soft sheets, facing each other, our legs tangled, and he is hard now, thick, his shaft nestled inside the V of my body, and that burn in my chest has become the burn in my belly. But he is in no rush, the way he was in the office today. He touches my arm, caresses it, the gentleness in him sending a shivering of sensation and random, expanding emotions through me. He kisses me, a soft brush of our mouths. He caresses my nipple. Then he touches my arm again. Tender. Sexy. I never knew a touch on the arm could be so powerful. My hand rests on the hard wall of his chest, over his heart, the feel of it thrumming just plain everything to me right now. His hand curves my hip, palm on my naked backside, and he slides his shaft against me, oh so slowly and sensually. My eyes won’t stay open and my teeth find my bottom lip. And when he presses inside me, stretching me, filling me, there is nothing but sensations and the sounds of our breathing, which is heavy and in unison. He pushes into me slowly, deeply, until I have all of him, and then he just holds me, his hand sliding over my hair and dragging my face to his.
“Have I told you I love you?” he asks.
“Three times,” I say. “And I love you too, so that’s three for me too. I think. Or two.”
His lips curve. “We’re counting?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s keep counting,” he says. “So we never forget to say it. I love you.”
“Four,” I whisper. “I love you too.”
He pulls his shaft back and drives into me. I gasp. “That’s one,” he says.
“One what?”
“One gasp. One thrust. I hope you aren’t tired after all, because I really need to spend this night inside you. Making love to you, Emily.”
Emily. I am Emily now, not Reagan, and with him, making love to him, is exactly how I want to spend this night. Letting him know that on the eve of a good-bye, he is not alone.
SHANE
Long after Emily has fallen asleep, I lie in bed, holding her, and I’ve decided I was right. As long as I have her with me, I won’t lose the part of me that isn’t my father or my brother. Though I believe I’ve been walking that line these past few days without knowing I was walking it. Thinking like them, not me. But now I’m back, thinking like the calculating, smart attorney who, I am proud to say, was one of the best in the nation. I see things differently than they do. I see potential solutions I did not see yesterday, plans forming in my mind, trying to take root.
Kissing Emily’s head, I slip out of the bed and walk to the closet, pulling on pajama bottoms, then head back to the bedroom to slip my phone into my pocket. I start for the door. “Where are you going?” Emily asks, and I rotate to find her sitting up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing at all,” I say, moving to sit next to her. “You’ve inspired me. My mind is working overtime. I have some ideas on how we end this hell we’re in without anyone dying. I just need to work through the plan, which means a lot of pacing and planning. Lie down and rest.”
“I inspired you?”
“Yes.” I caress her cheek. “You did. I’ll explain how later. Rest. I’ll be back to bed soon.” I stand and head toward the door.
“Shane.”
I turn to find her still sitting up. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do you want me to pace with you
?”
“Many times, but not now. This process of mine is a lonely but effective one.”
“Okay, then just one thought to mull over as you pace. There was a mass grave of fifty people found in Mexico, all beheaded. Ramon is thought to be behind it. While you’re figuring out this plan of yours, if you decide someone has to die, I’d choose him. Before he chooses someone else.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, heading down the stairs, aware of how out of character it was for her to speak the dirtiness of those words, and how certain I am they would haunt her should she learn of his death. But she’s right. Ramon still has to die, but this has to be my secret with Seth. My cross to bear.
DEREK
I lie in the bed with Teresa next to me, curled to my side, staring at the ceiling. Ted’s naked, bloody body haunts me. I’ve tried to get it out of my mind, but guilt grinds through me, proving to be a vicious monster. It wants to finish the job of destroying me. The one I started myself by allowing our involvement with Martina. Ironically, had we not though, Teresa would not be next to me now. And I love this woman. I’ve tried to deny it. I tried to fuck her out of my system, and when that didn’t work, I went to other women, reminding myself of the pleasure of variety. She knew too. I made sure Teresa knew I’d been with other women, drenching myself in their perfume, thinking she’d leave me, or maybe it was just that window of time, when I had a death wish no one knows about, even her.
But she just kept hanging on to me, and now I don’t seem to be able to let go of her. Which means I can’t let go of me. And it sucks because love sucks. I mean, look how well that’s worked for my parents. It hasn’t worked. Neither has me trying to get their departure to Germany out of my mind tonight. My father’s a bona fide bastard, but tomorrow might be the last time I see him. Then there is my mother. Her many betrayals are too raw for me to claim any objectivity, but the idea of her being alone with my father, the man she’s loved all her life, when he dies, is a brutal thought. But so is leaving with them, and allowing my father to survive his cancer, and lose his company.
My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I grab it, noting Shane’s number. “What’s wrong?” I answer softly, standing and walking into the bathroom to keep from waking Teresa.
“You’re with Teresa.”
And he’s officially in high-and-mighty mode. “What the hell do you want, Shane?”
“What if I said I have a plan to get us out of this and you get to keep seeing her?”
I go still. “I’m listening.”
“Not on the phone. After the airport in the morning.” He ends the call.
I walk back into the bedroom to find Teresa awake, the light now on, her pale pink gown covering her knees that she’s pulled to her chest. “I have millions of dollars in a trust.”
“What?”
“Enough that we can run away and be together.”
I’m stunned by her words, but more so by how much this woman loves me despite all I have let myself become, and all I have done to her. I sit down next to her, drawing her hand in mine. “No,” I say. “We aren’t running. And we aren’t using your money. I have money. I’ll take care of you. That’s what I’m supposed to do for my woman. It’s the one thing my father did teach me right. The one thing he did right by my mother.”
“You’re a target because of me. Adrian and Ramon hate you just for being with me. We have to get out of sight and out of mind.”
“Shane and I have a plan. Everything is going to be okay, and we’re okay.”
“Shane? You hate Shane.”
She’s right. I hate Shane. I hate how he always wins. I hate how he’s always the one who Pops references with pride. I hate how he gets anything he wants. “We want the same things.”
“Which is what?”
I lower her to the bed with me so that we face each other. “To win.”
“And how do you define winning?”
“We don’t die.”
“That’s why we leave, Derek. That’s how we win. Please. Let’s run away together.”
“No running. No dying.”
“Derek—”
I kiss her, silencing her fears, before they become mine.
No one dies, including my bastard father and golden-boy brother. And most definitely not this woman, who’s the reason I’ve decided life is good, and maybe I should be too. For her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHANE
Morning comes, and with the promise of it being a big day, I opt to wear my gray power suit I bought to celebrate my first win in the courtroom, pairing it with a gray silk tie and gray shirt. I head downstairs and find Emily standing at the island in the kitchen. Her cell phone is at her ear, a smile on her lips that she’s glossed the same pale pink as her fitted skirt and matching silk blouse. Her long dark hair, which I happen to know smells like a bouquet of flowers, softly tumbles around her shoulders. And when she looks up at me, her eyes lighting up with the contact, in that moment, I think she looks like an angel who doesn’t know she’s trapped in hell.
“I’ll see you at the office, Jessica,” she says, ending the call and then smiling at me. “She found out about my fashion brand proposal and now she’s pitching a ‘Jessica’ fashion line, Shane. She sat up drawing sketches last night.”
“Let me guess,” I say, stopping at the counter opposite her. “There’re really expensive purses involved.”
Emily gives me one of her sweet, musical laughs. “Well, yes. There are. But there’s a lot of money in purses.” She turns somber. “I know I’ve said this, like, ten times since we woke up this morning, but I really want to go to the airport with you.”
“Someone needs to be at the office, making it look normal,” I say. “And that’s you and Jessica.”
“I can make it look normal an hour later, after I go with you to the airport.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “I promise you.”
“You think you’re okay,” she insists. “It won’t hit you until he’s on the plane.”
“It won’t hit me until I’m home tonight,” I assure her. “I have a way of compartmentalizing, especially when I’m focused on a goal, like I am today.”
“Getting us out of this.”
“Yes. Getting us out of this.” My cell phone vibrates with a text, and I fish it out of my pocket, glancing at the message from Seth, then back at Emily. “Apparently my parents are on the road with Seth. My mother forgot something at the house. And Derek’s in the garage, waiting on me.” I walk around the counter and pull Emily close, taking a moment to nuzzle her hair and inhale those flowers. “Damn, you smell good.” I stroke her cheek. “I may not be into the office until later, but call me or text me if you need anything.”
“Be careful.”
“I told you, sweetheart. No one dies. My plan is a good plan.”
“And that plan is what?”
“A work in progress. I’ll tell you all about it tonight.” I kiss her forehead and turn for the door, pulling it open to hear, “Shane!”
“Yes?”
“I love you. That’s number five.”
“I love you too, and, sweetheart? No one dies.” I leave her with that promise, and certainty, and exit into the hallway. And I don’t doubt those words until Derek and I settle into my Bentley and reality comes at me fast and hard.
“You said no one dies,” Derek says, his voice low, tight. “You forgot that cancer is less forgiving than Adrian Martina.”
“You forget what a stubborn ass our father is,” I say, starting the engine. “He won’t die until he’s ready to die. And that man isn’t ready.” I reach behind me and produce a gun case. “Because you aren’t ready to die either.”
He removes a gun from the case and tests the weight. “Beats the hell out of our hunting rifles.” He glances over at me. “What if I want to shoot you?” He points the gun at me.
Adrenaline courses through me, and my agitation is instant. I grab it, shoving it to my forehead. “Do
it.”
“I could, you know. I’ve thought about it at times. And yet you handed me a gun.”
“Pull the trigger if you’re going to pull the trigger, Derek,” I order. “Man up. Be who you are.”
“Who am I, Shane? Who the hell am I to you?”
“The only person you are right now is the person holding a gun on me.”
He puffs out several breaths and releases the trigger, and we both pull back. “Who I am is the one who trusts no one.” He indicates the gun. “I would never have given this to you. You trust too easily. If you do that with Adrian’s people, you’ll get us both killed.”
My lips thin and I face forward. “The gun at my ankle is loaded,” I say. “Yours isn’t for a reason.”
He gives a bitter laugh. “You were testing me.”
“Yes.”
“And did I pass?” he queries.
“I won’t be buying you bullets anytime soon.”
I put the car in drive.
* * *
The short ride to my parents’ place is silent, our confrontation over the gun heavy between us, and the irony of us both testing each other is hard to miss. It’s a bit of cold comfort to know Derek didn’t pull the trigger. I wanted to know how much I dared to trust him, and the answer is, as I suspected, not much. He’s insecure, and acts rashly, with poor judgment. And our father knows that, regularly using it to manipulate Derek into doing his bad deeds. But Derek still does them.
Thankfully, we arrive at the house just as Seth is pulling out of the driveway again, allowing us to follow them without going inside and risking a houseful of Brandon personalities, leading to conflict. Still Derek and I don’t speak, and as the minutes pass, so does the bite of our gun incident. The mood shifts, still jagged-edged, still dark, but it’s not about us, the brothers, anymore. It’s about conversations we don’t want to have about how final this good-bye might become. For forty minutes this doesn’t change, until finally, we pull onto the tarmac of the private airstrip, a few feet from where Seth has just pulled in.
“Here we go,” I say, popping open my door at the same time Derek pops open his.