Brisé (17 page)

“Welcome home. What brings you by today?”

“I need to sell the house.” I don’t want to play games, and I need this handled right away.

“Are you in trouble? Do you need money?” I won’t let him get involved.

“What I need is for you to call Luke, have him arrange for the house to go on the market. I don’t care if it ever sells, but it needs to stay listed.” At least for a while, until I figure out what to do. I know I’m being hurtful and cruel to a man that has helped me, but I’m nervous as hell. Scared shitless.

“Tell me what’s going on, Phoebe.”

“I can’t.” Shit, I didn’t mean to let that slip. “I mean, nothing’s going on. Are you going to do this or not?”

“No. Until you can tell me what the hell’s going on, I refuse to enable you. Is the cancer back? Are you on drugs?”

I laugh at the mention of that “No to both. Thanks, Myra. I’ll find him myself.” I am full of shit, and I hope he doesn’t call my bluff.

“I gave you the tools a year ago to find him. You never sought him out while you were both in the same place, did you? Don’t worry; you won’t have to look far. You know that real estate office down the street? You can get your signature there.” He stands abruptly and walks out of his office leaving me there with my mouth hanging open. Did he just tell me Luke is here? How long? This changes everything. More than ever I have to keep Luke from finding out what’s going on, even if he hates me, he would never allow anyone to hurt me.

My first thought is to flee, but would they come after those I used to be close to? If half of what Drake says is true, the answer would be yes. I take a deep breath, praying for strength and guidance because I fear I am about to stir up a hornet’s nest. I was effectively dismissed by Myra, so I leave his office and head towards the showdown I’m about to have. I haven’t seen his face in four years. The last memory I have of him was a little more than a month ago as he walked away. If I had run after him, things could be different. I was too cowardly, too immature, and I allowed him to leave just like he let me four years ago.

I open the door to the familiar office and see the desk is empty up front. I wonder if he’s in his dad’s office or if they converted one for him? What if I walk in on a meeting or something else? I wonder if Katie is here with him. My stomach turns at that thought, more than any of the threats Drake has bestowed on me. I walk down the small hallway and hear his voice and follow the sound. He’s sitting in the chair behind his dad’s desk, phone to his ear, watching the doorway intently. “She’s here. Thanks for calling.” I know Myra called to warn him.

“So the prodigal daughter returns.” His sarcasm rolls off him in waves. He’s angry. After all this time, he’s still annoyed.

“I assume that was Myra on the phone, so you know why I am here.” I thought my first encounter with him would be different. I want to apologize, I want it to be pleasant, and this is anything but.

“Why do you want to sell the house, Phoebe?”

“I DON’T!” I want to shout. I want him to put his arms around me and promise me everything will be okay.

“It’s part of my old life. Too many memories, and I’m starting over. It’s like a rebirth.”

“The truth would be nice now.” He raises his eyebrows at me, challenging me. “You always were a shit liar, Twinkle.” Using my nickname is an underhanded tactic, and it is working.

“It is the truth, Lucas. I want to sell.”

“Myra is under the impression you’re in trouble. You don’t want to sell; you even told him it could just sit on the market.” Shit, he has me there. “I won’t do it without some answers.”

“Then I guess we will go to court.” This is going to get ugly . . . fast. I’ll have to buy some time with Drake.

“I guess we will. You could have done this years ago, broken all ties with me. Why now?”

“I’m not doing this to break ties with anyone. I need the house on the market, and if you won’t do it willingly, then I’ll petition the courts to gain control of my inheritance.”

“You do that, Twinkle. Just know, while you’re spinning your wheels, finding an attorney because Myra won’t do it, I’ll be finding out what you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything, damn it!”

“You’re hiding a bruise on your cheek. That have anything to do with it?”

“No, I was working with a new student, and he isn’t very strong. A lift went horribly wrong.”

“Still a shit liar. What about Drake? He have anything to do with this?” How does he know about him? He can’t know about him.

“Not a thing. Just time to move on.”

“You’re good at that, aren’t you? What are you moving on from now? Your childhood memories, the same ones you were desperate to hang on to? Or is it the memory of the first time I made love to you . . . the time you told me you would always cherish. What exactly are you trying to erase?”

“All of it!” I start for the door. I can’t do this with him, not like this.

“Always fleeing, Phoebe. Dancing away from the issues when it gets to be too much for you. Haven’t you grown up at all?”

“More than you will ever realize.” I won’t give him the triumph of seeing my tears. I realize I hurt him. It must seem like I took his love and tossed it aside, but that isn’t what I did.

I dread going home to Drake. He’ll have a million questions, and if I get us an apartment, he’ll interrogate me about how I have the money when just this morning I told him I didn’t. I walk to the entrance of the studio and see his truck out front, so I know there’s no escaping this.

I smell the stench of the beer before I make it past the threshold. There must be twenty cans piled all over the place, and judging by his blood shot eyes, he’s consumed half of them. “Where’ve you been?”

I try the lackadaisical approach, thinking if he doesn’t see how stressed I am it won’t bring the monster out. “I had a meeting with my attorney and then had to stop by the real estate office.”

“What for?”

“I asked the attorney about getting the house sold so we could move into something bigger.” It makes me nervous lying to him after I was just called out on it by Luke. Luckily, Drake doesn’t know me at all, so he can’t tell the difference.

“Did you get it on the market?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” He’s sitting up, and all of his attention is on me.

“Because the conservator in charge of my inheritance won’t allow it to go on the market.”

“Who the fuck is it? I’ll go talk to them.” No, no, no!

“It won’t do any good, Drake. I’ll figure something out.”

“You better. I’m three days late on a payment, and those fuckers get mad when I don’t have their money on time. You are going to need to get me some cash, and fast.”

Without thinking, and definitely without caring I shout, “That isn’t my problem! Why the fuck did you bring this into my life?”

Pain radiates into my temple, and I slam into the wall. I feel the yank on my head and another blow to my eye. Strike after strike continues to rain down on me until I can no longer feel them. I black out and the last thing I remember is I’m finally back to my numb state. I should have never left.

Chapter 21

Luke

All of it. She wants it all erased. I wonder what’s happened to her. There was a time she would’ve come to me with anything, now she’s hiding her issues from me. I can still read her though; she really is a shit liar. She had no idea I was back, and up until ten minutes before she walked in the door I didn’t know she was aware I’d ever left. Myra called to tell me about her visit to his office, and she had no idea I was working at my dad’s office.

“How did she even know I ever left?”

“I told her when you left. She called and asked for a box from her room. I sent her your letters, instead.” He sounds sad when he informs me she knew my whereabouts for a year and never reached out.

Sad. That word doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel. Rejected, obliterated, and resentful are a few emotions running through me. For a year we were in the same town, possibly moments from one another, and she never bothered to find me. She read the letters, was aware of how I struggled each day without her, and still I wasn’t significant enough for her to reach out to. I shared my love and my life with her every day since I was seven years old, and I wasn’t worth a simple phone call. When she wants something she can march her ass in my office and request help, but when I needed her, I was inconsequential. Fuck this! I won’t let her memory, the love I have for her hold me hostage anymore. She wants to live her life; she wants to eradicate every memory of us and her past life from her mind; that’s what I will give her.

I dial the familiar number; one I used many times to beg on an update about her. “Myra, draw the papers up.”

“You’re letting her sell the house?”

“No, I could draw those up myself. I’m turning everything over to her. She won’t have to fight the courts; I won’t contest a thing. Tell the courts she doesn’t need a conservator anymore. She can handle her life, her money, and her holdings all on her own. I. Am. Out.”

“Lucas, don’t do anything rash. You’re still reeling from what I told you, and I don’t want you doing something rash out of pain.”

“I’m hurt, alright. I’m pissed, but mostly I’m just done. Just get ready whatever it is I need to sign. See you in an hour.” Slamming the phone down doesn’t help lessen my frustration. Being in the same town with her, but not being with her will be the death of me. After all this time, all the damage and pain we’ve bestowed upon each other, I still love her. I’m grateful now that I purchased that house, and I know it won’t be a vacation home, but as soon as my parents are back next week, it will be my permanent residence.

I check the schedule and am relieved that I have no showings for the rest of the day. I wouldn’t be any good for the clients, and the sooner I get this shit handled, the sooner we can sever the ties that bind us. I feel a slight pang of guilt because I feel like I am going against her parents’ wishes, but then again they aren’t here to see what she’s become . . . who she’s chosen to be. I can’t keep saving her; sometimes you have to save yourself. I want a love like my parents have, like her parents had, and what I worked so hard to create with Phoebe. Love is supposed to be passionate, steady, comforting, and forever . . . this love we have just feels like a giant steamroller annihilating my life and hope for the future. I drive the few blocks to Myra’s office to pick up the paperwork. Once that’s done I can hand it off to Phoebe, and proceed to get drunk tonight. I will allow myself one last weakness, one last night to mourn us before erasing all of it.

“Lucas, rethink this.”

“Give me the papers, Myra. I’m not changing my mind.”

“She needs help. I know you could see that earlier.”

“I can’t help her if she won’t let me. Everything I’ve ever done for her, she turns around and throws away.”

“I’m worried about her. Drake has basically moved in with her.” Yep, that was the final nail in the coffin sealing off my heart. Fuck … that one hurt.

“Then he can help her with whatever it is she needs help with.”

“What if he’s the problem?” I don’t doubt that. I warned her years ago he was bad news. I didn’t keep up with him and that whole group, so I can’t speak about what I don’t know.

“I’ll try once more before I give her the papers. That’s all I can give you.” I’m baffled he expects more from me. I can stop by the studio; usually they have late afternoon classes so I won’t be so intrusive on her time with her live-in lover. I am so cynical. That can be helped with a generous serving of Scotch.

The studio door is standing open, and there’s a small crowd of children in the room warming up, but no instructor. Some parents are standing around, and I ask to no one in particular, “Has anyone seen Ms. Wells?”

“She hasn’t shown up.” Phoebe is never late to anything dance related. I swallow the dread and walk down the hallway marked private. The door to the living space is ajar, and I call her name, not wanting to barge in. I’m not getting any response, and I don’t hear noise from inside, so I push the door open the rest of the way. I notice the mess right away and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Phoebe is nothing if she isn’t OCD – everything has a place. Beer cans are scattered all over the small space, an overturned chair, then I see her body, mangled and bloody on the floor. On pure instinct, not taking time to consider if whoever did this to her is still here; I am by her side. Feeling for a pulse I grab for my phone and punch in 9-1-1, giving them the details I know and begging them to hurry. I don’t want to move her, but I brush her hair out of her face, the pale yellow now tinged with a red hue from her blood and notice the gash at her temple. I am helpless. I can’t do anything to stop the flow, and I can’t do anything to rewind time to stop the assault. I scan the rest of her features; I see her right eye is swollen shut, her top lip is split, and her pale skin is clammy; marred with bruises. I can see every inch of her space from where I’m kneeling beside her and her purse is sitting right inside the door, still closed, and nothing else seems to be amiss.

Minutes seem like hours as I wait for help. All at once they all swarm the apartment; paramedics and police officers are pulling me away from her, assessing her injuries and asking me questions. “I don’t know. I walked in and this is how I found her.” There are more officers questioning the parents in the waiting room, thankfully confirming my story and saying she hadn’t shown up to teach class. The officers are asking more questions than I have answers for, and I just need to know what the fuck is going on with Phoebe.

“Can this wait, please?” I beg them. I watch helplessly as they load a still unconscious Phoebe on the stretcher and make their way out of the studio. I immediately follow and as I go to get in the ambulance, they stop me.

“Are you family?”

For the first time I don’t know how to answer that. We aren’t friends, we aren’t together, and up until a few hours ago we were strangers for the first time in our lives. “She doesn’t have any family.” The one thing she was always afraid of, being alone, is her reality.