Scared of Forever (Scared #2) (13 page)

I’m not the type to
fall in love easily. In fact, I’ve never even had a serious
girlfriend. Or ever really wanted one. I just coast, waiting for the
feeling that tells me that someone is worth it. Not the feeling of my
dick rising. The feeling I felt when I met Emily. From that day, I
was consumed. I wanted to be with her. My conscience was an asshole,
reminding me that this was not the right thing to do, irrespective of
my opinion of my brother. I had promised to respect what she wanted
when we had spoken this morning.

But serendipity is
determined to fling her into my path. Almost like a carrot dangling
before me. My own beautiful temptation.

We walk across the road
to the dilapidated theatre. Pushing the door in, I’m almost certain
the place is abandoned. But as we walk in further, I hear voices. The
corridor opens up into a surprisingly elegant but small theatre,
complete with red velvet curtains. There’s a rehearsal happening on
the stage.

“Who are you?” A
voice booms from below. A very short, balding man stands staring at
us, hands on hips.

“Prospective
sponsors,” I say in my most authoritative voice.

“What are you doing?”
Emily whispers.

“Thinking on my
feet,” I say softly.

I look down at my jeans
and polo shirt, and Emily’s black pants and tank, and hope that he
buys it.

“Come in, sit,” he
says, gesturing grandly at the empty theatre’s rows, a broad smile
now plastered across his pudgy face.

I nod, and we make our
way to the seats. The play is a modern take on Romeo and Juliet.
Emily watches, fascinated, as Romeo and Tybalt stand face to face,
cocked prop guns replacing the swords they should be holding. I watch
her as Juliet lays dying on the ambulance stretcher. Tears fill her
eyes. It’s so endearing. I trace the line from her jaw down her
neck. Take in the stray hairs that tickle the back of her neck.
Memorize every detail, every perfect imperfection. I realize that I
need to leave soon.
This can’t
go on.

I also can’t leave,
knowing what she’s doing by marrying my brother. The secrets and
the lies and all of the manipulative control are just too much. I am
sure more than ever, as I watch her cry openly at the star-crossed
lovers before us, that it would be a miserable life for her.

I’m torn between the
right thing and the other right thing.
That’s
so fucked up.

The play ends, and the
short pudgy director bounds up the stairs to our seats, and asks for
our opinion. Emily gushes about the performance. He seems thrilled.

“I’ll consider the
sponsorship and be in touch,” I say to the man before we exit.

“Are you really going
to sponsor that play?” she asks as we walk out.

“I may,” I say
seriously. “I love the arts.”

“He was really
excited. I hope you didn’t make him a false promise. Getting
someone’s hopes up like that is not very nice,” Emily says
sternly.

“I don’t break my
word. I said I’d be in touch and I will,” I defend.

“You better!” Emily
points her finger menacingly at me. She does her best to hold the
angry face. It lasts all of one millisecond, before she breaks into a
wide grin.

The rest of the day is
spent meandering through the city. Surprisingly, Emily has not yet
been shown the best parts.

“So, let me see if I
understand you correctly.” We’re sitting on a bench across from a
majestic hotel with gilded glass doors and a ridiculously beefy
looking doorman. “You have never been anywhere in this city, in
terms of sight-seeing, except the Empire State Building?”

She chews on the last
bite of her hotdog and holds up a
wait
a second
finger. “Nope,” she says after swallowing.
“In Blake’s defense though, I have only been here for a few
months.”

“Not the point,” I
argue.

“Hey, how many of
those old businessmen do you think are walking into that hotel with
women who are actually their wives?” Emily points a finger towards
the hotel, swiftly changing the subject.

“Maybe one in ten, or
one in twenty,” I shrug.

“I wonder how their
wives deal with that stuff. The ones that know, I mean?” she
continues.

“By spending obscene
amounts of their husband’s money on designer clothing and in shoe
and jewelry stores, I assume. Having lived in that society for most
of my life, I think they operate on a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’
kind of policy.” My brow creases disapprovingly.

“At least my life
won’t end up that way. At least I hope it won’t,” she says
thoughtfully.

“What would you do if
it did?” I angle my body towards her, curious to hear the reply.

“It won’t,” she
answers determinedly. She considers her next words carefully before
finally saying, “I wouldn’t agree to living a life like that. I
couldn’t. I expect Blake to be faithful. End of story. I don’t
care what this society dictates,” she replies passionately.

“Okay, wow!” I hold
my white napkin in front of me and wave it mockingly in surrender. “I
won’t ask a question like that again. Like, ever!”

“I feel like such a
hypocrite, making a comment like that while sitting here with you,
without Blake’s knowledge. I’m sorry,” Emily looks away,
blushing, ashamed. “Tyler, I asked Blake about why you two were
fighting. He told me it was because you crashed his car.” Emily
looks distressed.
I’m guessing
that she doesn’t believe him
.

I shake my head,
confirming her suspicions. “No, Blake’s never even let me so much
as drive any of his cars. There was an accident, though. I thought
that Blake would have mentioned the details to you.”

She shakes her head
violently.
Oh shit
. I
had unwittingly opened yet another can of worms. I had no intention
of getting involved in another Blake takedown. I had already decided
to embrace my position as supportive brother-in-law. But then again,
there was this little divine intervention.
Serendipity
is turning into quite the bitch!

“Emily.” I turn
towards her and stare resolutely into her eyes. “I think you should
ask Blake these questions. You will always believe that I have some
vendetta against my brother otherwise. I promise I will tell you the
truth in anything you ask me. But I can’t answer you without
seeming biased.”

A stray tear falls down
her cheek.

Fuck.
This is going down the shit chute real fast. “I’m sorry,” I say
wiping her cheek, leaving my thumb to linger there a second more than
necessary.

“You seem to be the
only one who wants to tell me the truth. Maybe that’s why—” she
trails off.

“That’s why what?”
I ask gently.

“Nothing,” she says
softly. “I’m starting to feel like I’m marrying a man I know
nothing about. I could easily be one of those wives. Waiting at home
for a doctor that is always working late. Except, I do love your
brother.”

“Let’s get away
from all this bullshit,” I say, gesturing towards the hotel,
anxious to change the subject and the mood. So we walk away together.
Because I couldn’t be the person to shatter her relationship. And
because I didn’t want to hear her say that she loved Blake again.

I can’t separate the
lies from the truth. I want to trust Blake, my future husband. My gut
is telling me to believe Tyler.
But
do I really believe Tyler?
Or
is it something else?
Is there a reason that I
want
to believe him? This fucking confusion is completely my
fault. And I’m angry that I have managed to get so twisted up over
this.

I
should go home
. Stop spending time with Tyler. It’s all
getting so out of control. By it all, I mean my own mad musings and
crazy feelings. Tyler shuffles me into a cab and directs the driver
to our next location. My sudden change in demeanor has noticeably
shifted the energy between us.

Tyler still seems hell
bent on ensuring that I have a good time today, though. The cab drops
us off at a park.
A huge park
.
“Welcome to Brooklyn Bridge Park,” Tyler announces with his
signature bow and sweeping arm.

“Behaving like a
seventeenth century butler is gonna become the thing I remember you
for if you keep doing that,” I laugh. “I’ve never been here,”
I say, in awe of the huge granite boulders and benches, and oh, did I
forget, the huge steel frames and concrete building blocks that make
up the magnificent Brooklyn Bridge?

We walk towards a bench
close to the water’s edge. “More benches,” I laugh. It’s
gonna become another thing if we sit on one more bench in this city.”

“I think it already
is,” Tyler shoots me a sweet smile.
Blurred
.
The lines are so damn blurred.

“What did you want to
tell me earlier?” I ask without hesitation. I’d prefer that all
this information come from Tyler. His reassuring smile has a way of
softening these blows that seem to keep coming at me all of a sudden.
I almost wished I hadn’t asked, as I look upon the water with the
sunlight shimmering across its surface. The same way it did on the
beach in the Hamptons. My hand moves automatically to my lips,
remembering the way Tyler’s kiss felt there that day.

I had, in response to
my own guilt, dismissed the kiss as a minor event. That minor event
had not ended quickly, however. I had kissed him back. He had cupped
my face in his hand so tenderly. I had poured my every ounce of
passion into that one small moment in time. I had been unfaithful to
Blake in the worst possible way. Because I felt something. I felt
every ridge of his tongue, tasted every second of our connection. And
relived it over and over in my mind. I had tried so hard to erase it,
but I had failed.

Tyler stares out at the
water as well, a faraway look in his eye. Eventually, he turns to me.
“There is no way for me to talk about Blake in a way that is
positive. Or my mother, for that matter. I told you that I am not the
person to ask. My opinion of them is—well, as much as I hate to
admit it, unfair to both of them.”

“Then don’t try to
be positive. Give me the facts. Just tell me the truth,” I say.

“Okay,” Tyler
flicks a stray hair from my face with his hand. Lightly, sweetly,
almost automatically. “Blake was telling the truth about an
accident. He did have an accident. The day after we got into it over
Aria. Blake had demanded that she cut off her friendship with me. And
being Aria, she had refused. She told me he lost it, and sped off in
his car.”

I’m not surprised by
Blake’s jealous streak.
I
always knew he had one.

“That was in the
afternoon. That night, I had agreed to hang out with our cousin,
Chayse, at a street race. Have you met Chayse?” Tyler asks.

I nod. Chayse was a
great guy. He was a bad ass, and very straight to the point.
I
liked that
. Although, he was never invited to family
parties. Never invited to Sunday lunches. I got the impression that
Eliza wasn’t much of a fan.

“Blake showed up,
drunk. The minute he saw me, he rushed me. Chayse and a couple of our
friends held him back. In his state, he slapped a wad of cash on the
bonnet of his BMW and made the demand that someone race him. I guess
he was trying to flex.”

The Blake I know keeps
his ties in color order. This doesn’t sound like the Blake I know.
Then again, that’s the reason I keep quizzing Tyler. To learn more
about the Blake that I
don’t
know.

“With the amount of
cash that he had wagered, it didn’t take long to find an opponent.
Chayse had begged him not to drive, but he shook him off. So Chayse
and his girlfriend, Hannah, jumped in the car. Chayse figured he
could pull the wheel straight if Blake lost it.” Tyler stares off
into the distance, obviously replaying the memory vividly in his
mind.

His face bleaches out.
“Blake took a turn too fast. He thought he could drift, but he was
so drunk—” Tyler struggles to finish the sentence.

“The car slammed into
a light pole. Chayse and Blake were in the front. They were knocked
up pretty bad. Hannah was in the back. Without a seatbelt.”

Oh
my God.

“The impact sent her
flying through the windshield. She was killed instantly.” Tyler
takes a long, shaky breath. “I remember how Chayse looked, bleeding
from a thousand cuts to his body, when he literally fell into my
hands as the paramedics pulled the sheet over her.”

I put a hand over
Tyler’s. “I’m so sorry. I would never have asked you to tell me
anything if I knew that this is what would come up.”

“It’s okay.”
Tyler curls his hand into mine. “I knew. It took a long time, and
truthfully, something like that never leaves you. But it gets easier
with time. The shittiest part was, it was Blake’s fault. The rest
of us had to just watch the whole thing unfold. The Gods of fucked up
fortune decided to knock him unconscious.” He manages a small
smile, his face still ashen.