Page 22

Ava

A sense of freedom soars the second I pass through the Sullivans’ driveway gate. The grill of a Range Rover blocks my rear view, and I press the accelerator.

I stretch my neck, left and right, accelerating past perfectly manicured lawns leading up to palatial estates. The surreal situation has my head spinning. It’s like I’m trapped in a weird dream. I bite the corner of my lip to confirm I am indeed sober. Pain sears beneath my tooth. It’s real.

I pick up my phone and dial Patrick, setting it to speaker so I can let the phone rest while driving.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“There she is. How’s beach life treating you?”

“Patrick. What the hell have you gotten me into?”

“Whoa. What happened?”

“Nothing.” I exhale and press my head against the headrest. “How are things there?”

“Fine. Mark’s arriving this afternoon. So, if you need to tell me something…”

“No. Or…” My head is swimming. I can’t come out and tell him. Why did I call him? What do I want him to tell me? “Patrick? Do you ever think of yourself as a kept man?”

There’s a long pause. I click the blinker to turn onto the freeway.

“Well, let’s see. My lifestyle far exceeds what an ad sales rep moonlighting at a nonprofit could support.

I live in Malibu. I haven’t flown less than first class in at least ten years.

There’s a Ferrari in my garage. If you are asking if I feel bad about it, which is what the judgmental word ‘kept’ implies, no.

I’m with the love of my life. We’ve been together for fifteen years.

He plans to retire, and soon we’ll live together full time.

Hell, we practically do now. His business trips have dwindled to practically nothing.

If anything, I’ve had to adjust to him being around so much.

Where the hell is this coming from? I’m getting worked up just answering your question. ”

“Sorry. I don’t mean anything bad by it. I know you and Mark are together. Just–”

“Is something going on with you and Jack?”

I curl my lips together and check my rearview. The Range Rover is about one car length behind me.

“If you could make a lot of money for having sex with someone, would you do it?”

“In this scenario, do I want to have sex with him?”

“He’s a good-looking man. Fit. Brooding. Extremely attractive.”

“Six or eight pack?”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“Holy shit balls. It’s Jack. How much did he offer?”

I laugh out loud. I can’t help it. Patrick is so damn dramatic.

“Mark’s always worried his nephew is too soft. Like he’ll do something for the good of humanity, like support gun control laws, and the whole gun industry will blackball them. But damn. Look at that. The boy has kink.”

I roll my eyes, not that he can see me.

“How much did he offer?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me. I’ve been with his uncle for a long-ass time. You seem to forget that.”

“One hundred million.”

“Dollars?”

“Donkeys. Yes, dollars.” An uncontrollable grin spreads across my face. I check the rearview again. Yep, there’s a Range Rover.

“Are you shitting me? Ask him if he’s bi. I’m game.”

I laugh so hard it hurts. Maybe this is exactly what I needed to crack the surreal shell. Laughter with my friend.

“He’s out of his mind,” I say.

“Who cares? Go for it. I know you’re freaking out. I hear it. But why?”

“Well, it’s unethical, for one. And if his daughter found out, it could derail any trust I build.

And let’s be honest. Me living here isn’t at all recommended by any ethics board as it is.

But it is a lot of money. He’s truly out of his mind.

” It’s just unbelievable. I mean, we didn’t discuss his kinks.

I’m not naive. I know there are some whacked men out there, but he can’t want anything that would be too horrible. One hundred million is a lot of money.

“Well, it’s not that surprising, I guess.

He is a man who offered one hundred million for his daughter.

And they asked for twenty-five. Money means nothing to that man.

This will set you up for life. Hell, you won’t even need Mark’s donations for Nueva Vida.

No more charity events if you don’t wanna.

And he’s gonna have a vested interest to keep it private. I bet you’ve already signed an NDA.”

“He requires anyone working on his property to sign an NDA.”

“See. Mark does the same. Take advantage of the rich fool. And if he’s anything like his uncle, the sex will blow your mind.”

“I’m not sure what I expected you would say when I called you, but it’s not that.”

A shrill horn blares next to my car. The driver flashes the finger at another driver on the highway. I stay in my lane and check my rearview. There’s still a Range Rover.

“Are you in the car?”

“Yeah. Going back to Nueva Vida. Part of my agreement includes no more group sessions.”

“Why?”

I have no desire to hear Patrick chew me out for giving Reid money. “He’s controlling, I guess.”

“That could bode well for the bedroom.”

I roll my eyes. “Nah. It’s more to do with safety.”

“I bet. Publicly offered up a hundred million reward. I bet there are tons of people wanting to be the next one to nab his daughter. If he publicized his going rate for lady friends, there’d be a parade of women walking by his house every day.”

“No shit.” I giggle. And it’s completely inappropriate. That’s me. Gallows humor all day long.

Sometime after ending my call with Patrick, I parallel park in a questionably legal parking spot near Nueva Vida. Street parking can be tough to come by, and there’s no place for Fisher to ditch his gas guzzler.

I wave goodbye as he shouts out the window, “Wait for me.”

He wanted to drive me, but I refused. He can deal with paying off Reid’s debt. The kid didn’t look particularly scary to me, but my perspective differs from the average Joe’s. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Fisher join me with Reid.

If I could call Reid, I would. But he doesn’t yet have phone service in his apartment. That’s not always a bad thing. Severing connections from the past can be very helpful when building a bridge to the future.

I rap on his apartment door. He’s on the second floor, and it’s an outside wraparound deck. Around the corner of the building, I see Fisher charging my way. The door opens, and I push inside.

“Hey. What’s up? You okay?” Reid peers outside.

“Close the door.” He obeys but rests his back on the door, arms crossed. “Are you in trouble?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just…I wanted to speak to you alone. Is anyone else here?”

He’s got a studio apartment, but there’s a half wall up between the kitchen and the rest of the apartment, and an en suite bathroom.

“Just me.” He sniffs. “Gotta leave in a few for my fabulous dishwashing job. Dream job USA.”

“Right.” I cross my arms and study him. The whites of his eyes are clear. His nail beds look healthy. He’s still underweight, but that takes time. “I’m paying off the shithead today.”

He tilts his head like he didn’t hear me. “Martin? How?”

“I got some extra money, and I’m paying him off. I don’t want him coming around here. I don’t want him messing up things for you. But that means you can’t have anything to do with him. You understand that, right? Like, you get that, right?”

So-called friends are Reid’s sticking point. In and out of rehab for years, and every time, it’s his friends who pull him down. He’s got shitty friends.

He nods, and that’s when I catch it.

“What did you do to your face?”

His hand goes up to his temple. “Had the cabinet open, bent down and the open door popped my head.”

The lights aren’t on in the apartment, and I can’t really see. I step forward to flip the light switch, but he blocks me.

“What is this about? Why are you paying off my debt?”

“Because I can.” And because you don’t need this hanging over your head. “Do you remember our senior song?”

“High school?” He grins. Our class had all kinds of shitty songs in the vote.

I Hope You Dance from some country singer had been the rage, and we’d been scarily close to that winning, but Reid corralled the band and even the jocks, and Steal My Sunshine won out.

The lyrics don’t quite match the upbeat song, which when I think about it, might be why Reid loves it so much and fought so hard for it.

That, and he said a sappy country wedding song would suck.

“Don’t steal my sunshine. You hear me? I’m not going to be around for the next couple of weeks, but I need to know you’re going to be okay this time.”

His brow wrinkles. “Where are you going?”

“I have a client. It’s…”

“That Patrick guy? He’s trying to get you away from here, isn’t he? He doesn’t trust me. Or you and me.”

He takes a step forward, and his gaze has more heat than I’ve seen from him in years. He’s definitely sober. Which is good to see. I hold my index finger out and shake my head.

“Nope. That’s the last thing you need right now.”

He grins his naughty-boy grin. “You sure about that?”

“Reid.” I laugh. “Yes, I am. Get your feet under you.”

When I open the door, I expect to see Fisher hovering. But he’s resting against the railing about two doors down, arms crossed. There’s a seriously large earbud in his ear.

After giving Reid a hug goodbye, I turn the opposite direction from Fisher and head down the corridor to the steps. Fisher’s feet shuffle along the concrete behind me.

When I reach my car, I wait for him. “I’m gonna swing by my apartment and then head back to the Sullivans’. You want to come with me there? Or is this where we split?”

“Will you text me when you’re headed back?”

“Sure.”

He holds his hand out for my phone and promptly enters his number into it.

“This is weird, you know?” This is the feeling of the week, not just the moment, but Fisher doesn’t get that. “I don’t need security.”

“I’m about to pay off a gang member for your ex-boyfriend. You sure about that?”

He slides his sunglasses down on his nose and swaggers away like he’s a cop on one of those reality television shows.

“Be careful,” I shout after him. Fisher’s cocky, and I’m not sure I like him, but I don’t want him getting hurt.

As I crank my car, I shake my head for the umpteenth time. This is all unreal.