Page 38 of Wayward (Wrecked #4)

Swab the Deck

Easton

“ A letter? What the hell does Rocky care about a letter from someone who cheated on his daughter with his fiancée?” I fucking yell it because the vultures surrounding Rockwell-Harding have taken my family to a place of terror.

And I don’t mean only Emily and Dad, but Haley and the guys too. This letter ignites my fury.

“Please, it’s important, Easton,” Bri says.

“Your father will want to see it. And Candy had the whole thing planned out, how we were all going to make a new life away from . . . Honestly, they didn’t mean for it to happen.

Take the letter. Please. Give it to your dad.

It’s important.” She waves it at my face.

I snatch the letter from Bri. I’m about to tear it in half when Sam plucks it from my hand. The damn thing isn’t even sealed or in an envelope. It’s just a piece of paper folded in thirds. Fucking thing is probably written in crayon, anyway.

“The wedding dress with the smaller diamonds and the Pink Phoenix were Candy’s escape plan?" I say. "Not that it worked. She ended up dying anyway.”

A fat fake tear rolls down Bri’s cheek.

“Easton.” Haley touches my arm, and I look up. The security guard is back, muscling his way between Calvin and Dante.

“You all need to go,” he says.

“We’re sorry. They’re old friends,” Haley says.

“If one of my mates grabbed me like that, he wouldn’t still be my mate.

Off you go.” The guard points to the door.

Outside the window, across the street at the Saint Redmond, there are now a lot more people and a lot more police.

“Here you go. You can go be a giddy aunt outside.” The guard unlocks the side door and motions us out.

Haley’s the first to go. Calvin and Dante are right there with her.

I’m glaring at Brick, seething. He’s vermin, hurting my father and sister at the same time. I don’t care what excuse he has. What excuse Candy had. That she felt threatened? Fucking bonkers. Zane’s beside me, but Sam’s over my left shoulder.

“You, too. Out you go,” the guard says, and I assume he’s talking to me as I step out onto the sidewalk. But the older man is leaning over the table with Bri and Brick.

Bri holds up her hands. “We didn’t do?—”

“Save it for the coppers. You’ve not bought a thing, and you’ve been yappin’ too long. Out. Plenty of coppers out there in front of the swanky Saint Redford—go cry to them.”

And with that, all of us are out on the curb. The door slams shut behind us.

Bri puts her hand on my shoulder, and I jump back out of her touch. “Give him the— What are you doing? You can’t read that! It’s addressed to Rocky,” Bri cries at Sam.

“It wasn’t sealed, and you need to— No, fuck it.” Sam shoves the unfolded paper into his pocket and swings his fist in a perfect right jab into Brick’s face. There’s a snap, and Brick screams.

“Holy shit, holy shit.” Brick clutches his nose. “You hit me. He hit me.” Blood drips between his fingers onto the sidewalk.

“You better get moving before the rest of them read that fucking scribble.” Sam takes a step toward Brick, and Brick backs away, holding his nose.

Bri’s screeching. “Why did he do that?” She turns to me and then to Brick. “Why did he do that?”

“He’s nuts, feral.” Brick shakes out his hand, and droplets of blood fly onto the pavement.

“Sam?” Haley’s eyes are wide.

I look between Sam and Brick, wishing I was the one to do it. And I don’t even know what the letter says, but I trust the fuck out of Sam, and there’s no way he would have done something like for no reason. There’s damn straight more to it than Brick sleeping with Candy.

Fuck my promise. I punch Brick in the gut. The wind rushes out of him, and he holds his stomach. I want to do it again. But I step back.

“Let’s go,” Sam says, nodding across the street. “Now.”

Sam takes Haley’s hand, and we make our way across the side street to a larger crosswalk leading to the Saint Redmond.

“What the hell, Sam? That’s something the Viking would do. Nicely done,” Dante says. “What does the letter say?”

Sam stops short of crossing the street and glances back at the side door of the café, but Brick and Bri are already gone.

“Let me read the letter,” I say.

“Not now. I don’t want any of us to be tried for manslaughter. We need to get over to the hotel. We still have a plan to follow through with.”

I want to see the letter. But it’s in Sam’s pocket.

“Later. Later,” he states a second time when I take a step back toward the café. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “We need to get across the street.”

There’s an officer directing traffic that has come to a standstill. The crowds are getting larger. Many demonstrators and even some of the forum attendants leaving the hotel have noticed us. And two beefy private security guards are making their way across the sidewalk toward us.

“Fuck. Incoming,” Calvin says.

“We wanted to draw attention to ourselves. Just not like this.” Zane’s back goes straight, and he steps in front of Haley.

But then the guards part, and my dad’s behind them. He’s using a cane to walk.

“Rocky!” Haley’s the first to move; she jumps in front of Zane and beelines for my dad.

“Haley Brewster, how in the hell did you get here? Boy, I can’t wait to tell your dad.”

“My dad? You know my dad?”

“I’ve talked to him every week since Emily and I got back.

Same with Charlie and your mom, Sam. And Dante’s mom and sister.

Yours too, Zane. I’ll be damned, all six of you are here.

And there’s my boy.” Tears start rolling down his cheeks.

He takes a few wobbly steps and steps onto the curb.

A security team surrounds us, but I barely notice. My dad’s not the only one crying.

“Mr. Rockwell, we need to get you out of here. You’re drawing too big of a crowd,” a guard says.

“Right, we’ll walk back to the hotel.”

“No sir, the way is blocked.”

“Easton!” People are yelling my name. There’s shouting, and when I look to the side, there’s a camera crew filming the whole thing. And fuck, Haley’s in the middle of it. We wanted to save her from the circus we knew we had to create to announce we’re back.

There’s lots of shouting.

“Have you been in London this whole time?”

“How did you survive?”

“Where’s the diamond?”

Two black London taxis pull up. “Get in, Mr. Rockwell. We’ll drive around to the back entrance.”

It’s quick, and in an instant the five of them are pushed into one cab while I’m in another with two guards and my dad. My insides hollow out, and panic rises up my throat. It’s been a year since I’ve been without them. Without Haley.

My dad grabs my hand. “You’re okay, son. You’re home now.”

There are so many things I should be saying, so many things I’ve dreamed of saying to him for the last year, but I’m having a hard time gathering any of my thoughts. It’s also damn near impossible to keep me from jumping out of this car and running after the next one.

“I’ve been home. But it’s fucking amazing to see you.”

“What, to Miami?” Dad asks.

I shake my head, realizing he’s never going to fully comprehend the year I’ve had. How an island with no running water or electricity could be better than the civilized world. “We just got back to civilization three weeks ago. It’s a long story.”

“How the hell did you end up in London? I was standing at the top of the stairs in front of the Redmond, about to give a two-minute update to the BBC finance radio, when I saw you punch someone. At first, I didn’t trust my eyes.

You were so far away, but I asked the Rockwell PR person beside me if he thought that hooligan looked like you, and he gasped and said he would bet anything it was you.

And that the rest of the surrounding people were the missing crew from the Rock Candy .

He’s been working really hard to keep your case in the media so people didn’t stop looking for you.

But you found us. That’s...It’s so .

. . Damn it, Easton, I’d say I’ve never cried this much, but you haven’t seen me for the last year.

Em! Does your sister know? We need to call your sister. ”

“Not yet. We will, Dad.”

The car stops around the side of the hotel, and a valet yanks the door open. I’m out of the car, and the second I see the others getting out in front of us, I turn back to my dad and hold out my hand.

“I’ve got it. I’ve got it. The cane’s just for show.” He shakes me off. But I know he’s lying.

There’s a face I recognize standing next to the car. Someone from Rockwell-Harding. “Mr. Easton Rockwell, welcome home.” He holds out his hand. “I’m making arrangements to get us up to Mr. Rockwell’s suite as privately as possible.”

“Actually, for our safety, we need to make our arrival as public as possible,” I say, turning from my dad to the PR guy and back again. “You need to trust us on this.”

“I can do it in public. Do you need it right now?”

“We’ve got a start,” Dante says. “There were a few people filming with their phones.”

“I’ll arrange a press conference.” He stops and squares his shoulders. “Or a deep interview with the reporter of our choosing? A one-on-one with the six of you. It will be easier to control the narrative. I’m Mike Hastings.” He nods to us.

“That sounds good,” Sam says.

“Follow me.” The doorman opens the doors for Mike and my dad, who step into the elevator. The six of us crowd in around the two shorter men. I’ve never thought of my dad as short, but I think he’s shrunk an inch or two. Even Haley is taller than him, and she towers over the PR guy.

The elevator opens on the top floor, and we’re ushered into a multi-room suite.

“Easton!” One of my dad’s two assistants runs at me. She’s waving her phone in her hand. “It’s true. I’ve got your sister on FaceTime.” She pushes her phone into my hand.

Em’s holding it close to her face, so all I can see is her nose. And I can’t make out a thing she’s saying because she’s screaming into her phone. “Em . . . Em?” I look up at Haley, who’s smiling from ear to ear. “Em, I love you, but I need to talk to Dad. It’s so good to see you. Well, your nose.”

She’s crying so hard she’s hiccupping.

“It’s okay, Em. The six of us are in London.”

“Good, good,” she manages.

“I need to talk to Dad.”

“Okay.”

“Here, talk to my sister.” I hand Haley the phone.

“Emily, it’s Haley.” Haley waves into the phone.

“Haley . . .” Em starts sobbing again.

I should clear the room. Have the PR person step outside.

But I don’t fucking care anymore. Appearances don’t mean a damn thing to me.

My whole life has been about appearances.

Don’t let anyone know you have an injury—metaphorically or physically.

Don’t show your weaknesses, in business or the pool.

Swimming might look like an individual sport against the clock, but who you’re swimming against mentally changes everything.

If the last year is going to mean anything, I need to clear that out of my DNA.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing? Why were you doing business with the Zambrano family?”