Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3) (4 page)

“Clean as shit it will be,” I assure him. With catchphrases like that, he’s fighting Solomon for the not-so brightest McCarthy on the block. Cellblock that is. They also happen to be the only two McCarthy’s with a criminal record. They’re two for two in many respects.

“Come on, big spender.” Zoey pulls him out by the ear. “I’ll let you buy me coffee.”

I wait for the click of the door before reverting my full attention to the beautiful creature seated in front of me, and my heart wrenches at what’s happened to her. “Now that I’ve taken you on as my client, I’ll need a few questions answered.”

“Of course—anything.”

“Tonight over dinner.”

Kennedy flashes that easy magazine smile only she knows how to do, the cover girl with the glittery grin. I’m sold—have been for years.

“And I suppose you’ll be wanting the truth.” A dimple goes off in her cheek as she says it.

“There is no other option.”

“Dinner with me? And the truth?” She gargles out a laugh as she slinks to the door. “Some people really do want it all.”

I
wait until after lunch
, after I finish going through my client list for the day to watch one of the videos. At first I wasn’t going to do it. The stoic, gentleman in me thought better against it, but then the legal eagle in me, the shark, the piranha thought better of that, and decided I needed to know what I was up against—what Kennedy was up against. I choose
Sorority Sister Screams
only because the title is the most innocent of them all—if you can say that, and I really don’t think you can.
Deep Throat Debutant
may never get viewed, at least not by me. I hit play, and the screen goes dark for a moment. Pink scrolling handwriting comes up spelling out the title one letter at a time. Classy.

Kennedy comes into focus, soft at first, a blur of flesh then an abrupt manipulating of her limbs to get her in a camera-ready position. Kennedy laughs as Keith lands his hands on her knees. She shakes out her dark hair, her shoulders coming into sharp focus as he lies her down over ground zero, and there she is, her perfect body, pale, firm, perky in all the right places. My dick ticks in my boxers, forcing me to reposition it. Down boy. This is all work and no play. Hopefully this will pan out to be a prophecy at best.

The action begins. Keith’s hairy ass takes over the screen for a few minutes too long. He pulls her lower onto the mattress, spins her body, pinning her thighs back with his greasy mitts. He’s showing her off to the world. Kennedy is on display in a horrifically graphic way, and I’m physically sickened by his actions. Her lashes flutter, her mouth opens with her next breath as he sinks his head over her belly, then lower still, uncomfortably lower, and I shut my laptop because I’ve just concluded all of the research I’ll be conducting.

Nope. That horrible nightmare was Kennedy’s past. I very much plan on being a part of her future. I only want the best for her, and the best for her right now is keeping myself in the dark when it comes to her sexual escapades with her ex.

The rest of the afternoon I’m high off the idea of spending an entire uninterrupted evening with Kennedy of all people. Kennedy is a girl who makes you wonder what she’s thinking. You can see the challenge in her as clear as her beautiful eyes. I want a woman who’s able to challenge me. I need that. Deductive logic begs to reason that I need Kennedy. And, God knows, I’m all about deductive logic these days.

While I was away at NYU, and then later while I was getting started in my career, I did try to forget about her. I tried washing away the memory of those stolen summer kisses, those achingly raw exchanges, away with a few other women. There weren’t many. I wasn’t a serial dater, but I had a few regulars who kept my bed heated and my balls content for the time being. After a while, they each wanted a commitment. No, they never came out and said it, but, before I knew it, I was hanging out with their good friends, double dating with their good friends, having intimate barbeques, planning vacations, then the ultimate buzz kill—the slow lure to meet the parents. I was upfront with each of them that I wasn’t in the market for anything long-term, just another asshole having a good time, but they weren’t listening to my bachelor’s lament. They nodded, confessing to want the same things, but their motives were far from mine. It made me realize two things, there are very few women interested in a good-time arrangement, and the end game to each one of those good times was the hope that I would put a ring on it.

I wouldn’t mind a long-term commitment with Kennedy, and, for sure, I wouldn’t mind putting a ring on her beautiful finger. She’s the only woman who’s made me so sure of anything in my life. I’m sure about the two of us. I’m hoping she is, too.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Abel interrupting my schoolgirl fantasy of having a white wedding on an exotic shoreline with Kennedy as my bride. I’ve never gone that far in my delusions before. I’m not too sure it’s safe or sane.

Just giving you an update, it doesn’t look good
.

Solomon, our more colorfully decorated, numerically referred to these days, brother is in the middle of a nightmare of a trial. He’s banished me from the fun zone, or I would have been there for him from day one. Of course, nobody knows this but Sol, which makes me look like a grade A ass. Admittedly Solomon is a fuck up, a fuck up indicted on murder charges, on possession, on having a vehicle that’s registered in his name to be the principle weapon that delivered that fatal blow, and I wish I could say he’s facing the music like a man, but he’s not. He’s very much facing the music like a coward because a man would step up and tell the truth. Solomon believes, with alarming conviction, that he is indeed choosing the path of a real man. That’s where Sol and I draw a line when it comes to the definition of being a man, but I refuse to dig up that point of contention. He has made it unquestionably clear he wants to do this without my “lousy” help. His words not mine. Although, for the record, my help wouldn’t have been lousy, perhaps Abel’s might be, but the help of our father was not forthcoming. In fact, he went on public record to tell his baby boy he’s on his own. And on this miserable point my mother stands with him. Although, in her defense, she doesn’t have the means to see him through this. Solomon is waging this battle on the county’s dime, with the county’s legal squires struggling to avail justice. They won’t win—but then he doesn’t want them to.

My mother, on the other hand, both humbly and gladly accepts my financial provisions. I want to make sure she’s going to come out the other side of her personal struggles without losing her home, the only real possession in the world my father left her. He made off with his well-to-do practice, with his bevy of fairly attractive, much younger women on the side, and my mother was left with a two-story tract house with a leaky roof and dying crabgrass. And she considers that, in itself, as the crowning moment of her terribly tragic story. I try to push her out of my mind for a moment. I’ll give her a call in the morning, or afternoon if Kennedy decides that a sleepover is in order.

Appreciate it
. I ping the words right back to my big bro. I really am grateful for the update. Abel has been my lifeline to Sol. I’ve been laying low, steering clear of the handful of news outlets that might actually garner some info on it. The case makes me sick. If I dwell on it too long, I might just storm the courtroom and shout out the truth. Although I’m not sure it’s the truth so much as it is something sandwiched between the truth and a lie, sort of the way I’m sandwiched between my brothers in the familial lineup.

I’m the middle child, the invisible one. The joke has always been Abel can do no wrong, and Solomon can do no right. And who the hell is this Caleb kid again? And so it goes.

Abel and I get along for the most part, but his golden-child status has always created an unintentional rift between us. He’s pensive, always buried in books, self-secluded, not quite the arguing type. I’ve long suspected he’d rather be hiding out in a stack of books somewhere than performing like a circus monkey in court. I think my father had more to do with the fact he’s a lawyer than his heart did. Abel always threatened to go off somewhere and write a book. He and I have never had too much in common. Something in me has always gravitated toward Solomon who is younger than me by eleven months. We’re all very close in age. My father and mother were very impressed with each other early on in their marriage, not so much later when he began gravitating toward the hemlines of other women’s skirts. Hell, I remember some of the bimbos he had on the side. There was an entire sea of these long lost cheek-pinching special “aunts.”

Abel texts again.
How about you come with me sometime? Next week OK? I think we should ambush Sol. Maybe a visit?

I growl at his words a moment too long. Solomon made me promise to stay away. He swore up and down he knew what he was doing. My stomach turns to sludge at the thought.

Maybe.

I snap up my jacket and head out of the office for the day. Zoey looks up from her phone and meets me at the elevator with her purse.

“Taking off early?” She gives a little hop, adjusting the strap on the back of her heel. “I guess I’ll go home, too.”

Zoey usually takes off far earlier than I do, but I don’t bother pointing that out. She’s nice in general. She’s Gavin’s kid sister, so, of course, I gave her the job. Gavin and Demi are two of the nicest people I know in Loveless.

Zoey is harmless for the most part. Gets my coffee right, doesn’t do much else, but her smile sure brightens up the place.

She shakes out her vanilla mane. “So like—um, I know I shouldn’t ask, but what’s the deal with Kennedy?”

“Attorney-client privilege. I’m not entitled to say.” Not sure I’d want to.

She frowns for the briefest of moments. “Hey, you want to hit dinner?” Her eyebrow lurches high up on her forehead. It’s an interesting maneuver I seem to notice more on women. I first noticed it on Kennedy. There’s something attractive about it, the eyebrow waggle in general is off-putting, but from Kennedy it perks me right to attention.

“I’d love to, but, actually, I’ve got plans.”

She pulls a blonde curl to her lips and bites over it. Zoey is unmistakably attractive. And, believe me, if Kennedy weren’t haunting me, staining my soul on a cellular level, Zoey would very much garner the position in my bed that she’s gunning for, but it’s simply not available. At least not to her anyway.

The elevator drops like a ride on some wild rollercoaster giving my stomach that bottoming out feeling I secretly look forward to each day. The ten-year-old in me cheers each time we hit it.

The doors whoosh open, and I motion for Zoey to step out first. If my mother taught me anything it was to be among that dying breed of gentlemen that open the door for woman and children first.

“Don’t go making too many plans.” Her lashes flutter hard like the wings of an irate bird. “I’m going to pin you down for some serious one-on-one time soon. I don’t believe a single soul has given you the proper tour of Loveless yet.” Her fingers coil slowly around my tie. Her face swings in uncomfortably close to mine, her breath dusting over my lips. “I’m volunteering, and I won’t let you take that privilege away from me.” She pushes me back with a laugh as she clops her way down the foyer to the glowing world beyond this concrete capsule. “Race you to the top of the hill!” She laughs as she takes off.

That’s one race Zoey is going to win. I’ve got a florist to visit before I even think of heading up that mountain. I’m pulling out all of the clichéd stops tonight, flowers, surf and turf, expensive as hell bubbly, and a decadent dessert—preferably something creamy that glides well over flesh. I want the signs to be clear as day for Kennedy. I want my every action to scream I’m here now. Let’s do this. I want you more than my next breath.

I simply want her.

I don’t need anything else, not even the truth.

I
f I thought
the day started off with a bang—me banging Keith quite literally, in a past tense sort of way—then the afternoon started off with a gradual roar that eventually turned into the deafening sound of everyone I’ve ever known contacting me in some electronic format asking if I’ve seen it—seen
them
, the solid collection of pornography my life has suddenly morphed into. I want to accomplish many things during my short stint here on the planet, but being the star of a triple X video—an entire series of them— was never one of them.

Melanie and Reese both offered to come straight home, but I made them promise not to. Reese said she’d be up next Friday and through the weekend. Mel promised she’d do damage control at the sorority and on campus in general, but I’m not too sure what that might entail. People secretly love stuff like this.

My phone has been buzzing like a scorpion in my pocket until I finally grew tired of fending off the masses and tossed it into my purse. Its only hours, minutes, before my mother finds out. My phone rings in a fit of surprise as Sia belts out
Elastic Heart
at top volume. I fish it out just to set it to silent and see that it’s Kam.

I muse over the fact she’s actually calling me for once, and, for a brief fleeting moment, I forget about my bare ass flailing around for the world to see, my inflated grunting to try and show Keith how much he’s able to pleasure me. My biggest lies were always perpetuated when we were beneath the sheets. For a brief moment, I pretend Kam is calling to apologize—to call a truce for all the heartache we’ve caused each other over the last four years. Perhaps she wants to invite me shopping or to lunch like we used to do, but my father’s face comes back to haunt me. That smiling, spray-tanned skin, his perfect denture-white smile. He took a piss all over my mother, and I wasn’t about to let her go it alone, but Kam was more than willing.

I set the phone to silent without bothering to pick it up. Kamryn can wait. Forever if need be.

A rustle emits from the doorway as my mother bursts in with her ultra-short tennis skirt, white with a bright green trim, her racket slung victoriously over her shoulder.

“Brrr!” She gives an exaggerated shiver. “Looks like Mother Nature has found us after all! No getting out of that one.” She places her racket in the hall closet before heading over. My mother is young for her forty-five years, both in spirit and beauty. She’s a blonde this year. Although I’ve seen her every quasi-natural shade under the sun. Last week she threatened to dye her hair pink at the tips, and I solemnly vowed to disown her if she entertained the thought further. We both shared a dark laugh, but I know for a fact we were thinking of Kam. My sister is the one who removed herself from the situation. We never disowned her.

“What’s all this?” She peeks into one of the grocery bags I set on the counter.

“Not for you.” I bat her hand away. “I’m cooking dinner tonight.” I pause short of the big reveal. “For Caleb.”

Her mouth drops open while sucking in a lungful of air. My mother can be a giddy pre-teen of a girl when it comes to the boys in my life. She absolutely loathed Keith and was forever trying to find a more suitable, educated, wealthy replacement. Caleb, in her opinion, is the exact suitable, educated, wealthy man she’s looking for.

“Relax, we’re having salmon together not conceiving children.”

She touches her finger to her lips, withholding a smile. “Salmon do like to spawn. Maybe you should take a cue from your dinner.”

“I’m not taking a cue from my dinner, Mother.” My eyes pull over her features, her up-turned nose that stamps her with that snobby, stereotypical rich-bitch look, her pale, glowing blue eyes. She’s not a bitch, not by a long shot, but cross her, and you’ll know what it means to have a new one torn into you. My mother is my idol, a kickass heroine of her own story, sort of. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. My mother should have been a model. She should have carved a way for herself in this world and not played the part of a gold-digging wife—then she never would have found herself with my father in the first place. Of course, that blows Kam and I right out of existence, but, in truth, I would gladly do so just to give my mother the happiness she deserves. Although, oddly, she seems to have found it with Reese’s father, even if she was attracted to his bank account far sooner than she ever was him. They’re happy. I guess at the end of the day that’s what counts.

“I was sort of hoping you and I could go out to dinner since Chuck is out of town but hey, you with the Ferrari-driving boy next door?” She snaps off the tip of the French baguette sticking out of the bag and takes a quick nibble. “I most certainly approve.” She spins, causing her tennis shoes to squeak against the wood floors, her skirt fans out like a flower. “I’ll be taking a nice, long bubble bath. If you’re smart, you’ll be doing the same at his place. Baths are always more fun with two!” Her phone rings before her laughter can fully infiltrate the room. Her head inches back as she inspects the screen. “It’s your father.”

We exchange a quick deer-in-the-headlights glance with her probably thinking the worst has happened to Kamryn and me knowing that the worst has happened to me and now my father is about to unceremoniously inform her of it. He’s always the first to rip a bandage off a wound, usually reopening the injury and causing a hell of a lot of damage along the way.

My chin bucks high in the air as I brace myself for the inevitable blood bath.

“What?” She jumps back. More shoe squeaking ensues. Her horrified eyes rise to meet mine. Her jaw contorts in all sorts of angry positions. “Oh my, fuck!”

My stomach clenches.

One thing about my mother, she does not entertain expletives. She may have grown up hard, on the wrong side of Neiman Marcus, but she doesn’t willfully let an offensive word fly—unless, of course, something is very fucking wrong.

“Holy shit,” she says it dazed, her hand touching her forehead. “All right. I will.” She hangs up in haste. Her pale eyes lock over mine, her face serious as stone, but I can see the rage, the anger, the disappointment bubbling in her blood long before she bats a lash.

She knows.

A
fter expertly avoiding nearly
every question under the sun with my mother, I head next door. The autumn air swirls beneath my dress as I give a brisk knock over Caleb’s front door. My arms are full of groceries, so I ring the bell with my nose. I’m sure he meant to take me out to dinner, but, with my newfound notoriety, the hostile public eye is the last place I want to be. I give a quick kick with my foot before readjusting the bags with my knee. This is technically the house Reese’s father and Warren’s father bought for their wedding, but the wedding never happened, heck, the engagement never happened. Reese found love with someone other than Warren. And Warren fell into bed with everyone else. My lips clamp tight at the memory of all the things Reese had to endure just as the door swings wide open.

There he is, Caleb McCarthy with his tie loosened, jacket off, sleeves rolled up with a beer in one hand. King of Swoon, Reese and I used to call him back in the day. There is something naturally seductive about Caleb in general. Whether it’s clothes on or off, Caleb was the boy to watch—still is.

“Hey, beautiful.” His eyes brighten as if someone just lifted the dim switch. A sweeping heat drifts through me when he calls me that. “I was just about to text you.” He holds out his beer like an apology before setting it down. “Let me help you with those.” He takes the sacks from me and nods me toward the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink? Cold or hot, I’ll make it any way you want it.”

“I’m good.” I lead the way, taking in the Nicolson’s taste in décor. The home was purchased furnished. Mostly it’s cabin chic knickknacks, a chandelier made of antlers, lots of dark logs lining the walls. It’s odd knowing Caleb had nothing to do with the room fixtures or decor as if this were some elaborate stage, we were the actors in some terrifying play—a Greek tragedy.

A carved bear stands erect in the corner holding out a wooden sign with a Bible verse.

Caleb flicks a finger at it. “It’s pretty amazing right? I’m betting Gavin made it.”

“I bet you’re right. He’s sort of our lumberjack slash artisan on the hill. So what do you do? You like to whittle away at anything when you’re all alone?” I give a glance to his crotch without meaning to. Oh, hell, I meant it.

I make myself at home by pulling out the groceries and plucking a pan from under the island. Contrary to popular belief, I know my way around the kitchen. I’ll have a gourmet meal whipped up in no time before I break the news that I don’t have a dime to pay him for representing me. Although I’m sure Caleb will accept payment in far more interesting ways. I smirk at the idea. I’m not my mother—at least not in that respect.

“The only thing I whittle away is time.” He pulls another pan out and glides a thin stream of olive oil across the bottom. It all feels so natural with him. Like we’re not playing house, like we’re really sharing one life. Caleb has always been the one person I seemed to click with. Keith and I were nothing but a burst of angry breakups and makeups, lots of jealousy and cheating, (his end), and lots of boneheaded forgiveness on my part. In truth, Keith was a stand-in for something I craved but could never really have, and now I’m looking right at him—Caleb, the juicy steak ready to satisfy my anemic hunger.

“I do like long walks where I can clear my head,” he finally confesses.

“So you’re a hiker.” I jump, forcing my ponytail to swing behind me—a move my mother would approve of. She always did say men prefer younger women, that young is all a state of mind, age is just a number, and all that other bullshit old people feed themselves like hard medicine crushed in applesauce. Ponytails certainly fit the age bracket in which she’d like me to project. She’s probably right, though. Another thing about my mother, no matter how shallow, how superficial the world may peg her, she’s often right about a lot of things when it comes to men.

I rinse the pink fish and slosh it into the sizzling pan, pretending its Keith. Although Keith and I were done before we ever hit the fire.

“So it’s out now.” I wash my hands with lots of soap under a boiling faucet. “Can you cook your hands in hot water? I think I’m cooking mine.” I snap the water off and tap my fingers over a dishtowel until they stop prickling. “My video debut is official,” I continue. “All my friends think it’s the bomb. Do people still say that anymore? Anyway, it sort of is—the
dirty
bomb. That’s the real reason I’ve dusted off an old euphemism, so I can over use it the right way.” I give a little wink.

Caleb hasn’t stopped tracking me with his gaze, those floating owl clock eyes that have the uncanny ability to follow me around the room without him having to turn his head. A part of me still can’t believe he’s here. Caleb is larger than life. Those dimples of his just waiting for my touch, that wide, warm chest begging me to press myself against it. God almighty, have I missed this man.

“I’m sorry, Ken.”

“Don’t be. Unless of course you’re the one who uploaded them. If so, you should literally be crawling for forgiveness. I have a very nasty plan of retribution to set in motion for that person—
Keith
.” His name comes out in hardly a whisper. It’s like spewing a demon’s name in the presence of a god, you just don’t do it.

“No.” He shakes his head. His eyes squint with regret at the idea. “Don’t do that. No reason to add fuel to the fire. I’ve already contacted his attorney.”

“What?” A wave of shock tingles through my limbs. “So he’s lawyered up?” A happy bark of a laugh escapes me. The thought of Keith writhing in agony fessing up to his parents, his phony of a mother who of course would insist they hire
only the best!
I almost want to laugh. I have the best, and the best is Caleb.

“Yes.” He takes a careful step toward me. The definition in his face cuts in deeper, created by the shadows of the overhead lights. “Kennedy, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.” His Adam’s apple rises and falls. My feet feel as if they’re floating. I’m not certain what’s going to come from his lips, but it feels as if the trajectory of the last few weeks has been ramping up this entire time, building to something unbelievably horrific. “The attorney he hired is a man named David Stokes.” He nods as if it should ring a bell. “You know who that is, right?”

“David Stokes?” I breathe his name with a sigh of relief. “No, can’t say that I do. For a second there I thought you were going to say Peter Slade.” I fan myself with the spatula before flipping the fish and turning down the flame. “You might want to stir the green beans,” I say, plucking a wooden spoon from a ceramic jar and doing it myself.

“Kennedy,” Caleb whispers my name from behind, so dangerously close it sears my neck like a warning. He reaches over and turns the stove down before slowly spinning me into him. He drills into me with his sorrowful gaze, his eyes a midnight blue as if in mourning. “David Stokes is your father’s partner.” His voice is somber and quietly sweet. “Trust me, this is just as damning.”

A slap of numbness rides through me before dissipating as quick as it came.

“Okay,” I say it slow, trying to ingest the idea. “My father’s firm is one of the best in the country, but doesn’t this fall in line with unprofessional conduct or break some kind of code of ethics?” That curdling anger that I only reserved for my cheat of a father floats to the surface, rising behind my eyes until all I see is red.

“No, actually, it doesn’t. In fact, your father had to clear it. Look, I just wanted to give you all the facts, no surprises. I’m your attorney. They’re insistent he had nothing to do with the upload.” He swallows hard. A sign of more bad news to come. “Keith says this is some kind of a set up. That you’ve done all this to make him look bad.”

“Ha!” An angry caw of a laugh escapes me. Most people whine or cry, but I only seem to know anger and rage—vindictive laughter in lieu of the real thing. My mother taught me those very attributes while she underwent her own grueling public scandal, her walking-through-hellfire-barefoot divorce. She says my father took her to the cleaners, but, really, she walked away as penniless as the day she arrived, plus one out of two daughters in tow. “You don’t believe him do you?” I force myself to sound as incredulous as possible. When your ethos are all jacked up, you tend to lose a little credibility when you need it most. “Why? Why would I destroy my own life to make him look bad? He’s delirious!” I wield the spatula like a weapon, and Caleb gently removes it from my hand. His dimples press in as if suddenly this were funny.