Beauty (A Midsummer Suspense Tale) (12 page)

“Late
again
. Where the hell have you been?” Donna bit out sharply.

“Um...working. I got a job.”

“Oh yes. We’ve
seen
.”

Oh, hell.

“We’ve had calls all day—”

Light flashed suddenly and Bryar swung around, eyes wide. Figures popped out from around the side of the house, snapping photos. Jesus, where the hell had they come from?

“Bryar!” one of them shouted—it was too dark by the garden, she couldn’t make out anything, but these weren’t just cell phones. Professional cameras snapped more photos.

Her lips parted in an “o” of surprise and she was about to bark out an expletive when fingers locked on her forearm and hauled her into the house.

The door slammed shut and Donna locked it, drew closed the curtains, and swung around to face Bryar. “What in the
hell
are you doing, girl?”

“I didn’t
do
anything!” Bryar’s gaze scanned the room—Lora and Merry were both seated on the nearby loveseat, pensive and silent. She looked back at Aunt Donna again. “Okay, so you all know: I met a guy. He’s nice. Turns out he’s famous. I didn’t know that, but now I do. And I got a part time job. But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“There are photos of you all over the internet,” Lora said carefully.

Well, it wasn’t like she could keep it a secret forever—someone in town was bound to tell them. “So? There are photos of
everyone
all over the internet. Everyone
but
me, normally. It’s how things work now. Who cares?”

“They’ve been calling our
house
, Bryar,” Donna continued. “Reporters. Bloggers. People in town. Wanting gossip, wanting to know about
you
.”

“And I repeat: who the hell
cares
.” Anger rose in Bryar and she couldn’t stuff it down again. “I’m not a kid. I’m not even a teen. I’m an adult woman—I think I can handle a few days of notoriety.”

“An adult woman wouldn’t put herself in a position of ‘a few days of notoriety’,” Donna said back.

Bryar could only blink at her aunt—she knew the woman was strict, always had been, but this was completely bizarre. “Excuse me, but it was
my
privacy violated. I did nothing wrong—other people did. If anything, I’m a goddamn victim here.”

“And now
our
privacy is being violated!” Donna thrust her index finger at the door, arm stretched out. “On our
lawn
, Bryar! Strangers snapping photos. Of me, of your aunts, of our
house
!”

“So it’s okay if my privacy is violated as long as I don’t spill it all over you, is that it?”

“Bryar,” Lora started as she rose, her voice gentle but cautious.

For a moment Bryar turned, prepared to head out the door again. And then she remembered the cameras, the people loitering. She’d have to walk through that. And be followed. All to go where? Sleep at the shop overnight? See if she could crash on someone’s couch? Lead them back to Sawyer’s beach house?

Trapped. Always fucking
trapped
in this house.

Instead she stomped through the living room, past her aunts, and to her bedroom where she slammed the door behind her. Frustrated tears rose in her eyes and fell no matter how she swiped at them. How did this always happen so easily? How could Aunt Donna chew her down to nothing in seconds? She felt like a child again, a stupid child who did everything wrong.

And she was right this time, damn it. She
knew
she was. She hadn’t done anything wrong. People her age hooked up all the time. Her escapades likely paled in comparison to what the girls at the local college did on a weekend. The town busybodies could go to hell with all their whining.

At last she stripped off her jacket and shoes, then sat on her bed and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. She had to get out of this house. Maybe there was a room for rent somewhere downtown. She had a bit of savings, money tucked away here and there. Not enough for an apartment that required first and last month’s rent, but maybe just a room in someone’s basement. She didn’t want to impose on Gina more than she already had, but maybe she could ask Brennen if he knew of anyone. Or post an ad for a roommate.

The timing couldn’t be worse, though—sure, she’d get offers for a roommate, all from people who wanted to get a glimpse at Sean Philip Sawyer. She’d have even less privacy.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there alone in the dark, upset and stewing, tossing problems with no obvious solution around in her head. Eventually the light under her door dimmed—her aunts must’ve shut off the living room lamps. So it was likely getting late, the three of them heading off to bed.

Her stomach growled—she hadn’t eaten since lunch. If she’d known what awaited her at home, she would’ve had Sawyer stay at the shop for coffee and a snack, and have Gina take it out of her pay. But at least no one was in the kitchen now—she could sneak out and grab a sandwich.

Bryar rose and cracked the bedroom door open. The main part of the cottage was dark and silent. The other bedroom doors were closed, light shining beneath them. She crept down the hall, watching where she stepped as to not hit any of the creaky spots on the old floorboards.

“You were too hard on her.”

Bryar paused at the sound of her aunt’s semi-muffled voice—that was Merry.

“You know what this means.” That one was Donna, louder and sharper than Merry’s, despite her voice being lowered.

“It’ll blow over.” Merry again. Reassuring. Bryar rolled her eyes at the sound—Merry could try but eventually she’d back down and let Donna walk all over everyone. She always did.

“Donna may be right,” Lora whispered, low enough that Bryar had to strain to hear. “I don’t like this.”

Jesus, all three of them talking? A nice little family meeting, once again about but not including her. Nice.

“What’s to like?” Merry said. “But I think you’re both overreacting. Just give it a few days—”

“She is
our
responsibility,” Donna cut in.

“It’s been over twenty years—”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s exposed all of us to...”

“We know,” Lora said. “We know. Let’s give it a few days, though.”

Bryar shook her head and tuned them out, continuing her way to the kitchen.
A few days
. A few days in the house, this tense, was going to drive her mad. When she wasn’t working, she’d have to find somewhere else to spend her time.

Hell, maybe in a few days she’d find somewhere else to live, and save all of them some trouble.

By the time she got back to her room with the sandwich, she found Merry sitting on her bed waiting for her.

Bryar looked away from her, walked across the room, and set her plate on the dresser. “This is still my room. And I’d like to be left alone.”

“I’m sorry for the way—”

“Why are you always defending her?” Bryar snapped her mouth closed and took a breath, trying to calm her anger. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” Merry said gently. “We’re just worried about you. We want you to be safe.”

“I’d get it if I was some child suddenly appearing everywhere on the internet. I hear the stories, I know all about that crap. But I’m not. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“There’s just...just a lot you don’t understand.”

“All right.” Bryar turned, crossed her arms, and cocked her brow. “Explain.”

She knew immediately her aunt wouldn’t. It was everywhere in her expression, how her eyes seemed to close off and her mouth twitched, the sad resolved look to her.

“This has been a great heart to heart, but please get out of my room,” Bryar said.

With a heavy sigh, Merry rose and did just that.

Bryar turned back to her sandwich, her appetite once again gone and tears hot in her eyes.

Screw all of them
. She tugged her coat and shoes back on, then stormed out the back door. Let them know she was heading out, let them call the cops in a panic—whatever.

****

Sawyer looked up from his book as someone knocked on his bedroom door. A moment later Val looked in.

“Um, there’s a girl at the gate.”

He frowned and checked the time on his phone. Ten-thirty. Dread sank in his gut. “Girl with a camera?”

“No. Just a girl. She buzzed the intercom and asked for you.”

That dread shifted into a sudden flare of hope, one he tried to quash again because it seemed absurd that Bryar would be standing out there at this hour. Still he rose and padded barefoot past his sister, down the hall and stairs to the foyer. A monitor sat by the front door next to the intercom, the image on it cycling from one camera to another. He hit the button to the side, increasing the speed of the cycle until it hit the one aimed at the gate.

Yep, that was Bryar.

She was fidgeting, both shifting from foot to foot and worrying her hands together in front of her, looking ready to bolt. His finger hesitated on the intercom for a moment, then instead he punched in the gate code.

Bryar started as the gate swung open and paused there, peering up the long driveway.

Sawyer opened the door, heading out without shoes or a coat and shivering in the cold fall air. The stones underfoot were icy and the wind brisk. He moved swiftly down the wide interlock steps to the driveway.

 Bryar’s gaze shifted from the gate to him, wind stirring her long curly hair over her face. She still hesitated while he headed toward her, then at last took a few steps forward.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “To just, like, barge in and stuff. I can go—”

“Come on inside.” He reached out and after a moment of staring at his hand, she accepted it. Her fingers were cold—he knew there were shortcuts through the woods from her place to the beach, but it was enough that she must’ve been freezing. He tugged her along toward the house and soon her hesitation seemed to evaporate, some of the tension leaving her as she kept up with him.

Soon they were in the warmth of the beach house. He keyed in the code for the gate and door, and turned to Bryar to study her face.

She’d been crying. No obvious sign of tears now but the redness around her eyes couldn’t just be from the wind. And a foreign sense of protectiveness rose up in him—all he wanted was to reassure her everything would be okay, to save her from whatever had her so upset.

Like you’re the handsome prince or knight in shining armour coming to rescue a damsel in distress?
He immediately felt stupid for even thinking of it. Tarnished armour and definitely not a prince.

Her hand was still locked in his, fingers warming the longer he held them. He gave her hand a squeeze and offered her a gentle smile. “Want to sit down for a drink?”

Bryar nodded and seemed to be trying to smile, her lips quavering.

Val was watching them from the upper floor, openly peering down the balcony. Sawyer gave her a look but she continued to just stand there, her eyes telling him they’d be having words later. Scott would be up there as well, so the lower level den with the bar would be a quiet place to talk. Or sit in silence, if she preferred.

Bryar gaped at the house as they walked, her gaze darting around the expansive space. He felt self-conscious then, wondering what she thought—if the place was too excessive for her taste or if she’d been expecting more and it didn’t measure up at all. Why he cared what she thought, he couldn’t say, except he knew he didn’t want to disappoint her.

The den was dark when they reached it. He hit the switch for the side lamps rather than the main one, throwing a pale yellow wash over the white walls and baby blue L-shaped sofa.

He left her by the couch and moved toward the wet bar behind it. “Any preference?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she said in a quiet voice as she eased off her jacket and sat. “If you’re having something. God, I feel like I’m
really
imposing, like I’ve gone so far past imposing I’m redefining the word.”

“You’re not imposing.”

“I should’ve called.”

“Stop arguing.”

She gave him a smirk but did.

Sawyer tossed ice in a pair of glasses and a finger of whiskey in each, then brought them to Bryar. He sat next to her, close enough to hopefully give her comfort but not to be pushy—their encounters thus far had involved nudity at some point and while he wasn’t opposed to more of it, at the moment he just wanted her to feel safe and at ease.

She accepted the glass and took a sip, letting out a sharp exhale afterward. “I should have called,” she said again.

“Not if it would’ve delayed you getting here, although I would’ve given you a ride if you had.”

Bryar smiled weakly and settled back against the plush couch cushions. “I still feel stupid for just showing up.”

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“Ugh, it’s stupid. Just a fight with my aunts. There were people in front of the house, just a couple, but they had cameras and were shouting at me.”

Sawyer cursed inwardly and slumped back on the couch. He ended up draining his whiskey before he found words, and even then they seemed insufficient. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t actually care—that’s the thing. Like, whatever, they’ll go away eventually.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. Eventually, yes, but not as quickly as she was likely anticipating. The longer he stayed in Midsummer, the worse it would get.

“But my aunts—really, it was mostly just the one—freaked the hell out about it. That they were taking pictures of the house and I was all over the internet, blah blah. I mean, I wasn’t even naked in the video, for Christ’s sake. And now they just have, what, some pics of me at the bakery? Waiting on customers? And walking through my front door?”

“You live pretty far from town, and it’s a small town at that,” he offered. “They probably like things quiet. And...this is the opposite of quiet.”

“I’m the one it’s affecting, though. If I don’t care, they shouldn’t.”

“You will care,” he said softly, staring ahead at the simple white wall, the large abstract painting over it. The modern wall sconces. The entertainment system off to the side.