The Broken Sister (Sister #6) (6 page)

She should have dealt with it better. Been stronger and healthier like Ally. Ally had worked out her anger and resentment. She’d gotten into some trouble, she and Mom had had it out and
voilà,
Ally was better. Ally started to thrive again as a straight-A student and avid fast pitch player. She’d even managed to get a scholarship to Peterson off of her grades. Pretty impressive. Ally McKinley was one of the most impressive, pretty, respected students at Peterson. Everybody loved her sister. Including Kylie. She just could not remotely reach the level of functioning perfection her sister could.

She’d been called many things in her life. Fragile. Delicate. Weak. Confused. Sad. Broken. Somehow it was usually “broken” that stuck.

She’d dabbled in alcohol since she was fifteen. Drugs were more sporadic, but she did periodically do them. She went to parties and met boys and discovered that with enough alcohol, she didn’t feel near so fragile or broken or disgustingly skinny. And the boys didn’t seem to notice that about her either.

And she really did like to have sex. That wasn’t something she faked. It made her feel good and she didn’t see the harm in that. But there was. She learned that. So she kept it as quiet as she could. She tried to make sure her mom didn’t find out.

Hence, much of the reason why she never reported what Tommy did. She couldn’t prove it and it might bring all this out to her mom. Her mom had suffered so much after what their dad did. Her heartbreak, her humiliation, her concern for Ally and Kylie, getting a full-time job and then falling in love with her sister’s husband. It hadn’t been an easy journey for her mom. Kylie didn’t want to add to all that that her daughter had become a slut.

Kylie sighed, stretching her legs out. Why did it make her a slut? Once in a while, in moments where she was feeling a little bit of confidence, she wondered why she wasn’t allowed to enjoy and like sex. Why weren’t boys sluts? For so many boys slept around, but when she did it—and God forbid, liked to have orgasms—it implied there was something wrong with her morals. It never seemed fair to Kylie. But she usually figured things wrong anyway. So she probably was wrong about this too.

Still, someone else had experienced it.

She obsessively thought about Cadence. Should she contact her? Speak to her for real? Maybe… Lord, maybe it would feel good to have someone know. To understand. To not blame her for being and acting like most of the boys at that party. Yet she was the slut, bitch, ho, whore, etc. Always with the names.

The thing was, she really didn’t think she was any of those things.

But they did. And majority opinions ruled what was right and wrong in society.

A knock on her bedroom door disturbed her morbid musings. She knew by the swift double knock it was her mom.

Tracy walked in. She could have changed her name to Lindstrom, as Donny’s but she’d kept Micah’s name. Her children’s name, she told Ally, anytime Ally questioned it. Ally questioned everything. Kylie just accepted it all. She accepted her discontent, her weaknesses, her drinking, and the names she was called. She accepted that Micah had left and she lived with the fear that anyone could leave at any moment. She often stressed over who was next going to leave her.

It was totally irrational. She knew that. Reality had her clearly stating that to a half dozen different counselors, but deep down, in her gut, or heart or soul, she just didn’t believe it. She was always fearing who would leave her.

Somehow without her mom ever telling her, Kylie knew Tracy had kept the McKinley last name for Kylie. She had never begrudged her mom Donny, but she had a hard time understanding how her parents could no longer love each other. She had been so sure and confident when she was young of her parents’ love for each other and her. It was all a lie. Mom claimed now it wasn’t. That their father loved them. He made some mistakes, yadda, yadda, yadda. That’s all Kylie’s brain could do when faced with thinking about her father in her life or how he felt about them to do this to them.

“Hey, hon. What’s up?” Tracy walked forward and sat on Kylie’s bed. It wasn’t her childhood bedroom. Of course that home had been sold, along with almost everything about their life until Donny. They had lived in Donny’s house for a few years before they had built this house. It was a comfortable house, about twenty-two hundred square feet with enough bedrooms for all of them. Her bedroom had been kept while she was at college and she still came to hide sometimes.

Her mom’s tone was casual, but her gaze traveling up and down Kylie was anything but. Looking, judging, wondering, worrying, her mom was always having to check on her. Kylie’s heart dropped. She was the bane of her mom’s existence. She was always the one to be worried and puttered over because there had always been things wrong. She was incapable of dealing with real life. Proven by every single thing that had ever happened to her, and how often she made the wrong decision or couldn’t handle it.

Kylie shrugged. “I just felt a little overwhelmed with classes. I know Donny probably told you I lost it all over him. I was just…”

What? Too chicken to face the boy I never told on? What to say? How to hide?

But Mom’s gaze was narrowed on her. She dropped her face to glare at the comforter. Tracy ran her hand along Kylie’s slicked back hair and tugged on the knot of hair. “I like your natural color. Any reason you’ve let it grow out? It’s been a few years since I’ve seen it.”

Kylie knew her mom often backed off and gave her space. Kept things easy so Kylie was comfortable with talking. Mom had the patience of fifty saints. She didn’t push or demand. She sometimes just let Kylie be quiet and morose and might never even know quite why.

“I was sick of trying so hard to keep it black.” She’d kept her long, thick hair dyed a midnight black for over a year. It was almost back to its dark auburn color. To Mom’s credit, she’d never said a word about not liking it. She was infallibly supportive of Kylie, even when Kylie really didn’t deserve it.

“Kylie? What really made you come home?”

She licked her lips. “There was this nasty rumor going on about me. I dated this guy, and he had a girlfriend, but I swear to you I didn’t know. She’s spreading lies about me. It’s so middle school, really. I can’t believe I let it get to me.”

There was no way she was going to insert “drunken sex at a party” for “dated.”

“It always hurts to have hurtful things said. Otherwise people wanting to hurt you wouldn’t say them, right?”

A surprise laugh escaped her mouth. “Right. Okay, you got me there.”

“Kylie, is there anything I can do?”

“No. It will pass. I was just sick of it.”

“You come here, okay? Anytime things out there hurt you. You come to us.” She pulled Kylie in for a quick hug. “I love you, honey.”

Twice today. First Donny, now Mom. Why couldn’t she just let their love and support be enough? She just didn’t understand why she couldn’t be all around better. It frustrated the crap out of her, as it surely did Mom, Ally, and Donny.

There was knock at the door when it slid open without preamble. Julia stood there. Now eleven, she was tall and gangly, with honey-golden ringlets like her mother, Vickie. Julia had been raised by Tracy and Donny since she was a toddler. Vickie was in and out, and Kylie was sure Tracy was the deciding factor that kept it from hurting Julia. Kylie secretly believed Julia didn’t really want to spend any time with her real mom. Julia felt left out whenever she was gone. For although Kylie and Ally might be technically, by blood, her cousins, they were and always had been her older sisters in reality.

“Kylie? Are you okay?” Julia’s timid voice whispered through them. She was a shy, sweet, kind girl who Kylie made sure had no idea of the kinds of things Kylie partook in outside of the house.

“Hey, Ju-Ju-B. I’m fine. Long week at school with all these crazy hard books to read. I wanted a breather. Come in.”

Julia always managed to cheer Kylie out of her dark, morose, contemplative thoughts. She’d also be damned if innocent, sweet Julia was ever sullied by the things that were inside of Kylie’s head and the things she did or partook in. Kylie grinned in real joy for the first time in days at Julia.

“Wanna play a game?”

“Yes, I want to play a game.” Julia loved old-fashioned board games and was constantly begging or bribing one or all of the household to play with her. Even Kylie couldn’t resist her and it did the trick of lifting her spirits and getting her mind off of school, Tommy, the website, Cadence, and being a whore… or a victim, depending on who you asked.

Tracy smiled and got to her feet. “I’ll let you two keep playing while I escape to make some dinner. Taco salad, Ky?” She asked it gently, as if a quick add-on to her thoughts, but Kylie knew it was the entire point of her thoughts. She always worried how much Kylie was eating and yet understood she could not force it. Taco salad was fine. Not much ever tasted good to her. But she nodded and turned towards Julia and opened herself up for whatever Julia was plotting to beat her at.

“TRISTAN, WHO THE HELL is the other one?”

Tristan rubbed at his forehead when his grandfather’s voice reverberated through the phone receiver and into his skull. God, could the old man growl in fury. He flicked the pause button on the movie he’d been trying to finally relax in front of. He had no idea what his grandfather was going on about at nearly eleven o’clock at night. Shouldn’t the old man sleep at some point? Most old people his age were long retired, eating early-bird specials and going to bed at nine o’clock. Not still working and chewing their number-one grunt out yet again.

“What are you talking about, Grandfather? What other one?”

“Get on the damn website. Shit!” His grandfather pierced his skull with his sharp howl. Tristan was well aware of only one website that could have Grandfather like this. He leaned over and quickly refreshed his tablet he’d last had it up on. Sure, the post had been bad, but the comments did more than a fine job of neutralizing it. It had taken Tristan about four hours of his tech team and their friends posting comments by various accounts to turn the whole nasty article into a contested pile of shit. They had turned Cadence whatever into a smear on the page who would never dare move forward, for now she knew how the public would react to her. What girl would want to put herself through that? Tristan was sure this would all now disappear and all that would be left was a small ripple lasting for just a few days until this article went to the wayside for some juicier and more substantiated gossip or scandal.

“Who is it?”

Tristan held in the deep need to snap back. Never one to wait, the old man was getting almost unbearable in his demands. “I’m loading it. Hold up, Grandfather.” He watched the site load finally and clicked on the tab with Cadence’s claim. Under it was a growing comment list of over a hundred twenty-five now. There had been a few dozen to start. His team had done outstanding, speedy work, and his grandfather was screaming at him? It had been done in mere hours. Yet still not enough.

“Do you see it? Ten up from the bottom.”

It was written by someone named Kland5568. It meant nothing. But her words were few and potent. No wonder grandfather was about to pop his temporal artery.

There were now two.

He did it to me too, Cadence. I just never told anyone. Stay strong. Consent is supposed to be contingent on you being conscious. People will call you names, but you know what happened to you was real. You’re braver than me. I could never come forward. Good luck.

He did it to me too.
The words replayed over and over in Tristan’s mind. Holy crap. He started to breathe faster in response and sweat wet his palms. Two girls had accused his brother? It was…

“I told you. I told you more would come out of the woodwork. Did you read it? Didn’t I predict this?”

Tristan let out a deep whoosh of breath. Yes, Grandfather had predicted this. He let the relief flow through him. Of course Grandfather was right. Of course more were coming out of the woodwork. The Tamasy name was synonymous with money. And Tommy was well known right now, the perfect walking payday.

“I see it.”

“Find out who the bitch is and shut her down. We can’t have two, Tristan. Two speaks to scandal and truth. Two makes a third decide it might be a good game to get in on. I will take care of the Cadence girl. I have feelers out to try and pay her off and get her to sign some nondisclosure paperwork... you know the usual. You take care of this other one. Do whatever you must to neutralize this one. Get it done. And now.”

Tristan was staring at his phone. He’d hung up after his ominous threat. Of course it was on Tristan to get it done. He rubbed at his head again with the ache brewing across his forehead. He’d done nothing but somehow he wasn’t fixing it faster. Damn careless little brother. Damn Grandfather expecting all the brains and ability of the family to fall to Tristan because he believed it bypassed JR and Tommy.

He grabbed his cell and searched for his lead tech’s phone number. He punched it in. As soon as he had the tech on the line Tristan waited, foot tapping while the tech loaded up the website and comments that Tristan specified.  “I need an identity on who made the comment marked Kland5568. Get me a name. An address. Something, ASAP. I’ll triple your fee.” He started talking without preamble, without a hello, without any care for what the other man had been doing with his time off work. Just exactly as Grandfather had spoken to Tristan. Tristan knew he was an excellent student and practitioner of what he learned.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.” Another lesson, money worked wonders to open doors otherwise impossible. No thought to privacy or what they wanted the name for.
Kland5568, you are going to be sorry you ever tried to spread anonymous lies.

Tristan stared at her comment for a good twenty minutes. Good luck. It seemed to be glaring at him in a mocking challenge. Good luck? Well, good luck to her too.

****

His cell phone woke him. Fumbling around his nightstand, he knocked his change off the top and finally found the irritating ringing phone. Opening an eye his clock glared at him with the early numbers of just past four a.m., groaning, he mumbled without looking at the screen, “This better be something on fire.”

“No. But you said ASAP.”

Tristan sighed recognizing his tech’s voice. He sat up, leaning against the headboard and clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a fire. What have you got?”

“Kylie McKinley, a twenty, almost twenty-one-year old, junior at Peterson. Her address is 5568 Claymore Street, Marsdale. She works alternating shifts at The Acorn. Do you need the address?”

Tristan ran a hand over his face. His brain was barely grasping the tidbits of his newest nemesis. “No. I know it. You got all that off Kland5568?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You guys are amazing.”

“Yup, that’s why you make the big bucks.”

Tristan scoffed. No, he didn’t. Not yet anyway. Grandfather believed in proving yourself. No handouts. But he knew the tech support, especially ones like Cory, who did the stuff that was kept on the down-low, weren’t paid enough for the long, often oddball hours they worked.

“Thanks. Make sure you bill for triple time. I’ll make sure it’s approved.”

He hung up, tossing the phone on the mattress. The body next to him finally groaned and squirmed. Morgan Hartley shifted around until she popped her head up off the pillow. “What’s the old bastard got you up to now?”

Tristan leaned over and kissed her mouth before grinning at her grumbled insult. “Just some tech stuff we needed. Go back to sleep.”

She flipped over and burrowed under the covers more. He sighed and headed for the shower. His alarm was going off in minutes anyway. It really wasn’t that early. He’d been up late finishing reports, so morning felt like a kick in the stomach. After showering, he entered his master bedroom with only a towel on. Morgan was stirring again.

He dressed quickly in a tailored Armani suit. His grandfather had early on shown him how to dress, of course. Morgan stirred again as he leaned over to pull his dress socks up. He glanced up as she scooted towards where he sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “What’s the old crab got you up to today?”

He rubbed one of her hands with his own. “He’s not that bad. He’s intense, but he’s given me every ounce of ambition and opportunity there is. Neither of which my own father would have ever bothered with. He’d have to have realized he had a son first.” Tristan stopped moving as he absently rubbed her hand. Why would he go into that? Morgan didn’t care. Nor did he need to be crying about a father more into his flings, usually of the younger persuasion, than he ever was into either of his sons.

“I know. Old Grandpa’s just exacting. Couldn’t he find a better way to boss you about?”

Tristan turned and kissed her cheek. Ellis would not appreciate being referred to as “old grandpa.” “It’s called work, Morgan. It’s just what it takes. And today, I have some computer issues to attend to.”

She sighed and flipped back on the bed, her long legs sliding up as her nightie rose high. “Sure you can’t stay awhile?”

He smiled as he turned and followed her, lying beside her he kissed her for several moments, then lifted his head. “Hey, you still don’t mind if we date others? Right? I mean, we’re good?”

She smiled, lifting her hand to brush back his hair. “No. I don’t mind. Why? Hot date?”

“No. Business, actually. But it might look like a date. Or dates. You don’t care?”

“No, we understand each other. Besides, I have ‘business’ too.” She grinned as her wide mouth leaned in and she kissed him again.

He brushed her shoulder length hair through his fingers. “Do you ever think we should?”

“Should what?” She frowned as she leaned over him, her brow furrowed.

“Should maybe not have an understanding or business with anyone else.”

Morgan shook her head and laughed. “Don’t go ruining a great thing, Tristan. We get each other. How this works. We’re not in love. You know there’s no such thing. How many times have we had that conversation? It’s a waste of time to imagine anyone staying together ‘forever’ without wanting another. It’s biologically impossible. So why set ourselves up to fail?” Morgan quickly sunk a last kiss on his lips before she got up and sauntered into his bathroom, essentially ending the conversation and his inquiry.

He sighed, flopping his hands back on the mattress to stare up at the ceiling, fifteen feet up that peaked with canned lighting and two skylights. Morgan was right. They’d had this conversation a few times, and each time he knew she was correct. They had started seeing each other three years ago. They weren’t exclusive, which worked perfectly for both of them, since neither of them believed in that nor were looking for that. He’d almost pinched himself when he first started seeing her. She was allowing him to have sex with her, and anyone else he wanted! She was the daughter of one of his grandfather’s lawyers. They’d met through business, at a big charity dinner that her father and his grandfather had both been attending. Introduced, they had spent the rest of the evening flirting and ending up at his place. The sex had been phenomenal and their ease in conversation was like they’d known each other all their lives. She’d asked him to attend an opening for a line of perfume her company was releasing. She was VP of marketing at a large cosmetics company. They easily fell into dating each other. They had the same type of functions and requirements for business, but both of them were too busy to nurture needy spouses. Instead, their attraction grew naturally between them. No mention of exclusive or boyfriend/girlfriend status, until she mentioned one night she had a date with a race car driver she’d met the weekend before.

He’d been a little stunned at first. Morgan just assumed he’d not mind. He’d never really said either way. He understood that she would be done with him if he said anything to counter her. He learned over the years she didn’t believe in love and had no intention of having a traditional marriage. She’d watched her mother stay with her faithless father in a charade she called “of epic proportions.” Much like Tristan’s parents’ marriage. It was something he understood about Morgan. She’d never allow any such foolishness to her life or live by such a stupid pretense. So they enjoyed each other’s company when it worked out. They dated others when they saw fit. They didn’t owe each other their itineraries, schedules or list of friends or sexual partners. She gave him total friendship, loyalty, and freedom. The perfect companion.

He pulled himself up. Why then did he sometimes feel sunk with weight? Why, when they were together, was he sometimes hit by this deep, almost lonely feeling? Like he was with her, but isolated. Tristan shook his limbs as he adjusted his cobalt blue tie and swept his blond hair back into place from Morgan’s hands. What was his problem? He wasn’t cuddled enough? He shook his cuffs down and straightened his posture. His lips smirked up when he pictured his grandfather’s take on this; he was acting like a pussy. He had a beautiful, smart, successful companion in Morgan Hartley, who needed nothing from him. He wasn’t lonely. He was heading to the top of the world. He was heading towards running the large corporation his grandfather had put together, which had locations at over a half dozen spots in the United States, and they were both trying to turn those six into double or triple that. To make Tamasy Industries a real brand name in their very niche product ability.

Now? It was going to end up being Tristan’s if he did this right. If he learned, grew, succeeded, and didn’t lose his balls.

He knew his hesitation about today. It was dealing with this Kland5568. He dreaded it. It wasn’t business. It was damage control he completely resented having to take care of. But they worked with a variety of different industries, including the government, and most specifically the military. They couldn’t have a rape scandal connected to the name Tamasy, as it was too synonymous with Tamasy Industries.

He quickly grabbed his soft, black leather brief case. He’d grab an espresso when he got to work. Today was about stopping anyone from wrecking the future he and his grandfather had dreamed of and built. Yes, Tommy was an idiot. But he didn’t deserve to be called a rapist. Tristan stared at the gleaming brass doors of the elevator of his building as it took him to his lobby. Yes, he did not need any such scandal. So Kland5568, watch the fuck out, because he highly resented having to do this kind of work; lying and covering when he had real, important, financial work to do. Legitimate work to do.