Young Truths (Young Series) (40 page)

“Matt, that’s enough,” Marcus says sharply. I have no idea when he came to stand between me and my father. The one thing I do register is that my father’s fist is raised as though he is preparing to hit me. I think I would welcome that; any excuse to take out my frustrations in a more physical manner. “We’re leaving.”

Marcus doesn’t wait for my agreement; grabbing me by the arm, he drags me out of my parents’ home and practically throws me into the passenger seat of my car. Wordlessly, I hand him my keys when he slips into the driver’s side, knowing I’m in no state to get us back to Young Technologies in one piece. Luckily for both of us, Marcus doesn’t try engag
ing me in conversation or ask how I’m feeling. I think I would snap completely if he did.

I should feel guilty for the things I said to my father, but I don’t regret a
goddamn thing. Actually, it’s rather liberating; separating myself from him has been something I’ve hoped for since I was a teenager. My only hope is that this doesn’t hurt my relationship with my mother. She knows how volatile things can get between me and Paul, and it’s been over a decade since she last tried to get us to repair the cracks between us. Not that it matters at this point...

“I’m taking you home,” Marcus says quietly. “I don’t think your employees will benefit in the slightest
from your presence right now.”

I shake my head. “My mother is at the apartment,” I tell him, staring out the window. “What I need right now is Samantha.”

“Okay. Samantha it is,” he replies.

Neith
er of us speaks again during the drive, which is perfectly fine by me, since I can barely straighten out my thoughts enough to form complete sentences. The only thing I want or need right now is my wife, the only woman in the world who can calm me down with a look or a word. She’ll know how to handle this, how to handle me. I don’t need my father—I never did.

Before I’m fully aware of it, Marcus and I are entering the bookstore, and I immediately locate Samantha near the sci-fi section making recommendations to a customer. Just standing here at a distance and watching her is enough to calm my nerves and settle my mind. As though sensing my gaze, she turns her head slightly and smiles at me, her eyes shining brightly with happiness at the sight of me. I was right. This is what I need.

“You good?” Marcus asks quietly.

I nod, not taking my eyes off Samantha. “Yeah, I’m good,” I answer, not entirely untruthfully. “Sorry about today. Thanks for humoring me.”

Marcus snorts a laugh. “Don’t mention it. Listen, I left my car at your building. Mind if I...”

Grinning, my eyes dart sideways at him. “Take mine. I can get Sam to give me a ride tomorrow.”

He pats me on the back and heads out of the store while Samantha leads her customer to the cash register to make the sale. I love seeing her here, in her element. For all her hesitance and claims that she could never run a business like this, she’s taken to it with aplomb and I couldn’t be more proud of her. There’s a new light in her eyes whenever she talks about work, possibly the same light in mine when I talk about her and the kids and my own work. I can’t imagine she felt this way about her job as an office manager back in Omaha...

While I wait for her to finish up, I have a look around. She hasn’t changed a single thing from when Bonnie owned the place; she probably thinks it would dishonor her memory to do so. The bookshelves all over the place make the store seem cluttered, but the rest is immaculate. Samantha makes it a habit to vacuum
every morning before opening, to polish the wooden end tables beside the armchairs, and clean the storefront windows. So it’s not much of a surprise that my eyes land on the one thing that seems completely out of place from where I’m sitting beside one of the aforementioned windows. Across from me, hidden beneath another chair, is something that looks to be glass. Without thinking, without really knowing why, I reach into my jacket pocket for a tissue I’d had on hand for Tyler a few weeks back when he had a cold. I make sure it’s unused before crossing the store and kneeling down, reaching under the chair until I can feel the glass through the tissue. Pulling back, I examine the item in my hand. It’s a vial, much like the ones used in the labs at Young Technologies. I turn it on its side and immediately find the etching of my company’s logo. Carefully, I wrap the vial in the tissue and slide it into my pocket just in time for Samantha to finish with her customer and walk towards me.

“Hi,” she says when she reaches me. “This is a surprise.”

I grin at her, sliding my arms around her waist. “That’s my duty as your husband—to keep you on your toes,” I inform her, pulling her against me and resting my lips against her forehead. “How’s your day been?”

“Not bad,” she murmurs, wrapping me in her arms. I wonder whether she’ll say anything about how tense I am. “Much better, though, now that you’re here.”

God, I love it when she says things like that... “Did Claire come help you out?” I ask, reluctantly letting her go and leading her back towards the counter.

“She did. She left just after lunch; you only just missed her.” Her brow furrows and she looks around the store. “Didn’t I see Marcus when you got here?”

I freeze, having somehow temporarily forgotten about the drama of my day. “Yeah, he dropped me off,” I say quietly.

Samantha turns towards me, my voice tipping her off that something isn’t right about me. “What’s wrong?” she asks concernedly. “God, Matt, you’re pale and tense. Did something happen?”

Though I hadn’t wanted to get into it here, I know damn well she won’t let me keep it to myself. I run a hand through my hair, putting off the main event by heading into the backroom and the mini fridge beside the desk for a couple bottles of water. When I return to her, she’s looking at me with wide worried eyes as I hand her a bottle, sitting on the stool beside hers. “I found out today that my father has been having an affair,” I begin, opening the bottle and wishing it was something much stronger. Her mouth drops open. “With Lucy.”

“What?” she asks in a high-pitched voice. “Tell me you’re joking.”

I smile humorlessly. “Baby, believe me, I wish like hell I could. His fingerprints were all over her apartment. There are photos of them together. He admitted it when Marcus and I went to talk to him about it. God, that was probably the stupidest thing I’ve done in a while. I lost it, Sam. Threw it all in his face—how he treated you, the affair, the fucking cancer... And for once, I actually got a reaction from him; he was so pissed off at me I thought he was about to hit me. Marcus had to drag me out.”

“Wow,” is all she can say. “Does your mom know? About the affair, I mean?”

I shake my head. “No, and if I have my way, she never will,” I say firmly. “She doesn’t need that.”

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, reaching out to push the hair away from my eyes.

I smile slightly, reaching up to press her hand to my cheek. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I will be, I think, once everything has a chance to process, but I’ll tell you one thing: This is the last fucking time I give my father the benefit of the doubt, dying or not. I’ll be there for my mother and my sisters, but I want nothing more to do with him.”

She nods as though she understands exactly how I feel. “Okay,” she murmurs. “Whatever you want.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not entire sure why I’m so relieved—that she accepts what I need without explanation; that I’ve got her to lean on when I need her most—and I don’t particularly care at this point. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell Claire,” I request. “She’d lose her mind completely and my dad won’t even know what hit him.”

She agrees
and we move on to more pleasant, normal topics. Like what we’ll have for dinner. Or telling her I’ll need a ride into work tomorrow since Marcus has my car. That earns me an odd look, but she doesn’t question it. When it’s time to head out to pick Tyler up from school, we do so with smiles on our faces. Without her, I’d already be shit-faced drunk in an attempt to block out the images my mind has supplied of my father and Lucy. And I don’t think she understands exactly what it is she does for me. As I close her door and walk around the car to get into the driver’s side, I silently promise to somehow show her. Now I just have to figure out the best way to do it.

This morning so far has been complete shit. I woke up remembering the fight with Paul which was followed by a screaming baby and a tantrum-throwing son. Not long after that, my mother arrived to babysit for the day and it was clear she was aware that I was at the house yesterday, even if she wasn’t told the exact reason for my visit. If she did, I can’t imagine she’d be feeling so concerned about my father’s feelings. The only high point has been Samantha driving me to work. She held my hand the whole time, though neither of us did much speaking, and before I got out of the car, she kissed me like we weren’t sitting in front of my building, but locked in our bedroom. I nearly called a very early end to the day and told her to drive us back home. It took every ounce of restraint I’ve ever possessed to get out of that car, but I somehow managed it.

My first order of business was a trip down to the “top secret” area of the building to speak with one of the techs who has been in my employ since the very beginning. I met Carson Whiley in college and we’ve been friends since. He was the first person I met at Stanford, my first dorm mate. When I began questioning the loyalty of the people around me, he was the only one I looked past after
only the briefest of glances. He’d have been too busy hacking computers or reading comic books or blowing up his basement with whatever chemical composition popped into his head that morning. The only way he’d betray me is if we were enemies in World of Warcraft. Which is why I trust him to check into the vial I found at the bookstore.

“What’s this?” he asks, cautiously taking the tissue-wrapp
ed vial. He unwraps it and his eyes widen. “One of ours?”

“I assumed as much when I saw the etching on the side,” I say. “There’s some residue at the bottom and I need to know what it is. I’ve got an idea, but confirmation would be a very good thing at this point.”

He nods, sliding the vial into a plastic baggy. “Yeah, sure.”

I sit in the chair beside him. “While I’m here, are you familiar with Damian Rogers?”

“Oh yeah,” he says brightly. “Damian’s great. One of the best guys I had down here.”

I stare at Carson. “
Had
? As in past tense?”

“Yeah. He decided to just not show up for work one day and we were unable to reach him on any of the phone numbers he provided. Hell of a shame. The kid had potential.”

“When did this happen?” I ask, already surmising the answer.

Carson thinks for a moment. “Couple weeks ago,” he answers finally. “Not long before you took off for your vacation.”

Fuck... Right around the time Samantha was poisoned. Coincidence? Somehow I seriously doubt it. “I need to know what’s in that vial before the end of the day,” I say grimly. “Put a rush on it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Carson says, frowning. “Everything okay?”

Standing, I shake my head. “Not even close.” With that, I leave the lab and head up to my office. So if Marcus is right in his theory—and when isn’t he?—Damian got into the labs with Leo’s help and managed to get a vial of the poison out of the building without being detected. The real question is whether he was the one to slip the stuff into Samantha’s food that day. I don’t doubt even for a second it was done at the bookstore—why else would I have found the vial there? It must have fallen out of the culprit’s pocket on their way out.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything when I reach my office and barely register the woman sitting in the chair beside Sandra’s empty desk. She’s got the week off to take care of her sick sister, leaving me on my own. She
’s earned it.

“Matt.”

I stop short, staring in shock at my oldest sister Elizabeth as she stands from her chair. “Liz,” I say. “What are you doing here?” I wasn’t aware she even knew where my building was...

She looks uneasy, adjusting the strap of her $5000 designer handbag on her shoulder. As always, she’s perfectly groomed. Long straight blonde hair without a strand out of place. Perfectly manicured fingernails. Clothes that probably cost more than what normal people spend on a year’s wardrobe. The only thing out of place is the worry in her expression. And here I thought the Botox had erased her ability to form any expression aside from ice bitch... “I was hoping we could talk,” she says awkwardly.

“Sure,” I say quietly. “Let’s go in my office.” Under more normal circumstances, I might tell her I don’t have time to listen to whatever ridiculous grievance she might have, but I have to admit, I’m curious. I can’t remember the last time she and I had a conversation without Holly. It’s only now that I realize Elizabeth is without her usual constant companion. “What’s going on?”

She sighs as we sit on the couch in my office. “It’s Holly,” she begins in a low voice. “I don’t know who to else to talk to right now, Matt. Something is wrong with her and I have no idea what it is.”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering why I seemed like the best person to seek help from. “What do you mean? Is she sick?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “She’s just... acting strange. I think she might be having an affair.”

I bite back a smirk, having already worked this out when I overheard Holly’s phone conversation at Lucy’s wake. “I hate to say it, but I don’t have time to deal with Holly’s marital problems just now, Liz—”

“It’s more than that,” she interrupts impatiently. “I don’t know who the guy is, but I think he’s really bad news for her. She’s not herself anymore and some of the things she says...” She shakes her head.

“What things?” I ask.

“Things about Lucy,” Elizabeth says in a whisper. “How she got what was coming to her and now things would be set right again. And then there was the night of the fire at your house...”

Now she’s got my attention. “What about it?” I ask quietly.

“She and I were supposed to meet for dinner and drinks that night. She was late—like,
hours
late—and when I asked her where she’d been, she wouldn’t answer. But she was nervous, looking at her phone every couple minutes like she was expecting someone to call. I called her the next morning—we were supposed to go shopping—but she wasn’t home and it was days before I could reach her. And then Lucy was killed...” Elizabeth shakes her head, apparently at a loss for words. “Matt, I think she might have had something to do with it.”

My first inclination is to burst out laughing at the thought that Holly would ever risk a broken nail for anything. And killing a person, then dr
agging their body to a car and tossing it in a lake would have taken more effort than I’ve ever seen her expel. That doesn’t necessarily mean Elizabeth is wrong; there’s a possibility—a very small one—that Holly may have had something to do with Lucy’s death and had help with it. What I can’t seem to figure out, though, is why Holly would even want to kill somebody; she’s a bitch, but not a murderer. Besides, she adored Lucy from the get-go along with Elizabeth and my father. Well, perhaps not
exactly
like my father...

I shake my head to
get those images out of my mind’s eye. “Look, I’ll do some digging,” I assure her. “Lucy’s death is being very thoroughly investigated and as far as I know, Holly isn’t even on the radar. There’s no indication that she was anywhere near Lucy that day.”

Elizabeth sighs. “I know it sounds ridiculous. Believe me, I know. I’ve been arguing with myself for weeks about whether I should come to you o
r not, but I’m really worried.”

“Don’t be,” I tell her softly. “Like I said, I’ll do some digging. In
the meantime, don’t let on that you’ve told me anything, especially not Holly. Just act normally. Whatever that might be for you. If something happens, call me—I don’t care what time it is. Call me.”

She nods. “I will,” she says quietly. She watches me for a few minutes, her brow furrowed before she cracks a smile and shakes her head.

“What?” I ask uneasily.

“Nothing,” she answers, still smiling. “I was just wondering when you went from annoying baby brother who was so desperate to tagalong with Holly and me to...” She waves her hand vaguely at me. “This.”

I smirk. “Probably about the time Holly shaved off my eyebrows when I was twelve. After that, it was war between all of us and none of us seemed to look back even for a second.”

Elizabeth reaches over, taking my hand. “I don’t say it enough, Matt, and I know you and I never had the best relationship growing up, but I’m pretty damn proud of you and everything you’ve achieved. I probably could have been way more supportive of you over the years, particularly when it came to Samantha, but I suppose I was caught up in Dad’s belief that he knew what was best for you and nothing else would ever measure up.” She pauses a moment, watching me thoughtfully. “Are you happy with your life?”

It’s an odd question, particularly coming from Elizabeth, but she seems generally interested in the answer. “Yes,” I answer quietly. “I’ve never been happier.”

She smiles. “I’m glad.” Squeezing my hand one last time, she releases m
e and stands. “I should go. Dylan is home sick and if I leave him alone too long, he’ll sneak out of his room and spend the rest of the day on videogames.”

I smirk, knowing my nephew is probably doing just that right now. “I’ll walk you to the elevators,” I say, standing beside her and leading her out of my office. “Take care of yourself. And please don’t forget to call me if something happens. I don’t care how unimportant it seems.”

“I will,” she promises, reaching out for a hug. I stare at her for a moment, unable to remember the last time she and I hugged. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I push the button to call the elevator up. “Maybe we can have dinner sometime. What do you think?”

“I’d like that,” I say sincerely. “I’m just waiting for a few things to die down, but once that happens, I’ll give you a call and we can arrange something.”

She winks as the elevator arrives and steps in. I wave to her before the doors close and remain staring at the elevator doors for a minute or two, thinking over my morning thus far. Shaking my head, I head back to my office, muttering to myself, “Could this day get any weirder?”

Ever since the poisoning, I’ve been very careful where I eat and even more careful about picking up my takeout personally rather than having it delivered. I’m still a little disconcerted that I can’t remember what happened the day of the poisoning; the doctors said I should recover my memory once the stuff was out of my system, but so far, nothing. The only thing I have to go on, and I’m not even certain it’s a real memory or something my mind has made up, is a flash of a dream. I’m in the hospital, fast asleep, and there’s no sign of my husband. Somebody comes into my room and stands beside my bed for several minutes, just watching me. Before they leave, they bend to press a kiss against my forehead and whisper something. Whenever I try to remember the words, though, everything goes fuzzy again, and I’m left with a feeling of increasing uneasiness. It was a man; that much I know, and I think it might have been somebody I know well.

And it’s not as though I haven’t got a million other things going on that are pulling for my attention. Like the revelations Matthew discovered yesterday about his father. He spent most of his night brooding over it, asking me if he overreacted. I didn’t really know what to say in response. Anybody would be upset to find out their father had been having an affair for years, and when the mistress was an ex-girlfriend... It’s creepy. What I can’t get my head around is why, if Paul was sleeping with Lucy all this time, he was so eager to get her and Matthew together again. I would think he’d have wanted her to himself.

I feel bad for Diane. She’s always been so sweet to me and wonderful and accepting, and the husband she’s been with for close to forty years has betrayed her. I remember how I felt when I received that video of Matthew and Natalie’s afternoon tryst in his office, believing it was recent—I don’t think I’ll ever forget that feeling. I was beyond devastated and my heart didn’t so much break as it shattered. As it turned out, Matthew has never been unfaithful to me and I know he never will be; he’d never risk losing his family again. Not for anything. Diane, though... She deserves better treatment after raising four children basically on her own while her husband was deployed with the Navy, and Paul seems to think differently. All I can hope for is that she never finds out.

Our lives seem to be in some sort of state of limbo right now. We’re waiting now. Waiting to find out who killed Lucy; who set our home on fire; who poisoned me. Waiting to receive the results of Olivia’s paternity test. Not that I’ve had any more doubts about whose daughter she is; Matthew’s confidence was enough to put my worries to rest. I’m still in shock that Tom would pull something like this, like he believed that if I had any idea that Olivia might truly be his I’d keep it from him rather than tell him. That’s what hurts most, I think. I don’t know what he thought would happen i
f the results came back in his favor. Matthew can’t stand the sight of him, so there wouldn’t be any big family gatherings with him in attendance. Maybe he thinks he can get some form of custody of her. Matthew would never allow that, though; he’d hire every lawyer in the United States if he thought it might stop that from happening.

And then there’s the situation with Mark. I still have no idea how to handle it. He’s never denied being attracted to me, and though he told me when we first met he’d settle for my friendship, deep down, I knew that would never be enough for him. What I didn’t count on was his apparent
stalker-ish behavior. It’s one thing to be in love with a friend, but something else entirely to have a box full of photos of that friend hiding under one’s bed. For all I know, it could be entirely innocent—a way to hold onto me even though he knows I belong to someone else. I can’t imagine him ever wanting to hurt me.