A.K.A. Read online

  “Wherever you are.”

  He smiles. “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere.”

  “What? How?”

  “I’d live on the ocean. Sail from port to port, my zip code unknown. How about you, where would you live?”

  “Wherever you live.”

  Dad did send my mother’s letter, after all. They’d both written letters to me, to be read on special occasions, in the event that they couldn’t be there themselves. Both of them lost their parents when they were teens. That’s what I believed inspired the letters.

  I finish reading my mother’s words, fold the pages, and put them back in the envelope. It’s days like today, when I miss her the most. I was so young when she left me, I don’t remember her, and that breaks my heart.

  Her words are wise and so spot on, it makes me think that maybe there really is a heaven, and she’s looking down from it, watching me.

  There’s a soft knock on the bedroom door.

  I put her letter in my nightstand drawer, next to Dad’s letter—a letter I’m not ready to read. “Come in.”

  Kat pokes her head it. “It’s just me.”

  I wave her in.

  She shuts the door behind her and sits next to me on my bed. “I came to see if you needed any help getting into your dress.”

  “I think that’s the man of honor’s job.”

  “That man is in the kitchen going through the drawers.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Mark we’re taking about. Sometimes it’s best not to know.”

  I giggle.

  “It’s good to see you so happy, Bri.”

  “I am happy.”

  “I’m so glad you two are tying the knot. Ethan’s love for you is exhausting.”

  “Exhausting?”

  “Gary told me that he’s sick and tired of me telling him how much Ethan loves you.”

  I put my hand over hers. “It will happen to you two, if it’s meant to be.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Really?”

  “Okay, that was corny.”

  “Gary’s tired because he’s asked several times, and I’ve turned him down.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I’ve never said anything because I know how much my refusals have hurt him. I didn’t want to cause further damage by telling everyone.”

  “Why did you say no?”

  “I’ve been there and done that. And I just can’t go there again.”

  “You have the biggest heart, Kat. I think you’re mistaken. You have plenty of room in your heart to love again.”

  She tears up.

  “Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to cry today.”

  “I know there are things you’ve kept from us, Bri. One being, ‘I’ve only gone sailing a few times.’ If it weren’t for you, we would have capsized or something.”

  “Mark’s sailing skills aren’t that bad.”

  She lifts a brow.

  “Okay, they are.”

  “I just want you to know that I love you, and your past doesn’t matter to me. Mine’s not exactly rosy.”

  I know what Kat is referring to. And I understand her not wanting to trust again. Her ex-husband had abused her mentally and physically. I hope that one day she’ll open her heart to Gary. He’s a good man, and I care deeply for both of them.

  She wipes her tears. “It’s clear that you’ve chosen the wrong person for your maid of honor, but I won’t hold it against you.”

  I give her a hug. “Thank you, Kat. For everything.”

  She stands. “I’ll check in later.”

  “Okay.”

  She walks to the door, opens it, and—bang! She rubs her forehead. “What the hell, Mark?”

  He rubs his. “Right back at you.” He frowns at her.

  “What?”

  “What are you doing here? I’m the man of honor.”

  She looks my way. “Better you than me, sister,” she says and disappears.

  He shuts the door. “Triple As.”

  “What?”

  “I need three triple A batteries. I looked everywhere. I can’t find any. I need them for my camera. And I need my camera. I need it to take pictures.”

  “Wow. That’s just—I’m the one who’s supposed to be Nervous Nelly.”

  He walks over and sits on the bed. “I know. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how you’re not falling apart right now. I can’t handle the pressure.”

  Obviously. “It’s still early. You have plenty of time to run to the store and get batteries.” And a Valium or two, or three.

  He stands. “You’re so right. Maybe it will calm me down. You know, get away from all the wedding stuff.”

  I remove a pen and a pad from my nightstand. I write something down, tear out the sheet, and hand it to him.

  He looks at it. “Seriously?”

  “Since you’re going to the store.”

  “I’ve never—this is a first for me.”

  “For me too.”

  “Wow. Okay,” he says, walks to the door, and opens it.

  “Mark?”

  He turns.

  “This is between us.”

  He nods.

  “Have you seen Ethan?”

  “Not since his bachelor party. Gary went to pick him up.”

  “When you do, tell him I can’t wait to see him.”

  “I will. And don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

  He exits and shuts the door behind him.

  I walk to my closet, remove my dress, and look it over. It is the perfect dress for an Oregon Coast wedding. A long-sleeved white gown with a matching white parka.

  I remove it from its hanger and slip it on. The zipper will have to wait for Mark’s return.

  There’s a hard knock at my door.

  “Come in.”

  Mark opens the door and slams it behind him.

  “What the hell?”

  “I… you… men.”

  “What?”

  “Men.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Men.”

  “Okay. Let’s take a deep breath.”

  He does.

  “Good. Now tell me.”

  “The sheriff, the one who was questioning us about….”

  “Jane.”

  He nods. “He’s here.”

  “Sheriff Rogers is here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He’s here with three suits.”

  “Suits?”

  “Three men in suits. They showed me badges. FBI.”

  “FBI?”

  “They said they have a warrant for your arrest. Said your name was Morgan… something.”

  My life, the one that I thought I was going to have, the one I wanted with every fiber of my being, flashes like a slide show in my head.

  “What the hell is going on, Bri?”

  “Can you get out of here without them seeing you?”

  “I… maybe. I think I can. They asked for Gary. I pointed them toward the beach.”

  “Oh, thank God, Ethan’s here.”

  “No, he’s not. Ethan wasn’t there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Gary said his Jeep’s gone. He went to knock on his door and it came open. He said there was nothing there.”

  “What do you mean, nothing there?”

  “No, Ethan. No furniture. Nothing was in his house. It was empty.”

  I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense.

  “Bri? Are you—you don’t look so good.”

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “To do?”

  “You said something about sneaking out?”

  I know I’m going into shock. I have to think. I open the closet door and toss the shoes aside. Then I remove three floorboards and reach for what I’d hidden a year earlie
r.

  I hand the bag to Mark. “In this bag is a phone.” I walk to the nightstand and grab a pen. I walk back to Mark. “Hold out your hand.”

  He does.

  I write a number on his palm. “After you get away. Call this number. Let it ring three times and then hang up.”

  He nods.

  “Then destroy all the documents.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Burn them. Toss the ashes in the ocean. Just get rid of them.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s three hundred thousand in the bag. Take it and do whatever you want with it. Move to Bora Bora or buy a new sailboat. I don’t care.”

  “Three hundred thousand!”

  “It won’t do me any good where I’m going. It’s all I have to give you. I’m so sorry, Mark. You don’t and won’t understand. But please know that I never wanted to hurt you or anyone. Please tell everyone this.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Now what are you going to do?”

  “Get out of here without being seen. Call the number, let it ring three times, and hang up.”

  “And…”

  “Destroy the documents. Why am I destroying them?”

  “It probably won’t even matter, but just do it.”

  “Okay. Will someone call me back?”

  “Yes. His name is Peter. He’ll ask you a bunch of questions. Answer them truthfully. He’s a friend.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell him what happened.”

  “Okay.”

  I kiss him on the cheek.

  “Will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  He nods.

  I walk to the door with him. He opens it and peeks out.

  “Do you see anyone?”

  “No, it’s clear.”

  “Thank you, Mark.”

  “What for?”

  “For everything.”

  He nods.

  “Now go,” I say and shove him out the door, shutting it behind him.

  I quickly remove my dress. No way am I going to let them take me away in my wedding gown. I grab a pair of chinos and a T-shirt and put them on.

  The door flies open.

  An agent takes out his cuffs.

  Sheriff Rogers says, “Morgan Ann Steel, you have the right to remain silent…

  The part of the game after the opening is the middlegame. This is the time when players begin to coordinate pieces and form plans.

  Typical strategy is to wreck their opponents pawn structure, capture their pieces, and attack their king.

  THE KING IS SOMEWHAT LIMITED IN MOVEMENT

  I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours. Its textured plaster never changes, yet it never ceases to entertain me night after night.

  Sleep has always been a close friend. Now we see each other only on occasion.

  My phone sits on the nightstand. I turn it and look at the time, 4:35 a.m. It’s too early for a run through the moss-draped oak, birch, and cypress trees that surround the 100-acre estate, just beyond the seemingly infinite manicured lawns.

  I sigh heavily, pull back the sheet, and swing my long legs over the side of the centuries-old canopy bed.

  The bed faces centuries-old French doors. I sit and watch the waning hours of moonlight filter though its old panes, scattering photons about like waltzing sand.

  When the sand begins to blur, I bend over and pick my boxers off the antique Persian rug. The sight of them makes my stomach churn.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Her voice once brought a smile to my face. Now it sounds like nails down a chalkboard, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and arms.

  I think of not answering. I think about getting up and walking away as I have so many times in the last few months. But I don’t. I turn and face her, keeping up the dance, the charade that never seems to end, lies that warp from one life to the next.

  “I’m going for a run.”

  She looks at her alarm clock. “A little early, don’t you think?”

  There was a time I once cared for Suzette. There was a time I even thought I loved her. But that was before my heart began to skip every other beat for something and someone who wasn’t real. So I tell myself.

  In the beginning, Suzette’s loyalty and commitment validated my mission. When the mission ran off course and its objectives hazed over with doubt, her words and friendship kept me focused on the end game. But after a few months of separation, I began to resent her fidelity and question her motives. I began to see her as the enemy because she was a reminder of my true self, my true reality. A reality I no longer wanted.

  She pats the bed next to her. “We could continue what we started last night,” she says and raises what I once thought was a sexy brow.

  I fucked her last night. Okay, that’s not true. I tried to fuck her. I couldn’t keep a hard-on. All the mind tricks I’ve used in the past no longer work. I knew she was far away; that she couldn’t see me, see us, yet I felt her. Her presence felt more real, more tangible than the woman lying next to me.

  I pull up my boxers and stand. “I’ve got early meetings.”

  She frowns. “It’s Sunday.”

  Shit. “Are you sure? I thought it was Monday.”

  “Drake, what’s going on? You don’t sleep. You seem—I don’t know, not present.”

  “It’s work. It’s harder, more involved than I thought it would be.”

  “It’s only been a few months. It takes time to learn new stuff.”

  “You know me. I’m impatient.”

  “I used to know you.”

  I know the direction she wants to steer this conversation. I’m not about to let her. I’m tired of fighting. It’s futile; no one can win a battle that’s over before it begins.

  “Drake?”

  “Not now, Suzette,” I say with more bite than intended.

  Her frown deepens, furrowing the skin between her brows. “We need to talk about last night. We need to talk about why you don’t sleep anymore. I know there’s more to it than stress.”

  I don’t want her here. I didn’t want to marry her, but I did. I thought, once we were married, things would get better. I thought having her in my bed every night would change my feelings. I thought marriage would untether my body and heart from a chain that’s slowly choking me. I was so very wrong. The chain only tightened.

  “You’re right, it’s more than stress. It’s being here, living in this house. It’s surreal and overwhelming at times. I haven’t processed it all.”

  “I get that. It’s not as if Mary and I are BFFs. However, she did surprise me yesterday.”

  “How so?”

  “She invited me to the club.”

  “To play golf?”

  She nods.

  “But you don’t play golf.”

  “I told her that. She said I could learn.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “I told her maybe I could drive the cart or something.”

  “What did she say?”

  “What cart?”

  We chuckle at this.

  “Maybe there’s flesh and bone under her steel after all.”

  “Maybe,” she says and yawns.

  “It’s early. You should go back to bed.”

  “I think I will. I’m going to need my rest if I want to keep up with Mary.”

  I stand and make my way toward the en suite bathroom.

  “Drake?”

  I turn. “What?”

  “About earlier. That’s not the first time you—we’ve had trouble.”

  “It happens. Like I said, stress.”

  “I think you should see a doctor.”

  A doctor can’t cure what ills me. Only one woman can. “I’ll check into it,” I lie.

  She smiles. “You will?”

  I nod and continue toward the bathroom. When I get there, I shut the door behind me, lean back, and sigh heavily. How much longer can I continue with my chara
de? Suzette deserves better. She deserves a husband who loves her and can fuck her properly. We’ve been married less than a year; can we get an annulment? Could I do that to her?

  I toss my boxers into the dirty clothes basket before turning on the water. I let it run until steam rises.

  I step in, close my eyes, and let the hot water rain down on me. Four panels of glass surround me; this is my free zone. This is the only space I give myself permission to not think. It’s a space where I let go of the pain, the guilt, and the shame of who I am and what I’ve done. This is a space where I let her take over, let her invade me.

  Kneel.

  She does.

  Open.

  She does.

  Wider.

  She does.

  Her lips surround my cock.

  I plunge deeper.

  Her throat expands.

  My cock throbs against her tongue.

  She sucks.

  I moan.

  She swallows.

  I groan.

  I’m close.

  She looks up.

  Amber eyes penetrate me.

  My heart liquefies.

  My soul soars.

  My balls tighten.

  She moans.

  I come.

  “God yes! Fuck! Fuck!”

  “Drake?”

  Hell. “What?” I yell.

  “Your phone keeps ringing.”

  Who gives a shit? “Okay.”

  “Should I pick it up?”

  Hell no! “Let it go to voice mail.”

  “Okay,” she says through the door. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Okay,” I yell back.

  I lean back and close my eyes, wishing I were far, far away.

  I walk into the sunny breakfast room and inwardly frown when I see my father sitting at the table pouring a bloody mary from a crystal pitcher.

  He turns my way. “Son. You’re up early.”

  I nod his way and walk to the buffet table. Breakfast is served this way on weekends. On weekdays, it’s served individually, in your room or in the kitchen. This tradition is decades old, so I was told my first day by Lucky, the cook slash Jackie-of-all-trades.

  I think about the odd lack of help for a house this size as I fill my plate with eggs, bacon, and fruit. Leaving it a mystery to be solved some other time, I sit across from my father.

  “Suzette sleeping in?”

  I nod as I swallow my first bite of eggs. “She’s golfing with Mary.”

  My father lifts a brow to this. “Really?”