“It will be a deep-throated kiss,” I warn. “My tongue wrestling yours into submission. I’m going to take your clothes off, slowly at first then with a building passion as my tongue finds more interesting places to wrestle.” A breath hitches in her throat as she gives the slightest nod. “I’m going to taste you, Kennedy.” My lids hood low. “I’m going to suck you down, drink you to the dregs, pull my mouth over your body, hot and wild, until you’re soaking wet for me.” My eyes press into hers hard as her chest pumps quickly with her every next breath. “And then I’m going to take you to my bed and show you how a real man fucks.” Her mouth opens with the expletive. “Then I’m going to sit you on my face, and we’ll start all over again.” Kennedy gasps as if she might pass out.
A deep blush glows over her cheeks. Kennedy bites over a smile, her eyes still poised over mine. “Um—wow?” She gives a playful scratch to my chest. “Me thinks you should lay off the hard liquor counselor.” She pulls me off the dance floor with her fingers entwined in mine. “I think we’re late for our movie.”
The movie drones on, and all through those long two hours, Kennedy leans her ear to my lips waiting for another carnal promise. But I don’t give any.
Next time I’ll act them out for her to see.
* * *
The week trickles by with Kennedy avoiding me off and on. Both Warren Senior and Chuck are back from abroad. Chuck had a long talk with me this morning, assuring me that all of Westfield and McCarthy’s resources are at my fingertips. He wants this shut down as much as I do—as much as Kennedy does.
Keith put off his appointment twice, but he’s due in this afternoon, and, now, I’m hoping it’s not the one afternoon Kennedy actually stops in to see me.
Zoey pops her blonde head in. “Keith Stearns is here for you, Mr. McCarthy.” That’s the exact tone she takes when she’s feigning professionalism. Zoey can be as serious as she is entertaining. But right now I’m ready for Keith and any freshman antics he wants to toss my way. In fact, I’m feeling pretty cocky about it.
A tall, thick-framed boy pops his head in before entering fully with his expensive, fresh-pressed suit, his Italian loafers, followed by a heavy fog of cologne. He looks younger in real life than he does in pictures, than he did in the brief footage I allowed myself to witness. I’ve only seen him from a distance otherwise. He’s red-faced, clean-shaven, or at least for the occasion. If it’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that you shouldn’t trust the physical appearance of anyone coming to see an attorney. We’re right up there with weddings as far as exaggerated grooming detail goes.
“Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand and offers a firm shake.
“Take a seat,” I offer. “You want anything to drink? Water? Something stronger?”
“No, I’m good.” He furrows his brows at Zoey as he pulls his chair in.
I give a brief nod of dismissal and wait for the door to click shut before I look to the kid seated before me. I want to hate him. Just up until five minutes ago, I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck until he stopped kicking and clawing in protest. I hate the fact he had Kennedy first, that he defiled her with his body when all I wanted to do was love her with mine. But now, seeing him here in the flesh, he seems harmless, pissed, and perhaps, most frightening of all, he wears the grim patina of innocence. Don’t ask me how I know. I’ve always had radar for weird shit like that. It’s another reason I thought maybe, just maybe, I might make a damn good lawyer one day—perhaps even move on to judge when I’m ready for a sit down position that requires equal amounts of listening and silence—a touch of restraint like it does now.
“Say your peace.” I fold my arms over my chest and wait for something to fall off the cliff of his mouth. It wasn’t wise of him to ask to speak with me. I’m betting his attorney is going to take a baseball bat to his balls for even attempting to throw a wrench in the legal process.
“I love Kennedy,” he says it plain like a fact.
Sucker punched. My eyes round out at the strange words that spewed so seamlessly from him, so believably.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “I’m fucking pissed. I get it, though. I cheated, and if anything sends her sailing off the deep end it’s a cheat. But I knew that going in, so, in a small way, I guess you can say I expected it. But this level of psycho bitch? This is the fucking big leagues, and I want nothing to do with it. You better control that girl before her ass gets locked up in a mental ward along with all the other prison psychotics.”
“There’s a U-turn for you.” A wry smile comes and goes. “I thought you just said you loved her?” I’m still hung up on those words. Not one part of me wants Keith Stearns to love Kennedy—my Kennedy. I’ve bared witness to some pretty horrible breakups, and just when you think a couple is beyond repair, bam—they’re doing each other against a wall at a frat party. Love is a dirty four-letter word that incites the bloodiest battles and the most beautiful victories. Sometimes the battle and the victory are simply opposite sides of the same coin—toss it in the air and see where it lands tonight. It’s a vicious game that volatile couples play, and I’m hoping Kennedy and Keith don’t fall in that category.
“I do love her.” His features soften letting me know it’s true. My stomach sours in that familiar way it only has for my younger brother up until this point. “That’s why I’m here. I want to talk to her. Maybe you can mediate?”
Me, play a love match? “Fat chance.”
“I figured so.” He leans forward. “So let me tell you—exactly what I’d say to her if I could. All that video shit? I didn’t put it up. I’ll take a polygraph right fucking now, and again next week, next year, in a decade, and it’s all going to say the same damn thing. I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t do that shit, not to anyone, especially not to Ken. She’s special. And, as fucked up as our relationship was, I didn’t set out to hurt her.”
Shit. I slouch in my seat and blow out a mean breath. Usually when someone cries foul and swears they’ll pass a polygraph you can pretty much declare their innocence.
“Consider it scheduled.” I scribble something down on the pad in front of me, but he doesn’t flinch. “What else?” The only thing I want right now is for him to get out of my office. “Who else had access to your computer? You have a roommate? Frat brothers?” Unfortunately for him, the suspect list could be staggeringly long.
“Nope. Lived in an off campus apartment. I wasn’t into dorm life or a frat.”
“Plus that way you could bring the girls to your room, and there was no one to rat you out to your girlfriend.”
“And that,” he admits freely. “Look. I’m assuming she briefed you on all the stupid pranks she’s been pulling, the dirty magazine subscriptions sent to my father, the box of dildos she sent to my kid sisters? Those were the big ones—up until now, until she uploaded those videos to make it look like I did it.”
“What?” I’m taken for a loop. “She didn’t know the videos existed. Usually the first thing a girl does when she discovers her boyfriend has dirty footage of her on his laptop is hit the delete button—not look into a dozen porn sites to distribute them through.”
“Well, it turns out she’s not your average girlfriend, now, is she? And she’s selling them by the way.” He pulls a DVD jacket out of his pocket and flings it onto my desk. “Merry Christmas a couple months early,” he says dry, very much pissed, still holding the poise of an innocent man, and I’m not liking it one bit. “Did she fill you in on her latest high-jinks?” He waits a beat, but I don’t answer. “I didn’t think so. Let me be the one to fill you in.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls for something before flashing the screen at me.
“What’s that?” I pull it forward. It’s a lawn of some sort with a very bad burn.
“Let me get you a better shot.” He thumbs over to the next photo, an aerial view, and I can see it clearly now, burned into the grass are the words, Keith Stearns is an asshole. The last word is smeared a bit. “Someone”—he says i
t rigid implying we both know who—“set fire to the lawn outside the Dean’s office last night, and that was the message. Who the hell does that shit? I bet if you check the trunk of her car, you’ll find a lighter fluid and matches. She’s batshit like that. And then—” He animates as he taps into his phone, pulling another doozy up I’m sure. I’m growing hot under the collar and fight the urge to turn up the AC. Never let them see you sweat, and, yet, I’m sweating. This is looking bad for Kennedy. We just need to get his polygraph underway, and I’m sure he’ll start whistling a different tune. “This.” He slides his phone across the table once again.
I’m met with a Wikipedia page on one, “Keith Dickhead Stearns.”
Shit. It reeks of adolescence. I’m seeing a pattern here.
“Read the third paragraph,” he insists through heavy finger pointing.
One of his most self-indulgent pastimes is sexual dalliances with corpses.
I slide his phone back refusing to entertain the rest.
“Anybody could have written that. You can alter it or take it down yourself.”
“Dude, this is stupid shit.” He shakes his phone at me aggressively. His eyes bug out with exasperation. “You’ve got to make her stop. Just yesterday three guys came knocking on my door asking if I was Keith Stearns, and, when I said yes, they said they were there for the gangbang. A fucking gangbang!” He bounces in his seat as if he’s about to jump out of his mind, and my heart sinks just watching the frustration pulsate from him. “She’s got women calling me, texting me at all hours, old women come to find out, asking where I’d like to meet for our dinner arrangements. She’s nuts.” His voice raises an octave. “She should come with a fucking warning label that reads, I am disturbed—do not tamper with. Oh and, before I go, I need to tell you that I found a pair of my old jeans stuffed in my mailbox this morning with the crotch cut out. If I wasn’t already worried, I’m starting to fear for my balls. Last Saturday, I went out for a quick jog, and, when I came back, I found out someone Super Glued all the locks to my house. A pizza was left on the porch Sunday afternoon, ding-dong-ditch style. You know what we found on it? Dead fucking flies. My mother wants me to find my own place. She’s worried my sisters are going to get knifed by that bitch.”
“Aren’t you at school?”
A dull huff rides through him. “Who can focus on classes with that kind of shit happening?”
He rises to leave, and I try to catch my breath, organize my thoughts—strategize for Kennedy, but all I can think to do is pull out my business card.
“Here.” I hand it to him. “That’s my cell, text or call anytime. Anything else happens, feel free to let me know. I can have that polygraph scheduled for tomorrow if you’re up for it.”
“Just tell me when and where. I want this nightmare to be over.”
“That makes two of us.”
I watch as Keith Stearns heads out of my office, and I’m not feeling so cocky anymore.
* * *
On Friday, I manage to convince Kennedy to have lunch with me through a staccato and fragmented balcony conversation. Her mother sat on the glider, flipping through an entire stack of glossy magazines, pretending not to listen but smiling through the entire exchange. Something in me warms at the thought of Kennedy’s mother liking me, rooting for me. I’m sure my mother would feel the same about Kennedy although that awkward exchange is on the anti-bucket list of things that, for the love of God, should never ever happen. But as fate would have it, halfway down to the restaurant Kennedy requested, I get a call from my mother. I glance at my phone and flip it over before pulling off to the shoulder. It goes to voicemail before I can answer. I glance over at the gorgeous girl seated next to me and smile a drunken sailor grin that only Kennedy and whiskey seem to inspire.
“Sorry. I sort of need to listen to this message.” My mother’s voice garbles through the other end, moody and ominous—something about a water heater, a kitchen fire.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s my mom. I need to head over to her place real quick. I can drop you off at the restaurant, and you can get started. No use in both of us going hungry.” I wince. “It might take some time before I can get back, though. If you like, I can just drive you home.” I start to turn the car around, and she lays a cool hand over mine.
“Not on your life, counselor. Remember that dirty laundry list of promises you made the other night at the bar? If you have any hope of those things coming to fruition, the least you can do is introduce me to your mother. I want to learn a little more about you. What better way than to meet the parents?”
A dark laugh sputters from me. “Parent,” I correct. “And I’m pretty sure you won’t glean much about me.”
“Oh, come on.” Her finger glides down my shoulder, and I feel that hot line long after she’s through. “At least this way I’ll see what and who shaped you into the dirty talking attorney you are today. All good things right?”
“All good things? I’m not sure about that.” We take off and head for South Lux. A tight knot builds in my stomach all the way there. How much about me do I really want Kennedy to know? It’s a stupid question considering my vision of the two of us spans time immemorial. I want it all with Kennedy, and I suppose if I really mean that, if that’s ever going to happen, we’re going to cross this hurdle eventually. And then, of course, she’ll have to meet my father with that ripe disappointment he carries around for me. Then Abel with that constant pissed attitude, that grudge he seems to carry against me for no real reason. I’ve conceded to the fact it’s reverse psychology—the golden child carrying a distinct disdain for his younger, less achieving brother. He has the approval I crave, the position I worked for, and the paternal accolades I once would have killed to have. But I’m over those long, sweaty, lonely nights. I’ve made my decisions. Some of them very fucking wrong, some involving my younger brother who now sits in a government holding cell because of them. Solomon. I grimace at what’s become of us. I know what I need to do. It’s the exact thing he made me promise that I wouldn’t—tell the truth in front of that entire courtroom and exonerate his unholy name. Abel is scratching and sniffing at the truth. He’s a smart boy. He’ll catch on, and, at that point, I won’t have a choice.
South Lux is drowning in a rainbow of warm colors, wearing autumn’s golden glory like a homecoming queen on parade. The town is small for the most part, a suburb of Richmond, an affluent one at that.
“I should probably preface this by saying my parents have been divorced for close to fifteen years.” She knows they’re divorced. I’ve told her that, but in a few minutes the fifteen years part will start to make a hell of a lot of sense.
We pull up to the old farm road that eventually meanders to my mother’s. Her home, our old family home, sits in a long line of lookalike houses spread out much farther than your average tract homes. This was the hill country where the wealthy preserved their status and, in my mother’s case, her darkest secret, which, in light of my own hush-hush covert misgivings, I can only deduce hers isn’t all that bad. After all, nobody is prison-bound, nobody was murdered, and, at the end of the day, she can sleep at night—if she can find the space.
I slip into the driveway and nod for Kennedy to hop out with me.
“Geez!” She spins taking in the scenery. South Lux shines like a jewel in the fall. My mother’s property in particular is peppered with rusty-leafed liquidambars. It’s peaceful here for the most part, equestrian, where old and new money blend seamlessly. This was an ideal place to grow up. “It’s beautiful out here!” She beams. “God, did you see those trees? And that big, blue sky with the mountain spiking right through it? I just love it down here!”
I’ve never seen Kennedy so happy, so genuinely taken by anything, including me. Normally, this is where my ego would get a little bruised, but I have a morbid pride that she loves the small town that vomited me from its belly.
We head for the door, and I casually block the porch for a second.
> “There’s something you should know about my mother”— I glance back at the house, slapping my neck like swatting a fly—“I guess you’ll figure it out soon enough.” I wince into the vague look of confusion she’s shooting at me. “Just know that my mother is a good person. It really stung her when my father left. Some people don’t recover that well when a marriage is broken.”
Kennedy pulls me in by the arm before I can get the key in the lock.
“Hey”—her gray eyes bore into mine, exuding a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long while—“I know exactly how brutal divorce can be. I promise you, I will be the last person to judge any member of your family.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “If anything, this makes me feel closer to you. I’m really sorry your mother had a tough time, but I’m glad she has a son like you who cares about her. That says a lot. It says a lot about you.”
This is usually where I’d inject some self-abasing humor or a sarcastic quip letting her know this was all a part of my evil plan to land her horizontal, but knowing what waits for us on the other side of these walls makes me want to keep my mouth shut. I’m just hoping she still feels as grandiose about me, as nonjudgmental about my mother, once she sees the full story with her own eyes.
I glance down at her silver-spiked heels. “How confidant are you in those shoes?” They’re four inches if not five.
“Are you kidding? I can run a marathon in my Jimmy Choos. I can hike up a hillside if I have to.”
“Good. You just might have to,” I say, giving my code knock over the door, three rhythmic taps followed up by two dull thuds. “I’ll let myself in! Don’t get up,” I shout, unlocking the door and holding it closed just for a moment, inspecting Kennedy with her wide eyes, her expectant, full lips. I want to remember her this way, the last time she sees me through a filtered lens—the only lens I’ve offered her.
“Remember I told you I had a few secrets of my own?” I lean into her as if I might steal a kiss.