The Client 13: In Which She Closes A Chapter

Song for this chapter: Lana Del Rey, 'Born to Die'

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“There's a bomb in the house,” said Imogen, dragging my attention back to her.

I didn't think twice about that: Wyatt was sick and crazy and back in his heyday, had been some kind of genius with chemicals and explosives. In fact, that was what had made Reed and Nate's father so wealthy in the first place.

“I just want to talk,” Wyatt informed everyone in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

“And the bomb was necessary?” Nate sneered.

“Don't antagonise him!” Imogen's voice was high-pitched and scared. Her hand was splayed across her stomach in a protective manner. “You don't have to do this, Wyatt. Please.”

He ignored them both, instead fixing wild, silvery eyes on Reed, whose fingers had unconsciously curled around my hand. “Reed, please… Sit down.”

I tugged at his hand, feeling the way he was literally vibrating with anger. It radiated from him and singed me, and I squeezed his hand to let him know that it was going to be okay.

But was it? I was unarmed, there was a fucķing bomb in the house and there were people I actually cared about in danger. Not to mention the fact that Samuel was nowhere to be seen.

I didn't realise that Reed and I were squashed beside Nate and Imogen until my eyes focused on the table. The tiles on the Scrabble board jumped at me: Qualm. a.s.shole. Pivot. Perky. Viper...

“...so if you don't answer truthfully, Brenda, I will press this detonator and we'll all blow up.”

Wyatt's slight manic voice wafted into my ears and I jerked my head in his direction, finally noticing the detonator he'd strapped to his left hand. Trying to disarm him was futile, not to mention stupid; he would accidentally – or deliberately – press the b.u.t.ton and we'd all be blown into tuna chunks. I was grateful that Margo had long gone home for the night but where the h.e.l.l was Samuel?

Brenda was doing her best to s.h.i.+ft away from Wyatt but he stilled her with a bony hand to the shoulder.

“You don't have to do this, Wyatt,” I heard myself say. “Especially not today of all days.”

He looked straight at me, his steel gaze unsettling. “You said you'd help me. You lied.”

Reed's eyes slid over me, full of hurt and betrayal. “You said you'd help him?” His hand loosened and released mine as if I were leprous.

“I didn't say I'd help him,” I said evenly, refusing to quake under the sudden darkness in Reed's eyes. “I said I'd find out the truth and the truth is right in front of you, feeding you dinner every night and calling you darling.”

“What are you saying, Lena?” This came from Nate, who was sitting on my other side. “That...he” – he couldn't bring himself to say Wyatt Parker's name – “is innocent?”

“I'm not –”

“Your father was like a brother to me. I would never have done anything to hurt him, or hurt you two,” said Wyatt. He turned to the hateful woman beside him. “And Brenda knows this – has always known this. She knows what happened that night and what she did.”

“You're out of your mind, Wyatt,” she spoke up. “You've always been a little off and this little stunt proves it!”
“Brenda,” Reed said in a warning tone, “stop it.”

“But –”

“I said, stop.”

Her mouth closed and she sat back, folding her arms across her chest.

“How many times have you told us this story, Wyatt?” Reed went on. “You can't expect us to believe anything you say, even now.”

“I've been in the house since morning, just waiting for this moment,” Wyatt admitted, and my stomach churned.

He'd been in here. This whole time. Watching. Waiting. Where?

And, as if he'd heard me, he said, “In your father's study. It felt like going back in time and reliving the night he told me he wanted to die.”

“I'm not going to listen to this again.” Reed abruptly got to his feet.

“You have to,” Wyatt insisted. “At least hear what part Brenda played in everything. Including your mother's death.”

“Don't listen to him,” Brenda spat. “In fact, how do we know there is a bomb? He's a sickly madman with a vendetta against me and an obsession with this family.”

“Brenda – will you shut the fucķ up,” Nate snapped, startling everyone, including his wife.

“What about our mother?” Reed sat back down. “She was mentally ill. Bipolar. Depressed.”

“Not always. Not until she found out about your father's affair with Brenda.”

“He's lying.”

“Am I? Am I lying about how devastated Beverley was when Nathan wouldn't fire you because Reed was so attached to you?” Wyatt countered, worriedly running his fingers over the blood-red b.u.t.ton. “About how miserable she was to be living under the same roof as you? About how you wormed your way into her sons' lives?”

Brenda's lips parted and I could finally see how beautiful she might have once been. Beautiful enough for a wealthy man like Nathan Lancaster, Sr., to cheat on his equally beautiful wife and keep around using his son as such a flimsy excuse. Beautiful enough to be so ugly inside.

“Reed, the only reason you were in that car with your mother was because she wanted to take you away from Brenda,” said Wyatt, “permanently. Beverley knew how much Brenda loved you and it was going to be the ultimate punishment if she took you away from the woman who had taken her husband. She became...unhinged during her final years and if she hadn't loved your father as much as she had, maybe she would still be here.”

“How the h.e.l.l do you know this? Any of this?” Nate wanted to know.

“Her diary. I...I spent the whole day searching for it in your father's study, wondering if he'd even kept it, or if Brenda had gotten her hands on it and destroyed it,” Wyatt replied, reaching into the big black jacket that was swallowing his small frame. He produced a small, black leather notebook and held it in the air. “It was still there. After all these years, it was still there.”

Nate tried to rise. “I'll come get –”

“No. I'll throw it,” Wyatt broke in, flinging the book in Reed's direction.

“You can't believe anything this man –” Brenda began.

“This is my mother's handwriting.” Reed's voice was reverent as he flipped through pages and pages of his mother's curlicue writing, pausing on one. “This is the day before the accident.”

“It wasn't an accident if she meant to kill you,” said Wyatt.
“Dear G.o.d, shut up,” Imogen snarled at him. “I don't care if you're unhinged and will probably end up killing us all – don't ever say stupid s.h.i.+ţ like that.”

Nate looked stricken. “Um, I care? We're pregnant. Don't antagonise him,” he said, parroting her own words to her.

“No, Wyatt's right. It wasn't an accident. We all know that.” Reed's hand shook as he turned the page. I fisted my own hands at my side to keep from taking his because, after seeing the look on his face earlier, I knew better. “She caught you in bed with our father,” he murmured, reading the words his mother had written over two decades ago. “Several times.”

I caught Brenda's eye and she looked away, visibly shaking.

“Reed, don't look at that…” Nate began, reaching over me in an attempt to s.n.a.t.c.h the book away.

Reed held it out of reach. “Dad didn't even respect Mom enough to be straight with her,” he continued. “Thought she was stupid enough to believe that I was the reason he kept Brenda around. Mom loved him so much she stayed.”

“I don't want to hear this,” said Nate, and Imogen slid her hand in his.

“You don't want to hear it? You're not the one that was in the car with her that day,” he said in a low voice. “You don't have to look in the mirror every day and see the scars that remind you that your own mother tried to kill you!”

“And you think it's any easier for me?” his brother retorted, leaving me, quite literally, caught in the middle of their blowout. “You have no idea how fucķing guilty I feel every time I look at you. Why else do you think I'm the way I am with you? The only thing I've ever wanted to do was make it up to you that I hadn't been there the day Mom did what she did.”

“You were nine, Nate. What could you have done?”

“I don't know! Something. Anything.”

Reed's eyes went back to the diary and for a moment there was silence. Until, “I called Brenda my mom.”

“I...I kind of remember that,” Nate reluctantly admitted. “It drove Mom crazy.”

“Beverley was always working,” Brenda hurriedly explained, wringing her hands. “She had no time for you, or your brother, or –”

“Shut up. You don't get to say her name. You don't get to say s.h.i.+ţ about her,” Reed exploded, making Brenda jump in her seat. “I thought of you as family, loved you like family. Defended you when people said s.h.i.+t about you. What a joke.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Lena, Nate – feel free to say I told you so.”

“I am family,” Brenda insisted in a small voice.

I held my tongue, in the same way I was sure Nate was doing so.

“May I remind you both that there is a bomb in this house?” Imogen shrilly exclaimed in the silence.

I could feel Reed and Nate quaking on either side of me and I cleared my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wyatt and Brenda whispering fiercely at each other. They stopped when they felt our eyes on them.

“Brenda has something to say.” Wyatt's voice was surprisingly firm. He turned to the woman sitting beside him. “Tell them what I know, or I swear, I will press this b.u.t.ton and we'll all die.”

She eyed him warily before staring down at her hands twitching in her lap. “Wyatt didn't kill Nathan and I...I knew this whole time,” she admitted, so softly we all had to strain to hear it. Her head jerked up, eyes glazed. “He was devastated after your mother did what she did. I thought after...after she was gone, we'd get to be together. Be a real family. But Nathan felt too guilty. Loved her too much.” She paused, her brow creasing in memory. “Then there was Reed. He didn't know what to do with Reed and he was so angry or sad all the time, I didn't know what to do.”
“So he asked me for my gun. Asked me to help him. Said it would be like euthanasia if I did,” Wyatt put in, his eyes watering. “I came over that night with your birthday present, Reed, and after your father tucked you and Nate in and he said his goodbyes, we went into the study. I watched him write the letter... Where is the letter, Brenda?”

“I...I burned it.”

Wyatt shook his head as if he didn't believe what she'd said. “He apologised to you boys and he confessed how he'd treated Bev. He made me promise to look out for you. Then he asked me to point the gun at him.” His hands shook. “But I couldn't. He called me chicken s.h.i.+t and took it from me. Told me to stand back. Before I knew what was happening, his brains were all over the place.”

I let out the breath I was holding and stole a glance at Reed. His mother's diary had long fallen to the carpet and his hands had a white-knuckled grip on his knees. I didn't care if he was going to reject my offer of support. I went ahead and placed a hand over his and his hand instantly swallowed mine, our fingers lacing.

“Brenda came in and found me trying to clean him up as best as I could,” Wyatt went on, before giving Brenda a meaningful look. “Tell them what you told me as I wiped bone fragments off my best friend's body.”

The b.i.t.c.h was crying now, dainty sobs wracking her body. “I said...I said I'd m-make him p-pay.”

“Dear G.o.d, you're worse than a lying, cold-hearted b.i.t.c.h. You're the devil in an ap.r.o.n,” Nate spat, getting to his feet. With one final look at her, he stormed out the room.

“Is it okay if I go after him?” Imogen rose to her feet. “Thanks, Wyatt.” Without waiting for an answer, she sailed after her husband.

Reed's clasp of my hand was becoming painful but I said nothing. “This whole time... This whole time I believed...” His voice trailed off.

Movement in the doorway that led outside caught my attention. Relief blanketed me.

Ivan.

It was going to be OK and I didn't care that I was weak and had to rely on my older brother. He was there and everything was going to be OK.

“You couldn't have known, Reed,” Wyatt murmured.

“I'm so sorry. I... Please forgive me. I can't –”

“I forgive you.”

Reed was unconsciously stroking my hand with his fingers and I could feel the emotion swathing his body as he murmured, “Thank you. Thank you for coming here.”

“Reed?” Brenda's voice was hesitant and Reed surprised us both by shooting up to his feet in response.

“Get out,” he snarled, the venom in his voice hitting its mark as Brenda visibly paled. “Get the h.e.l.l out of my home and get the h.e.l.l out of my life. If I never see you again, it'll be too soon.”

She rose on shaky feet, hand to her heart in what I felt was melodramatic. “I'm sorry for lying but I've never hurt you. Don't replace me with...with her,” she pleaded, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“Replace you? You really are out of your mind. Wyatt, if you want her to go to prison, just the say the word.”
“Prison?” Brenda squeaked.

“You lied. You lied to everyone and an innocent man was thrown in jail. That is where you belong.”

“Reed, I... Please. I didn't mean –”

“It's over,” Wyatt interjected. “For me, at least.”

Jesus, what's taking Ivan so long? I thought to myself, glancing at the doorway again. It was empty.

And then it wasn't, because my brother strolled in so casually, as if he wasn't pointing a gun at Wyatt's head. Brenda gasped, raising her hands in the air.

“I can have a bullet in your head by the time you even think of pressing that b.u.t.ton.”

“There's no bomb,” Wyatt calmly declared. “There never was a bomb.”

It was my turn to leap to my feet. “What?” I realised only after that Brenda and I had uttered that one word at the same time.

Wyatt's thumb slammed against the red b.u.t.ton. Nothing happened. No explosion. No ringing in my ears. Silence.

“I would never do that to these boys,” he explained in a soft voice.

Reed laughed, a loud maniacal laugh that made my brother raise an eyebrow at him. Tears were pouring down his eyes when he was finished with his hysterics.

“I'm sorry but...that was...that was brilliant. Nate will be so p.i.s.sed!” he choked out, holding his stomach like a little kid.

“We're so sorry this happened, Mr. Lancaster,” Ivan told him, putting his gun away. “As soon as we realised that he'd slipped away, we –”

“It's fine,” Reed interjected. “Mr. Parker is a friend of the family and I will no longer need you keeping an eye on him.”

“I'll explain in a little bit,” I told my brother, and he nodded once.

“Guess I'll...just tell the guys outside that they can go,” he muttered.

“No, they can escort her home,” Reed said in a gruff voice, jerking his head in Brenda's direction. “She's never allowed anywhere near here and is just lucky that Wyatt is a forgiving man.”

Ivan sent me a look.

“I'll explain in a little bit,” I repeated, watching him approach Brenda and awkwardly take her arm.

“Can we talk?” Reed asked, his voice so soft only I could hear it.

My gaze briefly went to Ivan, whose back was turned to me as he conversed with Samuel, who had just stumbled through the door, clutching his head. I nodded. Reed led me out the room and into the dining room, closing the door behind us.

“I'm so sorry,” I murmured, my apology seeping from my pores. The full force of everything he'd learned that night suddenly hit me and I felt sick.

Mostly, I was sorry for the five-year-old boy who'd been caught in the middle of something that wasn't his fault, betrayed by the people who should have loved and protected him.

He whirled around to look at me, digging a hand in his hair. “There's nothing for you to be sorry about,” he said fiercely. “I'm sorry. Sorry that I didn't believe you when you were right the whole time.”

I shook my head. “Wyatt is the only person that deserves your apology.”

“I know. Nate and I... Well, we'll spend a long time making up for lost time with him.” He chewed on his lower lip. “But I needed this. The closure. It's just...it's good to know everything now.”

I sighed. “Brenda was a poisonous b.i.t.c.h but she genuinely cared about you. I'm sorry you lost her.”
His eyes searched mine and one corner of his lips lifted in a wry smile. “No, you're not.”

“Fine. That was bulls.h.i.+t and you're better off without her.” I shrugged. “I know how to hold a grudge, but…how are you doing? With all of this?”

“You mean with the reality that my father was a lying, cheating sc.u.mbag who took the easy way out after my mother went first?”

“He did love her, you know. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe he couldn't live without her – but he did love her.”

He snorted. “And you know this, how? You've never even been in love.”

Something cracked in my chest. “I've seen real love, Reed, and it isn't based on s.e.x, or l.u.s.t, or…or something forbidden and different.”

“Who are we talking about now?” he asked, pinning me with his jade stare. “My parents? Or you and me?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I need to go through my story with my brother. Excuse me, Reed.” I made a move to get past him and he sidestepped in front of me. Scowling, I looked up at him and uttered with more venom, “I said, excuse me.”

“Do you know what you said to me outside, before this s.h.i.+ţ with Parker and Brenda went down?”

“What?”

“That you wanted me to make love to you.”

“I said no such thing,” I scoffed, “so if that's all, get the h.e.l.l out of my way before I knock you out.”

“You want to punch me? Go ahead,” he told me, snagging my hand and bringing my palm flat against his chest. “But that won't change the fact that you said what you said, and that won't change the fact that I did what you wanted me to.”

I let out a short bark of laughter, s.n.a.t.c.hing my hand back. “You fucķed me against a tree. I'd hardly call that making love.” I used air quotes as I said the last two words, rolling my eyes at the man before me who was suddenly spouting such nonsense.

He shook his head. “It's not about the where. It's about the how. Even I know that,” he said softly, his gaze sombre.

I swallowed. Hard. “If you say so.”

And maybe he was right...but I wasn't right for him. I was wild, I screwed around and despite my best attempts, I would never really change. Not completely. There would always be a part of me that knew deep inside that I could never be somebody's girlfriend, somebody's wife. Fucķ buddy? Sure. Friend with benefits? Definitely. One-night stand? Oh, yes.

Reed was too sweet to settle for that.

He gave me a small smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “But you know what? This whole...thing tonight has taught me something: Life's too short and I haven't lived. I need to do that. Live.”

“I agree,” I said, a little too quickly. My way out. My eyes scanned the room. “Being in this house all the time... It isn't a life. You know you're strong enough to face the world.”

His hair was pulled back and I could see the tips of his ears turn pink. I knew I was going to miss that blush of his. More than anything, that simple, automatic response was what I'd miss. On impulse, I touched his cheek, the scarred one. I ran my finger down the faint line and this time, he didn't cringe.

“Sure you're going to be okay?” I asked him.

He nodded. “You?”

“Yeah. You'll take care of yourself, right?”

“Is the great Lena Anosova going soft on me?”
I snorted, inhaling sharply when he abruptly yanked me into a hug. My cheek was pressed against his chest and I honestly didn't realise that I was deliberately getting my fill of his earthy scent until I actually sighed softly.

Crazy. That was what I was – a fucķing sentimental nutcase.

“You think your brother will realise that we've been gone for so long?” Reed said suddenly, the vibrations of his voice in his chest tickling my cheek.

My arms came around him of their own consent and I didn't chastise them. “Yeah. Ivan's many things but he's perceptive,” I replied truthfully. “Doesn't matter because –”

“I know why it doesn't matter anymore.” He drew back and I raised my head just in time for his hands to cradle the either side of my face. “One more taste.”

“Okay,” I said on an exhale, closing my eyes. And then he was doing just that; kissing one corner of my mouth before he kissed me properly, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips.

Lips parting, I held onto fistfuls of his T-s.h.i.+rt as if my life depended on it and when his tongue dove inside my mouth and he groaned softly, perhaps it really did depend on it.

Life was short. Wyatt Parker and his wasted years in prison had taught me that, as had his bomb scare. Beverley Lancaster going through her winds.h.i.+eld and breaking her neck had taught me that. Nathan Lancaster, Sr., blowing his brains out had taught me that. Reed had taught me that.

I tamped down this new surge of emotions rolling over me and pressed a firm hand against Reed's chest, sighing with relief when he took the hint and stopped.

“We should go,” I whispered, our mouths inches apart.

“Okay,” he whispered back, his hands sliding into my hair.

“Promise me you'll take care of yourself, Lancaster.”

“If you promise me the same, Anosova.”

I felt my lips turn up into a smile. “Always.”

He placed a feather-light kiss on my forehead and then the heat of his body was gone as he stepped back. I rolled my shoulders as I moved to go past him once more.

His nervous voice stopped me this time. “C-Can I t-text you sometime?”

I thought about it. Really thought about it. “You can text me anytime.”

It just wasn't guaranteed that he'd get a response.

Ivan was in the living room with Samuel, who'd finally gotten a frozen bag of peas to put on the ugly b.u.mp that was forming on the top of his bristly head. I felt a burst of sympathy for him. Being bested by an ailing, older man had to bruise the ego. Fortunately, it didn't look too bad and the fact that it was Wyatt pressing the peas against Samuel's head meant that the other man didn't hold a grudge.

“Hey, I was wondering where you went to,” Ivan said when he noticed my presence. The sly look he was giving me said he knew exactly where I'd gone off to.

“I quit,” I told him. I was grateful that Nate and Imogen had disappeared somewhere a while ago. They didn't need to hear what was in my voice.

“You quit?” Ivan's brows were raised as he stalked over to me. “I thought you didn't even know what that word meant.”

“Not now, Ivan. Please. Not now.”

His face softened. “What happened?”

“I...got attached. Just...just get me out of here. Please.”

He nodded. “Dad's on his way here and I have to escort Mr. Parker home. You can get a ride back with Dad.”
I had already braced myself for our father's disappointment but I was more disappointed in myself than anything.

“I'll go pack. Thanks.”

“I hope you'll tell me what changed, Lena,” he said. “Someday.”

I didn't say anything but I thought about what – if ever – I'd tell him even as I shoved what little clothing I'd brought into my suitcase.

***

Me? I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. –R

I smirked to myself, shoving my phone back into my shoulder bag. That was a quote I knew well since I'd watched the movie it came from a million times before. I mentally reminded myself to reply to Reed's text in a little while. I was already late for lunch at my parents' and texting Reed back would make me later, even if it would be a short reply.

I made sure I looked a little presentable after I'd made the mistake of going over to my parents' place for their special Sunday lunch in sweats the previous month. I was in a G.o.dd.a.m.n dress to impress all three of my brothers' latest girlfriends, women my mother insisted were “incredibly well-mannered and you know how hard it is to find women who squat to pick something up off the ground instead of bending in such an obscene manner”.

I was one of those flexible benders so I'd been instructed to disinfect my potty-mouth just for tonight so that these three women would actually want to join our family in the near or distant future. At least Dawn and her little brother, Dylan, would be there, too. We'd gone shopping with our other girlfriends earlier that day and the dress I wore now was a long-sleeved, pearly lace affair and it fell mid-thigh. Pink Converse made me feel less like I was trying too hard.

I shoved a strand of hair away from my forehead. In the two months since I'd quit my first and last security job and officially become unemployed, my hair had grown nicely and I usually swept the inky ma.s.s up into a messy top-knot. Unintentionally messy, I might add.

Now, I paused in front of my vanity mirror, scrutinising my reflection through kohl-rimmed eyes.

The scars were healing nicely but there was that one little scar that was going to mar my skin for the rest of my life. It was my Harry Potter-scar – Dawn's term, not mine – but was much smaller: A clean, diagonal cut just over my right eyebrow.

It would always be my reminder of the night I did the most unselfish thing I'd ever done and walked away from someone who genuinely cared about me. It was also a painful reminder to my father that he was human after all and that suffering a stroke behind the wheel meant early retirement for him. I was just glad that, thanks to our seat belts, neither of us had been badly hurt: I'd walked away with my lightning bolt and he'd walked away with a bruised ego and ribs to match.

I was doubly glad that Imogen had kept her promise not to tell either Lancaster brother about the accident. She'd initially been p.i.s.sed off by my disappearance the night of our first meeting but now, I considered her a good friend. The woman had even dropped everything to come see me a few days after my accident, much to my annoyance.

I traced the small mark on my skin and smiled. Scars could be beautiful. Scars told a story. They were the baggage we could accept and carry like Atlas – or the baggage we tried to hide behind billowing curtains and locked doors. Or Mac concealer, in my case,

I dug into my bag again and whipped my phone out, opening up my messages. This was the fifty-seventh film Reed had watched during his self-imposed Sixty Days of Sixty Movies Challenge and now I had to guess the t.i.tle based on the quote he'd sent me. It was safer and more platonic to communicate like this – only like this – but I could admit to myself that his daily texts made me smile. Especially when he quoted cartoons. I loved when he quoted cartoons.

Pirates of the Caribbean. The first one, I typed in response. Now, here's my quote: Sometimes I wish I had never met you. Because then I could go to sleep at night not knowing there was someone like you out there. – L

In the weeks that we had been doing this, I had never sent him back a quote, let alone such a cheesy one. But I hit Send and then I waited, glaring impatiently at my unblinking screen until it finally pinged with a message.

Good Will Hunting, he'd guessed correctly. Saw it last year. Do you really wish that? – R

Yes. – L

I switched my phone off after that. If I read his response to that, it would probably throw me in a loop for the rest of the evening and I couldn't have that.

Cool, calm, collected.

Taking a deep breath to clear my head, I headed into my kitchen to grab all six Tupperware lunchboxes of the chocolate-chip cookies I'd made at four that morning. It was while I loaded them into the backseat of my Renault that I succ.u.mbed and switched my phone back on, ignoring two new messages from my brother, Alexei, and zoning in instead on the one I both dreaded and antic.i.p.ated.

Bulls.h.i.+t. – R

It was.