Blindsight: Part Two (8 page)

“Could you help me find my dad?” My eyes lit with the possibility. “I don't even know if I'd want to meet him, but just to know if he's alive or not. He may even be in Chicago--"

“Slow down.” Hunter halted my ramble and I finally noticed his eyes were intent on the screen in front of him.
 

"Why?"

"That's probably not something you want to get into, Erin. Heed your mom's warnings. If she says he was—”

“You don't understand, growing up with one emotionally unstable parent left me constantly reeling. I never knew if I could trust her or not, she was so manipulative, and prone to these horrific breakdowns that she somehow always blamed on me,” I rambled, letting the broken little girl inside me spill all her fears. “I remember Christmas night one year -- I was twelve maybe -- and after all the gifts were opened, our small dinner made…that was one thing, despite everything my mom always made holiday dinners for just the two of us. She wanted to give me the family feeling, and I'm glad she did, but so many of those nights were so lonely. 

“Anyway, I’d just crawled in bed after our Christmas festivities, but I snuck down the stairs that night when I heard her break a glass. I went to
 
help her clean up the kitchen, and I found her slumped in the chair sobbing on the table. A glass of whiskey was clutched in her hand and the bottle already half empty. She'd really poured half of it down her throat in the hour it had taken me to bathe and get ready for bed. She was trashed and had broken a glass on the floor. 

“I rushed to her and started picking up the glass before I put hands on her. She was trembling, still crying, when she finally looked up, and her eyes were so glazed over I don't even think she knew it was me. I shook her, asked what I could do to help, and all she could do was shake her head before she finally stood up and threw an entire handful of pills in my face. Pills." I swiped a tear that was at my eyelid. 

"They were Vicodin. Eight of them. I counted. She was going to kill herself." I shook my head living the memory again for the first time in many years. "Her look was so haunted. Cold. Like she blamed me. I hated holidays after that. She takes anything you hold sacred and batters it with blame and criticism until I can't trust her with anything anymore, especially not my heart." Hunter wrapped a palm around my neck as I finished and pulled me to him fiercely. “I just always had this hope that my dad would love me, be more stable, if I could only find him. How could I possibly end up with two shit parents?” I chuckled ruefully.
 

“You didn't deserve that." Hunter's head shook back and forth adamantly. "But I still don't think finding your dad is a good idea. Give your mom more credit -- she was wrapped up in her shit, but she kept you safe and healthy. You may not know what you're up against." He clasped my hand in his own, stroking my palm with his thumb as his green eyes settled into my memory.
 

This was how I would remember him. Not in paradise, or behind the lens of a camera, but here, holding my hand with his alive green eyes dancing back at me. These are the moments that would stay with me. It didn't matter that he was hesitant to help me find my dad, what mattered is that he wanted what was in my best interest first, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized how unfamiliar that feeling was to me.

ten

Friday afternoon, Hunter dropped me off at ten a.m., pecking my lips and telling me he’d see me later. There was a cloud over his eyes that I didn't understand, but I soon would.
 

Everything would be clear to me in the hours leading up to three forty-five.
 

At that time, as I sat at my desk chewing on my nails and wondering why I wasn't on a flight to New York with Hunter right now, I heard the familiar sound of a key in the lock, and then the comforting
beep beep beep
of the key code to our security system.
 

Our.
And just like that I fell back into being a couple.
 

“Welcome home.” I turned the corner to find the man I’d pledged my love and loyalty to just four short years ago, my nerves instantly churning wondering what mood he would be in. Frustration and anger often dominated lately, but I still held hope that the laidback guy I married would make an appearance.
 

“Hey,” Brant grunted, his eyes bloodshot and averted, before he dropped his suitcase at the front door and headed up the stairs for his bedroom. The one across from the master.
 

Because that was the other shameful secret I’d carried. When my mother was over, I made up the guest room as if it hadn’t seen a guest in years, but in reality it had had a bed companion every night in the form of Brant. I'd kicked him out of our bed over a year ago when, upon unpacking clothes from a recent trip he'd made, I'd found lipstick stains on his shirt and a heady floral scent that did not belong to me. It was only another nail in the coffin of our marriage.

“How long are you home?” I padded up the stairs behind him, holding the lukewarm cup of tea in my hands, both curious about what he'd been up to, and scared to turn my back on him.

“Few days only, then back to London.” He peeled off his clothes, tossing his crisp white shirt on the floor after stepping into the bedroom, turning to remove his slacks.
 

I averted my eyes out of modesty. I’d seen it all before of course, and Brant was a very attractive man, though not as tall as Hunter, he was just as imposing with dark eyes that cut across the room and seemed to expose the heart of every lie you ever told. Always thinking the worst, that’s how Brant was.
 

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked, thinking a drink may help to calm his nerves.

“Look, Erin, it's been a long fucking flight. I'm only here for a business meeting in the morning. Believe me, if I could have avoided the trip I would have.” He shut me down before stepping in the en-suite, and I heard the spray of the shower.

“Okay,” I replied as I clutched at my cup, the pain of our failed marriage, his anger and negativity always boiling just beneath the surface, left me numb. Our life had been built on a stack of stolen cards. This house, the trips, the cars, how could I have been so stupid to think he’d risen so quickly at a company to make that kind of money? He’d always explained away the extravagant things with talks of bonuses and substantial commissions, but looking back, how couldn’t I have known?

I frowned and stepped into the rapidly fogging bathroom, watching his lean body through the transparent door as he soaped up his hair, rivulets of white lather running down the hard muscles of his physique. I was fascinated by his betrayal. Like marinating in the pain it caused, I was drawn to the secrets hidden behind his dark eyes.
 

“Something on your mind, Erin?” Brant called, startling me from my thoughts. I stayed silent, letting the air hang thick with the question. Brant swiped the soap out of his eyes and his bright blues flashed open to land on mine. They narrowed, then glazed with some sort of understanding, then seemed to harden and flick away again.
 

Yes, I believed one hundred percent Brant had it in him to have less than legal connections with a crime boss. What surprised me more than that realization was the anger boiling through my system directed solely at myself. I refused to be played a fool again, not with Brant, Hunter, or anyone else. My mother had taught me many things in her own special brand of parenting, but at least she’d shown me by example how to be independent. Be strong. Be clever. Survive.
 

“Want to order out from Gino's?” I sang out, affecting the normal melodic tone my voice carried. It was my turn to play the cards I’d been dealt. And the game was survival.

eleven

I watched her all fucking day and she didn't move. As if she were hobbled by the gravity of bullshit she found herself in. I wasn't really sure how much she knew about his side of things, but I could only hope she was innocent or all of this bullshit would be blown.

My jaw twitched when I saw him come in the room. I raised the binoculars to get a better view of the hardened face and dark eyes that played games and fucked minds. I wondered if he had any inkling the world he'd created was about to be shot to shit. Handcuffs or body bag? Which would it be?

I grunted with the intel I'd dug up on him. The stacks and stacks of files, the photos, a petty criminal record, and complaints of domestic abuse. His secrets weren't buried as deep as he thought.
 

I watched her toss and turn in bed before I crawled out of the car and slid into the narrow alleyway and into their backyard. My eyes found the window he worked by, lit by a single lamp, hunched over his laptop. He was sipping something strong from a crystal tumbler and sweating over the mistakes. He knew something was wrong all right.
 

“Welcome to the shit list, motherfucker,” I mumbled, confident he wasn't going anywhere tonight. In a matter of hours, their world would be turned upside down and front-page news for all of Chicago to dissect.

I'd watched her Googling the names earlier tonight, trying to piece together the facts in her own fogged mind. She was smart, but I had a feeling she only had half the clues, one side of the story.
 

I had the other piece of vital information that connected the entire intricate web. It'd been hard to find, taken me days of digging, but then one irrefutable piece of evidence had shown itself. One whisper thin piece of paper that had been buried for decades and brought the entire game into focus. I just wasn't sure what would destroy her more, him or the secret.

twelve

Saturday night I sat wrapped in a warm cashmere blanket on the cool leather couch reading a book while Brant worked away diligently on his computer. He’d been at it all day to the soundtrack of frustrated grunts with constant glances at his phone. All of it seemed like evidence in hindsight. I no longer wavered in my belief; I knew down to my toes that the man I’d shared my life with the last four years had a darker side, something criminal that lived deep, he just dressed it up in a white collar and tie.
 

I trained my eyes on his bent head his brow furrowed deeper than it'd been all day. Thoughts swirled in my mind as I tried to remember acquaintances from dinner parties or even people he may have met back in college that had brought JW and Brant together. 

"Something on your mind, Erin?" Brant's hollow voice pulled me from my thoughts. My eyes focused, and I saw his eyes pin me with some dark mix of fear and hate. I swallowed the lump in my throat and felt the pit in my stomach turn into cold cement. Brant shot from his chair and stalked across the room and yanked me from my place on the couch to stand with him. I squirmed in his tight grip.
 

"That hurts, Brant," I mumbled as I tried to pull my elbow from his hand. 

"You'd better keep your fucking mouth shut, Erin. Whatever you think you know," he snarled in my face with his hot breath washing across my skin in a sickening wave. "It's in your best interest to keep your mouth shut."
 

I nodded with quietly contained fear, unwilling to see the end of his rope tonight. "I don't know what you're talking about, Brant," I whispered before his palm loosened and his eyes flicked to mine, a wild lost look burning bright in his brown depths. 

He sucked in a slow breath then ran a hand across the back of his neck kneading at a taut muscle. 

"Do you want me to get you a drink?" I simpered, trying to play my role as his blind wife for my own safety and thinking red wine sounded more than perfect to calm my own racing nerves.

“Got Laphroaig’s?” Brant uttered as he stalked to his chair.

“Of course.” I padded out of the living room and into the kitchen to pull down a bottle of my husband’s expensive vice from the shelf.

It was then that I heard it.
 

The small unassuming noise that carries with it so much possibility. So much dread.
 

The slamming of a car door, the crunch of steps on the brick sidewalk, and then silence. Loud, stifling silence.
 

Knock, knock, knock.
 

My heart dropped to my feet and I nearly choked on my tongue.
 

“Can you get it?” Brant called from the far off room, and I sucked in a slow breath.
 

I had a fraction of an instant where my mind went back to before I'd run into Hunter on that street, and I knew nothing of the financial affairs of my husband or his company. I could’ve opened that door, head held high and without fear and greeted the visitor with a smile just like I would any other time.
 

But this, this was different. I could feel it. It tightened my throat and suffocated my lungs. “Okay,” I croaked, hoping he could hear me, shuffling my feet into motion.
 

This moment. This was the moment Hunter had been talking about. This is where I chose to survive or go down with Brant.
 

“Hello?” I swung the door open with as much bravado as I could muster and had only a split second to scream before a blanket was pulled over my head and I was rushed from my home.
 

My eyes burned as I was hustled down the sidewalk and shoved into a car. With a soft hum, the vehicle whipped from the curb and we were speeding down the street. Just as we turned a tight corner, I heard car tires squealing to a halt and saw fading red light flittering at the edges of my sight. With my heart thundering out of my chest, I pulled the blanket from my head and swung my eyes around the dark interior of the car.

“Hunter?” His eyes moved to me, sympathetic for a moment before turning back to the street, his knuckles white with clutching the wheel. “What’s happening?” I struggled to contain my terror.

“Shit went down tonight,” he said, as if that were the only answer necessary. I turned away, flabbergasted.