Page 22 of Legacy
“She’s me in woman form. Why would I find that attractive?”
He scratches his two-day stubble as he thinks. He says ladies love the jaw shadow. Too much and you’re shaggy, too little and you’re lame.
“Your dad can’t order you around,” he says, letting his gaze flick to the room around us. “You’ve never let him in the past.”
I palm the counter to the side of me. “Sometimes you do things because they’re the right thing to do.” Something he has had little exposure to.
“Luke Hart takes a charity case. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I wince. I can’t help it. These lies are a necessary evil. “She’s Dempsey’s daughter, man. My dad’s Team guy friend. It’s a huge charity case. I bet she ends up having a dick when it’s all said and done. There’s no other explanation as to why she made it through training.”
At that, Chase laughs. I swallow down the regret I immediately feel at saying things about a woman who is making me feel things for the first time in my life.
“I’ll call security and let him know everyone is leaving.” He’ll want to make sure everyone is accounted for, and that no one is hiding on my property. “I’m sorry, man,” I edge, trying to lay on the niceties. “I really am tired tonight. Just want to get to bed.”
Chase collects his bong, and his posse starts cleaning drugs off the coffee table after I call out that my house is closing. The brunette in white lingers by the door, at Chase’s command, I’m sure. Her pupils are enormous, and her breath smells like a combination of weed and sour beer.
I hold my breath when she says, “Luke, hey, do you want company tonight?”
“No.” My hand on the large front door, I gesture for her to leave. “Thanks for the offer though.” Her ankle buckles sideways on the high heels and I catch her arm and elbow before she goes down.
She says something about wanting to see my bedroom and how upset it makes her, but I continue walking her down the front steps down to the driveway. There’s no way she’d make it without help. My friend takes her from me when I get to his Maserati.
“Come on, sweetie. We’ll go back to my place.”
I raise my brows. “Yeah. Have fun with that.”
I salute my friend in a fuck off way and retreat to my house and lock the door. The skunk smell is wafting in from the patio, so I close the window with a click of a button and make my way to the office. As a SEAL, it’s not like I have that many things to do inside of an office, but this was where the office was when I was growing up. Where my mom worked most of her days. I kept it here mostly because it’s a smaller space and wasn’t sure what else to do with it.
I replaced her modern chrome desk that wrapped along the windowed wall with a huge mahogany desk placed directly in the center of the circular room. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling wrap around me, filling the room with colorful spines. Books on everything and anything. I take in the smoky, earthy scent of the wood as I sit down and open my laptop,
I pull up the search bar and type in Henry Durnin. After I’ve learned as much as I can about his background that may or may not be true, I type in his name and Aurora Ball. I know who she is. Everyone knows who she is. It’s one of those household names that pops up on the news because of some harebrained stunt she pulled on her reality show. Or how her parents gifted her another island in the South Pacific. I only know major headlines that find their way to me, nothing more. Literally, the first image that pops up after I search is the one Chase mentioned earlier. It has to be taken by a drone because of the height and angle. Henry is balls deep, Aurora’s legs wrapped around his waist, her bare ass on display because her dress is hiked up, and his hands grip her thighs. I click on, eager to discover more. There she is. Aarabelle Dempsey, her name under an unflattering photo of her. She’s dragging a suitcase to a car and it says it’s supposedly the very next day after the drone photo posted online. I won’t deny that it’s scandalous and intriguing.
I understand why a lot of people get caught up in following other people’s lives, but I know her. It pisses me off. There’s another photo of Aarabelle laughing in a café with Henry before the scandal. Her eyes are bright and her smile lights up the screen. Did it light up his world too? Did he not appreciate her enough? Or was the thrill of Aurora’s pussy too much—the allure of the famous too strong to deny?
My cell phone is next to me on the desk. I think about texting Little Dempsey. It’s late. Does she go to sleep early because she wakes up before dawn to train? Like me? There’s a box of chocolates my mom brought me home from Paris. She went with her best friend, Morganna, and Marley. I open the intricate wooden lid and unwrap a green foil. My favorite ones.
When I click on Aarabelle’s name in my contacts, my stomach flips. I feel sick for the lies I told Chase.I had to,I tell myself. Keeping my distance is critical, especially now. I send off a warm-up text. A feeler. The one that could be taken a couple of different ways.
Luke:You up?
She replies immediately.
Aarabelle:Reality TV is only acceptable after 10 P.M. I’m up.
I laugh.
Luke:What are you watching?
Aarabelle:The one where they don’t meet until they get married.
I chew the chocolate—savoring it. Sort of like her words. Erasing the last two hours of my life. The house cleaner texts to say she’ll be here early tomorrow, and I swipe it away.
Luke:Reality television is the worst.
Now I’m looking for cracks in her sheen. Snagging celebrities as boyfriends, but then getting cheated on, so that one doesn’t count as much as it could have. Passing BUD/S training and becoming a SEAL. Knowledge of cars. A body like I’ve never seen before.
Aarabelle:It is the worst. I blame Marissa for getting me hooked on this one. How is your party going?
