Page 39 of Duress
While she’s in the kitchen, I decide to poke around in Bryce’s desk. See if he has any secrets stashed away in these drawers. Opening the top drawer, I find another file that looks like it was hastily put away, the papers halfway jutting out from the manila folder. I take a quick glance at it and see it’s for some young college kid named Jacob Wheeler, busted for a DUI. I snap a few pictures of the first page so I can look up the details of the case when I’m back at work. Putting it back, I start riffling through the rest ofBryce’s desk. I feel a little like Nicholas Cage inNational Treasuresearching through the Resolute Desk looking for clues. Didn’t that desk have hidden compartments? Bryce is definitely the kind of douche who would think he was important enough for hidden compartments.
Just as I tug open the middle drawer, it gets stuck. Something is preventing it from opening. I tug again, and it gives slightly but doesn’t open all the way. Whatever preventing it from opening is flexible. Peering into the slight opening, I don’t see the obstruction. Giving the drawer a wiggle and lift, careful to not damage it and leave behind evidence of our snooping, I manage to slowly work it open until something falls out from underneath it.
It’s a thick envelope, slightly battered and wrinkled from being jammed under the drawer. My heart pounds at the possibility that this might be the smoking gun we are looking for. Bryce wouldn’t take the time to hide something so carefully if it wasn’t important.
Glancing up at the doorway, I wait to see if Everly is on her way back from the kitchen. I hear the muffled sounds of cabinets opening and closing. I can just barely make out her voice too. It sounds like she’s on the phone. Did Bryce call again while I was busy prying the drawer open? I hesitate, wondering if I should wait for her to be here when I open it. But what if it is something truly heinous. Like evidence of an affair? The urge to protect her from more pain is visceral, and I rip open the envelope without another moment of hesitation.
Unfolding the contents of the envelope, it takes a long, confusing moment for my brain to parse what I amlooking at. It appears to be a medical examiner report for…my dad? Ice runs through my veins as I frantically try to make sense of the words in front of me. Why does my fucking shitstain of a half brother have the M.E. report for my dad? My mind whirls with possibilities as I scan the document in front of me. Nausea swirls in my gut as grief bubbles up, as fresh and all-consuming as it was the day he died.
The words go blurry as my eyes sting with tears threatening to break free. Closing them, I take in a deep breath, seeking the calm space in my mind. It’s a trick the therapist I started seeing after his death taught me. I was in a bad way for a while after Dad died. Having your dad die unexpectedly is hard, but as a sixteen-year-old boy who thought his dad hung the moon, it was fucking tragic. I nearly got expelled for fighting two weeks after we buried him, because some asshole made a joke about my dead dad. That’s when Mom signed us both up for therapy. It worked pretty well for me, but she struggled for years, and she’s still not the same as she was before his death.
Once the wave of grief threatening to overwhelm me subsides, I return my attention to the report. This report doesn’t make any sense. Why does it say he died from an injury sustained to the back of his head? My dad died in a car accident. His car went off the road, went down a steep embankment, slammed into a tree, deploying the airbags, and he died from the resulting injuries.
I remember vividly hearing the officer recount the details to Bryce and Everly. They had gone into the kitchen to talk while Mom and I were busy comforting oneanother. I had gotten up to get more tissues for Mom and heard them talking. Bryce asked if he had died on impact. The officer said that was likely, as he was dead when they got on the scene.
I remember the brief flash of relief, knowing he didn’t suffer, before it subsided and the anger took over. The anger over how unfair it was for my dad to die. For my mom to lose him. That was the feeling I held on to when I went back to Mom, tissues in hand. That was the emotion that landed me in therapy after punching Chad Thompson for making a shitty joke about my dad dying. I can feel it still lurking under my skin, like a long dormant monster that’s been in hibernation. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, I will always be a sixteen-year-old boy thathad to go through his most formative years without his father.
I’m so preoccupied with making sense of what I’m reading that I don’t hear Everly return. I’m so confounded by how he could’ve gotten an injury like that, I jump when she speaks. Her voice, cautious and hesitant, interrupts the cold dread creeping up my spine as my brain finally processes what the report says.
“Did you find something?”
My heart leaps at her question. Oh, I found something alright. I just don’t know what it means. Did Bryce think something was weird with the report from the M.E. too? Why didn’t he ever say anything? Why is he hiding it? My intuition tells me I need to tie all these puzzle pieces together to form a complete picture before saying anything to Everly. My gut tells me something is seriously wrong, and Bryce knows more about my dad’s death than he’s letting on. Hastily I shove the report back into the envelope and tuck it under one of the other files I was reading.
“What is it? Did you find what we need?” Something in the way she looks at me, with cautious hope, causes the dam to burst and the tears to finally fall freely. The fresh wave of grief stirred up by reading the report washes over me in a tidal wave. Fuck. I bury my face in my hands, trying to fight back the sob threatening to burst free.Get it together, shithead. You can’t say anything yet.
Everly lets out a surprised gasp, then I feel her delicate fingers running through my hair and down my face. She gently guides my head until it is resting against her chest. She murmurs soft reassurances while gently stroking her fingers through my hair, as my tears soak into the thin cotton of her T-shirt. I wrap my arms around her waist and cling to her, letting the grief pour out of me in a way I refused to allow when I was trying to be strong for Mom in the wake of his death.
Everly’s heartbeat is a frantic staccato under my ear, and I realize I must be freaking her out with this sudden emotional outburst.
When I manage to get my shit together enough, I pull away from her and find her looking at me with tears making her hazel-green eyes vibrant with emotion. It’s like she took all the grief I just poured out and is holding onto it for me.
“Dane, baby, talk to me. What did you find?” There is so much worry in her eyes. I debate for a moment if I should tell her the truth, but the lizard part of my brain, that givesme my best hunches while on the job, stops me. This means something. Something bigger than just getting frat bros and local politicians out of minor legal troubles. My gut tells me this is a secret that is going to change both of our lives, and I want to know what it is first.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I found a copy of my dad’s obituary. I…I wasn’t expecting it, and it just stirred up a lot of old grief.” The lie spills out, not entirely untrue, but not the exact truth either. Her face crumples at my words, and she slides onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck in a crushing hug. The tears that were quietly waiting for their cue, escape from her in a sob she muffles by burying her face in my neck. She is saying something, but it takes me a minute to make out what the words are, thick with sadness.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” She murmurs it on repeat, like if she says it enough, somehow she can take the pain away from me. I squeeze her against me, press my lips to the crown of her head, and inhale the scent of her jasmine shampoo. This woman cares so much for me that my grief has become her grief. Knowing she hurts so much when I hurt does something inside me. A feeling that has been hovering on the periphery of my consciousness finally clicks into place. I love her. I love her, and I never want to be the reason she hurts.
When we finally pull apart, our faces sport matching red splotches and red-rimmed eyes. We both let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle.
“Do you want to take a break?” She looks up at me, with cautious uncertainty wavering in her eyes. This emotionaloutburst took a lot out of us both, and whatever made her cagey and defensive earlier seems to have been a casualty of it. Right now I want nothing more than to keep holding her in my arms. Nodding, I press my lips to hers in a gentle, chaste kiss.
“Let’s take a break.” I shift my hold to under Everly’s ass and stand, eliciting a surprised squeak from her as she locks her thighs around my waist in a crushing grip. Fuck, her thighs are thick and strong. My dick gives an interested twitch, which Everly must feel through the fabric of her black leggings, because her eyes widen in surprise. If she thinks I’m too sad to fuck, she’s about to be surprised. The need to bury myself into her and under her skin is so visceral, it makes my skin itch.
“Where is your bedroom?” My voice is husky with need as I whisper against her throat gently ghosting my lips along the delicate skin of her neck. God, she smells so good. I inhale as I press my teeth into her tender flesh, putting just a small taste of the pressure it would take to mark her as mine the way I want to.
“Up the stairs, first door on the left.” Her head falls back, granting me more access to her neck. I lick and press open-mouthed kisses on every exposed inch. Her skin is salty from her tears. My dick hardens in response to the knowledge that she cares so much. That I’m not just a consolatory fuck. That maybe…she loves me too.
CHAPTER 36
EVERLY
When my back hits the thick, tufted, goose down comforter on my king-size bed, Dane is immediately on top of me, pressing his erection against the seam of my leggings as his mouth continues to explore every inch of my skin. His hands slide under my T-shirt, pushing it up, exposing my breasts to him. I hadn’t bothered with putting on a bra, and Dane is pleased with this discovery. I feel his lips curve into a smile between the kisses he keeps pressing into my skin.
He moves his body down mine until he can take one of my nipples into his mouth. I dig my fingers into his hair, holding him in place as he lavishes attention on my breast. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t be doing this. That we should talk. I should check in with him. That I should stop being such a selfish cunt and just confess the truth to him, but when he looked at me after being hit with that fresh wave of grief and devastation, Icouldn’t bring myself to hurt him further. Not without a way to fix it. Knowing the truth and proving it are two entirely different things, and I am determined to be able to prove it in a court of law before Bryce knows what is coming at him.
All thoughts of redemption fly out of my head when he captures my nipple between his teeth and bites. Sending a jolt of sharp pain that shocks my system before softening into pleasure, causing whatever objections had been running through my mind to scatter, swept away from a wave of bliss.
“So good. You’re so good, Dane. So good to me.” I shower praise on him as I grind my center against his rigid length. He worships my breasts, alternating sides, licking, kissing, sucking, biting, until I am a panting, needy mess beneath him. Just when I’m seconds away from begging him to put his dick in me, he releases my breast with a pop—a bright red mark on the verge of going purple stands out against my pale skin.
