Foster Brother's Arms Page 4

  “Lana…this…I can’t…don’t do this to us! I don’t know what this guy has been telling you. I don’t know what’s been going on. But I don’t believe the past five months meant nothing to you. I can’t!”

  “Of course they meant something. The time we spent together were some of the best moments of my life. And I’m so happy, Raine. I’m so happy that I was able to get to know you again, and to see how well your life worked out. You get to live in this amazing house and have an amazing future. You’re going to have a truly wonderful life, and I’ll never forget you—“

  “Stop talking like we’re over, Lana. We can work through this. I’m willing to fight for you. Hell, I’m willing to wait for you to realize that you’re making a really fucking horrible mistake. I might beat the shit out of the fucker who—“

  “It doesn’t matter, because I just don’t love you anymore—not the way I love Elliot. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Lana, stop! “

  “I have to go,” she repeats and whirls around, running out the door.

  I watch her run to her car in the rain. Its yellow headlines come on, cutting through the gray gloom as the engine revs to life.

  She drives away without ever looking back.

  I stand there staring after her stupidly for the next hour, waiting for her to return. Expecting her to return—knowing in my heart she will.

  But she doesn’t.

  As reality begins to set in, my chest burns. I feel like I’m being punched over and over directly in the heart. Like my head is about to explode.

  I have to get the hell out of there.

  I start to run. I’m not even sure where I’m going. All I know is that I have to move. Have to feel something other than the utter despair threatening to drown me.

  It’s storming now and sheets of rain hit me in the face, making it hard to see. Squinting against the rain, I run to the beach behind my family’s house. The wet sand makes it harder to run, but I welcome the ache in my muscles and the burning in my lungs as my body propels me forward.

  Legs pumping, lungs straining, I run toward the ocean. Finally I reach the shore, which is completely empty except for me.

  I stand alone before a desolate grey sea. It’s the only witness as I break down, falling to my knees and weeping.

  My tears mingle with the rain, and loud, ugly sobs tear from my throat.

  I cry until I’m wrung out. Until there’s nothing left. Until I’m an empty shell.

  As I stare out at the grey, churning water, I know that Lana has broken something inside me that can never be repaired. And this is the last time I’ll ever truly feel anything again.

  Lana

  Now…

  I sit alone at a table in the restaurant Raine chose for us, trying not to tap my fingers or bounce my leg to relieve some of my nervous energy.

  Raine is late, but he’ll show. I know he will.

  The restaurant he chose is lovely. All white tablecloths and servers in tuxes, and there’s even a woman playing piano in the corner.

  I wish I could enjoy the music, but my stomach is in knots and my heart is in my throat.

  Then Raine walks in.

  His black suit stretches perfectly over his muscles. And even though I saw him just this morning, my breath still catches at how handsome he is.

  He’s the only man I’ve ever had this kind of reaction to.

  He sits down across from me with a cold smile, then leans back in his chair carelessly as if waiting for me to justify my reason for bringing him here. He looks bored and put upon.

  My heart hammers in my chest, but at the same time, I know what he’s doing. This is a power play. He’s waiting for me to prattle on nervously to fill the silence. So I don’t.

  Instead I meet his gaze and offer him a polite smile. Moments later the waiter arrives and Raine orders wine. The waiter quickly returns with the bottle and two stemmed glasses, pouring one for each of us.

  Raine and I continue playing this game, waiting for the other one to break the silence. Finally I do.

  “So what’s up with all the crazy S & M stuff?” I ask. “The spanking and domination and whatnot?”

  He had his wineglass to his lips and nearly spits it out in surprise. He puts his glass down and coughs, raising a white linen napkin to his lips.

  I smile internally. Score one for Lana.

  “You always were direct, weren’t you?” he says.

  “I was just curious. It’s not that I didn’t like it, just the opposite.” I shrug. “I just didn’t remember you being into that sort of thing.”

  He sets his napkin down and says, “After you left me all those years ago, something unexpected happened. I became numb to everything. I never really felt happy. I never really felt sad. I just felt…nothing. An absence of feeling, all the time.” He swirls his wine in the glass, staring at it absently. “Girls at school eventually wanted to date me, of course. I was rich and they found me attractive, so I dated a few girls. But still…they left me cold. Disinterested. Sometimes they’d allow me to take them sexually, and I couldn’t even muster up enough excitement to stay hard. Which obviously wouldn’t do. But after a while, I discovered that when I tied them up, when I disciplined them, when I took complete mastery over them”—he shrugs—“I was able to enjoy myself. Perhaps because it was an extreme experience, it cut through the fog of my numbness. Or maybe it was finally having control that got me off, since I’d always had so little of it in my own life. I really don’t know. But it became my preferred method of foreplay.” His gaze meets mine. “Now it’s my turn for a question. How the hell did you end up as a high end escort in Vegas?”

  For some reason, I appreciate that he used the word escort to describe what I do and not something much worse. I say, “I’ve been doing this for a long time, Raine. Almost since we broke up. After seeing you that day, I left Maine and moved to Vegas, hoping to get a job that didn’t require a college degree, or even a high school degree.”

  “But you were always so smart. You wanted to go to college. What happened?”

  “My foster father happened. He was…threatening me. I knew it was only a matter of time before he forced himself on me, so I left before that could happen. I was tired of foster families so I struck out on my own, and well, you see where I ended up.”

  “What about Elliot?”

  I stare into his eyes for long time, gathering strength, before I answer. “There never was an Elliot. He didn’t exist. I made him up so you wouldn’t know the truth.”

  “And what’s the truth?”

  I take a fortifying breath and begin, “A few days before I ran away, my foster father must have tampered with the lock on my bedroom door. He crept into my room in the middle of the night—just like our first foster father did all those years ago. Only this time, I was bigger, and I was able to fight him off. It got nasty, and at one point, he ripped my nightgown off. But I was able to get out from under him and…anyway, I barely escaped, but I did. And he told me that if I ever told anyone what had happened, he’d point to my past and say I had a record of claiming sexual abuse, and that I was a liar—about whatever I accused him of, and about what happened to us all those years ago. He said he’d have me locked up in a mental hospital like my foster mother, and he’d make sure they found you and locked you up for murder.”

  “Good God, Lana. Why the hell didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “Because I knew you’d want to run away too, and I couldn’t let you throw everything away for me.”

  “You were everything to me.”

  “Look at your life now, Raine. You have everything you could ever ask for. What would you be doing if you had taken off with me? You’d be a bartender maybe, if you were lucky. Or some other low-paying blue collar job.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I would have done, Lana. I would have been happy.”

  “You’re not happy now?”

  He stares into the air over my head thoughtfully, as if consi
dering it for the first time. “I don’t know,” he says more to himself than to me. “But if I’d known the truth, I could have protected you. I certainly wouldn’t have let you become a god damned prostitute.”

  Sharp pain pierces my heart to finally hear that word on his lips. Prostitute. And the worst part is that I know it’s true.

  “I did what I had to do to survive,” I tell him.

  “For ten years, Lana?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I’m trying to, I really am. But the thought of you selling yourself for the past ten years—when I could have helped you. Why didn’t you look me up? If you didn’t want to jeopardize my schooling and my place in the company, that’s one thing. But why didn’t you come back to me the moment I’d taken over? The Everly’s passed away years ago. I have complete control over my life, the company, the family fortune—everything. I run an empire. Why didn’t you let me help you?”

  “Because I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see what I had become. I didn’t think you’d even consider being with someone who does what I do for a living.”

  “Well you sure as hell wouldn’t be doing it if you were with me, that’s for damn sure.”

  “I thought that having been a prostitute for years would be a sure-fire deal breaker.”

  “Then you don’t know me very well.”

  The waiter approaches our table. “Have the lady and gentlemen decided what they’d like to order this evening?”

  “No,” we both say at the same time.

  “I’ll come back later then,” he says nervously and scurries away.

  “This is all so unexpected, Raine. So where does this leave us?”

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand. Without thinking about it, I turn mine over so we’re palm to palm, then I clutch his hand tightly, holding onto him for dear life.

  “This is what comes next,” he says. “You leave this city behind and come back to Maine with me. I’ll take care of you, Lana. Whatever you could ever want or need—“

  “I can’t.” I shake my head. “I have…responsibilities here.”

  “Like what? To that escort service? Fuck them. That life is over now. If you have an agreement with them, I have lawyers—”

  “It’s not that.”

  “What is it then? Do you need money? Because I’ll pay you an outrageous sum of money to go back to Maine with me—even if it’s just for a week—and stay as my guest.”

  I squint my eyes skeptically. “Raine, are you trying to Pretty Woman me?”

  “I’m trying to save you.”

  “I don’t need saving. I’m doing okay, Raine. I have a life here.”

  “You call this a life?”

  “Yes, I do. I have responsibilities.”

  “What responsibilities? I can help you in any way you need, Lana. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

  “I have a son here.”

  “Alright,” he says in a level tone, clearly assessing the new information. “So you can’t just take off at a moment’s notice. I understand now. Well, he’ll need a babysitter or a nanny. Is that who’s taking care of him now?”

  I nod.

  “So I’ll offer her an outrageous sum of money to move to Maine with us so the boy isn’t too traumatized by being uprooted. How old is he?”

  “He’s almost ten.”

  Raine looks baffled for a moment. Then thoughtful. Then gravely serious.

  He tilts his head, one big question lighting up his eyes.

  I bite my lower lip and nod.

  He strokes a hand down his face, which has gone white as a sheet.

  With a trembling hand, I dig through my purse and find my wallet. Then I pull out a school portrait and hand it across the table. “His name is Sam. He’s a really sweet kid. He loves animals. He loves books. He’s sensitive and sometimes the other boys at school pick on him. But he’s a happy kid nonetheless. My jobs are few and far between—because they pay so well—so I get to spend a lot of time with him.”

  Raine is simply staring at the picture, his face an unreadable mask.

  I babble on, “He loves to go to the movies and the library, and is favorite food is hot wings. He has two guinea pigs named Salvador and Strawberry—he came up with those himself. He loves the Beatles—oh, and drawing. How could I forget that. He loves drawing pictures—and he’s really talented for a nine year old. I promised him a trip to New York to go to all the big museums when he turns thirteen. And…oh, Raine…please say something.”

  He looks up from the picture, shock written all over his face. “I have a son,” he whispers.

  Without saying more, he flings Sam’s picture back at me over the table. It flutters to the floor, which for some reason makes my heart break into a million pieces. I quickly pick up the photo and tuck it in my purse with care, where it’s safe and protected.

  Once again, his eyes are pure ice. But there’s something else there. Something that frightens me. Pure, undiluted contempt.

  “How could you?” he finally says.

  “I didn’t know I was pregnant until after I’d left.”

  “And you couldn’t have called me when you found out? To tell me you were carrying my child?”

  “I was going to give him up for adoption. Raine. We were just in high school—“

  “I would have found a way to care for what’s mine.”

  “And then you would have nothing, just like me. Look at your life now—look at how far you’ve risen. I still stand by what I did, though I understand why you’re angry.”

  “Anger doesn’t begin to describe it. You had no right to make that decision for me. He was my son too! I had a right to know.”

  “The whole time I was pregnant, I planned to give him up for adoption, and all that I’d be left with after he was gone was loss and pain. I didn’t want you to suffer that too. I felt like I was sparing you by keeping you in the dark.”

  “But you didn’t give him up—you kept him in your life. And yet you didn’t allow me the same privilege.”

  “I’ve thought about contacting you a thousand times over the years.”

  “Funny that you never did. I’m not particularly hard to find.”

  “Well we’re together now, and now you know. So what comes next? What do you want to happen now, Raine? Would you like to meet him? Whatever you want, I’ll do.”

  I expect him to consider it and give me a reasonable answer, but his expression remains a wall of ice. “That won’t be necessary. Frankly Lana, I want nothing to do with you. You’re not the person I thought you were. All you’ve brought into my life is lies and deception. Though I do insist on taking care of what’s mine.” He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a checkbook. “How much do you need to get out of that filthy business you’re in? I don’t want my son to be raised by a professional whore. I can give you a lump sum now and a monthly check afterwards.”

  “Sam has no idea what I do and he never will. He’s well protected from the truth. I don’t need your money.”

  “My money was perfectly good last night. If I fuck you again will you take it?”

  I lift my wineglass and splash its contents in his face, then I muster up the last shreds of my dignity and storm out. He doesn’t follow me.

  Raine

  Now…

  I’ll sue her for custody. Between my team of lawyers and the fact that Lana has spent the past nine years of her life as a prostitute, there’s no way she’ll stand a chance. I’ll strip everything from her—even weekends, birthdays and holidays—until she has no part in his life.

  Even after everything she put me through, I’ve never once unleashed my cruelty on her. But all that’s about to change. I’ll make her pay, and I’ll have my son back. And then once I have him, I’ll poison his mind against Lana, so she won’t even have that much, not even a place in his heart. She took everything from me, and now I’ll do the same to her.

  These are the thoughts I console myself with t
he entire plane ride back from Vegas. But when I arrive home, an odd thing happens.

  All my anger has bled away, leaving me feeling nothing but utter, wretched loneliness. The feeling is so intense, so acute, I think I might die from it.

  When Lana left me all those years ago, something inside me broke, making it impossible for me to feel. But when I saw that picture of my son, I felt a powerful rush of pain coupled with longing and loss, and a hint of something else entirely. Pride.

  I felt it all so deeply the experience was almost foreign to me. Deep and cutting and raw.

  Ever since Lana left me in the restaurant that night, I’ve been deluged by emotion after emotion. All of them unbearable.

  I don’t know what to do with them all. But I do know that I have to see Lana again. My cruel words at the restaurant were in the heat of the moment. Surely she’ll understand that and invite me to see my son. Won’t she?

  With that thought in mind, I call her escort service and ask for her. They have no record of anyone named Lana working there, which makes sense. Of course she wouldn’t use her real name in that line of work. So I give them my name and the details of my date with her so they can look her up that way. If they aren’t willing to give me her contact information, I’ll simply book another date with her and apologize then.

  After clicking through records, the receptionist says, “Your date was with Chanel. I’m sorry to tell you that she’s left our agency, but I can set you up with a girl you’ll like just as much. I see that you—“

  “Give me Lana—Chanel’s—phone number and I’ll give you ten thousand dollars in cash by the end of today.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t to that.”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “She didn’t leave any forwarding information, and we’re not exactly the kind of business that keeps detailed employee records. We contact all our girls with throw away cell phones and we don’t know their real names. It prevents any legal issues, you see. But honey, if you’ve got fifty thousand dollars burning a hole in your pocket, I could give you a lot more than a phone number. I’ll do anything you want. ”