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I threw up both hands. “No, I didn’t know that. I didn’t want to cyberstalk the guy, okay?”
“Well, it’s hardly cyberstalking when he’s a public figure. Besides, everyone runs at least a Google search on new dates. Bosses too, come to think of it.”
I glared at her. “Well, I don’t. Or didn’t. You didn’t think to mention it?”
Jane bared her teeth in mild shame. “I thought, you know, it was one of those topics. Like, you knew, and you made the choice to be with him anyway. Really, who am I to judge who you want to pork?”
I shook my head and leaned back against the counter. “Whatever. It doesn’t change anything between us.” I sounded more certain than I felt.
Jane tapped her pen absently on the edge of her book. “Well, he is separated. He filed, what, three years ago now?”
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
She shrugged again. “Page Six, I think. His wife is a socialite in New York.”
I grimaced. I had seen her; it made perfect sense that Miranda would make the gossip pages.
“Plus,” Jane continued, “he left his divorce papers sitting here, and I was nosy.” She gestured toward the wrinkled mass Brandon had left on the coffee table. “Considering how loaded he is, I’m not surprised it’s taking him forever to reach a settlement. Especially since there was no prenup.”
Checking again for the sound of Brandon’s snores, I joined Jane on the couch with a defeated grunt.
“It’s just so fucking messy,” I said as I rubbed my temples. “She walked in on us at his house. We were…getting busy in the kitchen. And…I think she watched. We didn’t know she was there until it was over. She started clapping.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Jane erupted into another bout of giggles.
“It’s not funny!” I protested. “I feel kind of violated by it, if you want to know the truth. I ran out, but Brandon followed and made me listen to the whole sordid story. And by the end…he tells me he loves me and then he makes love to me—or fucks me, I’m not really sure which—and I say I love you back…but I don’t really know if I can handle this, Jane. It’s just…so much, you know?”
Jane had stopped giggling and scooted closer so she could pull my head onto her shoulder.
“Oh, hon,” she said. “Yeah, it definitely sucks. I’m so sorry, really. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I do love him. And I forgive him, for the most part. I mean, I sort of get why he didn’t tell me about everything.” I sighed. “I don’t know if it’s enough though.”
Jane patted my leg sympathetically before sitting back with her books. Like any good friend, she knew when to interfere and when to give me the space to sort things out.
“I will say one thing, Sky,” she said as she picked up a textbook. “I like him. Or maybe I should say, I like who you are with him. You’re…warmer, I guess. And in the last few months, you’ve seemed happier than I’ve seen you in three years. Don’t take that lightly. You’ve had a hard day. Give it a little time to figure out how to deal with it together.”
I mulled over her words along with the other thoughts cycling through my mind. Finally, I nodded and stood back up.
“Okay. I’m going to jump in the shower and then wake up the ‘wee tycoon’ for some dinner. Maybe talking about the weather over a plate of pasta will make the fact that my boyfriend is married to someone else more palatable.”
“I’ll head back to the library, give you kids some space,” Jane said as she started to gather her books together. I almost told her not to bother, but I realized just how much I didn’t want to go back to the house on Beacon Street. The thought was sad. Less than twelve hours ago, I never thought I could be happier than I’d been there; now I never wanted to see the place again.
* * *
I stoodunder the shower for what might have only been minutes, but what felt like an hour. Mentally, I felt like I had been run over by a bus.
What a goddamn clusterfuck of a situation. It had occurred to me while Brandon was telling his story that perhaps Miranda’s alibi was covering for more than just assault. He never said who actually killed Ricky O’Neill, just that one of his friends was doing time for it. Had he lied to me about that too? There was no statute of limitations for murder in Massachusetts. If Miranda recanted her alibi, would the state reopen the case?
I shook my head under the stream. No, there would have to be evidence of his presence and involvement with the crime. Either an actual witness, fingerprints on the weapon, or something equally condemning. But if that were the case, there was no way the state’s attorney would have declined to prosecute just because of Miranda’s alibi.
Besides, I told myself, Brandon Sterling wasn’t a killer. A poor sheep in rich clothing, okay. A reformed hustler, sure. But he wasn’t the type who could shoot someone in cold blood. Was he?
I closed my eyes and imagined his gentle, yet strong features, blue eyes full of the yearning I knew came from a lifetime without true affection. Parents who had clearly never treated him with the love and attention any child deserved. Foster parents who treated him with disinterest despite good intentions. Even when he got married, it obviously wasn’t because of love, but because the boss’s daughter was infatuated, and her daddy wanted to keep Brandon’s money-making talents on a leash.
My heart ached at the thought of a young Brandon roaming the streets with his gang of troublemaking compatriots because they were the closest thing to family he could find. Their friendly fist bumps and encouraging slaps on the back might have been the kindest physical contact he’d received. No wonder he couldn’t forgive himself for letting them go to prison while he took the out.
Could I handle the aftermath of whatever was going to happen next? Jane had told me to sleep on it, but the truth was, I already had. Things already seemed different, even just five hours later.
