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They brought up a good point, too. The more I think about it, the more I’m starting to realize that this fake engagement is more trouble than it’s worth.
Screw the money. Screw my dad’s will.
What’s it worth if I lose my girl, the only thing that’s really mattered to me for a long time now?
In the bathroom, on the toilet, I check my phone.
You need to see this, Landon’s latest message says, with an article attached.
Dude, I text him back, it’s 8 AM. You really think I’m in the mood to read an article now?
I’m serious, he texts back immediately. It’s bad. Really bad.
I scowl.
A few months back, right after Dad’s death and with his scandals coming to light, our family had its fair share of bad press. But what could it be this time, months later?
I’m about to put my phone away, Landon’s warning be damned, but then I catch the title of the article: The Truth about Nolan Storm.
I chuckle. This should be good. I wonder which of my disgruntled flings penned this one. Why not read it for a laugh?
Then I see the author: Sierra Hill.
No.
Fuck no.
And then I start to read:
The first thing you need to know about Nolan Storm is that he isn’t what he seems. What most see is a charming man, capable, funny and ambitious; another model Storm son.
The truth is much more sinister. A serial womanizer, liar and cheater will come out in these next few paragraphs. You’ve been warned.
I read the rest in a daze.
It doesn’t even really matter that most of the women and men she’s interviewed I’ve either never met or are old enemies who apparently still hate me enough to lie. It doesn’t even matter that everything in the article is a lie or a mischaracterization.
What matters is the author, that name I keep returning to: Sierra Hill.
I step out of the bathroom, still holding my phone, glancing from that name to her.
She’s still asleep, all curled up towards where I was lying only minutes before. She has no idea.
She doesn’t look like someone nursing secret hatred. She doesn’t look like a liar.
But she has to be.
As I put on my jeans and shirt, it all falls into place. That article her mom mentioned her working on for that other guy. Some of the questions Sierra asked me.
Didn’t she say that she had quit that job, though?
Fuck, I don’t know.
She looks so sweet and unassuming asleep there, I want to shake her and yell at her and make me tell her the truth. As if, somehow, her sleeping self could be more truthful than her waking one.
Instead, I leave without a word.
I never knew Sierra Hill. That much is clear.
Back at my place, I sit in my car and call up Landon.
“You saw,” he says.
“I saw,” I say.
“Well, shit.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say cheerily.
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course I’m mad,” I growl. “I just… Fuck.”
“You guys are engaged,” he says slowly.
“That was just a sham,” I say.
“Oh.” Even over the phone I can see his frown. “All of it?”
“No.” I laugh. “No. You know, that’s the most fucked-up thing about it, it wasn’t. I…” I exhale. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter now.”
“You probably understand it more than I do,” Landon says carefully.
“If that’s your way of suggesting that I deserved this, brother, then no, I’ll be frank with you, I don’t understand it. I don’t fucking understanding it one bit.” Another exhale. “Thanks for letting me know, anyway. I’ve got to go.”
I head up to my apartment. Once inside, I grab a chip bag someone left on a chair and start eating.
It doesn’t even matter that it’s some weird nouveau Lays flavor that tastes like shit. Or that my phone’s ringing and it’s probably her.
“You’re here?” Jax says, sauntering in.
He’s wearing Looney Tunes boxers I’m pretty sure Laura bought him, which means he’s back to missing her again. Not that he ever really stopped.
The things we fools do for love…
“I was beginning to think you’d never be back,” he jokes, helping himself to the bag of Lays. “Damn.” He dumps his handful back into the bag after one bite. “Who bought these?”
“Did Laura send these as her latest punishment?” I joke.
“Hilarious,” Jax says, deadpan. “Speaking of which, where’s your girl? I’m expecting her to move in any day now.”
Without a word, I hand him my phone with the article on it.
“Dude. As if I need to read another puff piece about how great…” He trails off as he starts to read. “Shit. Oh, shit.”
When he’s done, he hands me back my phone. “Fuck, man.”
“I know,” I just say.
“Jesus.”
“I know.”
I get up, head for my room.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks.
“What do you think?” I say.
I can almost feel the two factions of himself warring: the Jax that likes to stir shit up, and the one who just wants to be a good friend.
