Reckless Intentions: CH. 7

CHAPTER SEVEN: SEVEN THE HARD WAY

Everett calls me early the next morning. I answer, sleep and desperation thick in my voice.

"Go for Alex."

"Hey man, we ready for phase two?"

I rub my eyes, forcing myself to focus. "Not exactly—Jack Sr. didn't exactly move off the property so much as relocate to his own quarters."

"Well, he's not in the house," Everett says, like that should count for something.

"That's not good enough. In order for this next part to work, he has to be far away. Like the other side of Suffolk County far away."

There's a pause on the line. "Well, I don't see his living situation changing anytime soon."

"I could appeal to his better angels," I say, already knowing how ridiculous it sounds.

"You mean like ask him nicely?" Everett's tone is skeptical. "And how well do you expect that to go over with the folks back home?"

"More or less," I admit.

"You could show him the tape?"

"Nah, that would do more harm than good. Plus, I need to stay clean of that whole situation."

"Well, then we're back to asking him nicely?" He sounds resigned, like he already knows this plan is doomed.

"If it doesn't work, I have a backup plan."

"What's that?"

"There's plenty to blackmail him on. The poolhouse video is just icing on the cake."

"If you say so," he says before disconnecting the call.

As I walk past the living room, I see Jack Jr. He's sitting in one of the leather chairs, staring out the window at nothing in particular. He's almost too still, like he's seen the future and we're all about to be exterminated by SkyNet.

I walk over and hug him from behind, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He jumps, startled, making a sound that doesn't belong to him—something small and wounded.

"Whoa—jumpy much?"

"Sorry—I was just thinking." His voice is dejected, hollow. "I feel like I haven't seen you in a really long time."

"Babe, I just saw you yesterday. What are you talking about?"

Except I know exactly what he's talking about. The distance I've kept. The levity I've brought to almost all of the pain he's been experiencing. He's been a one-man show and I've been largely absent. But that's been on purpose. I've needed him to feel isolated...alone—and it's working.

"Do you wanna get some breakfast? I think I smell huevos rancheros," I ask, keeping my tone light.

"Not really all that hungry," he says.

A good boyfriend would stop here and strip this down to the bones. A good boyfriend would be ready to run into the flames no matter the cost. A good boyfriend would sit in this chair and offer a shoulder to cry on, would hold him until the shaking stopped.

But Jack Harrington, Jr. can suck it.

"Suit yourself," I say, pulling away. "I'm starving."

I leave him there—staring at nothing, drowning in his own head—and make my way to the kitchen.

The smell of peppers and onions hits me before I round the corner. Mrs. Fuentes is at the stove, humming something low and melodic while she plates breakfast. The kitchen is massive, all marble countertops and stainless steel appliances that probably cost more than my entire college tuition.

And then I see her.

Olivia.

She's standing by the island, barefoot, wearing pajama pants that don't match her shirt. Her hair—usually neat, pulled back in some effortless rich-girl way—is a tangled mess, like she's been pulling at it. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hands are shaking as she grips the edge of the counter.

She's muttering something under her breath.

"Morning," I say casually, grabbing a plate.

She jumps. Actually jumps, like I've just materialized out of thin air.

"Jesus—Alex." Her voice is too loud, too sharp. She laughs, but it's wrong. Brittle. "You scared me."

"Sorry." I load my plate with eggs, beans, tortillas. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She's nodding too much, her eyes darting around the kitchen like she's looking for something. Or someone. "Have you seen my phone?"

"No. Why?"

"I just—" She stops, runs a hand through her hair, tugs at the ends. "I got this text last night. From Jack. Telling me to meet him at the pool house."

I keep my face neutral. "Okay?"

"But when I got there—" She stops again, her breath catching. She presses her palms against her eyes. "And then I checked my phone after. The text was gone. Like it never existed. But I saw it. I know I saw it."

I tilt my head, playing concerned. "Maybe you deleted it by accident?"

"I didn't delete it!" Her voice spikes, and Mrs. Fuentes glances over from the stove. Olivia lowers her voice, but it's shaking now. "I didn't delete anything. It just—it disappeared. And I asked Jack again this morning if he texted me, and he said no. He said he didn't text me. But I saw it, Alex. I know I saw it."

She's spiraling. I can see it happening in real time—the way her hands won't stop moving, the way she keeps looking at her phone like it's going to betray her again.

"Maybe you were half-asleep?" I suggest gently. "Sometimes our brains do weird things when we're tired."

"I wasn't asleep." She's gripping the counter so hard her knuckles are white. "I was awake. I was awake. Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

"I believe you," I lie smoothly. "But maybe—I don't know, maybe you should talk to someone? Like a doctor?"

Her face crumples. "You think I'm crazy."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." She backs away from the counter, wrapping her arms around herself. "Everyone thinks I'm crazy. That's what they always think."

She's shaking now. Full-body tremors. Her breathing is too fast, too shallow.

I take another bite of eggs and watch.

"Olivia," I say softly, setting my plate down. "You should probably get some rest. You look exhausted."

"I can't sleep." Her voice is barely a whisper now. "Every time I close my eyes, I—" She stops, shakes her head violently. "I can't."

"Maybe take something? To help you relax?"

She laughs, and it's the sound of something breaking. "I've been taking my meds. They're not working."

Because they're not meds, sweetheart. They're multivitamins.

"That sucks," I say. "Maybe you should talk to your doctor about adjusting the dosage."

She nods, but she's not really listening. She's staring at her phone again, scrolling through her messages like she's going to find proof that she's not losing her mind.

She won't.

I pick up my plate and head toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at her.

"Hey, Olivia?"

She looks up, and for a second, I see the girl she used to be—before I started fucking with her head, before I replaced her meds, before I lured her to the pool house to watch her father destroy what was left of her family.

"Yeah?"

"You should really get some sleep," I say. "You look like you're about to fall apart."

Her face goes pale.

I smile.

And then I leave her there—shaking, confused, questioning her own reality—while I go find somewhere quiet to finish my breakfast.

I take one of the cars from the garage and drive over to Kyle's bar. When I get there, the small parking lot is nearly empty. The sun's starting to dip toward the horizon, painting everything in that golden-hour light that makes everything look beautiful and tragic at the same time. The bar won't be packed for another hour or so. Perfect timing. I pull into a spot near the entrance and kill the engine, sitting there for a moment, letting anticipation build in my chest like pressure behind a dam.

I approach the front door and peer inside through the glass. Kyle's sitting at the bar, bent over a glass, his shoulders hunched. He takes a long swig and then dips his head back down, staring at nothing.

Oh no. Is your little heart all broken? How sad for you.

Well, Kyle, this is what betrayal feels like. Like your insides are on fire and you can't seem to put it out, and the more you try to push it down, the hotter it burns. It takes your breath away—your ability to think, to function. You question everything you ever knew, and you wonder if you could have done something different. And you have this thing inside you, this hate that wants to spread into utter desolation. And even then, you never know if that'll be enough to quell the darkness inside.

Because betrayal isn't just having your trust broken. It's having your world turned upside down and inside out.

So, do I feel sorry for you? Hell no. You fucked my boyfriend while I took a piss, and you didn't think twice about it. So yeah, I destroyed one of the most important relationships in your life, and here's the thing, Kyle—I'm not even done yet. So yeah, I'm gonna sleep just fine tonight.

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