Dirty Scoundrel(2)

     



 

I rub my mouth and look over at the person next to me-it's Knox, my younger brother. "What do you want?"

"You look like you're gonna puke," Knox comments, picking up a Bible from the back of one of the pews and flipping through it.

I snatch it out of his hand and put it back. Funny how Knox can read  me-most of the time no one can tell what I'm thinkin'. Must not be that  good at my poker face today.

"I wasn't gonna take it," he says, but it's clear he's amused by my  actions. "And you still look like you're about to upchuck. What gives?"

He's a jerk, my little bro, but he's a jerk with good instincts. I cross  my arms and shrug, sliding down in my seat like I'm a little kid  instead of a grown-ass man. "Just . . . fuck. Reminds me of Dad's  funeral from back in the day. Don't it to you?"

Knox considers, then shakes his head slowly. "Nah." He gestures at the  front. "Lots of flowers. Dad didn't have none." He indicates the widow  and her kids with another sweep of his hand. "Got family here that  grieve him. Dad just had us. All his lady-friends didn't show up." He  glances over at me. "And the company men are paying the expenses. So no,  it ain't much like Dad's funeral."

I hate that he's right. I hate that our dad got buried in a cheap-ass  coffin at an empty funeral. I hate that he didn't matter to no one but  us. Even after all this time, it still burns in my belly.

"Dad was a piece of shit, though," Knox says. "I know what you're  thinking. That when you pass, you should be surrounded by loved ones,  but Dad was a user. I mean, look at me and Gage." He smiles thinly.

Yeah, I know what he means. Knox and Gage were born two months apart,  two completely different moms. Dad was married to my mom at the time. He  wasn't a good guy, but damn. We all deserve someone that's gonna love  us until the end, don't we? "I guess I'm just thinkin' life is short,  you know? Eddie was in his forties. Should have had a lot of good years  ahead of him." I nod at the three boys at the front. "See them graduate  from college and all."

"Mmm. So this isn't about Dad. This is about regrets, huh?" Knox leans  back and puts an arm on the back of the pew, and for a moment he looks  wise beyond his years.

Is this about regrets, then? Is that burning fireball in my stomach  because I'm picturing what my own funeral would be like? That I'm not  imagining anything but a few employees and my brothers? I try to picture  Natalie here, but yeah right. Her ass wouldn't be here if wild horses  dragged her.

The thought's fucking depressing-both in that Natalie is disgusted by  me, and that I'm still hung up on her after all these years. I must be  an idiot. "You're wrong," I tell Knox. "I'm good."

He ignores me, tilting his head. "So what is it you want out of life?  Money? Success? You already have both." He nods over to Ivy and Boone.  Our brother has his hand on the small of Ivy's back, and he's gazing  down at her as she speaks like pearls are dropping out of her damn  mouth. Boone's totally fucking besotted. It'd be funny if I wasn't so  fucking jealous. Not of him and Ivy-they're perfect together. I just . .  .

I rub my jaw again, feeling the bristles of my beard. I haven't looked at anyone like that since . . .

Goddamn it. That's twice now I've thought of Natalie in the same day.  Must be getting moody. "Dunno what I want. Ain't this, that's for sure."

"No one wants this," Knox says with a shrug of his shoulders. "But it  comes for all of us in the end. Question is, you gonna end up in that  box with regrets?"

The knot in my gut returns. "Maybe."

"That's your problem," my wise little brother says. He wags a finger at me like he's scolding a child. "You ain't ruthless."

"Huh?" I squint at him like he's crazy.

"You're the nice one, Clay."

"I am?"

Knox nods sagely. "You're the one everyone goes to when Boone needs  softening up. You're the one everyone looks to for a laugh, or to smooth  things over. Everyone's friend. You don't know how to be ruthless.  You're so busy making sure everyone else is happy and smiling that you  don't go after what you want."

Is that who I am? Just a happy-go-lucky piece of shit who's miserable on  the inside? I don't think that's me, but then again, this ache in my  belly might be telling me otherwise. I look over at Boone and Ivy. She's  got her head on his shoulder, and I know when they leave here, he's  probably gonna rub her feet or rub her belly or, hell, just rub her all  over. And she'll fuss over him and they'll end up doing it on the sofa  in the foyer and someone will catch 'em. Again. And they'll just laugh  like it's funny and Ivy will blush, and they both won't be able to stop  smiling. They're so goddamn happy.         

     



 

I look over at the widow and her boys. She's herding them out of the  building, tears streaking her face. She's sobbed through the entire  ceremony. Loved Eddie to pieces.

And I think of Nat again. Nat, and the way she curled her lip at me the  last time I saw her. Nat, and how I wasn't good enough for her. Nat, who  chose her daddy and her family money over me, when I would have given  her the moon if I'd have had two nickels to rub together.

Nat, who I still jerk off to because I'm a sick son of a bitch with a massive hang-up.

"Gotta be ruthless," Knox says. "That's the only way you're gonna get what you want."

Maybe he's right. Maybe it's time I nut up and use some of this  ridiculous money and be ridiculous with it. I glance over at Boone  again. He threw around all kinds of money to push Ivy into dating him.  Maybe I need to throw my weight around and act like the big man. Buy my  way into the heart of the girl I always wanted but I could never have.

And then, once I've bought her heart, I can hold it in my hand and decide if I want to crush it or keep it.

Gotta be ruthless, after all.





Chapter Two



Seven years earlier



Clay

It's time.

I can't say I'm not nervous, though. Any guy would be. My palms are  sweaty as I shove them into my jeans, but I'm determined. Tonight's  important. High school is over, and that means that it's time to move on  to the next phase in my life. I stand in front of the diner that I've  agreed to meet Natalie's father at, and try not to fidget.

I'm dressed up-well, as much as a guy like me can be. There ain't much  money for fancy clothes, but I borrowed one of Dad's old dress shirts  and tucked it into my best, least worn-out jeans. The shirt's a little  big but ain't much to be done about it now. Nat wouldn't care, though.  She's never cared that my T-shirts are about to fall apart or that my  shoes come from Goodwill. She don't care that I share a room in my dad's  shitty-ass trailer with my younger brothers. She's never cared about  any of that shit.

That's why I love her.

That's why I want to marry her.

A car pulls up to the restaurant I'm currently pacin' in front of and my  heart hammers in my chest. Tonight, me and Nat and her Dad are supposed  to be havin' dinner. I'm gonna meet Mr. Weston and do my best to charm  him, and then tomorrow, I'm gonna go over and let him know I wanna  propose to his daughter.

That I love Natalie Weston with all my heart, and that I might be poor  right now, but I'm determined to give her a good life. That I'll treat  her like fuckin' gold.

My mouth goes dry when the sedan idles in front of the restaurant and a  driver hops out, then races around to the side of the car and opens the  door. A moment later, Chap Weston steps out. I recognize the guy. Anyone  would. He's famous in a way that a lot of Hollywood actors will never  get. In the fifties and sixties, there were some really big names in  Hollywood royalty-Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart  . . . and Chap Weston. Even though he's more'n twice the age he was in  those movies, he's still got that famous smile and tall, strong  shoulders. He's wearing an expensive, fitted suit that makes me feel a  little self-conscious in my too-baggy dress shirt and jeans, and his  hair is immaculately combed. Shit. I didn't even think to do somethin'  with my hair. I bet it's stickin' up in all kinds of cowlicks like  Natalie teases me over. Ain't nothin' I can do about it now, though.

I still wither a little inside when Mr. Weston strolls forward and gives me a scrutinizing look. "Are you Clay Price?"

"Yessir." I stick my hand out, surprised at the booming resonance of his  voice. Guy looks damn good for being eighty. Still weird that he's the  dad of my seventeen-year-old girlfriend, but Hollywood's weird like  that. Nat's told me she's the daughter of wife number four and he's on  number six right now. "I'm real pleased to meet you-"

"Spare me the pleasantries," Mr. Weston says in a cold voice. "This  won't take long." He glances over at his driver and gestures. "Wait in  the car."

The driver nods and shuts the door, then hops back into the driver's seat.

I try to hide my frown. "Natalie not coming tonight?"