Stepbrother Untouchable(27)

“Please, please…” I hear her gasp and the clear sound of crying. “I haven't talked to Nate in so long…he's my son, he's my son.”

“But you chose to leave him…”

“Is that what Pierce told you?”

“No, Nate.”

“He heard it from Pierce. I left Pierce because he was cheating on me. But Pierce is used to having everything his own way, and he was furious. He was the one with the money, I came into the marriage with nothing, and signed a pre-nup. I mean, I barely even looked at the thing at the time—I thought we'd be together forever. He had an expensive lawyer and managed to get full custody in the divorce. I never had a chance. I've been trying to get in touch with Nate for years to tell him the truth…I left Pierce, not Nate. I would never leave my son. I never would have divorced Pierce, even though he was cheating on me, if I had known I'd never see my son again. I thought after seeing this woman on TV, maybe he'd believe me…” She dissolves into sobs.

“Eileen, Eileen, it's OK,” I whisper, feeling sick. Something about what she's telling me rings true. I can feel it in my gut. “I want to help you, but…Nate, he's really touchy about his father. I don't know what I can do.”

“I know, and I'm sorry to put this on you. I call the house now and then trying to get Nate, and I was just hoping that he would pick up tonight and not hang up on me.”

A sound behind me makes me fly around. Pierce is standing in the doorway to the dining room.

“Everything OK?” he asks.

“Yep, everything's fine, Pierce,” I reply so that Eileen can hear me.

“Just take down my number, alright?” Eileen says quietly. “Please, just tell him what I said.” I write the number down on a small notepad on the counter, conscious that Pierce is watching me.

“Got it, thanks. Talk to you later,” I say, and hang up.

“Not a reporter, I hope,” Pierce says with a sad smile.

“No, just a friend,” I reply as nonchalantly as possible, and rip the paper off the pad and stuff it in my pocket.

“God, this has been the longest day of my life,” he says with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “I hope you and your mom don't get dragged into anything. There might be some reporters hanging out by the gate tomorrow. Probably best to just avoid them.”

“Sure, no problem.” He looks so tired, and I find myself quickly feeling sorry for him. He seems so genuine right now that it's hard to believe what Eileen and this other woman are saying about him. The man in front of me paints such a different picture.

“On the other hand, though, I'm glad that you and your mom are here right now. Maybe it's selfish of me. But I don't think I'd make it through all this without her. She's really brought light back into my life.”

“She's…yeah, she's great,” I reply awkwardly.

“Are you having a good time at the internship? Not too much busy work, I hope.”

“No, not at all, Pierce. It's wonderful, thank you.”

He nods. “Well, I better get back to work. You'd think I'd have gotten a lot done, considering how long I've been in there, but I've just been staring at the wall.”

“Oh, well, I'll see you tomorrow then.”

“'Night.”

“Goodnight.” I walk back upstairs with the phone number burning a hole in my pocket. It's amazing to me that I've gone from being almost sure that Pierce is lying, to feeling like I've betrayed his trust in the span of one short conversation with him. Is he telling the truth, or does he just possess a consummate politician's ability to spin the story for himself?

I get ready for bed slowly, my mind wandering uncontrollably. Before this summer, I felt sure of things in my life. Sure of my ideas and opinions. Sure that I was right. But I feel less and less sure of myself the longer I stay in this house.

Just as I finish brushing my teeth, I hear a thud from the hallway, then a groan. That sounded like Nate. With a frown, I open my bedroom door. Sure enough, there's Nate, lying on the carpet just outside his own room. I hesitate, realizing I'm wearing my little nightgown, but figure he's seen me in it already.

“Nate? Are you OK? What happened?” I murmur, hurrying to kneel next to him. The whiff of alcohol coming off of him gives it away before he says anything.

“I'm so drunk, Brynn,” he says, beginning to laugh.

“Shhh, you'll wake up our parents,” I admonish him. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Tripped. On my own foot,” he replies with a sigh.

“Well, come on, get up,” I order him, sliding a hand under his torso to pull him upward. He slowly obeys and stands on his feet, where he sways dangerously. “OK, now in here,” I continue, pushing his bedroom door open with my foot as I slide an arm around his back to stabilize him. I feel his muscles clench under his t-shirt as we walk. Not the time, Brynn. “Shoes off,” I order him as we reach the bed.