Sweet Little Lies (Angel Sands 3)

Cold, white anger.

At Jamie, at Martin and Lillian, but most of all at himself. Because his crappy decisions had led to this confrontation, and the very person he’d been trying to protect had borne the brunt of it.

“Was it something I said?” Jamie was still grinning. For the first time Aiden wondered if his brother was on something. Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid…

Of course he would.

“You,” Aiden said, glaring at the man who shared his blood but nothing else. “Keep quiet.”

He turned to Brooke’s parents. For once Lillian was silent, and Martin was too. But his eyes were full of accusations waiting to come out.

“You should know Brooke was going to tell you everything,” he told them, his voice low. “None of this is her fault.”

Martin’s nostrils flared. “Of course it is. You lay with scum you end up becoming scum.”

There was a gentle hand on his arm again. “That’s not true,” Ember said, her voice sounding stronger than he felt. “She’s your daughter. She’s made mistakes. But Nick isn’t one of those. He’s a joy to everybody.” She looked straight at Brooke’s parents, her eyes wide and true. “I know how much you love him.”

Lillian lifted her hand to her throat, in a gesture that reminded him of Brooke. “I don’t know what to think.”

“No wonder she never told us who the father was,” Martin spat. “She would have been thrown out before she even finished her sentence.”

“Why? Because of his family?” Ember gave Aiden a side glance, as though to tell him to remain silent. She was probably right. If he opened his mouth his fist would almost certainly follow, and the last thing Brooke needed was her father floored by her boyfriend.

If that’s what he still was.

“But don’t you see,” Ember continued, leaning closer to Brooke’s parents, “Nick is part of their family, too. If you hate the Black family, you hate your grandson. And I know you could never do that.”

There was silence as Lillian took those words in. Martin’s face was still mutinous, as though he wanted somebody – anybody – to blame for this.

“I need to think.” Lillian looked up at her husband. “Martin…”

“What?”

“Let’s get a drink and talk about this sensibly.”

“I want answers.”

She ran her hand down his tuxedo-clad arm, and slid her fingers into his. For the first time, Aiden could see a hint of Brooke in her mother. In the soft way she was dealing with her husband, defusing him like a bomb about to implode.

“Come on, darling,” she said, looking up at him. “Let’s go and talk this through.”

Martin swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing above his crisp, white collar. He might have had twice the strength of his wife, but he still allowed her to pull him along and away from the fracas.

Ember had discreetly left, too. Only Aiden and Jamie were left standing there, staring at each other. Without an audience, the smirk had dissolved from his brother’s face.

Aiden opened his mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say. A memory washed over him, of when he was maybe four or five-years-old and the two of them were cowering at the top of the stairs while their father beat their mother for not keeping his dinner warm. Jamie had slid his hand into Aiden’s and squeezed it as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “It’s okay,” Aiden had whispered. “He’ll fall down and go to sleep in a minute.”

Where had it all gone wrong? Had Jamie tired of being Aiden’s brother, and inhaled whatever it took to forget about his life? Or was Martin Newton right, did the bad run through each of them like a fault in the earth – waiting for the fissure to happen?

“Go outside,” Aiden said to Jamie. He was fidgeting, moving from one foot to the other like he was dancing a jig. “I’ll meet you out there in a moment.”

Jamie blinked, as though he wasn’t sure what to do next. “Will you bring money?”

“No.” Aiden shook his head. “But I won’t bring the cops either if you leave quietly. Wait for me in the parking lot.”

* * *

When he returned to the table only Ember and Ally were there, the two of them staring at him with worry as he reached for Brooke’s wrap and his own wallet and keys. Beneath her wrap was her small silver evening purse. He hadn’t realized she’d left without it.