Filfthy (43 page)

R
oyal

F
ive minutes
after Demi leaves Friday morning, there’s a knock at my door. Glancing out my window, there’s nothing but a set of tire tracks where her car was parked overnight.

Slipping a t-shirt over my head and adjusting my sweats, I answer the door.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t.” Misty holds her hand up, pressing her palm against the door so I can’t slam it in her face. “Hear me out, Royal.”

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you not to come here.” My jaw clenches tight.

“Let me in, Royal. I want to talk.”

“No.”

I push the door, but she blocks it with the steel toe of her scuffed boot.

“I’m clean. I swear. And I want to talk to you. It’s really important.” Misty fidgets, her fingers twitching as she chews the side of her lip. Her dark eyes are brighter than usual today, and her skin almost appears clearer than it was just a day ago. “Just give me five minutes of your time, and after that, you never have to see me again. I promise.”

“No.”

“It’s about that night.” She sighs, lowering her gaze to my feet. “As part of my addiction treatment, I have to apologize to the people I’ve hurt.”

“What the fuck is an apology going to do, Misty? Is that going to get me off the sex offender registry? Is that going to give me back my family?”

“Your family?” She wrinkles her nose. “You mean, the Rosewoods?”

“Damn right. They were the only family I ever had, and I lost them because of you and your
disgusting
lies. They’re never going to look at me the same because of what you did. My name is ruined. I’m nothing but trash now. It was
never
supposed to be this way.”

“I’m
sorry
, Royal.” She says it like a whining child trying to get out of a punishment, like she resents the fact that she has to apologize.

It’s not good enough.

“You ruined my life.” I punch my fist into the wall beside the door, leaving a knuckled indentation. My sister jumps and leans away. “I should’ve been a lawyer. I should’ve married Demi. I should be a fucking family man by now, living the life I was meant to have.”

Misty tucks yellow strands behind her ear, her chin quivering as she looks up at me with puppy dog eyes.

“I messed up, Royal. I know that. But it’s in the past. I don’t know how to fix it now. We have to move on.”

“You . . . you don’t know . . . you don’t know how to
fix
it?” A sarcastic laugh originates in my belly. “Seriously? Are you a goddamn moron, Misty?”

Her eyes gloss, filling and spilling over in seconds.

“Tell the fucking truth!” I scream at her. “Go to the police and tell them you lied. Tell them the truth about what really happened.”

She sniffs, wiping away thick tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

“Rick fucking
raped
you, Misty,” I say. “I drove up there to
help
you. And you
ruined
my life.”

“If I tell the truth,” she sobs, “I’ll go to jail.”

“What?” I huff. “You don’t think you deserve to spend a little time behind bars? You think you should walk away from what you did unscathed? Do you have
any
idea what my life has been like for seven long years? Any at all?”

Misty buries her face in her hands, bawling. Muffled cries are the only response I get.

“Tell the truth, Misty. You can’t change what you and Rick did that night, but you can clear my name. It’s the least you could do, don’t you think?” My fist is balled against my forehead. “I just want my fucking name back. I want everyone to know you lied about that night, and I want my name off the goddamn sex offender registry.”

“I don’t want to go to jail, Royal.” Her lip trembles.

I smirk. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you now?”

She shakes her head. “I know I fucked up. I know I did. If I could take it back, I would. I just want you to forgive me. And now that Rick died, I’ve never felt more alone. You and Mom are all I have. I don’t even have any friends. Rick never wanted me to. Shit, he barely let me leave the house most days. Kept me high as a kite so I’d stay close to him.”

I lift a brow. “So you’re admitting he was a manipulative piece of shit?”

Misty rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I’ve been seeing a counselor at the addiction center, and she’s helping me to see the bigger picture. Rick used me.”

“Tried telling you that a long time ago.”

“I really thought he loved me.” She wipes another tear. “All I ever wanted was for someone to love me.”

“I loved you.”

“But it wasn’t enough. I wanted someone who wanted to see me every day. Who made me feel special. Loved me in a deeper way. It was never anything you did wrong, Royal. It’s just what I needed at the time, and Rick gave that to me.” Misty shrugs, lifting her eyes to mine. “He threatened me that night. Made up this story. Told me what to say to the police. Said if I didn’t, he’d kill you and make me fuck all his friends while he watched.”

“Jesus, Misty.” My chin tucks against my chest. The tiniest sliver of my heart wants to protect her, but I’ve spent so long hating her that my sympathy chip has become desensitized to her bullshit. She’s a proven liar. This could be just another lie of hers. Another manipulation.

“I love you, Royal. You might not love me, but you’re my brother. The only one I have. And I’ll love you forever.” She wraps her skinny arms around her narrow body, the sleeves of her sweater hanging past her fingers. “This wasn’t easy for me. To come here. To tell you I’m sorry. But I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not for me, for yourself.”

She sounds coached, like she’s repeating the lines her counselor fed her, but at least she’s here. I won’t discount how hard it was for her to darken my doorstep after the last time.

“Misty.” I drag in a slow, intentional breath and let it go. “Just tell the fucking truth. Go to the police. Tell the truth. Make this right.”

With watered eyes, she glances down at my feet again. Her mouth pulls into a bittersweet smile as she looks up at me. Her mouth parts, like she’s about to say something, and then she stops.

My sister walks away like the fucking coward she is.

D
emi

{
o
ne week later
}

“
B
rooks was transferred
to a rehabilitation facility.” Mom pours two cups of coffee Friday morning, one for her and one for Dad. She turns to face me, her face strained. “I know. I know you don’t care, but I thought you might want to know.”

I shrug it off. “Whatever. I’m sure Afton’s right by his side, tending to his every whim and discussing which color to paint the nursery.”

She shoots me a look that’s meant to scold, but her amused smirk gives away her true opinion.

I follow her to the family room, where Dad’s reading the paper with cable news turned up to an ear-piercing volume in the background. Mom grabs the remote and turns it down about thirty notches.

“You’re going to go deaf, Robert.” She swats his knee, and he peers over the edge of his glasses.

Placing her cup on a coaster, she sinks into her favorite chair and crosses her legs.

I take a seat on the sofa, halfway between each of them.

It’s been a week since Royal told me everything, and in the last week, I’ve struggled to find the right time to ask my parents to hear him out. To consider that he might have been set up. That the cards were stacked against him, and he never had a chance.

But echoes of the last time Royal was brought up run circles in my head. Just the mere mention of his name a couple of weeks ago sent my father straight to a bottle of vintage red wine and put Mom in tears.

“What have you been up to lately, Demetria?” Dad takes a sip of his coffee and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. How’s the job hunt going?”

“I’m working on lining up a sub contract for spring. There’s a teacher in Glidden about to have a baby any day now, so they’ll need me to fill in for a few months next semester.” I drum my fingers along the end table. I hate being so nervous around my parents.

I have to tell them.

Like, now.

Because Royal insisted on coming over this morning to talk to them, and I can’t just spring it on them.

“I’ve . . .” I swallow my words and regroup. “I’ve been spending more time lately with Royal.”

Dad drops the paper in his lap. Mom clears her throat softly and uncrosses her legs as their eyes meet from across the room.

“He told me what happened,” I say. “He told me everything.”

My father folds his paper, and an unsettling expression consumes his face.

“Dad, how could you?” The words quiver in my throat. “He needed you. You were his only lifeline. His
one
phone call. And you left him for the wolves.”

“The evidence against him was compelling. I had no choice.” His words boom and bark in our quiet family room.

Mom stares into her cup of coffee, and I’m sure she’s debating whether or not to leave the room. Talking about Royal will upset her all over again, but she needs to hear this.

“Mom, do you know what happened that night?” I ask. “Did Dad tell you?”

“Oh, um.” She looks to him then back to me. “He told me some things, yes.”

“You knew Royal just as well as any of us. Can you even believe for one moment that he did that horrible thing?” I ask.

“None of us want to believe it, Demi,” Dad interjects. “But the evidence spoke for itself.”

“So in all your years of practicing law, you never once had a case where someone was falsely accused and deliberately set up?” I ask.

“It happens, but it’s extremely rare. The legal system has its flaws, no doubt about that, but a case like his would’ve been considered open and shut.” His thick brows rise, and his lips narrow. “I analyzed his case the way I analyze all my cases, objectively and without emotion. Emotion clouds judgment. It distorts our thinking. I treated him like a prospective client, not a family member, and I gave him my best legal opinion and did what I thought was right for us as a family at the time.”

“Yeah, well, he was like a son to you. You could’ve at least treated him with a little bit of compassion,” I say.

“Demi,” Mom scolds.

“He was nineteen, and he was terrified,” I say.

The doorbell rings, and we all glance down the hall at the same time.

“And now he’s here.” I rise to get the door, rendering my parents speechless.

Imagining how they’re going to react when they finally see him again, after all this time, makes it hard for me to breathe, but this is happening. He wanted to come here. He wanted to speak with them in person.

“Hey.” I open the door and pull him in, greeting him with a conservative kiss. A tickle of butterflies flutter in my belly when I look at him. He’s dressed up. No greasy, gray auto body uniform. No jeans and t-shirt. He’s dressed like a respectable gentleman, in gray slacks and a gingham button-down with a navy sweater over top.

He’s incredibly attractive regardless, but still, I smirk because it looks like Derek dressed him. I wish Derek were here and not manning my father’s office. These two need to reunite. Derek’s never admitted it, but losing Royal as a friend affected him deeply. I saw it in the way he befriended Brooks but always kept a bit of distance.

“Come on back. They’re waiting,” I say.

Royal slips his hand in mine, and I catch the tip of a white piece of paper poking out of his back pocket. On second glance, it appears to be an envelope.

Dad rises when Royal walks in. The air is thick, the mood tense, but within seconds, Royal extends his hand.

“Sir,” he says. “Good to see you.”

Dad nods, gripping his hand tight. “Have a seat.”

“Bliss,” Royal smiles at Mom, and she smiles back, her eyes glassy and her hand on her heart. I’m sure seeing him like this, all grown up after so much time has passed, brings up a lot of emotions for the woman who once loved him like he was one of her very own.

Royal tugs the white envelope from his pants pocket before he sits, unfolding it and pulling out a sheet of paper.

I have no idea what it is, and I sure as hell didn’t know he was bringing anything with him today. All he told me was that he wanted to talk to my parents.

“This is for you.” He hands the papers to my father, who adjusts his glasses and squints as he reads.

Dad’s chin juts out with each passing second, and then he tilts his head. When he’s finished, he folds it up and nods, giving Royal a softer glance.

“What? What is it?” Mom asks. “What does it say?”

“It’s a copy of a police statement,” Dad says. “Royal’s accuser, Misty Lockhart, has retracted her statement and accusation.”

Mom’s face lights, her hands clasping over her chest. Her eyes move from Dad’s to Royal’s and back.

“When did that happen?” I throw my arms around Royal. “I had no idea. You didn’t tell me . . .”

“It came today, along with a letter from the district attorney in Saint Charmaine.” He fights a smile that threatens to take over his entire face. “They’re working on clearing my name.”

“Oh, my God.” I squeeze him tighter. “Royal.”

“I know,” he says, burying his face in my neck.

Dad clears his throat, and I release Royal from my embrace. My father stands, and Royal follows suit.

“I need to get to the office,” Dad says.

“Robert.” Mom gives him a sideways look.

My father is rarely wrong about anything; he’ll be the first to point that out. Which means he rarely apologizes.

“Royal.” Dad extends his hand once more, and Royal meets it. “We’ve missed you around here, and I’m extremely pleased to find that your accuser is retracting her statement. Please accept my apologies for doubting you. I hope you understand that it was nothing personal.”

It’s a formal apology, and my father is completely stoic and almost red-faced, but the fact that he’s admitting he’s wrong makes this a moment for the Rosewood history books.

“Sir, you were just doing what you felt you had to do to protect your daughter,” Royal says. “I respect that, and I would have done the same had I been in your shoes.”

God, I bet it
kills
him to say that, but his words hold a genuine quality that can’t be faked.

Their hands release, and Dad gives him a nod. They linger, eyes locked in a mutual show of respect until Mom intervenes with a bear hug for Royal.

“My goodness,” she says when she finishes. Her hands rest on his face, and she peers into his eyes like she’s attempting to peek into his soul. “You’re so grown. You’re not a little boy anymore.”

“No, ma’am,” he says.

She wraps her arms around him harder, breathing him in, and her lips arch into a warm smile. This moment is just as healing for her as it is for him.

“I’ve missed your cooking,” Royal says with a tease in his voice.

Mom laughs, peeling herself from him but holding on to his muscled arms. “Stay for lunch? I’ll make whatever you want.”

Royal places his hand across his heart. “I’d love to, Bliss, but I have to work today.”

“Why don’t you come for Sunday supper?” she asks. “I’ll invite Derek. You can meet our granddaughter, Haven.”

Royal looks at me, and I nod.

“I’d love that,” he says. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”