Mind F*ck (18 page)

I reply with the only acceptable response, “I understand.”

But I don’t. I don’t understand.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he demands.

“I won’t. And you know it,” I bark.

And I won’t. I don’t plan on failure. Ever.

“Liam, if this all plays out the way father wants it, you just may come out of this better than on top. Personally and professionally. Are you reading me between the lines? Are you?”

“I am, Travis.”

And I am. I see how this could work out in everyone’s favor.

Clearly.

Everyone’s but mine and Lexy’s.

There’s a brief moment of muted silence before he finishes. Filling in the blanks of what it is he wants from me. What he
expects
from me.

“Talk to Lexy.” Calm. And clearly spoken, edging a stern tone, “Make sure she understands the importance of her role. Rhett needs someone. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I warned you in LA how small the circle of trust is in the Jackson family. Two weeks before you officially accepted the New York position, you were forewarned. We’re you not?”

“I was,” I respond.

“Right. Well, it’s not my fault you moved to the east coast and less than a year and a half later you lost your rights to your wife. I told you Monday, and I will keep reiterating if necessary, Liam: You lost your control over Lexy when you knocked up the Jackson princess in your extramarital affair. Period. Cut your ties, wish them well, and carry on your own merry way with my sister.
That’s
your next move. There’s your pre-emptive check mate, brother.”

Then the line goes dead.

I do remember pulling out the old Colombian cigar box from my safe filled with brick after brick of pure cut cocaine and lining line after line up along the bathroom counter.

I do remember that.

I also remember sliding my phone and wallet in my pockets before shouldering on my suit jacket and slipping out of the kitchen service elevator.

I consider texting Lexy twice, letting her know that I was on my way.

And I only half way consider calling her once, but quickly dispel the idea when the headlights of my Jaguar F-TYPE bounce off the exit sign for the highway to the reason Lexy and I moved here.

Or one of them.

Our new home. The place we were going to build a family…

Anger catches fuel at the thought of losing what’s mine.

And if it isn’t my own sanity and control snapping in two at the thought, then I don’t know what to call it.

I just know the sound was both dull and resounding.

And it hurt.

The possibility of either ending is irrelevant, because they both hurt.

I just know that everything after the Jaguar’s headlights reflected off the exit, everything seemingly went black.

Like the lights were still on, and from the outside looking in, I’m sure it seemed someone was home, but in reality…I was not.

Storming into the house I architected for the future I planned, taking the steps two at a time the entire way up as soon as I barreled through the double front doors of my home…and I must reveal to you, dear reader…I was nowhere near home.

Not in my mind.

I believe that’s what occurs when sanity splits from reason.

And if I knew how to feel shame, I probably still wouldn’t feel an ounce for the sins I was about to commit on my wife.

Shit.

Ex-wife.

I’m still damp from barging in on Lexy in the shower.

I pull another drag from my cigarette and look out over the grounds to the east. After I’ve exhaled the smoke completely from my lungs, I look down at the offending carcinogenic containing crutch that I love and hate, growl under my breath at it, then flick it out over the balcony.

I run my fingers through my hair and consider shaving it for the hundredth time, while questioning my next move.

What next move? You may ask. My
every
next move.

I’m taking Lexy to my birthday celebration.

I sent Trav a text after Lexy went storming off from the balcony toward her room after she got Liam’s text.

And what in the hell kind of text was that?

I knew Liam was scum. Hell, he is a cheating asshole.

I wince when I remember who he’s been fucking with. Summer.

Then I visibly shudder when I remember how it’s going to affect old man Jackson’s plans.

I’m not sure why, but one thing Trav
has
surprised me with, is his show of forgive and forget, and he’s done that. He’s shown that by making sure I’m kept in the loop.

The last few weeks Travis has been letting me mostly get away with working on the estate and getting it back to its original state—which is quicker to being completed than my first estimated times.

But Liam’s text changed things.

Drastically.

And not only for Lexy. But me, too.

And what was previously an unfortunate fact, is now the question in the balance.

It seems I may have some fucks to give.

And it scares me. Honestly, it scares me.

To the point of causing every muscle surrounding my bones to tense in preparation for fight or flight—for war, when my phone rings in my pocket.

I shake off the tension and pull my phone from my hoodie pocket at the same time as my cigarettes and lighter.

I answer, “Hey, man,” seeing it’s Travis beforehand. I thumb a cigarette into my mouth.

But I don’t light it. Not yet.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“What if I told you that I practically gift wrapped Lexy Mayer Dean for you? What if I told you that within a matter of…let’s say half a year, I can make the house you’re rebuilding, brick by brick yours? That gorgeous
as fuck
little woman, your wife? That house, that
home…
all can be yours. With just the passing of some sand though an hourglass. What would you say then, brother?”

I laugh for several reasons.

The top contenders are his audacity. And the following few are the fact that he assumes I
need
his help.

I don’t
need
anyone’s help.

No one’s.

Once my laughing has subsided and I’m merely chuckling, I ask the first obvious question, “Trav, what the hell makes you think I need your help? No, no…what do you mean
gift-wrapped
Lexy? Like birthday gift-wrapped? How does that work for me in my favor?” I ask, somewhat allowing my amusement to be heard in my voice.

“There are rules. There is a law. Jesus, am I surrounded by amateurs?” he asks, but I don’t respond.

I mainly don’t respond because Lexy, the gift-wrapped item up for discussion slips out onto the balcony. Her pale yellow silk robe catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I turn towards her, smiling.

She looks like the cat who ate the canary, blinking back at me with those pools of emerald green.

“Okay, just—“ he huffs on the other end, “ask if she’d like to attend the celebration. Do you have any other possible dating candidates? Do you even have a suit?” he asks.

“I have a suit,” I chuckle, barely taking my eyes off Lexy. Her hair’s pinned up with ringlets left in wisps around her face. She’s stunning. Even without a stitch of make-up on. She’s breathtaking. “It’s at the dry cleaners.” I clear my throat before turning my back towards Lexy for a second. “The first part of that question is none of your business. None. As a matter of fact, I’d prefer you keep my personal life
completely
out of any and all plans. If you want me here in six months, at Jackson’s Agency. If you really want me here, then you’ll heed my advice when I say, stay the fuck out of it, Trav. It’s mine. And it’s personal. Period.”

“Alright, alright. I understand. Shit, I’m just trying to help. You know me.” He laughs and my hackles lower.

“I do, and I also know sometimes you have a bad habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. And I want it said, Trav—it doesn’t belong. Not anywhere near my personal life do you belong.”

“Rhett, try to not offend me. Your choice of words, brother…”

I plaster a smile across my face before turning back around to Lexy, then chuckle, “My choice of words is just that. My choice. Respect them, all of them. And we’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight, brother.”

I press end before pocketing my phone in my still damp hoodie. Smile still in place, I narrow my eyes on hers.

“Hey, you,” I gently speak.

I can’t stop my eyes from scanning over her every inch, from the top of her head to her little red-painted toes peeking out from her robe.

I let out a breath when I see her visibly relax. “Hi.” She smiles when she speaks.

When I remember the cigarette still hanging out of my mouth I’d completely forgotten about it as I growled my words of warning to Trav, I quickly snatch it from my mouth with one hand while retrieving my pack from my hoodie pocket and thumbing it open. After I have the cigarette tucked back in its pack I stow them in my hoodie. 

Then I ask her around tying my hair back up, “Change your mind? About going with me to my birthday?” I explain when her brow furrows at my first question.

“No, no.” She laughs. “Actually, I have a favor to ask you. My mom’s plane lands in an hour. Mary was supposed to pick her up and bring her here. But something’s come up. She can’t get away. Do you mind?”

I don’t make her say another word.

“An hour? Sure. I need to swing by the dry cleaners any way.” I smile as charmingly as I can. Because I have fucks to now give. “That’ll give you plenty of time to get dressed. And ahh…” I rub the back of my neck, coming up short on what words to use
here
, “…your mom accompanying us tonight? Or will it just be the two of us?”

“The two us?” She repeats my words to me. Then clarifies and I can’t help the pride that puffs my chest out when I realize that she’s attempting a joke. “Meaning you and my mother? Or you and I?” The smirk on her face will be the death of me.

I chuckle. Then the chuckle turns into laughter. And a few moments later we,
the two of us
, are both laughing.

I like the banter between us.

I like that it’s easy for us. It’s easy to talk to her. It’s easy to joke with her. And the more I’m learning about her, the more I realize…just how fucking many fucks she represents that I’m currently adding up to give.

It didn’t take me meeting Lexy’s mother for all of the pieces to fall together. But it definitely expedited the process.

It’s amazing to me, really, when someone’s integrity flourishes and blooms and they’re not even present to nurture it. That says something.

To me, anyway.

I can instantly tell Gigi doesn’t abide in life with the same beliefs my mother did where living in excess is concerned. Lexy’s mother is well taken care of.

Very well.

And while they share a lot of the same traits and I do see where Lexy gets her beautiful looks and strawberry blonde hair from, aside from a few facial features and gestures, the similarities between the two woman stop. Right there at their physical traits.

I slide the Range Rover I borrowed from Lexy into a parking meter spot outside the dry cleaners and smile as I glance over my shoulder towards the back seat where Gigi sits.

“Gotta grab my suit for tonight. I’ll be right back. Don’t lose your spot in the story. I like getting all this insider info, straight from a reliable source.” I wink, slathering on the extra flirting for good measure and smirk before exiting the truck.

But I still hear her response before the door can cut her off. “Right, and as soon as your curiosity about my daughter and her upbringing is waned, you’ll let me know what the heck is going on!?”

‘Heck.’

I snicker at her choice of words.

And as my mind takes me back to every time I’ve heard Lexy speak, I try and remember if I’ve ever heard her candy coat her profanities like her mother just did.

Nope. Not that I can think of.

I exchange currency for the services rendered to my suit then make my way from the dry cleaning store to the truck. Buckling up, I start the SUV and pull us back into traffic.

“Okay, so y’all moved from New Orleans to LA after your second husband. Correct? How’d Lex handle the move?” I urge her to pick up where she left off.

But she counters, upping the ante in hopes of her own information. “Not well. That was around the time she started retreating within herself again. She really liked New Orleans. She liked Patrick. He was a good stepfather to her. He was the one who made sure her education was taken care of. So tell me, does this have anything to do with why her butthead husband left her? That’s all I was able to pull out of her on the phone when my plane landed.”

I consider her words, then my own, focusing on how to word them.

“She told you about that, huh? And what do you mean, ‘
does this have anything to do with
it’? With what?” I ask, mainly to confirm we’re on the same page.

She blinks at me like I’ve seen Lexy do a hundred times. Big greens, completely blank.

Then her eyes narrow and she replies, “With why I’m answering a hundred and one questions about my daughter. With why she’s getting ready for a
date
that you just picked up a suit for.” When her voice rises to a very familiar level, I know it’s time I start supplying answers. Not just questions. “All at the same time that her
previously very
stable marriage is falling apart? That’s
with what,
Mr. Bennett.”

I learned…long ago not to fuck with a mother’s claws. Long ago.

I learned when to bet, and I learned when to fold.

And this woman’s not eating anymore of the bullshit I’m feeding her, it’s obvious.

“Yes—“ I stammer. “Gigi, shit. Hang on.” I pull off the exit and it only takes me a matter of minutes to find a parking lot to pull into.

Once we’re both out of the car, I motion towards the sidewalk leading along the front of the little shops and boutiques that line the busy street.

I tuck her arm under mine and lead the way. Letting my feet carry me and Lexy’s mom down the sidewalk while my mouth carries everything else to probable Hell.

Once I have my words like ducks in a row, I continue to clarify, picking up where I stopped in the car.

“Honestly, Gigi, I can’t explain what’s going on between me and your daughter. I can’t.  She confuses the hell out of me. She scrambles my brain—she fucks my mind up.” My eyebrows shoot up and I hurry to explain, “Sorry. I’m sorry, excuse my language.” I cut myself off from spitting my many excuses. I get tired of constantly spouting my lousy vindications.