Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (18 page)

He had just thrown the cap of his beer bottle into the trash, when Declan walked in. The smell of greasy cheesesteak subs wafted from the brown paper bag under his arm, which caused Carter to give him a puzzled look.

“I thought you couldn’t eat shit like that?” Carter said, delightedly smiling and eyeing it like a vulture.

“Well, tonight I have an appetite,” Declan said, throwing his coat on the chair and sporting a smile of his own. “It’s been a pretty eventful day, so I’m eating what I want.”

Throwing the bag onto the table, he made his way to the stairs.

“I’ll be down in a minute. By the way, I went to see Jeannie Cole tonight.”

Carter choked on his beer. “What?!” He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Did she rip you a new asshole?”

As Declan rummaged through the dresser drawers to get a dry tee shirt and sweats, he yelled down the steps, “You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you?!”

“Can’t say she wouldn’t be justified!” his brother yelled back. “You did treat her daughter like shit!”

Making his way down the stairs, Declan struggled with gauging the pace.

Carter moved in a little closer and noted his gait.

“Leg not working so well tonight?”

Declan shrugged. “It’s the weather. Seems to be more of a pain in the ass when it rains.”

Carter nodded his understanding and went into the kitchen with his brother.

As Declan took his seat, Carter grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator for him and two plates from the cabinet, putting all of it on the table.

“So tell me,” Carter said as he sat across the table, “What’s up?”

As he unwrapped the sub, Declan’s eyes grew easy. Again, a change in demeanor that Carter noticed.

“Jeannie and I had a long talk, and—yes—she somewhat ripped me a new asshole. I also think that she might have forgiven me—just a little,” Declan answered.

Carter smirked as he shook his head in the negative. He wasn’t buying it.

“I don’t know about that. Jeannie’s pretty protective,” he said.

“Yeah, well, Carter…I told her some stuff that I didn’t even tell you about the nightmares. I’ve even been having sporadic memories come back to me…and they aren’t in line with what Marisol had been telling me in the hospital,” Declan confessed.

“Really? Marisol lies?” Carter mocked. “Well, hell, Dec. I could’ve told you not to believe anything she’d tell you. Why didn’t you just come to me? I would’ve helped you. I would’ve listened. Why do you think I came down here?”

Declan wanted to ease his hurt before it took root.

“I know you would’ve, and it isn’t anything you did, or that you wouldn’t have tried to help. It was all me. I was a hard-headed prick…and you have my permission to kick me in the ass—but not today. Between you and Jeannie, I should probably be in a psych ward!”

That caused Carter to laugh.

“As if I need permission to kick your ass!”

Declan joined in, but soon he grew a little more serious.

“I need to talk to you about this stuff with Marisol.”

Carter braced himself, and Declan saw his hand tensely grip on the neck of the beer bottle as he steadied his composure.

“I told you…Captain Jax is going ahead to get records from the car rental company and checking to see if she rented any place to stay. I said my peace to you this morning. All you have to do is wait and see what he comes up with.”

“I think I can do better than that, Carter.”

He took a bite of the sub and swallowed a long gulp of the beer. This was the first real appetite he’d had in weeks.

“I think I can lull her into a false sense of security. Lately, she seems like she’s trying to get something over on me. She’s really been playing up to me. If I play along, I might be able to get her to admit to something—anything. If she feels comfortable, or thinks she’s getting through to me, then she might slip up.”

Carter appeared uncomfortable with the plan, but he leaned in to hear more details as he put the bottle on the table.

“I’m not telling her anything about my memory coming back,” Declan explained, “and Jeannie’s going to help me find a doctor to help me with getting more of that back.”

He added that as a side note to inform his brother that he was also looking out for himself.

“If Marisol thinks that I’m still going along with her version of the accident, then it might make her reveal what her agenda really is, and if she was involved in Lacey’s accident at all, she might just slip up and tell me something useful.”

Carter knew this was a more interactive conversation than was normal for Declan. For months, he had been secluded, isolated, and withdrawn. Now he wanted to offer himself as a pawn, as if he needed to make restitution for his months of lousy and despicable behavior. He also knew he had no control over him, as his brother was a very determined man, especially once he set his mind on something.

“If you do this,” Carter protectively advised, worry and concern reflected in his voice, “then you have to be careful—you have to play it safe. You don’t know if she’s dangerous.”

Declan responded by smirking and rolling his eyes.

“I mean it, Dec!” Carter warned. “If she really is responsible for Lacey’s death, then that would also mean she’s capable of murder.”

“I know that, but I have to do this—I want to do this.” Declan responded, determined.

Carter tipped the bottom of his bottle toward his brother and smiled.

“Ok, baby brother—but WE are in this together,” he informed him.

Then, as in times past when they teamed up, Declan said words that sounded familiar to his brother.

“Let’s do this.”

They clinked their bottles, breaking into smiles.

Blake looked at the clock. It was near twelve.

Who’d be calling me at this time of night?

He placed his cell to his ear and said, “Matthews.”

“Blake, it’s Declan.”

“What the hell do you want, Sinclair? It’s midnight!”

Declan’s energy had been skyrocketing since he left Jeannie. He hadn’t even noticed the time.

“Hey, I’m sorry man. I didn’t look at the clock before I called you. I can call tomorrow if that’s better.”

Blake, by this time, was upright and sitting on the side of the bed.

“You’ve got me up now,” he said, staring at his feet on the floor.

Remembering the state Sinclair had been in the past several months, and how they left things, concern crept in.

“What do you want? You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Declan assured him. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll do it. You know…the office. Your proposal about your office, I mean. You having one at The Studio.”

The hour of the call, and the reason for the call, caught Blake off guard.

“Well, that’s a surprise. You didn’t seem too eager when I was down there giving you the proposal.”

In an instant, Declan calculated just how many people had been affected by his behavior, the accident and its after-effects.

“Yeah, well, let’s just say that I’ve gained some clarity,” he somberly stated. “It would be a good thing for The Studio, and it would be good for you.” After a brief pause, he added, “It would be good for me, too. I know I’ve been a pain in the ass, but I like when you’re around. Between you and my brother, you keep me in line.”

At his admission, Blake ascertained that someone or something had helped Declan come to this conclusion, but now didn’t seem to be the time to get into that.

“Dec, you know I’d never steer you wrong, especially about business. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

He felt it necessary to make the declaration to set to rest any fears he may have felt about the decision.

“Yeah, well, thanks for that,” Declan replied.

Blake seized the moment to approach another subject.

“The shoot in Hawaii…I want you to go,” he said.

He heard Declan’s hesitancy through the phone at the thought of doing a shoot in a bathing suit.

He quickly continued, “I want you to keep an eye on some of the new people I’m going to be sending. They’re young. There’s booze…they could get into trouble on a client’s dime. I need you to be the voice of reason. I’m hoping to get there, but I might be a day late.”

The trip had shown up on Declan’s agenda, he had been ready to dismiss it, but thought along the same lines as Blake. He was ready to protest if he asked him to model for the shoot, and was relieved to be on the business end.

“Katherine’s already making the arrangements for me. I was planning to go all along. Are you planning to send Marisol?”

Blake’s disdain could be heard through the phone.

“I haven’t broken the news to her yet, because she already booked herself on the trip. She’s made her own arrangements, you know…” Blake confided.

Declan chuckled low into the phone. Marisol always did what she wanted, even if it was forcing herself into a shoot.

“To tell the truth,” Blake confessed, “the client doesn’t want her on this assignment. Seems she was trying to tell him what
she wanted him
to do
on the shoot. He got a little pissed at the idea that
a skinny bitch would tell him how to spend his money
, and finally said that he’d
strongly
prefer she not be there.”

“Does she know about it?” Declan asked, laughing.

Blake’s authority exposed itself as he enunciated every word, strengthening his voice with his comment.

“She doesn’t have to know. She works for this agency, and I tell her where she goes.”

Declan’s laughter was a sound Blake was happy to recapture. It had been too long since he had heard his friend roaring at an inside joke.

“Good luck with that!” he said. “We
know
how Marisol loves to be
told
anything!”

Firm in his position, Blake solidly assured him, “Oh! Don’t worry about me, man. I’ve had lots of practice with
her highness
…Lots…of…practice…”

“Are you ready to begin, Aria?”

Dr. Sumner had put much effort into setting her patient at ease. Their sessions had been progressing most successfully. Aria was responding to the EMDR therapy, and her relaxation and comfort were key to the success of each session.

With her feet leisurely tucked under her on the soft cushion, as had become her routine, Aria anticipated another revealing hour. Together, she and Dr. Sumner determined that her mental image was that of a train traveling in front of her on railroad tracks. Each time Dr. Sumner stopped moving her finger in front of Aria’s eyes, a car of the train stopped and another detail of the accident was the image on the side of the car. This being the fourth session, Aria was hopeful that her mind would open and all of the details would be uncovered. Of course, with each EMDR session, she hoped that she’d remember everything. Hopefully, her psyche would cooperate and stop playing tricks on her.

“Okay, Aria, we had gotten to a point in your memory where you were running from Declan, toward the street. Follow my finger as I recant what you’ve told me, okay?”

She began moving her finger from left to right as Aria focused on nothing but the movement. In her mind’s eye, the train picked up motion on the track.

“You were running from him because you were hurt and angry,” the doctor added.

Aria’s eyes moved as she began speaking.

“Yes. When I saw Marisol leaning into Declan with her hands on him, I snapped. I saw red. I was jealous, and I had never felt that way before. I just felt like I wanted to run. I needed to get away. I wasn’t really running away from Declan; I was just running away from the hurt.”

“Good,” Dr. Sumner said. “Where did you run to?”

“I didn’t know,” Aria said, blankly following the motion. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just running. The hurt was overwhelming.”

Her eyes continued moving back and forth, but she stopped speaking.

Dr. Sumner stopped the motion.

“What do you see in front of you now, Aria?”

Aria looked up as if examining the image in her mind’s eye was as visible as a giant projection.

“I’m in the street,” she stated.

Dr. Sumner tried to get her to look for the details.