Page 160 of Making Choices

The bank lady offers me an apologetic grimace. “I’m afraid you can’t. Your father is an executor on each of the accounts until your twenty-fifth birthdays. He hasn’t technically done anything wrong.”

“But that’s our money.”

The look she gives Sander is filled with pity. “While that may be true, you’ll need to seek advice from a financial solicitor to see what options are open to you in order to have the funds returned. This isn’t something I can help you with.”

“Fuck me. I’m gonna kill him.”

“I appreciate everything you have been able to do for us,” I tell her when she recoils at the vehemence in Sander’s voice. Taking hold of my brother’s arm, I drag him out of the office. “We need to speak to Gabriel.”

“I can’t today,” he objects. “Got somethin’ on this afternoon.”

“Something more important than this?”

“Yeah.” Sander won’t meet my eyes as he hedges, “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday... plus he’ll be busy with Isaiah’s patching in ceremony, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” My brother scrubs his hands over his face. “Monday, then.”

Before I can argue the point with him, Sander spins on his heel and strides out of the bank.

“What’s going on?”

When I turn my attention to Nadia, my chin wobbles. Fighting back tears, I tell her, “Dad’s drained our trusts... and I think Sander’s got an inkling why.”

“Shit. Fuck.” My best friend glances down at the phone she has clutched in one hand and back at me. “Don’t think you need to see this then. It’ll only add insult to injury.”

“Just show me.” I sigh when she shakes her head, then snatch the device out of her grip. Reading the caption out loud, it takes me a moment to really understand what I’m seeing, “With the threat of serial rapist, Alexander Kingsley, seemingly permanently negated, it appears the Vice President of the Black Shamrocks MC has found a new bloom in Sydney. Replacing lilies with tulips, it seems.” The short video that accompanies the Instagram post is of Zeke and a dark-haired woman. She has her legs locked around his neck as they grapple on a black gym mat with the distinctive Blackards MMA logo on it. He’s in shorts and she’s wearing a sports bra and Lycra tights. As she stretches out, trying to make him tap out to a triangle leg choke, I see that she has a chest piece of purple tulips. Swallowing down the bile that rises in my throat, I swipe up to close the app and hand the phone back to Nadia. “It’s fine... it’s fine. He—he told me he would be m-moving on, so this isn’t a surprise.”

“That isn’t the first post of him and that particular woman.”

“What? There’s more than one woman?”

“A few, but he seems to spend the most time with her.”

My voice is tremulous when I ask, “When was the first post about them?”

As my stomach churns, my heart tries to revolt.

Zeke wouldn’t do this.

Even if he threatened it, I can’t see him moving on so easily from me.

Our love is irreplaceable.

Irrevocable.

The moment my heart starts to win the battle, my head reminds of the photos of Zeke and Slash with Honey that Alex taunted me with. Everyone I trust, from Slash to Cub to my uncles, has sworn up and down that those images were staged, but damn, if they didn’t look realistic.

The corners of Nadia’s mouth droop. “The All-seeing Skye profile has been keeping tabs on them for a while. You know when Sera and all that came to visit?” I nod. My best friend looks like she’s on the cusp of throwing up when she continues. “I was going to show you a video of them that morning, too. In that one, he was out at a club with her... I believe that’s the first time Skye posted about them.”

“Sera came to Australia when Angelina overdosed after the concert,” I mutter to myself as my brain runs through the necessary calculations. With trembling hands, I clutch my handbag to my heart like it can shield my heart from the devastation I’m feeling. “A week. He found someone new in a week.”

A stabbing pain invades my chest and I fight for breath.

“Anna.” Nadia follows me out of the building. When I stand on the sidewalk, peering to my left then to my right as I try to force my addled wits to remember which direction I parked, she tries to hug me. I sidestep her embrace and take off down the street. “Cherub. Stop. Wait.”

Lifting an arm, I flick my hand repeatedly to tell her to go away.

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