Page 38 of Hush Money
Like I know my way around.
Like I’m home.
I don’t know if that’s right or not. All I know is, I feel grounded when I’m wherever he is.
When I step into the living room, he’s on the phone. The expression on his face looks serious, but it lightens when he sees me. I make my way across the room to him, and he holds an armout for me. I nestle into him as he ends his call, and he leans down to leave a kiss on my temple.
“Ready?” I ask him. He sighs and presses his head to mine.
“No. But let’s go anyway.”
Five minutes later, we’re in the back of the black Escalade on our way to Julian’s. The ride over is quiet. He’s staring out at the city, and I’m staring at him. I’m trying to channel my own anxiety about seeing Julian again into the need to be there for Keaton. The need to make him the center of everything tonight. Put all my energy in him.
But as Mac turns the car into the driveway of a garage under a very tall building and scans a badge, I feel my nerves begin to dance.
I haven’t seen Julian Everett since I was twenty years old. Julian is a hard read on a good day, but he always looked out for Keaton. Keaton was arguably the most important person in Julian’s life when we were younger. And then Brooks too, when he came along. Julian tried to protect them from the insanity that was and is their family. He followed the exact schooling and career path that their father wanted so that when it was Keaton’s turn, it wasn't such a big deal.
I remember Keaton telling me one time that the night their mom died, he couldn’t stop crying. Julian came in his room, sat on his bed, and held him like he was a small child.
Keaton has always danced to the beat of his own drum, but he didn’t escape the guilt that came from leaving his big brother to take all the responsibility and scrutiny.
Brooks is a different story. He is eleven years younger than Julian and eight years younger than Keaton. He has a different mom than the older two and had a much different life. I knew him as the spoiled rotten kid who had the most fucked-up, warped sense of reality. Based on the clips I’ve seen on socialmedia, he has now turned into a grown-up with a fucked-up, warped sense of reality.
When I last saw Brooks, he was a bratty twelve-year-old kid. He doesn’t intimidate me.
But Julian is a different story. He was there for Keaton’s and my story. He doesn’t trust people. And to be fair, I’m not sure I deserve his trust.
When Mac puts the car in park, Keaton gets out and holds out his hand for me.
“Let’s do this,” he sighs as we walk through the door and get into the elevator. Mac scans a badge again then presses the button that sayspenthouse. We ride in silence, and I rub my thumb over the back of his hand until the doors ding.
And then I’m in awe. I’ve never been to this apartment before. Julian didn’t live here when Keaton left town. It feels…big. Keaton’s apartment is fit for someone very, very rich. But it’s not a penthouse in downtown Manhattan. It’s more modest. It feels less lived-in. Less customized.
Julian’s apartment is fit for a king. Notaking. More like king of the fucking universe. It’s massive. Cathedral ceilings in a fuckingapartment.Floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere you look, like I’m watching Manhattan on an IMAX screen.
It’s impeccably decorated, a large painting of Kitty hanging on one wall. It’s sleek, modern, and completely spotless, and I immediately feel even more anxious. I expect it to be busy with help, maids, chefs…but instead, there is no one except for Mac and another man who looks like he’s security too.
I swallow when, around the corner, pads in a petite little brunette with a big smile on her face. She can’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old. Then I remember seeing this online too.
“Hi, Keat,” she says, arms outstretched. She takes him in for a hug and rubs his back as her eyes land on me. “Who is?—”
“What’s going on?” a booming voice from the back of the room commands. Julian looks the same. Maybe a few more wrinkles around his eyes but, otherwise, the same. His eyes bounce from me, to Keaton, back to me, back to Keaton. “Evie?” he asks. I relish in the way he says my name. Other than Keaton, he’s the only other person who has ever called me Evie that first knew me as Genevieve. Once he found out I preferred it, he never wavered.
He may not have liked me, but he respected me.
“Hi, Julian,” I say sheepishly. Keaton gives my hand a knowing squeeze. “It is really, really good to see you.”
His eyebrows knit together as he comes closer, placing his hand on the brunette’s back. She looks at him, then to me, then thrusts her hand out.
“Since Julian is being rude, hi,” she says with a smile. “I’m Sawyer.”
I take her hand and smile back.
“I’m Evie,” I say. There’s a long silence, like everyone is waiting for me to provide some context. But I don’t know what context to give them.I’m Keaton’s ex-best friend, who desperately called him a few days ago and has since then filed for divorce and fucked him repeatedly,just doesn’t feel like it’s going to be the smoothest.
“Evie was Keaton’s best friend growing up,” Julian says for us as he looks back and forth between us again. “And now she’s…back?”
Keaton smiles, bringing my hand to his lips.
