Page 114 of One Little Lie
Halton
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The alarm goes off at 5:45 a.m., but I’m already wide awake. Sleep is an elusive bitch when your heart is shattered beyond repair. Tossing back the covers, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and come face-to-face with one of the many easels now filling my apartment.
I can’t get her face right. The charcoal doesn’t want to bend to my will these days, so I have at least a dozen half-started portraits throughout my home. I rise to my feet, and wadded-up sketches crunch under them. Glancing down, I find my floor littered with paper. Hundreds of attempted drawings tossed aside in various states of progress.
I ignore them all and head to the kitchen for coffee instead. Entering the galley-style room, shame tries to peek through at the state of it. Beer bottles, pizza boxes, and leftover Chinese take-out containers litter the island and counter space.
And I can’t bring myself to care. Work is the only solace I have these days, so abandoning the idea of coffee, I shower, dress, and head to work. The stubble along my jaw is unkempt, an outward sign of the state my emotions are in.
I fucking miss Rylan. I’m suffocating without her, and there doesn’t seem to be a damn thing I can do about it.
* * *
My office door slams open, and Mason Dennery strides through it like a man on a mission. We’ve known each other for more than half our lives. He’s been a great friend to Easton, and he started working here with our father at the same time we did. But never in all that time have I seen him look so … wrecked.
“East, Mason’s here,” I say into the webcam. “And he isn’t looking so hot. Hold on a minute?”
“What? Why? What’s wrong, Mas?”
I notice his shaking hand as he slams a stack of papers down onto my desk. When he leans over, Easton gets a glimpse of him over the video call.
“Jesus, Mason. What the hell happened?”
His entire body shakes, and as I adjust my focus to the papers he placed in front of me, I realize why.
“Fuck,” I curse, then wipe a hand over my face.
“Fill me in here, Halt.” Easton is a grumpy asshole, most of the time anyway, but he loves hard, and Mason is one of us.
“Mason just handed me Jonathon’s bank statements,” I tell East. Jonathon has been Mason’s live-in boyfriend for over a year.
“Why would he …”
“If I check, I’m guessing the dates of these large deposits will correspond with major deals we’ve lost recently?”
Mason nods his head and drops into the chair opposite my desk.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” he begins. Leaning forward, he places his forearms on his thighs. “I trusted him.”
The pain in Mason’s voice is reflective of my own feelings right now. It’s almost too much to take.
“Mason, this isn’t your fault,” Easton assures.
He nods his head but doesn’t glance up.
“Mas? How did you get these?” They aren’t regular bank statements, they’re for offshore accounts, and I need to know what we’re getting into here.
“I started going through everything a couple of days ago. Once you set the false numbers and they started circulating, I knew it was coming from someone close. I just never suspected he could do this to me. I gave him everything. I loved him.”
“Jesus. This is going to get ugly, you know that, right?”
“Do what you have to do, Halton. He didn’t have any concern for me. I’ll need to get over my feelings. I … He doesn’t know that I’ve found them. Just let me know what you need me to do.”
He stands to leave, but the devastation is evident in his expression.
“Mason, I’m really sorry about this. What do you need from us? How can we help?”
