Page 93 of A Forever Love
That earns me a hollow laugh. “Of course! You’ve got no idea what I’m saying. If you’ve ever cared for her, you’ll let her go. Merida is better off without you, Carter.”
His words are like scattered puzzle pieces, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t piece them together. “Let me guess, you’re the one who can make her happy.”
“Perhaps I am.” He casually shrugs. “Judging by your clueless expression, I’d say you don’t even know why she left or what she went through the past four years.” He starts to turn, but I halt him with a hand on his shoulder.
“What happened four years ago?” I demand.
Brandon’s laughter is as dry as tinder, poised to ignite and consume everything in its path. “Ask your girlfriend, Jena. That’s her name, right? Or is she an ex now? You were high as a kite that night.”
The bitterness in his words lashes out like a whip. My hand falls to my side, and all I can do is watch the man walk away.
* * *
After returning to the parking lot, I dial Jena’s number, determined to get answers. It takes a few tries, but she finally picks up, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.
“I knew you would call me again,” she singsongs.
“I met someone at the bar, and they referred to you as my girlfriend. Why the fuck is that, Jena?” I demand, frustration bubbling inside me.
She lets out a sinister giggle, attempting to act nonchalant, but it comes across as eerie, like something pulled from a horror movie. “You can’t be that dense, Carter. They might have seen us together.”
My teeth clench, and my grip tightens on the phone. “There’s no us, and there never has been. We had casual sex a few times, and I regret every moment of it.”
“Cry all you want, but you weren’t complaining when you were buried deep inside me.” Her tone is no longer playful, turning venomous, mirroring my own anger. “Call me when you’re in a better mood, because I’m no one’s punching bag.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Jena. You’ll find me outside your apartment otherwise.”
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“Four years ago, on my birthday, you showed up at my place with pot. It was Merida’s prom night. I had told her I’d be hanging out with friends so she wouldn’t worry about me. But in case she dropped by, you were supposed to cover for me. I’d given strict instructions to just tell her I was out and you were there to drop off some office paperwork. But after smoking the joint, I don’t remember anything. You told me I had an allergic reaction, but what about Merida? Did she come over? What did you do?”
“What did I do? I rushed your ass to the hospital while you were having a severe allergic reaction and puking in my car. That’s what happened, Carter. Instead of being grateful that I saved your life, you’re interrogating me.”
“You know very well I’m grateful, and that’s the reason I’ve turned a blind eye all these years.” I don’t mention that a week later, I’d had a brand-new car delivered to her, because that’s not the point. She did save me and I am thankful. However, that doesn’t give her a pass when it comes to Merida. “But if you did say something to Mere, I swear—”
“I’m not your employee anymore, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Jena, don’t force me to make a choice I’ll regret forever. Just tell me what the hell happened that night. Did Merida stop by?” My voice quivers as I pose the question.
“You’re a psychopath. I always sensed something was off between you two. You made that girl depend on you for everything. I did her a favor that day she came to your door with a cake box. I told her you were with me. I was barely dressed since my clothes were ruined saving your ass, and then you groaning for her to leave was the final blow. She cried that she loved you, but you were so stoned, you couldn’t even hear her. That’s what fucking happened.”
The call ends, and my phone slips from my hand. Desperation grips me, urging my brain to recall any detail from that night, praying this is just another of Jena’s lies. But my memories remain elusive.
Before I can succumb to madness, my phone, now wedged under the seat, begins to ring. Hope flares within me. Maybe it’s Jena, calling to tell me that everything she said was a damn lie. But when I glance at the screen, it’s Joel, my PI.
“Please tell me you found something.”
“It’s not exactly what you might have anticipated.” The nervous disappointment in his voice says more than his words. “I traced down a lead. The guy worked as a perfumer at a local company, focusing on perennial flowers, particularly lilies.”
An onslaught of emotions and memories of Mom’s precious perfume collection hits me hard. This has to be him.
Joel continues. “That slick, charming bastard had a significant role in the company’s marketing, often leading tours of the premises. That’s where he identified his victims—young women and girls passionate about perfumes.”
“Could you please speed it up? My patience is wearing thin here.”
“You get the gist, I guess,” Joel says in a clipped tone. “His rap sheet is longer than Mt. Athena—groping, workplace sexual harassment, lewd letters. But the company turned a blind eye because he was profitable. He managed to secure bail every time. Then came the rape accusation. That’s when he changed his tactics. He married the accuser, but a few months later, he vanished into thin air without a trace.”
A chill creeps through my veins. Fury like this is hard to shake. “Just send me everything you have on him. I’ll take it from there,” I say, watching a couple exit the bar, the man’s grip on the woman tight as he drags her away.