Screwed Read online

  Screwed

  Jasinda Wilder

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Also by Jasinda Wilder

  Chapter 1

  It’s three o’clock in the morning and I’m sitting at Laurel’s dining table swirling the inch or so of Angel’s Envy around the bottom of my glass, desperately fighting the urge to toss it back and pour another. I’ve already had two fingers of this stuff, but as tempting as it is to get black-out drunk, I refuse to do so. I haven’t been drunk like that since…well, since Craig. But I refuse to think about that. At least right this moment.

  I don’t drink like that, and as tempting as it is to want to escape, I know better. It won’t help anything, and I’ll only wake up feeling like crap; I came to Laurel to talk, not to drink. I need to vent, I need advice, not a buzz. I just…I don’t know how to start, or where.

  Laurel sits in silence for a moment longer, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak. When I don’t say anything right away she stands up, tugs her thick, plush robe tighter, and ambles to the refrigerator.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She reaches into the freezer and pulls out two pints of ice cream, grabs two spoons from a drawer, and sets them on the table in front of us. I pick one up and examine the ingredient list.

  “Hmmm. Looks interesting,” I say.

  “Sugar-free, dairy-free, low calorie, and delicious. Ice cream unicorn, basically,” Laurel says. “And I think for us, ice cream is a more effective coping mechanism than alcohol.”

  “No kidding,” I agree, and dig in. I find it to be delicious, and I’m grateful for a few minutes of quiet as we both eat the ice cream.

  And then the pint is empty.

  I laugh. “Wow, that goes down fast.”

  Laurel chuckles and nods. “Sure does. This stuff is a real lifesaver when I’m on my period and want to eat literally everything in sight.”

  “Good to know,” I say, setting the empty pint aside. I leave the last of the whiskey in my glass untouched. I turn to Laurel and say, “I…I don’t know where to even start.”

  Laurel shrugs. “Honestly, Nova, I know very little about you, so if you just need to vent then, by all means, vent. I’ll be a sympathetic listener and a shoulder to cry on if you need. But if you happen to want my advice or anything like that, I need a bit of background.”

  “You guys have all been so great to me, even though nobody knows much about me,” I say. “I tend to keep my history to myself.”

  “Pretty much the only thing I know about you in terms of your personal history is that you were going into politics and then some shit happened. Then you worked as a party planner and a bartender, and then some more shit happened, and then you got your nursing degree.”

  I’m restless, as evidenced by my bouncing knee. I probably look like teenage boy. I glance at Laurel, sitting comfortably in her robe. “I need to go outside, Laurel. I’m too restless and upset to just sit here.”

  Laurel nods, and leaves the table. I follow her to the mudroom, where she shoves her feet in Ryder’s huge work boots, and then reties her robe more tightly around her waist before leading the way outside.

  “You’re going out there in a robe?” I ask, amused.

  She shrugs, nods, and gestures around us. “Well, yeah. Who’s gonna see me?”

  About fifty yards away kitty-corner to the house is a classic red barn, the kind you see on the side of the highway in rural areas—this one is clearly old, but has been restored, which is unsurprising, given that Ryder and the guys are all builders. Around us, there’s nothing but rolling hills with a few scattered trees here and there. I don’t see another house anywhere in view, and I know from driving here that you can’t see this house and barn from the road, as the half-mile-long driveway winds through a stand of trees and then curves behind them before dipping down and winding around the base of a hill.

  “So do you often just walk around in nothing but a robe?” I ask.

  She snickers. “We often walk around out here in less than just a robe, if you know what I mean.” She ducks her head. “The back deck is really nice. There’s a built-in couch around the perimeter with outdoor cushions. I have a feeling Ryder designed it with a…specific…purpose in mind.”

  I snort. “Wait, really? Outside, on the deck?”

  She shrugs and nods again. “It’s a lot of fun. Felt sort of…naughty, I guess, the first couple times. But there are no neighbors anywhere, no way to see any part of the house or barn from anywhere except, like, a satellite, and honestly, if someone is watching Ryder and me have sex from a satellite…? Well, that’s a little weird, but I don’t care.”

  “Huh. I like to think I’m pretty adventurous in the sex department—or at least, I used to be—but I can’t say I’ve ever done it outside,” I say.

  Laurel bumps me with her shoulder. “You should try it sometime. It’s a lot of fun.”

  I huff a laugh. “Assuming I ever have sex again, sure.”

  Laurel eyes me. “Meaning what? You’re in a dry spell?”

  “A dry spell? Nah, not really. More like…a self-imposed celibacy.”

  “For how long?”

  I hesitate to answer. “It’s going on three years.”

  Laurel chokes on a gasp. “Are you serious?”

  I nod and shrug. “Yeah.”

  “On purpose?”

  “Yeah.”

  Laurel is silent a while as we stroll slowly across the dew-sparkled grass. “Can I ask why?”

  I sigh. “I…I guess for you to really understand that, I’d have to give you the backstory as to why I moved here at all.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I let out another long, tense sigh. “Okay, so…the first thing you should probably know is that I’m from a wealthy East Coast family. My great-great-grandparents made a bunch of money in shipping and the railway back in…god, like…the eighteen hundreds? My subsequent great-grandparents and their kids, and then my own parents, all expanded the family holdings through various investments and business enterprises. So, basically, my parents paid for me to go to Brown University with the spare cash they had lying around in a safe. That kind of old, old money.”

  She examines me with new interest. “Really? I’d have never guessed.”

  I smirk. “That’s the point, actually. I’m sort of…estranged from them. They were shitty parents. They gave me every available luxury in life—a Mercedes for my eighteenth birthday, a stable full of horses each worth tens of thousands of dollars, birthday parties that cost more than most people make in a year, a no-limit credit card, yada yada yada. Imagine the most spoiled rich kid from, like, Clueless or whatever, and that was me. But money was all they had to offer. They didn’t know how to love, probably because they grew up the same way—spoiled but neglected, which is a weird combination that’s pretty much guaranteed to fuck you up.”

  “I can see how that would be.”

  We reach the barn and Laurel tugs a giant sliding door aside—it slides open silently and easily, revealing the darkened interior of the barn—rafters high overhead, the smell of hay strong in the air, the whicker of a horse, walls, slats, shadows. She reaches to one side and flicks on a light—and with a quickening flicker, fluorescent lights come to life, bathing the barn in light. The floor is strewn with hay and straw, an
d along one side are several stalls, three of them containing horses—a tail swishes in one, a head peeks over another, and a pair of ears shows from the farthest stall. A loft high above, accessible via a ladder along the wall opposite the horse stalls, is filled to capacity with hay bales. Near the ladder a swing hangs from the rafters via thick chains, a folded blanket on it.

  “This is one of Ryder’s and my favorite places to come and talk,” Laurel says.

  “I can see why,” I say, plopping down on the swing. “So, that’s my background, so to speak. In high school, I was in the popular crowd, more because of my parents’ money than any particular merits of my own, but still. I hated them, hated living with them, and couldn’t wait to go to college so I could get away on my own. I had plans, you know? I’d been to a couple rallies for some hoity-toity East Coast politicians, and had attended a few debates, and I just sort of fell in love with the energy, the ideas, the sense of being part of shaping the country itself. Granted, I was an idealistic teenager, but still, that’s what I fell in love with, and it’s what I pursued when I got to college. Back then I was idealistic, naive, full of piss and vinegar and determination, you know? But being innocent and sheltered, I was also…god, so much different than I am now. Believe it or not, I was open, I was passionate, and I made friends with anyone and everyone. Back then, I was the girl who became the center of any party I went to.”

  Laurel smiles at me, sitting beside me and kicking the swing into motion. “Actually, I can see that pretty easily.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “Really?

  She shrugs. “Sure. You put on a pretty convincing show with the aloof tough-girl act, but I see a softie underneath all that.”

  I snort. “Soft? No, not by a long shot. I grew up neglected and unloved. The closest thing to affection I ever got was an occasional, awkward hug. So, no. Soft is one thing I’ve never been. Fun, open-minded, easy to talk to? Sure. Soft and nice and sweet? No way.”

  “My point is,” Laurel says, rolling her eyes at me, “that I see through the tough -act you put on.”

  I laugh and smile at Laurel. “Okay, just don’t tell anyone,” I joke, “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

  Another knowing smile. “Yeah, hon, about that—we all see through it, you know. We’re just waiting for you to get over yourself and trust us a bit.” She pats me on the arm. “Anyway. Continue with your story.”

  “I…um.” I sigh. “Well, jumping to the juicy bits, I suppose…I met a guy named Landon Price my sophomore year at Brown. He was a senior. We met at a rally for some bigwig from the DNC, discovered we went to the same school and started hanging out, going to parties together. It started like that, but then we started sleeping together, and that turned into spending the night together, and things just sort of progressed from there without us ever really putting a label on it. We were just together all the time.”

  “What was he like?” Laurel asks.

  I grin. “Six-three, blond hair, blue eyes, fit, beautiful…he was your classic boy next door, All-American, Tommy Hilfiger model specimen of male beauty. He really was a Hilfiger model, too, in high school. As he liked to put it, he ‘dabbled’ in modeling, but once he got into Brown he put it behind him to focus on politics. By his senior year he was already interning with one of the DNC’s rising stars, a young senator from Massachusetts with a lot of controversial views, a shitload of charm and charisma, and big plans for the future. Landon was positioning himself to ride the senator’s coattails up the ladder until he was ready to run for senate himself. And let me tell you, that was hot as hell for me. Landon got me an internship with the senator, and by the time I graduated Landon and I were just about running the reelection campaign ourselves. We were definitely the top aides. It was…exciting.”

  “So how does this lead you to sobbing about a wedding at my breakfast table at three in the morning?” Laurel asks.

  I laugh. “Oh, keep listening. It gets gnarly, I promise.” I push away the old emotions and focus on just telling the story, because I haven’t spoken of this to anyone…pretty much ever, and I’m ready to unload it. “So, I met Landon sophomore year, and we dated through graduation. He proposed my junior year, I accepted, and we agreed we wanted to wait until after I graduated to get married, and for him to get a bit more settled and established in the political scene in DC. So after graduation, I just sort of started planning the wedding. Coming up with the overall theme, picking the dress with my girlfriends, finding the perfect church and venue for the reception. Only…I could never get Landon to agree on a date. He kept just putting it off. Saying the timing wasn’t right, let’s get through the midterm elections, blah blah blah.”

  “Uh-oh. Sounds like a case of commitment-itis.”

  I laugh. “I wish it had been that simple. I loved him, but I got the sense he was sort of intimidated by me, or jealous of me, or resentful, or something. He started interning for Senator Calhoun before I did, and he got me the job with him, but I sort of stole Calhoun’s favor. I was smarter than him—I had better grades, I had better ideas, and Calhoun listened to me more, favored me. Which, in hindsight, was as much because of these”—I cup my boobs—“as this,” I say tapping my temple.

  “Regardless, Landon was jealous.”

  “Right.” I take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out slowly. “So, this is where things began to change. I always knew the senator was…well, attracted to me, you might say. I never acknowledged it, never did anything about it—I was with Landon, for one thing, and Calhoun was married with kids, for another. So it was just sort of this unspoken thing where I avoided being alone with Calhoun to avoid any weirdness or potential impropriety. I also knew he was somewhat prone to…well…straying, I guess. He had me do some fixing for him, if you want the dirty truth. Handing checks to mistresses to keep them quiet about his indiscretions.”

  “Yuck,” Laurel says.

  I keep my voice neutral and focus on just relating the facts. “His wife knew about it, to be fair. It was one of those marriages of convenience, appearance, and political maneuvering rather than love, and we all knew she had her own side action going on. It was just another one of those dirty political messes, you know? I just did my job and tried to distance myself from his private life. The truth is Calhoun was going places, and I stood to gain by sticking with him until a better offer came along.”

  “Let me guess…Senator Calhoun assaulted you?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Again, nothing so simple.” I gather my strength to relate the next part. “Landon and I had an argument about getting married. I either wanted a firm wedding date, or to know that he wasn’t interested, and he tried his best to weasel his way out of both options.” I make my voice deep and gruff, quoting Landon. “‘I love you, but it’s not the right time yet. You know I love you, we have a good thing, why fix what’s not broken.’ All that jazz. It got ugly. I was tired of being strung along. I wanted to move in together, or get married, or something, but he didn’t, and I was sick of it. I got mad.”

  “Understandable.”

  “So we fought, I left, and we ignored each other at work the next day. He left for a working lunch, and I stayed at the office to get some stuff done. And then I spilled coffee all over my top and skirt. My apartment was twice as far from the office as Landon’s, and I had plenty of clothes at his place. We had keys to each other’s places, so me going to his place to change was no big deal.”

  Laurel closes her eyes slowly and sighs, seeing what is coming. “Shit.”

  “Yeah. So, I’m on my phone with Calhoun’s PA, sorting out the details of a meeting with another senator. Whatever. I’m not really paying attention to what I’m doing as I go up to Landon’s apartment and let myself in. I end the call and head for the bedroom, juggling my phone, purse and shoes while trying to undress. I had a bunch of shit to get done, and I really wanted to get back so I wouldn’t be at the office till midnight.” I pause to breathe a moment, remembering. “I opened the bedroom door,
and just stopped in my tracks, my shirt half off, skirt hanging open, shoes, phone, purse all dropping to the ground.”

  “He was cheating on you.”

  I laugh bitterly. “Yes, he was. When I walked in, he was on his back on his bed, balls-deep in Senator Calhoun’s wife.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  “Yeah. But that’s not all.” I laugh again, even more bitterly. “It wasn’t just his wife. One of the other aides, an office assistant—a coffee getter and copy maker. Nineteen if she was a day, and she was riding Landon’s face, and he had his hands all over both of them. He was eating out the aide like he was in a porno, and fucking the senator’s wife. The whole deal. I was…to say I was shocked would be an understatement. Given his recent behavior, I was expecting him to dump me, or to keep putting off the wedding, but to be cheating on me? No. Dumb of me, maybe, but I never saw it coming. Especially not with our boss’s wife, let alone a threesome with her and another aide. It was awful.”

  Laurel winces. “My god, I can’t even imagine. What did you do?”

  I can’t help laughing. It is almost funny in hindsight. Almost. “They didn’t even notice me, at first. I stood there, stunned, watching them fuck for almost two minutes. And let me tell you, Landon never fucked me the way he was fucking Presley Calhoun. It cut me to the bone.”

  “I can imagine it would,” Laurel says. “So…what happened?”

  I shake my head. “The bastard didn’t notice me until after he finished. I guess I showed up right at the end. So he came, and then looked over and saw me and freaked out. Tossed the Calhoun bitch off him one way, the aide another way, and tried to start with excuses and explanations.”

  “Men,” Laurel huffs, laughing. “They think they can apologize and excuse their way out of anything.”