Tension (36 page)

“Jesse,” George said, squinting at the sun in his eye. “Is traffic always this bad here?” he asked, taking in the parking lot that was I-285.

“Pretty much.” Stella nodded. “Make sure J is still on for tonight at 7:00 at Chops.”

“He’s meeting us there,” George confirmed, looking down at his phone again.

“Are y’all like best friends now?” Stella asked, puzzled.

“You bet,” George said shortly, still not looking at her.

“What’s going on?” Stella hit his arm, making him mess up his text.

“Nothing.” George looked guilty about something.

“You’re being weird.” She turned up the volume on Ben Harper.

When they pulled into Stella’s parents’ driveway, they were sitting on the porch drinking cocktails. Stella hesitated opening the door; her parents had torn her a new one when she called to tell them what happened with her phone. She knew her dad didn’t buy it.

George got out and grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat. “Hey!” he called, waving as he walked up the sidewalk to the front porch.

Her mother put on her fake smile and waved back. “Hi, George, let me show you your room and get you a drink.” She took his arm at the elbow and escorted him through the door.

Stella’s head was down as she walked up the stairs to the porch. Lifting her eyes slowly, she watched her father take a sip of his drink. It was scotch; he always drank scotch in the early evening.

“What happened?” he asked, leaning back against the chair. “Really.”

“What do you mean?” she stuttered.

“Quit fucking around, Stella.”

Stella flinched. Her dad cussed, but he’d never said “fuck” in front of her before. And she couldn’t exactly tell him the truth…

“You scared the shit out of your mom and me. If you were twelve, I’d bend you over my knee and beat your ass.”

Stella leaned against the railing of the porch. “Dad... I can’t.”

“Yes, you can and you will.” He took another sip of his scotch. “And I’ll beat your boyfriend’s ass if he did that to your face.”

Stella shook her head. “I can’t tell you.” She touched her nose with her finger tips. “I fell.” She’d never lied so absurdly to her dad.

“You’re lying and not even well. Why?”

“Because I’m protecting myself and you,” she answered as steadily as she could.

“That’s not the way it works, Stella. I’m your daddy,
I
protect
you
.” He rose from his chair, drink in hand, and moved toward her. “Now, sit down. We’re going to stay out here until you tell me the truth.”

She did.
Sort of.

As Stella drove George down Peachtree Street, she pointed out all the famous areas of Buckhead on their way to dinner at Chops Lobster Bar. George had never been to Atlanta; part of her wanted to show him everything, but there wasn’t time. She settled for Buckhead and Chops, one of her favorite steakhouses in Atlanta. She pulled into the driveway and offered the keys of her mother’s Mercedes to the valet. Grabbing George’s hand, she led him up the stairs to the restaurant. She borrowed some of her mother’s five inch heels and was wearing a body hugging sweater dress.
If people were going to be taking pictures, maybe her body would distract from the bruises still on her face.
She’d bought George a new outfit for tonight; the clothes he’d brought to Key West wouldn’t fit the business casual dress code.

“Murphy,” she announced to the hostess.

“Oh, yes, Ms. Murphy. Mr. McIntyre is already here. We put you in a secluded area in the back. Follow me.”

Stella and George followed the hostess to a back booth where Jesse was sitting, already with a cocktail. He rose when he saw them and Stella hugged him fiercely. She didn’t go to the doctor despite her parents’ protests. Everything was just going to have to heal on its own; her bruises were more yellow and green now anyway, and not nearly as grotesque to look at. George and Jesse shook hands and they all sat.

The servers magically appeared as soon as they sat down and got their orders. When the server presented Stella with her lobster, her mouth watered. They were having as good a time as they could, given recent events, and the drinks flowed throughout dinner.

“So, Jesse, what you got going on this week?” Stella asked, making small talk. Stella hated small talk.

“Not much, just trying to find that fucker of an ex-fiancé of yours.”

Stella could tell Jesse had a few too many. She stopped chewing and looked across the table at him. “What?”

She noticed that George had stilled too, staring at Jesse. Jesse stared easily back at George, communicating something that Stella wasn’t privy to.

“Yep, he’s no longer at the house he’d set up for you two. I’ve got people on it.” Jesse nodded at George again.

“What do you mean; you’ve ‘got people on it’?” She looked from Jesse to George. “How did you even know where it was?”

“I told him where the car was and then with your description we were able to narrow it down to a couple of houses through a private investigator out of Miami,” George said.

“Wait…what?” Stella dropped her fork on the plate.

George’s demeanor was calm, but redness was creeping up his neck. She couldn’t tell if it was from alcohol or anger. “Did you really expect me to just let that fucker go? He broke your nose and ruined your life.”

“George and I will do what you couldn’t do, Stella,” Jesse said dismissively.

“No… I don’t want you to take that on. Either of you.” Her voice was rising.
What the hell were they thinking?

“El, I’m not just going to sit back and do nothing when that guy is out there. He won’t go away. You’re naïve to think that.”

“But—” she began.

“But nothing, Stella, George is right. We’ve agreed.” Jesse took a bite of his Kobe beef steak. “You should try this; it tastes like steak-flavored butter.”

“You guys don’t just get to make this decision.”

“Oh, like you just got to make the decision?” George asked, taking Jesse up on his offer of a bite of his steak. “Oh shit, that is good.”

“George,” Stella urged.

He ignored her.

The server materialized and asked how their meal was. They confirmed it was satisfactory. Jesse asked the server to take a picture of them with his phone. Stella sat, stunned.

“Thanks, man.” Jesse typed on his phone. “Into the Twitterverse we go,” Jesse said with a laugh. “Stella, you look like someone just told you they were going to kill your ex-fiancé.”

George and Jesse burst out laughing. Stella lost her appetite.

The next day was full of calls to the police and the insurance company about her car. Her insurance company told her the car wasn’t worth anything and they’d total it because it was so old. There went three hours of her life. She’d gotten Greg to get an expedited police report for her stolen car since she was trying to leave for DC, but she’d have to wait until the next day.
Fucking insurance company. They were totaling her car, but they still needed the police report.

George was on the back porch fielding calls from the AP and Finnegan’s. Her dad was more civil after she’d told him the partial truth. Something was off, though; she didn’t know if it was because he knew she hadn’t been truly honest about the entire story or if he was worried. The story she told him about the past weekend was that someone slipped drugs into her drink while she was at the bar with Sara. She’d woken up in Key West, turned her locator on and Greg and George came to get her. He’d been furious and threatened to call the police himself. She’d been semi-convincing when she told him that Greg was handling all the legal implications and she didn’t want the story getting out, so they had to be careful. He’d relented and just shook his head in total disbelief, but now he was more withdrawn than ever.

“Mom?” Stella called from the kitchen table where she’d just been on the phone with the insurance adjuster.

“Yes?” her mother yelled from somewhere upstairs.

“Let’s go shopping!”

Her mom appeared out of nowhere. “Sure. I’m always up for shopping.”

“Let me go get my stuff,” Stella said and walked up to her room. She pulled the leather bag out from under her bed and put a couple of stacks of money in her purse. Stella smiled as she walked downstairs.
I’m going to think “fuck you” every time I spend a dollar of this money.
Making her way to the back porch, she leaned outside and mouthed to George, “going shopping.”

He waved and she and her mom took off for some serious retail therapy.

They made the long drive back to Old Town with Cooper in her mom’s Mercedes. Her mom made them turn in the rental and told her she could have it and
then
informed her dad that he’d just have to buy her a new car. The car was small and Cooper seemed to take up the backseat and half of the front too. George worked most of the way on his laptop, typing out his latest assignment, some sort of legislation on gun rights.

Stella scratched the bandage under her right arm. She reached over and touched George’s hand; he stopped typing.

“What?”

“I and love and you.” She smiled and brought his hand to her mouth, pulling one of his fingers into her mouth. She sucked his finger and watched out of the corner of her eye for his reaction.

Dimples appeared, then hunger appeared in his eyes. “So not fair,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“So not trying to be fair,” she retorted.

“How’s your side feel?”

“Fine, the bandage is scratchy.”

Stella had pulled him into a tattoo parlor on the night of debauchery in Key West. Now she had “fighter” in red script on her side boob under her right arm. She’d asked him if he wanted one. He’d declined. His heart tattoo with the infinity sign through it said all he needed to say for now.