CHAPTER SIX – LOCKE

 

 

PRESENT DAY

 

Nova Ryan’s first month at the Institute was very stressful.

But Olsen was counting on that.

And, if I’m being perfectly honest, so was I.

In the Midnight Ark parking lot, she rests her head on my shoulder, panting hard into my neck. Her body goes limp with exhaustion and I relax a little, letting my fingertips trace a line up and down her bare shoulder.

I love her. And I’m not really sure what’s happening right now, but I’m gonna stick around for it no matter what.

My other fingers begin stroking her hair as I close my eyes. We should get out of this truck and go inside. We should, at the very least, cover ourselves. But we don’t. We just let it all go still and my mind immediately slips back into the past.

To our other new beginning…

 

 

 

 

Nova’s first month at the Institute was stressful for me too. But that’s because I was living a lie. And the entire time I was living this lie, I was also living with Mercer.

He didn’t have a little cottage tucked between buildings the way Olsen and Nova did. Silas Mercer in a one-room cottage? Get real.

He had a house. A four-bedroom, mid-century modern of all things. It would’ve looked ridiculous if it was near any of the other buildings because the contrast would’ve been stark and not at all harmonious.

But it wasn’t near any of the other buildings. It was on the northeastern edge of the island, not far from the dining hall. But there were thick woods on that side and nothing but a footpath cutting a way through them. So it was well-hidden unless you were coming by boat.

By boat, it was hard to miss. Everyone in the area knew of the Mercer House. He had a dock—shit, he had a marina. There were even gas pumps. Sometimes, in the summer, people would be boating by. And if Mercer and I were out there, they would call over to us, asking if they could buy gas.

Mercer always filled them up and he never took a cent of money.

He was generous like that. Don’t get me wrong, Mercer has a whole slew of vices and undesirable traits. But greedy he is not.

I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t Silas Mercer’s best friend. This is why my betrayal was so heartbreaking for him. And me too, actually.

“A girl, Locke? You did this over a girl?”

That’s what he said to me.

What happened that summer was because of a girl. But not in the way he thought. But even if it was the way he thought, he wouldn’t hold it against me.

Didn’t hold it against me.

Still isn’t holding it against me. Obviously, since we live together.

Olsen used to ask me questions about our living arrangements all the time. “What if you get married? Will you just move your wife in there?”

Mmm. Maybe.

This makes me smile and Nova must feel it, because she lifts her head up off my shoulder to look at me. “What are you smiling about?”

I let out a breath. Because the whole point of Nova Ryan that year was to share her with him. And while we did have our moments, it wasn’t what I was hoping for.

Five years after that last and final fight where Nova walked away, I’ve made no progress at all in this regard.

If I had to blame someone, I’d blame Olsen. He was the one who flipped shit around on me. It was that night. The night of Nova’s one-month check-in.

Well, it wasn’t the night’s fault.

It was our fault.

And what we did that night changed everything. I’m sure it was that night. It changed things for Nova.

“I’m thinking about the good times.” I blurt this out like she just asked me what was on my mind, even though she didn’t.

Nova tsks her tongue at me. “You literally just told me, like… less than an hour ago, that we don’t talk about the past.”

“Yeah, but I’m not talking about it. I’m just… thinking about it.”

She slides off my lap and back into her own seat, reaching down to collect her panties and slide them back up her legs. She cocks her head at me, a crooked smile on her face. “Wanna go inside?”

I love that she can put it aside. That I can admit a truth to her and she just absorbs it without asking questions.

Of course, that’s part of why we’re in this weird situation in the first place. She and Mercer are so much more alike than they will ever admit.

I tuck my dick away, ignore the wet spot on my pants, and zip up. Then grab my bag from the Jeep and we go inside.

I noticed that the living room is different than earlier, but it was only in a casual way. I was maybe a little bit distracted by her ass. And her tits. And, well, pretty much everything about her distracts me. I set my bag by the door while she puts her purse on the kitchen counter and gets a glass of water.

“You’ve remodeled.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” She hums this as she drinks. Then she refills the glass and offers it to me. “Want some?”

I shake my head. “It looks nice.” It does look nice. New pale-yellow paint on the walls. But the trim is all dark gray. Same as the kitchen cabinets. The floors are the original hand-scraped wood, but refinished to a lighter color. The fireplace has new stone that goes all the way up to the ceiling, round river rocks that are much softer than the red brick that used to be there, and long sprigs of dried lavender bunches hang from the rustic log mantel, pulling it all together.

It’s very… Nova.

“Everything was redone. I was disappointed when you didn’t mention it immediately. I chose things based on what I know you like. Mostly what I like,” she amends. “But I did consider you. My bedroom got a little screened-in porch addition and a new bathroom.”

She stops to send me a chastising look for not noticing that. Maybe her house was a little dark this morning when I showed up because of the shutters, but the bathroom was illuminated. Again, in my defense, my mind was on sex, not décor.

“And Veda got a bay window reading nook. Even the guest room was redone.”

I’m stuck on her words. Based on what you like. Considered you. I look it all over again and note the quality of the finishes. I do like it. A lot, actually. But none of it is anything like the place Mercer and I share. Maybe that was the point? “Business must be booming.”

Nova absently pushes in a chair at the breakfast table and starts gathering up some coloring pages left behind by Veda. “It is going well, but I didn’t pay for this.” She stops fussing and finally gets to the point. “Olsen did.”

“Ah. I feel like he’s a bigger part of your life than you’ve let on.”

“He is.”

“So what are you doing, Nova?”

She shrugs. “We had something. Didn’t we?”

“We did. But…” I shrug as well.

“It doesn’t have to be over. We could start again. To fresh starts and new beginnings. Sound familiar?”

“You, me, Veda, and Olsen?”

“Does it sound so bad?”

It doesn’t, but that’s not the point. “Nova.” I scoff a little. “I live with Mercer. I’m not moving here. If you want to be with me in some kind of forever situation, you need to come back home. You’re the one who ran—” I stop talking and rub my finger over a crease in my forehead. “Is this why you asked me to stay? Because if so, I’m disappointed.”

“I’m not leaving my farm.”

“Well, I’m not leaving my friend.”

It’s her turn to scoff now. “Friend? Is that what you call him? Your friend? Why don’t you just admit what you are to him?”

“Since when have I ever denied my relationship with Mercer?”

“Why are you so loyal to him? He’s not loyal to you. If he was, he wouldn’t string you along like this.”

There are a thousand reasons why I’m loyal to Mercer. A million, maybe. But I’m not going to tell her any of them. “We’re not gonna talk about Mercer.”

“You say things like ‘you need to come home’ as if it were my choice. And it’s not. You know it’s not. So why say it?”

This is when it gets funny.

Not ha-ha funny, but ironic funny. Because I suddenly realize that we are trying to get the same result in different ways. She’s trying to pull me back into a plural arrangement with Olsen and I’m trying to pull her into the same thing with Mercer.

And these two things are paradoxical.

As much as I would love to have both of these men and Nova in my bed, it’s never going to happen. They cannot exist in the same universe. Olsen isn’t one of us. And I know. Nova isn’t either. But she’s different. She’s special. She has earned her place.

Olsen didn’t.

He did a job, that’s all.

“This is why we don’t talk about them, Nova. It can’t work.”

“You say that, but that’s because you won’t leave Mercer.”

“You’re right, I won’t.”

“But you expect me to leave Olsen?”

I pause here. Because it throws me that she’s so attached to him. Was she always that attached? Was Olsen a bigger part of things than I remember?

For me, he was a side dish. Maybe dessert.

For sure, we had a lot of fun that summer. But it was supposed to be casual. No strings. And definitely no long-term plans. I mean, hell, the entire thing with Olsen was ‘the betrayal.’ In quotes. With capital letters in bold.

Nova walks over to me, stops right in front of me, reaches up to put her hands on my cheeks, and stares into my eyes—forcing me to get lost in her forest. “You could ask him.”

“Ask him what, Nova?”

Then I realize… she wants us all.

The understanding sinks in. Oh, she is good. She is so good. Because I’m so fucking deep in her forest right now. And when her hand slides down my chest and grabs my dick through my pants, I realize something else too.

She’s dark.

We just had sex like ten minutes ago, but I’m instantly hard.

“Wanna take a bath? I have built a temple to bubbles.”

I laugh out loud. Smile. Let the conversation go. Forget about the argument. Forget about Olsen, and Mercer, and the mistakes we made. Then moodily agree. “Yeah, OK.”

My hand is taken and I am led to the back bedroom. The same place I woke up this morning, but now I see it all through new eyes. It’s all different. New bed—modern and low, but king-sized. New bedding—gray with yellow accents. New paint. Same pale yellow as the rest of the house. New matching curtains, and throw pillows, and through an open door, I can see a massive walk-in closet.

It appears that Olsen spared no expense.

I saw the shower this morning, even if I wasn’t particularly paying attention to details. But the bathroom is something else entirely. It’s even got its own door. And Nova wasn’t kidding. It’s a temple to the bath gods. The biggest tub I’ve ever seen. How did he even get it in here? It’s like they built the bathroom around the tub.

She starts the water, pours a creamy white liquid into the rushing stream, and then reaches for a glass apothecary jar filled with long kitchen matches.

She begins lighting candles. There are dozens of them. Candelabras everywhere, some holding six or more candles. The pillars in the corners only hold one each, fat and tall. It takes several minutes, but we don’t talk. I don’t even move. I just watch her light the long kitchen matches and transfer the fire around the room. When she’s done, she flips off the lights and begins to undress.

She slips off her shrug and then slides the dress down her body. I watch the glow flicker across her skin, then take my shirt and slide my pants down, kicking my shoes into the corner as I focus on her ass when she climbs into the tub. She relaxes against one edge, bubbles up to her chin. And I get in on the other side, allowing the hot water to embrace me.

Our legs slide against each other and we both let the day, and recent conflict, drift away.

“This is nice.”

Nova nods, smiling. “A temple to bubbles.”

I want to leave the negativity behind, but I have trouble doing that until I say things out loud. “I’m sorry about the conversation. It was inappropriate. I’m here for you. And Veda, of course. I’m not going back until I spend some time with her.”

Nova stares at me for a moment, saying nothing.

“What? What are you thinking about?”

“I have so many more inappropriate things to say.”

“Now?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not now.” Then she closes her eyes and leans her head back.

“I’d like to say more appropriate things then.”

One eyeball appears. “Would you?”

“Yep.”

“Are you waiting for permission?”

“Yes.”

She giggles. “Granted.”

“I love you. I know you think you know that, but I need to say it. Because you’ve only ever had half the story.” I put up a hand before she can speak, because I know what she’s going to say. “I know. It’s my fault. I’m a vault. That’s why I’m telling you this. I love you, Nova. I’m not going anywhere.”

She sits up, kinda swims over to me, then positions herself between my legs, her back resting against my chest. “I know. I think I will say something more appropriate as well. I love you back, Locke. And this love is the most unexpected thing in my life. Loving you, or realizing that I love you, took me by surprise. And without saying anything else, about anyone else, I will say this.” She turns her body to side-eye me. “I’m not going anywhere, either. And that’s why, this time, we will work this out.”

I wrap my arms around her and we pray at the feet of bathtubs until the water goes cold. And then we get out, dry each other off, and slip into her brand-new bed.

 

 

I have always called him Mercer. Hell, even his governess called him Mercer. He grew out of that kind of hovering attention when he was nine and I was there for that. This is how long we’ve been friends.

Our mansions were next door to each other, but they were not close. His family estate is seventy-five acres and mine is two hundred and fifty. So it was a walk to get next door. There was a field, a bridge over a river, and woods.

Typically, we met in the woods. There was a fort out there. And when I say fort, I mean an actual fucking two-hundred-year-old fort or whatever. Most of it was crumbling, but there were several cabins still standing. This is where all the neighborhood kids hung out and it was on my estate. The girls would show up on ponies, then later horses. The boys on dirt bikes or ATV’s.

It was like The Little fucking Rascals: Billionaire Edition.

Everyone went by surnames so this was not what set Mercer apart. He’s just different. And again, we were all different. But him more so.

We all knew about the island. Our parents were Institutionalists. And we all knew we’d end up there at some point, working on some project or another. But almost no one on the inside like us stays for long.

It’s not intriguing to us the way it is for the recruits. And it’s confining.

That’s the one thing we always lamented about when we were young. How we complained about our future limitations on the island back then. A whole freaking year of our lives. And once you’re there, you’re there for the duration. There are no trips to the mainland. They don’t put the same restrictions on the recruits. It’s a red flag for most outside people. But for us, it was just the rule.

One year.

That was our mantra.

One year.

Then we were free to do whatever we wanted.

Even though all the kids from the fort were about the same age, Mercer was the only one I ever saw on the island. He went early, and he was never leaving.

I went to visit him once. I’m smart. Smarter than most. But I’m no prodigy the way he is. So it took me five years to get the PhD and it only took him four. No visitors the first year. But when he didn’t show up at the marina on the mainland the day after he was set free, I went out there and found him.

“I’m staying.” He said it just like that. And up until that point, it really hadn’t even occurred to me that this was an option. Of course, I knew it was an option, it just felt like something no one did.

Until Mercer.

Then everything changed. Not between us. We’re never going to change. But my outlook changed. My perspective on the future changed. And when he told me about his project, I was equally enthralled.

I took the drug. We both did. In fact, we did it like every weekend that first month I was there for my own one-year sentence. Then we got caught.

This memory makes me smile.

I was kicked out of Mercer’s lab and he was put on some kind of probation that really only lasted about a week. But my punishment was more serious because, again, I’m no Mercer.

After my year was up, they kicked me out.

This part actually makes me laugh.

“I’m afraid you’re just not cut out for the Institute,” my father said. “Here, have a yacht.”

But Mercer had been there for two years at that point. And he had pull. So the powers that be gave in to him.

I could stay, but I had to live with him. I could stay, but I had to work with him. There would be no lab for me. In other words, there would be no money.

Who needs money when you live on a private island with your genius, rich, best friend?

Not me.

So that’s how it started.

I was in charge of recruits back then. And the easiest place to do experiments like this was through the prison system. So that’s where I spent most of my time.

In fact, that’s where I met Olsen.

 

 

Of the thirty guilty men the warden offered up, ten are an automatic no because they are in for violent crimes, so they don’t even make it to the little room at the prison where I have been given permission to do interviews.

Five more ask for the guard before I’m done with my opening statement.

Another eight try to negotiate on their sentences as payment and six more ask for what they consider to be large sums of money.

I don’t think I can get the first group off, but I promise to do my best to get them an appeal and a top-notch attorney. The ones who think money is always the answer get what they asked for. All of them came up with predictable numbers. Ten grand. Thirty grand. One even went as high as a hundred grand.

Money is not the answer. But if it makes them happy to get it, then it makes me happy to give it. I didn’t even try to talk them down.

This is my seventeenth time rounding up ‘volunteers’ for the project. And I’m tired of it.

So the last guy today is already on my last nerve when he sits down. “I’ve been thinking,” he says.

“I’m sure you have. Let me guess. You feel that you deserve more compensation.”

“Uhhh…” He smiles at me. “OK. I guess, if you want to put it that way, sure. Compensation.”

And this is when I realize he’s handsome. Not the way I’m handsome, or the way Mercer is handsome, but the way a prisoner can be handsome under the right circumstances. He’s wearing an orange jumpsuit. His file says he’s in for grand theft auto. It also says this is his third time in and he’s only twenty-three. He’s handsome in a way that is dangerous and cocky. Like he knows a secret that the rest of us uptight assholes will never understand. Which is intriguing to me, because I’m literally part of a small group of people who know a secret that, before this moment, he would never even have a chance of hearing rumors about, let alone be invited into.

I close his file and fold my hands on the metal table that he is handcuffed to. “All right. You’ve piqued my curiosity. What would you call it, if not compensation?”

“Well, technically, it will be compensation. But I was thinking more along the lines of revenge.”

“I’m sorry?” I lean forward a little.

“Revenge. You know. When someone fucks you over and you get busted, and they escape and go free. And then you spend the next six months behind bars, getting used to the idea that you are now doing serious time, so you plot intricate revenge schemes to stay sane. And then some well-dressed asshole shows up with an insane offer, and you decide you will do this, but only if he makes your wild schemes come true.”

“Are you asking me to kill someone?”

He looks up at the cameras and shakes his head while closing his eyes. Like I’m the dumbest motherfucker on the planet.

“Don’t worry. The cameras are off. What we’re doing, it’s illegal.” I look down at his file to find his name. “It’s illegal, Olsen. The warden here is dirty, the guards are all taking bribes, and I’m trying to circumvent the FDA by using prisoners as guinea pigs in a neurological experiment. If you really are asking me to kill someone, don’t waste my time playing games. Just give me the details.”

He laughs out loud. “You kill people?”

“Do I look like I kill people? No, I don’t fucking kill people. But if you need someone dead to say yes to this offer, I can make that happen. So. Do you need someone dead?”

“Yes. I would like to make someone dead.”

I pull out my phone and start texting Mercer. “Are you sure?” I don’t even look up when he answers.

“I’m sure.”

I wait for Mercer’s response. Then I open Olsen’s file, pull out his contract, make a few amendments, initial them to make it feel legit, in Olsen’s eyes, anyway, then slide my pen and the contract across the table at him. “OK. Sign here.”

 

 

 

And that’s how we started.

That’s how it all started.

Olsen with a death wish for his former partner in crime, and Mercer and I making it happen.

Years later I was standing in Olsen’s cottage living room, watching Nova Ryan’s surprised expression, and thinking about how he was just kissing me thirty seconds ago and she had her hand down my pants this morning.

 

 

It’s a new experience to wake up with Nova in her own bed. It’s something we haven’t done since she left the Institute. Normally I stay in the guest room when I’m here. And while most of last night still has the feeling of a dream, this one simple fact—being in her bed—is a clear indication that we are at a fresh start and new beginning.

She’s still asleep when I throw the covers aside and get up. The sun is just barely rising. This is my typical waking hour, but Nova likes her sleep. So I take a shower, change into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then go out to the kitchen to make some coffee.

I am not snooping when I find her journal. It’s just lying there on the kitchen counter. The cover is made of leather and it’s held closed by several long, thin leather straps. Its thick ragged-edged papers are spilling out of it. Like she keeps mementos in there.

I side-eye it the entire time I get a mug and make a single-serving cup of coffee.

I’m surprised that she keeps a journal. Because Mercer keeps one too, and Nova Ryan knows this.

But I don’t have room in my head for Mercer right now, so I leave the kitchen and step into the back garden, barefoot.

This is a private garden just for her and Veda. No customers are allowed back this way. Still, it’s overflowing with lavender and the scent—it’s almost overpowering. But there are other flowers too. Tall, giant, fluffy-headed sunflowers, lots of pink ones, and a smattering of orange and blue.

Flowers.

I can’t say I was surprised that Nova left science when she left the Institute, but I would’ve never imagined her as a flower farmer. I step through a little wooden gate and out into an expansive green space. My toes sink into the lush, green grass as I take in the view. This is all private too and there is a four-rail fence with wire attached to the inside to keep people and small wild animals out, but still allow full appreciation of what she has built here in just a few short years.

The beauty of the Midnight Ark is breathtaking. And I give myself permission to enjoy it as I sip my coffee.

Of course, I’m not a stranger to beautiful. Mercer and I still live on the island. He still works on the project, though I have since retired from the whole mess. Now I just… I don’t know. Exist in some weird in-between stage of life where I want things—people—and can’t have them yet. So I spend my time planning, and plotting, and dreaming of the day when it might actually happen.

I know what Olsen thinks. He thinks I’m Mercer’s lackey. I’m his minion, or whatever. That I am a follower.

But that’s not it at all. I’m just loyal.

And Mercer’s loyal to me too.

That’s why we’re still together. I mean, if I gave him up who would take his place?

Not Olsen, that’s for sure. I like him, but love him? Die for him? Fuck that. I would not die for Olsen and he wouldn’t die for me either.

But Mercer? I don’t care how pissed off we were with each other, if someone threatened me, he would have my back. And I would have his.

So why are you here, Locke?

Why, indeed.

It’s not because I’m going to leave Mercer for Nova. I’m not. It’s never going to happen. But I hope, I guess. That she will come back. That she will listen to him. That she will forgive him.

And I can see that happening. I really can. Nova is a practical person. She’s not overly emotional. And she’s not hateful. She’s just not. It’s as simple as that. She would forgive Mercer if he said the right things. If he would just give her the answers she is looking for.

But he won’t. And even though I could answer all her questions to her complete satisfaction, I already know that in the end, she would not be satisfied.

She needs to hear this from him.

I’m sure Olsen has been filling her head up with shit since she left. I know this to be true, especially since he lives so close and is a permanent fixture in her life. He thinks he knows things, but he doesn’t.

I mean, come on. Olsen was a prisoner when I found him. Does he really think we would let someone like him in on what we were really up to?

No. We wouldn’t.

We didn’t.