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Ian parked on the street in front of the condo Liz had shared with George. He’d called on a few friends. They’d meet him here, and with any luck, Liz’s belongings would be secured in an hour or so.
He took the elevator to her floor and stepped off. The hallway was empty. He rounded the corner, and halfway down—right in front of Liz’s door—crouched a man with a toolbox. Shit. He was changing the locks.
Ian quickened his pace, until he reached the condo. “Excuse me.” He wasn’t going to get mad at this person. This wasn’t their fault. “What are you doing?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but what do you think?” The guy never looked up from his work.
“I need to get in there, first.” Ian stepped forward.
The locksmith rose and blocked his path, hand on his hip. “There tends to be a reason people want locks changed. I don’t know you from a Liberty Park bum, so unless you’re here with the lady who hired me, you’re not getting in. And she’s got a key.”
“It’s my sister’s place.” Irritation surged inside, mingling with the knowledge he couldn’t do anything but try and talk through this. “Her things are in there.”
“Oh yeah, you mean the poor gal caught in the middle of this mess?”
Ian wasn’t prepared for that. “How do you...?”
“Not the first time the guy’s done it. Not the first time his wife’s come to me.” The locksmith returned to his work. “Which also means, I still can’t let you in. Sorry. The woman pays cash and tips well. I’m not losing her as a client.”
Ian clenched his fist silently cursing the back of the man’s head. If he were more stubborn, maybe he’d sit and argue, or storm the door. “It’s all right. I’ll be back with my lawyer.”
“Your call, pal. Not my problem. Wife’s name’s on the deed.” The locksmith never turned around.
Fuck. This was one more thing Liz didn’t need right now. Ian tried to keep his calm as he headed back downstairs. He fished out his phone to tell his friends with the van not yet. Wow, sometimes being adult and mature sucked.
He needed to let Liz know about the delay. And speaking of lawyers, have her talk to his, and ensure she hadn’t already signed anything over to George. At least she hadn’t tied the knot first. Ian didn’t want to think about the extra layers of mess there.
He’d give her a few hours to deal with what she already knew, and then they’d discuss next steps.
*
“HOME SWEET HOME.” MERCY set Liz’s suitcase by hotel room sofa. “Take it easy tonight, and we’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”
Liz stepped up behind her. “I can’t believe you’re still in that dress.” She slid down the zipper.
Mercy felt all her bits relax at once, no longer shaped by the rigid fabric. She let out a long exhale of relief. “I didn’t realize I needed that. Thank you. Be right back.” She shed the dress as she stepped into the bedroom—thank God for extended suites with a little extra room and privacy—and then yanked on a pair of jeans and a sweater.
Liz held up with a scary kind of grace and elegance through the entire evening, apologizing to guests, thanking people as they left, loading gifts into the car and promising to return them, and dealing with the catering staff and making sure the food didn’t go to waste. It was only a matter of time before something gave and Liz let the hurt pour in. Mercy’d be there when it happened, even if it meant staying in town another day or two. “What do you want to do now?” she called into the other room.
It made her nervous they hadn’t heard from Ian, but if he was retrieving Liz’s stuff, that might take a while.
When Liz didn’t respond, concern itched under Mercy’s skin. “Liz?”
Liz’s loud sob felt like a vise clenching around her chest. Mercy rushed back into the living room and found her on the sofa, face buried in her hands, and body shaking. There was the breaking point.
Mercy knelt next to her, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her in. “I know. I do, hon.”
Soul-shattering cries eventually faded into sniffles and hiccups, punctuated with fragmented thoughts. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it... All the signs were there... God, this hurts so much... Fucking bastard... Do you think castration is a legal form of punishment? I need a drink. You have booze, right?” She looked up, eyes red and cheeks puffy.
The bill would hurt, but Mercy could suck it up. Especially if she landed this new client. “I have room service.” She stood and pulled Liz to her feet. “Wash your face. I’ll grab the menu, and we’ll see what we can order.”
“I don’t care, as long as it gets me wasted.” Liz’s comment faded into running water.
Several hours later, Mercy set the room-service trays outside the room. Between Liz and Mercy, they plowed through nachos, ribs, and meatball subs, and Liz was on her... Mercy didn’t even know how many drinks her friend had in her.
Mercy was nursing a watery 7 and 7—her first drink—and telling herself the bill didn’t matter. Next month was going to be good for her tiny advertising agency, and this was about Liz’s sanity. It was also about keeping Liz from being sick all over the carpet. Mercy snatched the fresh mini bottle, before Liz could pop it open. “Maybe you should have some water.”
Liz stuck her tongue out, then giggled. “Yes, Mom.” She half-wandered, half-stumbled to the sink and set the glass on the counter with a thunk when she was done. “You know what we should do?”
“Put you to bed?”
“Alone? Meh. It’s supposed to be my fucking honeymoon.”
“I love you, hon, but I’m not sleeping with you.”
Liz wrinkled her nose. “You’re not my type. Ian, on the other hand, really likes yo—”
“What should we do?” Mercy didn’t want to hear that. Talk about reopening old wounds. “You’ve got a grand and mighty plan, right?”
“Yes. We should go to Park City.”
Which was where Ian lived, as did a past Mercy wasn’t interested in revisiting. “It’s a little late.” Nothing was open in this state on a Sunday night.
“I mean tomorrow.”
Mercy didn’t know if Liz was babbling and drunk, or if she had a point. “You’re not much of an outlet-mall shopper. Nordstrom is down the street.”
“You’re funny. And I’m not that wasted.” Liz flopped onto the couch next to Mercy. “You’re going with me on my honeymoon. We’re going to hop in my car tomorrow morning, drive into the canyons, enjoy impossible levels of snow, and get laid. Every night. Different fucking guy.”
“You’re sure you’re not wasted?”
Liz stared at the ceiling. “Maybe a little. But I’m sick of this. I’ve been living in a hole for years, trying to get over”—she swallowed—“them. And this shit with George... I want to live again and not answer to anyone. Go with me. We’ll be stupid for the next ten days and pretend the real world doesn’t exist.”
That wasn’t completely an option. Mercy could take a few days away from work, but she needed to prep this proposal, and she was wooing the client in less than a week. Not that it mattered. Liz’s impulse would pass by morning, and Mercy would hop on a plane back to Atlanta. “I’ll go with you, but I have to take my laptop.”
“Fine. At least you’ll keep me company.” Liz yawned wide enough, she might dislocate her jaw. “I think I’m sleepy.”
“Come on.” Mercy helped her stand again. “Drink some more water, and you can go to bed.”
Moments later, Liz tumbled onto the mattress in the bedroom. “At least you two love me,” she mumbled.
“Always and forever.” Mercy squeezed her hand and left her alone to sleep. She was too wired to do the same, but she could watch TV in the other room for a while. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was only nine in the evening. The wedding would have started at five, followed by a full dinner for guests and what would have been a roaring reception, cresting its peak right about now.
This was why Mercy didn’t do love. Not the romantic kind, anyway. It always disappointed. From the night Ian left her alone in that stupid mountain town, to every time she or Liz had their hearts torn out, it never redeemed itself. Fleeting was fine. A couple days with a guy here, a couple weeks with a girl there... a month with the barista and her husband above the coffee house down the street from The Vatican. Mercy was okay with that, as long as the expiration date was stated or implied.
Maybe Liz was right; a week of debauchery in the mountains was what they both needed. And if they spent most of their time in bars and the hotel, Mercy didn’t risk running into her family.
Mercy settled in front of the living room TV and flipped mindlessly through stations. When the text message tone on her phone shattered the calm, she jumped at the sound for the second time that day. Her hammering heart skipped a beat when she saw the message from Ian. Great. The little girl in her wanted to come out and play.
Screw that.
Everything all right? he asked.
Better than it was. Any luck?
News best delivered in person. I’m coming over. Send me your hotel info.
Once upon a time, she would have sold her soul, to get that request from him. Now she forwarded him the address and room number, along with a warning. She’s already asleep.
Probably for the best. I’m stopping by, anyway.
Presumptuous ass. Of course he was. She sent back a quick, Swell. I’ll be here.
She resisted the compulsion to check her makeup before he arrived. There was no reason to find something more flattering to wear, either. She didn’t need to impress him, and caring what he thought was nothing more than the ghost of a memory. When he knocked, she couldn’t help running her fingers through her hair.
Unlike her and Liz, he hadn’t changed his clothes. His tie hung loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt was undone, but he still wore that tuxedo like it was made for him. Who was she kidding? It probably was. Technically they were both in the same industry, but the firm he inherited and expanded was in a different league in both reach and revenue than hers could ever hope to be. And God fuck it, if he didn’t look gorgeous in his tux. From a completely clinical perspective, of course. She’d say that about any guy who looked the same.
“She’s still sleeping. Probably will be for a while.” Mercy didn’t angle herself to keep him out, but she didn’t invite him in, either.
“Understood. I’m heading back up to Park City tonight. I have to be in the office in the morning. If possible, I’d like to talk to her before then. There were some problems getting her things back. She’s going to need to talk to the lawyer.”
Mercy winced. Of course it couldn’t be easy. What a mess.
Ian nodded behind her. “I’d like to wait, if you don’t mind. At least a little while.”
“Sure. Not a problem.” She stepped aside. She could mention Liz would be heading to the same place he was and he could talk to her then. But Liz might not want her brother knowing she planned on fucking her vacation away—and that was if she still wanted to go once she was sober and hung over. Besides, despite the voice telling Mercy to keep her distance and be cool, the urge to shut Ian out wasn’t there. She understood why he did what he had when they were teenagers, and they’d both grown up. Maybe it was time to start over. “I’d offer you something to drink, but we’ve exhausted most of the good stuff.”
He looked over the bottles lined up on the table. “At least she took it well. She is okay, right?” He sat in the middle of the sofa.
Mercy refused to read anything into the action, and took a seat in the armchair next to him. “As well as can be expected. Probably better, considering the circumstances.”
“She’s lucky you’re here.”
An awkward silence fell between them. It was better than making a fool of herself, like last time they saw each other. Insisting—at the glorious age of fifteen—she wasn’t a child, and that he had to take her with him when he left for college, or she’d go insane, while he gently pushed her aside and told her to go home.
Yup, that was in the past. And sitting in a hotel, trying to look anywhere but at each other, with his sister passed out drunk in the next room, was definitely preferable.