Sugar Rush
Page 47
I look around the bedroom, taking in the pale blue walls, teak colored furniture, and pristine white bedding. It’s my favorite place in the condo because it’s so peaceful and relaxing. This is my life now, with Beck, and I’ll do whatever needs to be done to ensure I maintain it.
Walking over to the nightstand on my side of the bed, I open the drawer. “Text me your address. I can be there in less than an hour.”
“Will do. And thank you, Sela,” JT says, sounding immensely grateful to me.
I disconnect, wondering what he has up his sleeve. I don’t trust his polite but pitiful demeanor. He’s absolutely lying when he says he has a plan that would benefit both him and Beck. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some sort of plan he wants to run by me, but I guarantee you it’s all to his benefit alone.
Which is why I’m going to his house to meet with him. I need to know what he’s up to so our plans don’t get derailed.
Reaching into my drawer, I pull out my gun.
I’m not scared of JT, but I’m damn well making sure I’m protected in case he recognizes me and things go bad.
Walking into the closet, I grab a medium-size black satchel purse and stow the gun in there. I consider for just a crazy moment calling Beck and telling him what’s going on, but then I immediately discount it just as quickly. He’ll forbid me from going, and he’d be right to do so. I’d in turn get affronted by his attempts to control me and prevent me from helping. It will lead to an epic argument, with me not heeding his advice and heading to JT’s house anyway. That would also lead to Beck leaving his attorney’s office and trying to cut me off at JT’s house. It would be an ugly scene, so I choose not to tell Beck what is going on.
But I do want to call someone else and fill them in on some of the details of what’s been going on in my life.
Someone who deserves to know what’s happening.
I use the bathroom and wash my hands. Then I transfer my wallet and keys from my backpack to the black purse and head to the parking garage. This will be only the third time I’ve driven my new car from Beck. There’s no need living here in the city, but we did go out on Christmas day for a little drive to Half Moon Bay, and then again yesterday we drove it to my apartment in Oakland, where I gathered the last of my possessions I had stored there, and closed that door on my life for good.
After I get into the car and pull out of the parking garage, I depress the phone button on the steering wheel. This pairs my phone with the Bluetooth and offers me voice activation.
“Call Dad’s cell phone,” I say.
A woman’s voice, cultured and polished, says, “Calling Dad’s cell phone.”
A few clicks and then it’s ringing. He answers like only a father should. “What’s up, baby girl?”
I smile. He’s my dad, he’s great, and I love him.
But I haven’t been fair to him either.
“Hey…you got a few minutes to talk?” I ask softly, feeling slightly weird by talking to him through the car’s speakers.
“Always for you. What’s up?”
“I need to tell you something,” I say carefully, trying to keep a lighthearted tone. “It’s going to throw you for a loop, but I need you to listen and then you can berate me for keeping it from you and give me sage advice.”
“You didn’t run off and join the circus did you?” he quips.
I want to laugh, but he’s not going to be laughing in just a few minutes, so I tell him straight by cutting to the chase. “I’ve identified one of them.”
I can literally hear my father release a long, pained breath, because he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “You did?”
“About nine months ago…I saw him on TV and recognized the red bird tattoo.”
My father knows about the tattoo. He and my mother sat with me, each holding a hand as I recounted to the police as best I could the spotty details of what I remembered.
“Jesus, Sela,” he says in astonishment. “Why didn’t you go to the police? We need to go to the police.”
“I am,” I assure him. “Soon…probably this week. But I need to tell you some stuff about him that you’re not going to like. Some stuff that I was planning on doing that you’re really not going to like.”
“You can tell me anything,” he reassures me, which I already know. It makes me ashamed that he wasn’t the first person I told on that horrid day long ago when I saw JT on the television.
Taking a deep breath, I tell him as succinctly as I can just the crucial details. “It’s JT…I mean Jonathon Townsend, Beck’s partner.”
Dad curses, but I talk over him, needing to get it all out. “When I realized who he was, I considered going to the police, but then quickly discounted it. I was afraid they couldn’t do anything because of the memory issues, but more important, I wanted JT to suffer for what he did. I also wanted to know who the other men were that night. So my plan was to confront JT with a gun, force him to tell me what I needed to know, and then I was going to kill him.”
“Are you kidding me?” my dad yells into the phone.
“Dad…I didn’t go through with that plan,” I say quickly in an effort to keep him focused.
“But you were going to kill him?” my dad asks, sounding incredulous. “Do you know how insane that is?”
“Yes, I get that,” I assure him. “I was driven by a lot of hate and anger and was acting rashly, but I’ve got that under control now. That night I went to confront JT…well, I met Beck instead.”
“Does he know?” dad asks quietly.
“Yes, he does. And we’re currently working on a plan to get JT out of The Sugar Bowl first before we go to the police. Get things cleaned up on Beck’s end so that hopefully when JT’s arrested, it won’t affect the business.”
“It will still blow back on Beck,” my dad says.
And that’s true. When this hits the media, it’s going to be about how the former co-owner of The Sugar Bowl is charged with rape. Beck’s business will take a hit. “We know, but it’s still going to be much easier to have JT removed as owner. If he still owns part of The Sugar Bowl when he’s arrested, Beck will have to run things by him, and you know that will be a nightmare. Hell, JT’s going to be so mad he’ll fight against Beck on everything…probably will try to intentionally run it into the ground. It will be tough on everyone once this goes public, but we’ll get through it.”
Walking over to the nightstand on my side of the bed, I open the drawer. “Text me your address. I can be there in less than an hour.”
“Will do. And thank you, Sela,” JT says, sounding immensely grateful to me.
I disconnect, wondering what he has up his sleeve. I don’t trust his polite but pitiful demeanor. He’s absolutely lying when he says he has a plan that would benefit both him and Beck. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some sort of plan he wants to run by me, but I guarantee you it’s all to his benefit alone.
Which is why I’m going to his house to meet with him. I need to know what he’s up to so our plans don’t get derailed.
Reaching into my drawer, I pull out my gun.
I’m not scared of JT, but I’m damn well making sure I’m protected in case he recognizes me and things go bad.
Walking into the closet, I grab a medium-size black satchel purse and stow the gun in there. I consider for just a crazy moment calling Beck and telling him what’s going on, but then I immediately discount it just as quickly. He’ll forbid me from going, and he’d be right to do so. I’d in turn get affronted by his attempts to control me and prevent me from helping. It will lead to an epic argument, with me not heeding his advice and heading to JT’s house anyway. That would also lead to Beck leaving his attorney’s office and trying to cut me off at JT’s house. It would be an ugly scene, so I choose not to tell Beck what is going on.
But I do want to call someone else and fill them in on some of the details of what’s been going on in my life.
Someone who deserves to know what’s happening.
I use the bathroom and wash my hands. Then I transfer my wallet and keys from my backpack to the black purse and head to the parking garage. This will be only the third time I’ve driven my new car from Beck. There’s no need living here in the city, but we did go out on Christmas day for a little drive to Half Moon Bay, and then again yesterday we drove it to my apartment in Oakland, where I gathered the last of my possessions I had stored there, and closed that door on my life for good.
After I get into the car and pull out of the parking garage, I depress the phone button on the steering wheel. This pairs my phone with the Bluetooth and offers me voice activation.
“Call Dad’s cell phone,” I say.
A woman’s voice, cultured and polished, says, “Calling Dad’s cell phone.”
A few clicks and then it’s ringing. He answers like only a father should. “What’s up, baby girl?”
I smile. He’s my dad, he’s great, and I love him.
But I haven’t been fair to him either.
“Hey…you got a few minutes to talk?” I ask softly, feeling slightly weird by talking to him through the car’s speakers.
“Always for you. What’s up?”
“I need to tell you something,” I say carefully, trying to keep a lighthearted tone. “It’s going to throw you for a loop, but I need you to listen and then you can berate me for keeping it from you and give me sage advice.”
“You didn’t run off and join the circus did you?” he quips.
I want to laugh, but he’s not going to be laughing in just a few minutes, so I tell him straight by cutting to the chase. “I’ve identified one of them.”
I can literally hear my father release a long, pained breath, because he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “You did?”
“About nine months ago…I saw him on TV and recognized the red bird tattoo.”
My father knows about the tattoo. He and my mother sat with me, each holding a hand as I recounted to the police as best I could the spotty details of what I remembered.
“Jesus, Sela,” he says in astonishment. “Why didn’t you go to the police? We need to go to the police.”
“I am,” I assure him. “Soon…probably this week. But I need to tell you some stuff about him that you’re not going to like. Some stuff that I was planning on doing that you’re really not going to like.”
“You can tell me anything,” he reassures me, which I already know. It makes me ashamed that he wasn’t the first person I told on that horrid day long ago when I saw JT on the television.
Taking a deep breath, I tell him as succinctly as I can just the crucial details. “It’s JT…I mean Jonathon Townsend, Beck’s partner.”
Dad curses, but I talk over him, needing to get it all out. “When I realized who he was, I considered going to the police, but then quickly discounted it. I was afraid they couldn’t do anything because of the memory issues, but more important, I wanted JT to suffer for what he did. I also wanted to know who the other men were that night. So my plan was to confront JT with a gun, force him to tell me what I needed to know, and then I was going to kill him.”
“Are you kidding me?” my dad yells into the phone.
“Dad…I didn’t go through with that plan,” I say quickly in an effort to keep him focused.
“But you were going to kill him?” my dad asks, sounding incredulous. “Do you know how insane that is?”
“Yes, I get that,” I assure him. “I was driven by a lot of hate and anger and was acting rashly, but I’ve got that under control now. That night I went to confront JT…well, I met Beck instead.”
“Does he know?” dad asks quietly.
“Yes, he does. And we’re currently working on a plan to get JT out of The Sugar Bowl first before we go to the police. Get things cleaned up on Beck’s end so that hopefully when JT’s arrested, it won’t affect the business.”
“It will still blow back on Beck,” my dad says.
And that’s true. When this hits the media, it’s going to be about how the former co-owner of The Sugar Bowl is charged with rape. Beck’s business will take a hit. “We know, but it’s still going to be much easier to have JT removed as owner. If he still owns part of The Sugar Bowl when he’s arrested, Beck will have to run things by him, and you know that will be a nightmare. Hell, JT’s going to be so mad he’ll fight against Beck on everything…probably will try to intentionally run it into the ground. It will be tough on everyone once this goes public, but we’ll get through it.”
