The Arrangement 7
Page 1
CHAPTER 1
I blink at Sean as my stomach crashes into my shoes. The way he looks at me makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Goose bumps line my arms. It feels like I stepped into a freezer. I manage to choke out, “That’s not true. How could it…”
Sean’s dark gaze locks with mine for a moment. Every thought in my head says run.
On some level I knew there was something wrong with him, that Sean had this darkness hanging over him. I thought it was grief. The way that he acts screams unresolved grief over his wife’s death, over losing his only child. But this, this revelation, chokes me into silence. My feet are glued to the spot.
Sean watches me for a second. It’s almost like he hopes that I’ll run and never look back, but I don’t move. I won’t. For a moment, there’s no air. I’m falling through space, lost in his eyes. Sean can’t be a killer. I think it over and over again, but the twisting inside my stomach won’t stop. His words are true. I can feel the weight of his confession and it scares me. I’ve been fighting too hard to stay alive and this man says he snuffed out two lives before they got going.
I don’t look away. It isn’t that I don’t believe him, it’s that I see something else there. The darkness is tied to death, but this wasn’t a grisly murder. I feel it in my bones, as though the premonition is part of me.
Sean finally looks away and turns. “You’re not running away.”
“Yeah, I’m a little crazy like that.” I try to steady myself, but I can’t. My pulse is pounding in my ears and my body is tense, ready to run. I try to sound calm. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Sean glances over his shoulder at me, on his way to the bar on the other side of the hotel room. He stops. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners gives him away. It’s a brief squint, like pain crawling up from deep within and trying to consume him. Sean swallows it back down. “Are you sure you want to know?” His voice is steady, cold, and utterly detached.
It feels like the icy hands of a ghost that’s walked up behind me are touching my shoulders. I suck in air and step toward him. “Tell me.”
Sean didn’t expect that answer. I can see it in his eyes. He turns away from me and heads toward the bar. After pouring a drink, he reaches for his laptop. The screen flickers to life. He taps the keys and clicks before turning it toward me. “Read.”
I glance down at the headline from one of the country’s largest newspapers—SEAN FERRO ACCUSED OF MURDERING WIFE AND UNBORN CHILD. I reach for the computer and scan the article, but I don’t see what I’m looking for. It’s more of what Gabe told me about Sean appearing cold and detached, about how he didn’t look grief-stricken. The article ends with a link to a follow up story. I click through the articles one by one, watching pictures of Sean age like years are passing rather than months. I feel his gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t look up. I lean against the bar and set the computer down. I click through to another article. I stare at his picture, at the words and accusations, and swallow hard.
I click the final link to the last story. FERRO AQUITTED. My heart is racing, slamming into my chest. I feel sick. I try to clear away all the emotions and think. I don’t understand how they didn’t find him guilty. The paper made it sound like it was an open and shut case. Sean Ferro brutally killed his wife in a jealous rage. He left her on their bed, bleeding to death, and went to work. When he returned home that night, he called the police. All the papers said the 911 call was a hoax and that his wife had died hours before he returned home that night. There were no other suspects.
When I finish reading, I glance up at him. Sean’s gaze meets mine and fear twists inside of me. Have I misjudged him so badly that I can’t tell a messed up guy from a sociopath? Did he really do this? Sean doesn’t show emotion, but that doesn’t mean anything. Neither do I—well, not in front of people I don’t trust. I had that stone-cold look on my face when they lowered my parents into the ground. I remember people saying that it wasn’t right for me not to cry, but I didn’t. Not then. They didn’t see my tears or hear my sobs. Sean’s the same way. I know he is, so lack of emotion doesn’t mean what the papers say it means.
“This isn’t true.” I push down the laptop screen and keep my gaze locked with Sean’s. It’s a statement, a fact. There’s information missing from the papers, of course. But there are also things that Sean never shared about this. I see the secrets burning in his eyes.
His eyebrow twitches. Sean shakes his head and looks down. Dark hair falls into his eyes. “You’re naïve, Avery.”
“You’re hiding something, Sean. You’d rather let people think you killed your wife than tell the truth?”
Sean stares at me. My words seem to grip him in a way that makes him anxious. I’m too close, and he can’t bear it. “The truth is there in black and white. I killed her. I’m a jealous man. Everyone knows that. I know you’ve heard I have a tempter, that I can be more than persuasive when things don’t go my way.” He steps toward me, brushing his chest into mine. I swallow hard, but don’t back away. “When are you going to get it through your head that I’m not the guy you think I am?”
“You’re exactly who I think you are. You’re cowering behind this…” I’m yelling, waiving my hands around as I speak. “This manifestation of lies.”
He laughs. The dark, rich, sound sends a chill down my spine. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“The truth was printed.”
“This is only part of the story. Omissions are lies.”
Sean’s eyebrows lift. “You’re going to pull philosophical crap on me now? Unbelievable. Accept me for what I am and stop looking for things that aren’t there.” Sean shakes his head like he’s annoyed and slams his glass down on the counter. When he breathes, his back expands. His shoulders are so tense. Sean’s fingers are turning white as he grips the granite countertop. He rounds on me with his lips pressed tightly together. “I’m not your savior, Avery. There’s no knight, no horse, no happy ending—not with me. That shit isn’t real.”
“I never said I wanted the white knight.”
“It’s written all over your face.”
Damn it. The thought is nice. I mean, who hasn’t dreamed about being rescued when their life turns to shit. It’s the epitome of every fairytale out there—the desire to be saved—but I learned the truth a long time ago. I bristle. My fingers ball at my sides. This subject is beyond striking a nerve with me, because I live it, I live the life where no one comes and the heroine is left utterly alone.
“Fine,” I bite back, admitting it, “but you only got half of it right. I believe in white knights, but the only knight in this story is me. No one saved me. I’ve fallen so far that I can’t even see the way out anymore. I’m at the bottom of Hell and I found you.
“You’re lost, broken, and completely fucked up. You’re not like me, but you want to be. The difference between us is that I still have hope and you lost yours a long time ago.” I swallow hard, wondering how crazy I am for saying this. “I’m not leaving no matter what you tell me happened to Amanda. At the very least, I’m your friend. I’m not the one who’s going to walk away here.”
His blue eyes are so narrow, but for a split second, they widen. Sean blinks and the look of shock is gone. He steps closer to me, closing the space between us. “Do you have a death wish?”
Sean’s irritating me more than anything else. His response, the absolute refusal to talk about what happened to his wife tells me so much, but I still don’t know what happened. I make an aggravated sound in the back of my throat and say, “Stop asking stupid questions. Spill your guts or let’s get on with things.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Where did that come from? Did I seriously say that?
Sean doesn’t conceal his surprise this time. Wide-eyed, he steps back and looks me over once. “Are you serious? You still trust me? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you seriously asking that question, you messed up bastard?” I slam my palms into his chest and shove, but he barely moves. “You’re such a goddamn hypocrite, and you can’t even tell.”
Sean grabs my wrists and holds on tight. His breath washes over my face when he exhales. “Enlighten me, Miss Smith.”
I glare at him for a moment and then spit it out. “You’re telling me to run away, that there’s nothing worth saving—that you have nothing left to give—but then you have the nerve to go and say you care about me.
“I can’t come back from where I’ve gone. People don’t recover from things like this. I know that. You know that, so don’t patronize me with your fake empathy, because that’s what it is if you feel nothing, if you’re as hollow as I am, if —”
Before I can take another breath, Sean’s mouth comes crashing down on mine, cutting off my flow of words. Sean pulls me against his chest and tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling hard. The kiss is demanding and all consuming. He doesn’t want me to talk. I’m saying things that he doesn’t want to hear. I’m gasping between his lips, kissing him back, wondering how far I’m willing to go. There’s no coming back from this side of Hell. I know his agony; he knows mine.
I know there’s more to his wife’s death than Sean’s telling me, that he’s hiding something bigger and using the murder accusations to mask it. I feel it in my gut. There were pictures of Amanda Ferro in there, smiling next to a serious Sean. In one picture, his arm was around her with one hand protectively on her stomach as she stepped off a curb. Sean cared about her and the baby. He wanted them. I know he can’t live with his loss. I see it on his face and hear it in his voice every time he speaks. Fathomless pain courses through his veins to the point that he’s gone numb.
I blink at Sean as my stomach crashes into my shoes. The way he looks at me makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Goose bumps line my arms. It feels like I stepped into a freezer. I manage to choke out, “That’s not true. How could it…”
Sean’s dark gaze locks with mine for a moment. Every thought in my head says run.
On some level I knew there was something wrong with him, that Sean had this darkness hanging over him. I thought it was grief. The way that he acts screams unresolved grief over his wife’s death, over losing his only child. But this, this revelation, chokes me into silence. My feet are glued to the spot.
Sean watches me for a second. It’s almost like he hopes that I’ll run and never look back, but I don’t move. I won’t. For a moment, there’s no air. I’m falling through space, lost in his eyes. Sean can’t be a killer. I think it over and over again, but the twisting inside my stomach won’t stop. His words are true. I can feel the weight of his confession and it scares me. I’ve been fighting too hard to stay alive and this man says he snuffed out two lives before they got going.
I don’t look away. It isn’t that I don’t believe him, it’s that I see something else there. The darkness is tied to death, but this wasn’t a grisly murder. I feel it in my bones, as though the premonition is part of me.
Sean finally looks away and turns. “You’re not running away.”
“Yeah, I’m a little crazy like that.” I try to steady myself, but I can’t. My pulse is pounding in my ears and my body is tense, ready to run. I try to sound calm. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Sean glances over his shoulder at me, on his way to the bar on the other side of the hotel room. He stops. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners gives him away. It’s a brief squint, like pain crawling up from deep within and trying to consume him. Sean swallows it back down. “Are you sure you want to know?” His voice is steady, cold, and utterly detached.
It feels like the icy hands of a ghost that’s walked up behind me are touching my shoulders. I suck in air and step toward him. “Tell me.”
Sean didn’t expect that answer. I can see it in his eyes. He turns away from me and heads toward the bar. After pouring a drink, he reaches for his laptop. The screen flickers to life. He taps the keys and clicks before turning it toward me. “Read.”
I glance down at the headline from one of the country’s largest newspapers—SEAN FERRO ACCUSED OF MURDERING WIFE AND UNBORN CHILD. I reach for the computer and scan the article, but I don’t see what I’m looking for. It’s more of what Gabe told me about Sean appearing cold and detached, about how he didn’t look grief-stricken. The article ends with a link to a follow up story. I click through the articles one by one, watching pictures of Sean age like years are passing rather than months. I feel his gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t look up. I lean against the bar and set the computer down. I click through to another article. I stare at his picture, at the words and accusations, and swallow hard.
I click the final link to the last story. FERRO AQUITTED. My heart is racing, slamming into my chest. I feel sick. I try to clear away all the emotions and think. I don’t understand how they didn’t find him guilty. The paper made it sound like it was an open and shut case. Sean Ferro brutally killed his wife in a jealous rage. He left her on their bed, bleeding to death, and went to work. When he returned home that night, he called the police. All the papers said the 911 call was a hoax and that his wife had died hours before he returned home that night. There were no other suspects.
When I finish reading, I glance up at him. Sean’s gaze meets mine and fear twists inside of me. Have I misjudged him so badly that I can’t tell a messed up guy from a sociopath? Did he really do this? Sean doesn’t show emotion, but that doesn’t mean anything. Neither do I—well, not in front of people I don’t trust. I had that stone-cold look on my face when they lowered my parents into the ground. I remember people saying that it wasn’t right for me not to cry, but I didn’t. Not then. They didn’t see my tears or hear my sobs. Sean’s the same way. I know he is, so lack of emotion doesn’t mean what the papers say it means.
“This isn’t true.” I push down the laptop screen and keep my gaze locked with Sean’s. It’s a statement, a fact. There’s information missing from the papers, of course. But there are also things that Sean never shared about this. I see the secrets burning in his eyes.
His eyebrow twitches. Sean shakes his head and looks down. Dark hair falls into his eyes. “You’re naïve, Avery.”
“You’re hiding something, Sean. You’d rather let people think you killed your wife than tell the truth?”
Sean stares at me. My words seem to grip him in a way that makes him anxious. I’m too close, and he can’t bear it. “The truth is there in black and white. I killed her. I’m a jealous man. Everyone knows that. I know you’ve heard I have a tempter, that I can be more than persuasive when things don’t go my way.” He steps toward me, brushing his chest into mine. I swallow hard, but don’t back away. “When are you going to get it through your head that I’m not the guy you think I am?”
“You’re exactly who I think you are. You’re cowering behind this…” I’m yelling, waiving my hands around as I speak. “This manifestation of lies.”
He laughs. The dark, rich, sound sends a chill down my spine. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“The truth was printed.”
“This is only part of the story. Omissions are lies.”
Sean’s eyebrows lift. “You’re going to pull philosophical crap on me now? Unbelievable. Accept me for what I am and stop looking for things that aren’t there.” Sean shakes his head like he’s annoyed and slams his glass down on the counter. When he breathes, his back expands. His shoulders are so tense. Sean’s fingers are turning white as he grips the granite countertop. He rounds on me with his lips pressed tightly together. “I’m not your savior, Avery. There’s no knight, no horse, no happy ending—not with me. That shit isn’t real.”
“I never said I wanted the white knight.”
“It’s written all over your face.”
Damn it. The thought is nice. I mean, who hasn’t dreamed about being rescued when their life turns to shit. It’s the epitome of every fairytale out there—the desire to be saved—but I learned the truth a long time ago. I bristle. My fingers ball at my sides. This subject is beyond striking a nerve with me, because I live it, I live the life where no one comes and the heroine is left utterly alone.
“Fine,” I bite back, admitting it, “but you only got half of it right. I believe in white knights, but the only knight in this story is me. No one saved me. I’ve fallen so far that I can’t even see the way out anymore. I’m at the bottom of Hell and I found you.
“You’re lost, broken, and completely fucked up. You’re not like me, but you want to be. The difference between us is that I still have hope and you lost yours a long time ago.” I swallow hard, wondering how crazy I am for saying this. “I’m not leaving no matter what you tell me happened to Amanda. At the very least, I’m your friend. I’m not the one who’s going to walk away here.”
His blue eyes are so narrow, but for a split second, they widen. Sean blinks and the look of shock is gone. He steps closer to me, closing the space between us. “Do you have a death wish?”
Sean’s irritating me more than anything else. His response, the absolute refusal to talk about what happened to his wife tells me so much, but I still don’t know what happened. I make an aggravated sound in the back of my throat and say, “Stop asking stupid questions. Spill your guts or let’s get on with things.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Where did that come from? Did I seriously say that?
Sean doesn’t conceal his surprise this time. Wide-eyed, he steps back and looks me over once. “Are you serious? You still trust me? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you seriously asking that question, you messed up bastard?” I slam my palms into his chest and shove, but he barely moves. “You’re such a goddamn hypocrite, and you can’t even tell.”
Sean grabs my wrists and holds on tight. His breath washes over my face when he exhales. “Enlighten me, Miss Smith.”
I glare at him for a moment and then spit it out. “You’re telling me to run away, that there’s nothing worth saving—that you have nothing left to give—but then you have the nerve to go and say you care about me.
“I can’t come back from where I’ve gone. People don’t recover from things like this. I know that. You know that, so don’t patronize me with your fake empathy, because that’s what it is if you feel nothing, if you’re as hollow as I am, if —”
Before I can take another breath, Sean’s mouth comes crashing down on mine, cutting off my flow of words. Sean pulls me against his chest and tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling hard. The kiss is demanding and all consuming. He doesn’t want me to talk. I’m saying things that he doesn’t want to hear. I’m gasping between his lips, kissing him back, wondering how far I’m willing to go. There’s no coming back from this side of Hell. I know his agony; he knows mine.
I know there’s more to his wife’s death than Sean’s telling me, that he’s hiding something bigger and using the murder accusations to mask it. I feel it in my gut. There were pictures of Amanda Ferro in there, smiling next to a serious Sean. In one picture, his arm was around her with one hand protectively on her stomach as she stepped off a curb. Sean cared about her and the baby. He wanted them. I know he can’t live with his loss. I see it on his face and hear it in his voice every time he speaks. Fathomless pain courses through his veins to the point that he’s gone numb.
