CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

NOAH

Farrah Conner needs help. Seriously, I mean it.

If it isn’t bad enough that she’s lying to friends and family about getting married and carrying my baby, she’s now splashing it over every social media site there is. Probably be talking to the gossip rags and doing television interviews pretty soon if she hasn’t already.

“That’s some pretty messed-up shit,” Blake says.

“You got that right,” Rob agrees.

It’s good my brothers believe this is made-up stuff because they seem to be the only ones. Farrah already has ten thousand likes on her Facebook page and twenty thousand re-tweets on Twitter, with no signs of either one slowing down. I would check her Instagram and TikTok and whatever else she uses, but I don’t feel like paying damages on the room. Have to contact my lawyer and PR people and get them on top of this quickly.

“You think Mom believes you?” Blake asks. “There’s a lot of damning evidence here.”

“I think so, but jeez. Looking at what she’s posted so far, I’m beginning to believe it myself.”

Those words leaving my mouth cause me to think. If I’m only two seconds away from buying what Farrah is selling, I wonder who else might be. Amber in particular.

“How long ago did she begin posting this nonsense?” I ask my brothers.

“Three days?” Blake says.

“Four,” Rob states and then adds, “Wait a minute. Here’s something posted on Facebook the night of Mom’s birthday. From the angle of the picture, I can see how some might believe you two are together.”

“Hello,” Blake sings. “What do we have here?”

Me: “What is it?”

“You devil, you.”

“What is it?” I ask again.

Blake shows Rob his phone.

“Come to daddy.”

“Goddammit! What?” Blake shows me. “How the hell?”

There are four photos of Farrah in lingerie. Risqué lingerie.

“How did she get into my place?” The pictures of Farrah were taken in my bedroom, on my bed. “Someone’s about to lose their job.”

“Yeah, they are,” Rob chants.

I tilt my head back and let my eyes close. “In my bed.”

“Sorry, man,” Rob says.

I don’t have it in me to respond.

Blake gets off the couch and pours himself a coffee. “Anybody else?” He holds up the pot.

Rob and I decline.

Blake sits back down, sips his Folgers. “I need to tell you something, Noah.”

“Go ahead.” Nothing he can say will make this situation worse. Farrah Conner has fucked me over royally.

“Talked to Amber earlier.”

I sit up. Could there be hope?

“I didn’t actually talk to her. I texted her.”

“What did she say?”

“I asked her to meet me in the lounge downstairs. She said she’d come but never showed. Maybe she saw all the shit Farrah posted.”

“I bet that’s it,” Rob says.

“Wouldn’t surprise me any.”

Wouldn’t surprise me either. Things were going too well between Amber and me for her to check out and leave town. People only do that if they have a strong reason. Farrah carrying my baby would be a strong enough reason.

Time to go on the offensive. I open the contacts on my phone and hit a number.

“Who you calling?” Blake asks.

“Buck.”

“Thatta boy.”

The phone rings, and the receptionist answers. “Buck Johnson, Esquire. How may I help you?” Buck doesn’t normally work for us. His specialty isn’t business or corporate or real estate. He does other things well. Better than anybody. Buck is known as a “mudder,” and he will get dirty.

“This is Noah Dalton. Is Buck in?”

“Hold, please.”

The hold isn’t long.

“Hey, Noah. How are you?” Buck went to the same high school as us. He and I were classmates.

“Good, Buck. And you?” No matter how bad things are, I’m not going to lead off with it. That would be bad manners.

“Cut to the chase, Noah. I know why you called.”

“Farrah Conner.”

“I’ve heard the news. Who hasn’t?”

“I’m sure that’s right.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’d like everything taken down as soon as possible. I want a public apology as well.”

“If that’s all you need, then why call me?”

“Because I don’t think she’s going to do either of those things, so if there’s any hesitation on her part, I want you to stick it to her. I want you to do what you do best.” I can visualize him plopping his feet on his desk and smiling.

“Done,” he says. “But you need to tell me. Is any of it true?”

“Not a word.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“You bet,” Buck says. “And tell the family hi.”

“I will.” We hang up, and I relay the hello to my brothers.

“How’s he doing?” Rob asks.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“He going to help?”

“Probably already on it.”

“She’ll get what she has coming to her,” Blake says, referring to Farrah.

“Yes, she will,” I say and rise from my chair. “I’m going to talk to Amber.”

Blake: “What if she still won’t see you?”

“Then I’ll camp out on the lawn. I’m not leaving town until I find out what happened.”

Rob: “Good for you.”

I walk to the room’s phone.

“What now?” Blake asks.

“Calling the front desk. I’ll need a ride.”

“You need more than a ride.” Blake fans his nose. “You need a shower.”

“Yeah,” Rob says. “You stink.”

I smell my underarm. Why do people do that? “All right. One of you want to line a car up for me? I’ll be downstairs in twenty minutes.”

Rob says he’ll do it, and I go and shower.

Because I have to shave, it takes longer to get ready than expected. I show up at the car ten minutes late. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s all right. Where to?”

I give him directions to Amber’s parents’ house. Please be there.

* * *

We’re close enough to the Allen residence for me to spot Amber’s fiancé, the lumberjack, walking away from the house and the door closing behind him.

I sit up in the back seat. Place my hand on the doorknob.

The guy walks around the front of his pickup as the car I’m in rolls to a stop behind. I pop the back door and leap out.

He opens the door of his pickup.

“Hold up,” I say.

He flips the door closed with two fingers and meets me at the tailgate of his truck.

Every nerve is on end. Adrenalin maxed out. This could turn into a fistfight, which isn’t a strength. But so it goes.

“I need to talk to Amber.”

He doesn’t answer, just eyeballs me and leans against his pickup.

“Listen. I understand you two are engaged, but I need to ask her something. Five minutes is all I ask.”

“Yeah, about that,” he says. “We’re not engaged. I said that because I figured you were the shit who hurt her. Am I right?”

“I don’t know how I hurt her,” I answer. “I’ve tried to get hold of her, but she won’t respond.” I hold my palms up.

“She’s in the house. Why don’t you go ask her?”

“She is?”

“Yeah. You two need to talk.”

It takes a second for things to sink in, but when they do, I thank him and sprint to the house. Walk in without knocking.

“Amber, you in here? Amber?”

I search every room on the main floor before making my way upstairs. Two bedroom doors are open, and she’s not in either one. I open the door to the closet, knowing it’s the closet, and close it, shaking my head.

There is one more room up here to check, and the door is closed. The arm wrestler said she was in the house, so this is where she has to be.

I think about barging in but knock instead. Need to show her the respect she deserves.

There is no response, so I rap on the wood a little harder.

A reply comes back this time. “What is it?”

“Can we talk?”