He glances over. “You believe my mother didn’t know he was holding you captive?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure, especially after hearing your conversation with her. She honestly thinks Davey took me home.”
His hands tighten on the wheel. “And what really happened?”
I don’t answer.
“Kennedy?”
“Can we talk about this later? Please? I’m fine, and I just want to forget it for a while.”
He relaxes his grip. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m just . . .” He glances over. “I know you’re not fine, but are you okay? I see cuts. Do you need to go to a hospital? Or see a doctor? I know someone I could take you to, even at this hour.”
“They’re paper cuts. From another Costa painting. I will tell you everything later, but for now, yes, I’m not ‘fine’ but I am okay. I’ll be even more okay when we’re far from here.”
“All right. If you need anything . . .”
“If you could find me a burger, I would totally take that.”
“I will. Then I presume you’d like to go home?”
“If that’s okay.”
“It’s absolutely okay.”
We reach the end of a quiet road. The lights of Boston shine to one side, but he turns the other way to bypass the city. When we see the neon glow of a fast-food place, he says, “Is that one okay?”
“Right now, any one is okay.”
He turns into the drive-thru. I place my order, and he doubles it. When it comes, he passes the bag my way. I start to hand him his burger, but he shakes his head.
“It’s all yours. I don’t feel much like eating.”
“I felt the same way a few hours ago. Now I think I could eat both burgers from the sheer adrenaline rush of relief.” I pause as he tenses. “I’m kidding. It wasn’t that bad.”
He looks over. “You’re not kidding. It was that bad. You don’t need to minimize it for me, Kennedy. I already do that too much when it’s me or Rian in my father’s crosshairs. At least, I know I won’t do that with you.” He grips the wheel. “Which I should have thought when it was my younger brother bearing the brunt of it.”
“Growing up in a dysfunctional family means you can’t see the dysfunction. It feels like normalcy. You trust your parents to do the right thing.”
He slants me a glance. “Because you know all about family dysfunction.”
I lick ketchup off my fingers. “I have a college friend who took a bottle of pills. I found her in time. She’s been in therapy for years and is just beginning to realize that she’s not as worthless as her parents said she was.”
He flinches. “That was presumptuous of me.”
I shrug. “My family is awesome. That makes it easy to think I don’t know anything about non-awesome ones. The truth is that I don’t—not from personal experience. I’m just saying that from where I stand, the mistakes you made with Rian were understandable. Also, you aren’t your brother’s keeper and he doesn’t want you to be. From what I’ve heard, you did a lot to protect him. Still do.”
“Maybe, but I do so with a jumbo-sized side order of exasperation. I need to stop that.”
“Nah, just downsize to kiddie-sized. Rian still needs a little big-brother exasperation.”
I had him a fry, and he takes it.
“So to totally change the subject, how did cocktails with Theodora go?”
He tenses again and then rolls it off. “Unfortunately, that’s doesn’t change the subject as much as you hoped. I think she set me up. Set us up. Before I went over, I said I was with you, and I couldn’t stay long because you’d be waiting back at my house.”
“Damn.”
“Yes. I agreed to join her for cocktails, and while I was gone, you were kidnapped from my house. Either my mother asked Theodora to lure me out or Theodora let my mother know you were alone at my house. I’d said you were with me in hopes she would extend the invitation to include you. The fact she didn’t makes me all the more certain she set us up.”
I want to protest. To say I’m sure it’s a coincidence. Yeah, defend Theodora based on a fifteen-minute acquaintance, during which she swore she was on Aiden’s side and not my enemy.
I remember what Cullan said.
Has she told you that? Clever girl, our Theodora.
“I didn’t expect this of her,” he says. “Which just goes to prove that I am a terrible judge of character.”
“I liked her, too. This doesn’t mean she’s evil. Just more ambitious than we’ve given her credit for. If she did set us up, it was with your mother, whose plan seemed to be just talking to me.”
I take a bite of my burger and then hold out another fry. He accepts it and nibbles the end, after which it disappears, as if dropped into the door pocket.
The windshield wipers fill the silence. The rain seems to be letting up, and the wipers slow. Connolly turns onto an even quieter backroad.
“I need to ask you something,” I say. “And I need an honest answer.”
“Of course.”
“It’s about my insurance claim.”
There’s a beat pause, and my heart clenches, but when I look over, he’s only frowning at the change of subject.
“What would you like to know?” he says.
“Did the insurance company reject it?”
Another pause, one that now has my heart speeding up.
“Aiden?”
He sighs. “Yes, they rejected the initial claim. I didn’t mention it because you were worried enough already, and I could handle it.”
“How did you handle it?”
“I strode into their office and insisted—demanded—that they accept your claim.” His lips twitch as he glances over. “That sounds so much more impressive than the truth. I accessed policy documents from their firm and discovered they were rejecting you based on a misapplication of a clause that didn’t appear in other policies. Which meant, first, that they were wrong to deny your claim, but second, that they’d taken advantage of a young business owner, a fact they would not want publicized when they promote themselves as an entrepreneur-friendly firm. The first part meant they had to pay you, and the second part encouraged them to do so expediently.”
“Your mother has a copy of the original rejection. She thinks you paid my claim.”
“Certainly not.” The GPS warns him to turn ahead, and he eases off the gas. “If I couldn’t resolve it, I would have positioned myself as a potential investor in your business, but that proved unnecessary.” He glances over. “Did you think I’d snuck the money into your account?”
“I hoped not.” I fold away my empty bag. “However, I am waiting for my ten grand a month sugar-daddy payment.”
“Then I fear you will be waiting a long time, as I should hope I’m not old enough to qualify for the role.” He turns the corner. “Dare I ask what that’s about?”
“Your mom has a letter, signed by you, directing your lawyers to wire me ten grand a month from your trust fund.”
His shoulders slump. “So either she forged it herself or my father did, and she believes it despite the fact that, were I to do such a thing, I would certainly be more discreet. Also, it’s not my trust fund until I marry, and anything I take from it is a loan, which is added to my debt.”