White Lies (Book 1)

Nathan's Wake-Up Call

Nathan's Wake-Up Call

It was the same dream all over again.

A memory. Mom and I were seated by the grand piano by at the bottom of the staircase. I was perched on her lap, and my little fingers could just barely reach the keys. The calm before the storm – like so many others to follow.

She was laughing her beautiful, tinkling laugh. I couldn't see her smile, but it felt like sunshine. "Non, mon cher," she giggled, grabbing hold of my fingers and placing them into position. "You must put your thumb on C, your middle finger on E, and this teeny baby one," she teased, grabbing hold of my ring finger, "we will put over G. Now play."

I stuck my tongue out in concentration, trying to do what I was told. But it was too much. My little fingers couldn't stretch far enough. I followed her instructions to the letter, banging the white piano keys over and over. I wanted to hear her laugh again – and it worked. She threw her head back and laughed loudly.

"Fantastique! My little Nathan needs to learn more patience, yes?" she grinned, carefully tucking my fingers away and placing the cover over the piano. We were done practicing chords for the day. "We will practice more tomorrow. But first – Mommy Monster must eat your delicious fingers!"

She put her mouth over my little fingers, munching menacingly. I wriggled and squealed, trying to relinquish Mommy Monster's hold over me. Giggling and playing together in that quiet afternoon sunshine.

Our moment was then unceremoniously ruined – all of our best moments usually were. The front door swung wide open, crashing against the wall with a disruptive thump. Mom and I jumped at the same time. Her arms became like cages around me, as they often did. Wrapping around my body protectively, shielding me before the impact could land.

And then his voice – blind drunk, impatient. "Is that my boy? Bring him here to me, Vera. I won't ask nicely twice."

My eyes blinked open. Feeling less like I'd just woken up, and more like I'd been awake and dreaming all along. And that's when it kicked in.

The incessant throbbing at the back of my skull. Dry mouth. Immovable limbs. This was the worst hangover of my life.

"Jess?" I called out incoherently. Oh, shit. This was an appalling way to start the day, and certainly an abysmal start to finding Alfred. Although if I were being honest with myself, being hungover in Vegas was probably an apt strategy. A way of gleaning some insight to my hot-shot father's whereabouts.

And I was going to find him. Whether or not he wanted to be found.

Last night was a close call – the blue Cadillac which had taken him away had no number plates. And an unidentifiable driver. The passenger had been Alfred for sure – I would've bet my entire trust fund on it. It felt as if I were slowly reaching the pulse of Alfred in this god-forsaken place. The pulse was there, beating beneath all the noise. I only had to listen and find my way to it.

What a waste of time.

Speaking of listening, my ears could just faintly detect the sound of running water. I sighed in comforted relief and rolled over to Jesabel's empty side of the bed, taking in her scent. Waiting for her to get out of the shower. Waiting for the pounding in my head to ease before I could lift my head from the pillow.

Minutes passed. The running water persisted.

What had happened last night?

As far as I could remember, my shitty luck had left me no closer to finding my father, leaving me dejected and self-pitying along the Las Vegas Strip. I entered the closest place that sold liquor and picked out something that Alfred might have picked out for himself. I had deemed it investigative method acting – then I patted myself on the back and made my way to the hotel suite. Worried and riddled with guilt.