A Betrayal at Eastwick Read online

  Aaron barely gave the man a passing look. “Yes, I know, sorry, I just—I’m distracted. Can I talk to you? In private?”

  “Is it about Becks?”

  Aaron took a deep breath and sighed. “No. He’s fine. This—this venture will be good for him. I’m proud of him.”

  Right. Eliza had heard Aaron’s unfiltered opinion, back when the scandal had happened. Had watched him replay the horrendous tackle, over and over, showing how Becks could have played it differently, implicating Becks in what came after.

  “Is it about Gina?” Eliza said.

  Aaron winced. “No, of course not. That was one night, Eliza. Please, just for five minutes. Come with me.”

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite football player!” Gina Tiller said, voice needling, as she sidled up to Aaron. Her creamy, peach skin looked shockingly pale against Aaron’s dark ebony. “How are you doing, handsome? Oh, Eliza—how are you?” And she slipped one arm through Aaron’s, which he shook off by patting her awkwardly on the shoulder instead. Undeterred, Gina reached out to hug Eliza, and Eliza stiffened as her arms mechanically accepted it. Why did you do that, she chastised herself. You should have turned your shoulder to her.

  “What do you think of all this?” Gina asked, her eyes slipping greedily from Aaron to Eliza. Her strawberry gold hair was pulled back into a tight bun, capped with a ridiculous red flower. “So exciting, isn’t it? Poor Becks, he deserves some good fortune, after everything. I heard he is giving a portion of the profits to Eggertson’s family. You know, for physical therapy and the like. Though I don’t really know how you can give physical therapy to someone who’s paralyzed.”

  Eliza stared at her, stricken.

  “Ah, well,” Aaron said, embarrassed for her, “there’s actually a lot to do. Strength training, stretching, exercises—”

  “Yeah, but he’ll never walk again,” Gina said, making a brushing-away motion with her hand. “He’ll always be in a wheelchair.”

  “Excuse me,” Eliza said. “Whitney just arrived. I should go say hi. No, stay,” she said, as Aaron moved to join her. “I’m sure you two have plenty to catch up on.”

  “Oh, absolutely!” Gina said, threading her arm through Aaron’s again and letting off a high-pitched cackle.

  Someone, Eliza thought, should do the world a favor and push Gina Tiller off a cliff.

  Chapter 4

  Whitney Becker clung close to her husband’s shoulder as they made the rounds. She tired of the falsely sweet voices saying, Oh, Becks, so fantastic to see you! and Looking good, Becks! Proud of you, man. She trusted none of them. She knew that the invitees were either friends of Evan’s or acquaintances who had come to gawk and see what the scandal had done to the once-famous lineman.

  Whitney was many things, but a fool was not one of them. She steered her husband through the introductions, smiled where necessary, and drew him slowly, inexorably, over to where Evan stood, talking to an older gentleman with a blue handkerchief in his suit pocket.

  “The guest of honor!” Evan cried, excusing himself to the older gentleman. “Becks! Whit!” He shook Becks’ hand with great vigor and gave Whitney a tepid hug.

  Whitney glanced at Becks, scrutinizing him, relaxing as a genuine smile spread across his face. Evan could do that to him—Evan was the one person who could make Becks forget himself for a moment, and genuinely enjoy himself. Even Whitney had lost the ability to do that.

  “Nice party,” Becks said. “How much of the seed money is going towards it?”

  Evan laughed uproariously—too much, in Whitney’s opinion. But Becks grinned back, and Whitney even gave him an answering smile. The answer was that of course none of the seed money had gone into the party, though who knew what credit cards Evan had tapped to throw it. The money would officially be transferred into Becker & Miller Associates tomorrow, after Evan and Becks signed, with a flourish, the contract in front of the gathered crowd. All silliness, in Whitney’s opinion, but Evan had insisted that their kind of business relied on publicity and word of mouth, and such stunts were absolutely necessary.

  “I need to introduce you to a few folks,” Evan said, clapping Becks on the back. “Some interested investors.”

  “Already?”

  “Ab-so-lutely.”

  “Do they know this business is just run by a dumb football player and his crazy friend?”

  Evan’s grin widened. “I’m really pumping up the whole accountant plus celebrity model, you know.”

  “Disgraced celebrity,” Becks said, and the mood turned awkward. Evan took a quick swig of his drink. “I’ll be right back,” Becks continued. “Going to use the bathroom.”

  “How’s your headache?” Whitney said sharply, and Becks scowled at her, withdrawing his arm.

  “Fine.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you need an aspirin?”

  “No.”

  Whitney bit her tongue to keep from asking yet another question. She couldn’t baby him, not too much. His resentment of her would only grow. Evan reassured Becks he would be right there when he came back and then turned towards Whitney.

  “You, ah, look nice,” he said awkwardly.

  Whitney just gave him a scathing look. “Are all the papers in order?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you sure? Because if—”

  “Whitney, yes. I triple-checked. Come on, enjoy yourself. Have a glass of champagne.”

  Whitney shuddered. “I can’t. I’m too nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like—I just have this sense that something is going to go wrong.”

  “Stop. You’re just getting in your head. Leave the paranoia to Becks.”

  She shot another warning look, and Evan held up his hands.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Bad joke. I just mean, everything is fine. You don’t have to worry.”

  “I just want this night to be over.”

  Evan scowled. “Don’t worry, it will be. Soon. Just—enjoy yourself in the meantime, okay? When’s the last time you’ve really been out, out like this? De-stress a little. Have a cocktail. Mingle.”

  “That’s not exactly de-stressing.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, and Whitney shook her head in annoyance, a lock of hair tumbling across her face. She had to stay focused tonight, make sure everything ran smoothly, make sure Becks was exactly where he needed to be.

  “There is…one thing I wanted to mention,” Evan said, tugging at his ear.

  “What?”

  “It’s not a problem. Don’t look at me like that. It’s handled.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Whit—don’t panic. I wasn’t even going to tell you.”

  “Tell me.”

  Evan sucked in a long breath. “It’s just—people talk, you know?”

  Whitney’s stomach flipped. “Daniel,” she said. Her eyes roved the room for him, and her heart began to race wildly. “I need to find Daniel.”

  “Wait! Whit. Hold on, it’s not—”

  But she left him, pulse pounding in her ears. Daniel, she thought, heart lurching. She had to get to him.

  Because what if someone had told him the one thing she couldn’t bear for him to hear?

  Chapter 5

  Gina Tiller was not one to mind going where she was not wanted.

  Part of it was the pure pleasure of defiance—of seeing the fear or animosity or trepidation in someone’s eyes, and knowing that they didn’t have the courage to confront her. Part of it was pure indifference to others’ feelings about her: Gina had enough money to know that she would always be wanted somewhere, and didn’t have any of that nasty insecurity of those born into poverty, which Gina defined as anything less than six figures a year (per person in the household, of course).

  So when Evan Tiller moved up to the front of the room to give a speech, Gina started to sidle her way to the
stage.

  The party really was a much larger affair than she had thought it would be. Indeed, Gina had only accepted Evan’s lukewarm invitation to join in order to have a few drinks and marvel at the misery of the disgraced ex-football player trying to open a business with his high school buddy. But the party was tastefully done—she would give Evan that—and it turned out that he had drawn quite the crowd of St. Clair socialites, including a rather drunk Paulette McKenzie, who was hanging like a leech on the arm of the rather flustered and rather flattered Mr. Walpoe, an old bachelor who resembled a stretched-out frog.

  Even the decorations were tasteful: not garish football colors and blown-up posters of Daniel Becker, as Gina had expected, but gold and red sashes and rugs and even themed drinks, served in fine crystal cocktail glasses. A plated dinner would have been nice, of course, but then, Gina couldn’t expect someone like Evan Miller, living off of the investment of his more successful best friend, to afford that.

  “Ahem,” Evan said, tapping the microphone. The crowd’s humming gradually ceased, and bodies turned towards the front of the stage. Only Gina continued to move through them, sidestepping men in suits and women in pastel dresses and waiters with their stiff ties and stiffer manners. “Everyone can hear me?”

  A few hearty cheers.

  “Fantastic!” Evan grinned. He seemed easy in front of a crowd, Gina thought. Nothing like the nervous, shy Becks. Gina could remember Becks when he was recruited just after college. She had been twenty-five then and loved to (as she still did) sort through every photo of every new recruit, ranking them in order of attractiveness. Becks had been near the top: tall, with a square jaw that undid his otherwise pretty-boy face, and bright green eyes flecked with brown. He had been so nice, too, when Gina had met him at the first banquet her father held. Too bad for that damn girlfriend—she certainly had known a good thing when she saw it, and made sure to get a ring from Becks within his first year of professional football. And, wonder of all wonders, Becks was one of those rare unicorns who was too ethical or too cowardly to cheat.

  Evan was saying something now about how he had always hoped to run a business with Becks, how they complemented each other, and blah blah blah. Then he waved towards the front of the crowd, and Becks, nudged by his wife Whitney, took a tentative step towards the stage’s stairs. The crowd began to cheer. Gina joined in, clapping, that same serpentine smile plastered on her face. Poor Becks, she thought. She wondered if the rumors about CTE were true. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Nasty name. Her father never liked talking about it. “I smell a lawsuit!” he would say, and that would be that. People were always trying to sue you when you were rich.

  “And I just want to add,” Evan said, “that I’ve never been more proud to be your friend, Becks. Seriously. In every situation you’ve ever been in, you’ve handled yourself with grace, courage, and strength. I’m so lucky to have you, and I can only have the highest hopes for Becker & Miller knowing that you’re a part of it. So with that said,” Evan concluded, raising his glass. The crowd cheered again. Gina began to ascend the steps. “With that said—” Evan glanced once, then twice, at Gina, his eyes widening, panic creeping into his expression. Gina grinned. “Here’s a toast, to Becks! And Becker & Miller!”

  A cheers, dulled somewhat by the surprise of seeing Gina on stage. But the crowd followed Evan’s example and downed their champagne. Becks looked awkward, like an animal off-leash. He had no drink in his hand: no doubt Whitney had put a stop to any of that, at least until the doctors gave him the all-clear. Which, in Gina’s limited experience, would be never. Didn’t they say, after all, that the only time you could actually prove CTE was after death?

  “Hello!” Gina said, tugging the microphone from Evan’s fingers. That was his first mistake, letting her have it. He was probably hoping she wasn’t going to make a scene, had probably weighed his options and decided that the path of least resistance was best.

  The crowd quieted. She could see the faces looking up at her with confusion and mild interest. Gina grinned. She still felt a mild buzz from the last gin and tonic she had had—her fourth or fifth, but who was counting?

  “Hello,” Gina said. “Thank you for coming to the wonderful event put on by my great friend Evan Miller, and of course, the wonderful Daniel Becker.” She clapped her hands, and the crowd, wincing at the loud sounds that echoed through the speakers, joined in after a few seconds, haltingly.

  “Gina,” Evan said, smiling and drawing nearer. “Did you—?”

  “I just wanted to say a few words of congratulations,” Gina said, twisting away from him. “Evan is a really stand-up guy. And I mean stand-up.” She could feel Evan really starting to panic behind her, coming close enough that Gina felt sure he meant to try and reach for the microphone. She took another step away and began pacing the stage. “Isn’t that so, Evan? Haven’t you always been a stand-up guy?”

  Evan gave a pale smile. Becks look inquisitively at her.

  “I mean, using your rich friend’s money to start a new business!” Gina said. “Brilliant! Wonderful career move!”

  The whispers started, rolling across the crowd. Gina relished them. She felt intoxicated—she always did when she was in front of a crowd. It was a particular weakness that her father had learned to manage, or circumvent.

  “But that’s not all you’ve been scheming up, is it?” Gina said, whipping on Evan. He looked white, whether from fear or embarrassment, Gina didn’t know. She didn’t care. “Want to tell us what else you have in store for us, Evan? For Becks here?”

  She waited, twirling the microphone in one hand. A man like Evan Miller was really nothing more than a sad little upstart. A man who would announce a partnership with a celebrity widely believed to have CTE, a celebrity whose career had ended in the most horrible, spectacular fashion six months ago. Because he needed Becks to be something, anything. And he was willing to do whatever he needed to in order to make that happen.

  Gina might have admired it—but then, she was rich enough to have higher moral standards. She would never scheme or plot to make money, and if this was only because she had enough of it to last her ten lifetimes, she didn’t particularly care. What she did care about was watching the panic twist and warp Evan’s face. He should have been nicer to her, should have greeted her when she came to the party that night, should have treated her like the special guest of honor that she was. He hadn’t, of course, and she had been reduced to wandering the party on her own, to listening to the conversations of strangers around her, to talking to half-acquaintances with silly pleasantries.

  If he had bothered to talk to her, though, she might have missed one of the most important conversations of the night. The one that she was really dying to tell.

  Patience, she counseled herself.

  Evan snatched the microphone back from her, obviously catching Gina’s moment of distraction. She didn’t care; she had finished her job for the night, and gave him a sly smile as he began speaking into the microphone, stuttering over himself. “Ah, thanks Gina, for that…anyway. Please enjoy the drinks and the food, and if I haven’t had a chance to say hello, please find me. I want to thank each and every one of you for coming. Becks and I both do.”

  “And Whitney, of course,” Gina said, loud enough to be picked up by the microphone. “Can’t forget Whitney, sweet little snake that she is.”

  Becks’ head whipped round to her. Gina knew she shouldn’t have said this last part; nothing lost a crowd like insulting a well-liked woman, especially a woman so nobly hitched to a tragic figure. But what did she care? She wanted another gin and tonic.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said to Becks, winking at him. He stared at her, naked dislike on his face. For a moment it chilled Gina; she sobered up for an instant and even blushed to look out at the dozens upon dozens of eyes on her. But then she shook herself and walked off stage.

  She wasn’t done with her good deeds for the night.

  Chapter 6

&nbs
p; “I’m so sorry,” Evan repeated, as he huddled with Whitney and Becks a few moments later. Becks looked ill and kept rubbing his temples, while Whitney’s lips were pressed in a thin line.

  “We should go soon,” Whitney said. “Becks isn’t feeling well, anyway.”

  “Not yet,” Evan said sharply.

  Whitney glared at him. Evan met her stare with one of his own. He was going into business with her husband, yes, but they both knew that essentially meant he was going into business with Whitney. And she needed to understand when to listen to him—to see reason.

  “We have to talk through something,” Evan said, voice tight. “And besides that, Becks still needs to sign the contract.”

  Whitney huffed at this. Becks did look out of it, sometimes massaging his temples, sometimes looking about him with the air of a baffled child. Evan felt a wave of pity for his friend, so strong that it almost knocked him to his knees. He could help him, he thought. Make him better. If they took a trip for a little while, got away from all this…

  But it was too late.

  It had been too late for years.

  “Fine,” Whitney said, her voice just as tight. “Fifteen more minutes. That’s it.”

  Evan nodded, swallowing hard.

  He had to play this right.

  Chapter 7

  “Disgusting,” Eliza said, and the girl standing next to her outside the restroom nodded, all righteous indignation and horror at Gina’s outburst. It was easy to hate a rich, spoiled girl like Gina, and it felt rather nice sharing in the hatred with a pleasant stranger. The toilet flushed, and a bird-like woman emerged, adjusting her satin dress with a glazed look in her eyes. The agreeable girl disappeared inside, and Eliza sighed, leaning up against the wallpaper and wishing she had not quit cigarettes earlier that month.

  “Eliza.”

  Eliza whipped around to see Aaron standing there, looking undone. She straightened, heart picking up a beat. But she managed, coolly enough, “What do you want, Aaron?”