Except that’s where the inspiration had ended. Died a slow, agonizing death like his characters. Oh, the irony. No matter how hard he tried to grasp a tangible thread of his former brilliance and put words to paper, it flittered away.
He shook his head and poured himself a cup of coffee. Turning toward the living room, he sipped from his favorite mug and stared at the room that had cost him more to redecorate than his first royalty check. The ostentatious interior designer had read all his books and raved on and on about ideas, until he’d agreed to something just to shut her up. The result was the nightmare before him.
Christ, he wrote about nightmares. He didn’t want to live in one.
Slate-gray walls, so dark they made the two thousand square feet look like two hundred. A red leather sectional and creepy as fuck sculptures were supposed to bring a “splash of color.” To top off the monstrosity, framed copies of his book covers lined one wall and movie posters based off his books scaled the other.
He hadn’t had guests over in six months. Not that he’d ever had many parties. Or friends. He was a writer, and writers would rather write about people than talk to them. His own head was much more interesting. But still, it would’ve been nice to have the option of company, should he want it. He used to get a kick out of watching people, imagining their worst fears, plotting their fictional demise.
Maybe if he headed over to Central Park tomorrow, sat on a bench and observed, he’d get some ideas flowing.
The house line wailed from his desk in the other room, the ringing insistent. Just like his agent and editor and adoring fans. He almost didn’t answer, but hell, it’s not like he was getting any work done. Coffee in hand, he strode into his office and picked up the phone.
“How goes it, big brother?”
Despite the fact that his muscles were unfamiliar with the gesture, Alec smiled. “Hello, Jake. You’re calling rather late.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze automatically falling to the shelf across the room where a picture of them in their youth grinned back at him. Two skinny, pale boys with their arms around each other on the beach.
“Am I interrupting?”
Jake was the only one who knew about his writer’s block, and the knowledge made Alec’s face heat in shame. “No. Still a blank page.”
“Maybe a change of scenery will help.”
Jake had suggested it before, but Alec was hell-bent on doing this alone. He would get through this somehow. It was just a blip in his career was all. Except it was going on a year now, and this blip had quickly become an epidemic.
“I’m fine. Just need to work through it.”
Jake grunted. “How’s that going for ya?”
Alec frowned but said nothing.
“I can hear you pouting from here.” His brother laughed, and the sound immediately jarred him back to childhood. Not an unpleasant feeling. “Come on,” Jake continued. “What can it hurt? A little sun, a little breather. It’ll do you some good to come home.”
Alec didn’t have an aversion to going home. He did, however, have an aversion to his father’s inability to display any tact whenever Alec was within a ten-mile radius. Whatever. Family was family, and his could be worse. “I need to get this book done, not go on vacation.”
“You can work from anywhere. There’s this little thing called technology—”
“Har, har.” He sighed. “I’ll think about it, okay? Happy now?”
He glanced once more at their picture, taken one hot summer day at the beach near Covington Cove. Not the actual name for the private area of Wilmington Beach, but more an unofficial nickname given by the Covington staff through the years. Alec and Jake’s father worked as a gardener for the Covingtons, back before they sold the seasonal property. Their son, Cole, owned it now. Being the good son, Jake took over the family landscaping business instead of making shit up for a living, and still worked for Cole.
Which reminded him . . . “How are things between you and Lacey?”
“That’s the other reason I called.” Jake cleared his throat. “I asked her to marry me.”
Alec stilled. Jake had had a crush on little Lacey Covington since he’d first laid eyes on her. Dad had brought them to work with him on the Covington estate when Alec was eight and Jake was six. After reconnecting recently, Lacey and Jake had been dating for about eight months.
The Covington kids were nothing like their self-righteous parents, but Alec had read Cole’s memoir, just like every other person in America, so he knew what Cole and his wife, Mia, had gone through to get their happy ending. It had taken them ten years, thanks to Cole’s mother and her threats.
The whole thing made Alec nervous. If Kathryn Covington decided to meddle in her daughter Lacey’s life the way she had in her son, Cole’s, Jake would wind up on the losing end. Jake was a hard worker and made a decent living. But the Covingtons had more money than God.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Alec swiped a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me. Can I assume she said yes, since you’re telling me?”
“She did. She said yes.”
Alec could hear the smile in Jake’s tone, which caused his own lips to curve. His little brother, getting married. “Congratulations, man. I’m really happy for you.” And he was. Lacey was a lovely girl. But . . . “Don’t you think it’s kind of soon? You’ve only been together a few months.” His own haunting experiences rose up to choke him.
“You know when you know.”
He’d have to take his brother’s word for it. Love had never slapped him upside the head. He preferred to keep it that way. He’d come close to love once, and he was still paying for it. “Well, I am happy for you. Did you tell Mom and Dad yet?”
“Yep.” Jake laughed. His brother was always laughing, it seemed. Jake was light where Alec was dark. Amazing they got along at all, really. “They’re excited. Lacey wants to do it at the end of summer.”
“This summer? As in three months from now?”
“Yeah. She wants the ceremony right here on the beach. Something small.”
Alec propped his feet up on his desk and crossed his ankles. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but she is a woman and a Covington. Is small even an option?”
Jake’s silence was lengthy. “Things have changed since you were home last. Lacey and Cole aren’t in contact with their mother, and their dad is trying to be more a part of their lives. He’s not the arrogant prick he used to be.”
John and Kathryn Covington’s divorce had been splashed all over the society pages and newspapers alike. John had bowed out of politics, claiming he wanted to spend more time with his family. Meanwhile, Kathryn turned into America’s most hated bitch, both from her reaction to the divorce and how Cole had described her in his memoir.
“Come home,” Jake implored again. “Get to know Lacey a little better, spend some time with the folks. Heck, sit on the beach and drink piña coladas. Stay for the summer. You can leave after the wedding. Maybe it’ll help get your head back into the book.”
It did sound good. His life was in New York now, but nothing imminent tied him here at the moment. What he’d been doing to write his next book sure wasn’t working. Alec reached over and swiped the nose of his Derek Jeter bobblehead, thinking as he watched the toy swivel.
“You can stay in our guesthouse, so you don’t have to worry about Dad. You’d have it all to yourself.”
“Is the house finished?” Alec could’ve sworn they’d just broken ground on Lacey’s McMansion not long ago. She’d designed it herself, according to Jake, and planned to build on an unused area of the original Covington property.
“Yep. They finished it last month. I’m just touching up some landscaping.” He paused to clear his throat. “I moved in with her when she asked.”