by Staci Hart
“I’m not afraid of them—especially not Addison Lane—and I don’t give a goddamn what they think. But you seem to.”
“Stop it. Stop saying that. I don’t care about them, how could I?” My breath hitched and hiccuped. “After … after w-what they’ve done to me, I hope every last one of them goes to hell.”
“You know,” he said as if to himself, “I didn’t think you were anything like them, but you proved me wrong, as you tend to do. They’re a den of snakes, a nest of liars, and I thought you were honest. But you lied to her about me. And you lied to me about Brock.”
I stilled.
“I saw you with him. I heard what he said. I heard him tell you how he loved you, and I heard him tell you how wrong he was. What I didn’t hear was you argue.”
“I was at work,” I countered. “I was standing at work while he bowed and scraped, his girlfriend in the next room and a pack of cameramen roaming around. With my boss trying to find any reason—any reason—to fire me. Did you really expect me to tell him what I thought right then, standing in the middle of the event I’d been charged with?”
“No, Lila. I guess I couldn’t,” he shot, the fire in him flaring. “But you didn’t tell me. You were going to. But you didn’t, and that left me wondering why. Why would you hide it from me? Haven’t I earned your trust?”
“Haven’t I earned yours?” On his silence, I pressed on, “How could I explain? In that moment, surrounded by socialites, how in the world could I have explained it all to you? You have to know I was going to tell you. And if you’d wanted to know so bad, if you’d seen the whole thing, then why not ask me? Why did you test me instead? I don’t expect subterfuge, not from you.”
“I don’t know,” he said, the heat gone, replaced by weariness and finality. “I guess I don’t trust you like I thought I did.”
I flinched from the pain of those words. “I have never given you any reason not to trust me, not one. And yet, you are so quick to assume I would turn my back on you.” Blocks. A few short blocks was all I had. I could feel the end approaching and shrank in its shadow. “That says more about you than it does about me. And if you honestly believe anything you just said, then I was wrong about you. Wrong about us.”
We fell silent as he turned the corner, my eyes on the hotel awning as it grew closer.
“Let’s face it,” he said with quiet detachment. “It was always going to end like this—we knew it from the start. My job was to be a distraction, and I think my work here is done.”
He pulled to a stop, not bothering to put it in park. But he looked at me with infinite sadness behind the blue of his eyes.
Something inside me came unraveled and collapsed. Tears, sharp and hot, stung my eyes, blurred my vision. I knew the end when I saw it. And so, I memorized his face for a long moment before opening the door and stepping into the cold.
I didn’t know if I’d ever be warm again.
25
Scorched Earth
KASH
I watched the colors in my room shift from blues to purples to buttery yellows as the sun rose, the shadows shrinking away with every tick of the clock.
My room felt foreign after spending so many nights away. It was a place I’d left behind, a place of memory. A limbo, the space between the boy I’d been and the man I’d become. That limbo had stretched on far too long, years where every day was the same and nothing ever changed.
Until her.
I’d captured sleep in wisps and fluttering moments through the night, plagued by what she’d said. What I’d said. What I’d so willingly stepped into and what had been inevitable from the start. Acceptance set a quiet resolve upon me, a heaviness that settled in my chest, immovable. This had always been our fate.
I’d just been reckless enough to hope.
I’d been careless enough to fall in love with her.
I knew it now in hindsight, the path to this moment laid out plainly behind me. I’d realized it last night when she stepped out of the van. When she’d broken, so had I, and what had spilled out was my love for her. But there was nothing to catch it. So it’d slipped away, disappearing in the cracks, lost but for the remnants.
Those, I feared, would stain me for the rest of my days.
My alarm went off uselessly, and I found that heaviness weighed down my arms, my legs, my weary eyelids. But I slid out of bed, mindlessly pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, shoved my feet into my boots, and carried myself down the stairs. There was nothing else to do. Not with myself, not with my day, and not for Lila and me.
Lila. The pain on her face, the shock at discovering she’d been betrayed, was etched in my mind. In that moment, I could have burned that place to the ground. I would have scorched the earth to save her, to serve vengeance, to end it all.
But she wasn’t the only one who had been betrayed.
The words I’d spoken that very first night haunted me. It was true—the only danger in a rebound was to the reboundee. And here I thought I’d known what I was getting myself into.
Silly me.
The greenhouse awaited, the earthy musk comforting in its familiarity. Dad glanced at me from behind the dahlias with a flicker of concern in his eyes. But he said nothing, as was his custom, and for that, I was grateful. The last thing I wanted to do was regale him with the story of my dashed and foolish hope.
So I picked up my shovel and worked. The shuck of the spade against the wheelbarrow brought me back to center, hypnotized me into forgetting.
No, not forgetting, but burying.
I buried my wishes and the things I’d believed under the growing mound of mulch that would feed the flowers. Something beautiful would come out of the shit I piled on top—that was just science. But that didn’t make it stink any less.
It wasn’t long before I was sweating, reveling in the ache of my shoulders and arms. When I finished mulching, it wasn’t enough to have burned off my thoughts. I needed to exhaust every ounce of energy I had, burn it down until I was empty. So I made my way down to storage, deciding I’d rearrange the heaviest stuff I could find.
Bags of dirt and mulch and fertilizer were piled haphazardly along one wall, and that seemed the best place to start. Silently, I got to work, picking up bags and dumping them with a slap onto each other. I had just moved forty bags to the middle of the room so I could start organizing them when I heard someone on the stairs.
Luke smiled to cover his worry, but I saw it all the same.
“Need some help?” he asked, nodding to the pile.
“I got it,” I answered, picking up a bag of dirt and slinging it over my shoulder, giving him my back, though I knew better than to hope he’d actually take the hint and leave.
He was quiet for the length of time it took me to drop the first bag with a satisfying thump.
“What happened?”
I turned, avoiding his eyes as I grabbed another bag and headed off again. “It’s over.” I couldn’t bring myself to say her name.
Unfortunately, Luke didn’t have that problem. “Lila? But I thought—”
Thunk went the bag. “Yeah, me too. But I was wrong.”
“About what, specifically?”
“Everything. All of it. I told you our differences mattered, and I was right.”
Thunk went another bag. I hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t looked my brother in the eye. As resolute as I was, I was still hurt. I was still heartsick and lovesick and just fucking sick.
“What happened last night?”
I contemplated picking up two bags at a time just to punish myself but stuck with one. It’d take longer this way, and I wanted to kill all the time I could. Briefly, I recounted the night, leaving it cool and uncolored by how I felt. Because how I felt was too much to speak. Betrayed and unworthy. Resolved and despairing. Foolish and misguided by my own instinct, my own heart.
Luke listened silently, his face drawing tighter, though not with anger. With concern. When I finished, a pause stretched between us.
“Kash, I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Thunk. I swept the back of my hand across my forehead and grabbed another bag.
“God, what a mess. But I’ve got to say, I can’t imagine she meant to hurt you.”
“Of course she didn’t. Doesn’t change the fact that she did. But there are two important things to remember.” Slip went the bag off the pile. “One—I am a rebound, and I never should have expected to be anything more. And two—her life and mine will never, ever be compatible.”
Thunk.
“Have I ever told you that you assume a whole lot?”
At that, I paused, arms akimbo as I laid a hard look on my brother. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have jumped in so fast, should have kept some space between us, but I thought I knew better. Selfishly, I got myself all wrapped up in her, and she did the same. There hasn’t been a breath between us for weeks. How can I know without question that what she feels for me is real and not a byproduct of being ignored by that fucking asshole?” I dragged a hand through my damp hair. “And then there are those people—though people seems like too generous a word. They lied, manipulated her, set her up, humiliated her for some fucking ratings. For money. Those people are predators, and despite that, she lied to them, told them I meant nothing to her. Because despite it all, she cares enough about what they think to throw me under the bus the second she was under fire. I don’t want that life, Luke. I won’t be a part of that, no matter how much I love her.”
The word visibly jolted Luke, but I was still as stone on the outside. Inside, I split open like the earth in a quake.
He folded his arms, schooled his face. “She lied, which on its own is one of your cardinal sins. But that lie pressed your deepest bruise, your favorite lie—that you’re just a dumb gardener and good for nothing but a lay.”
“You might think it’s not a lie, but they believe it. The way they talk about me, like my profession offends them. As if who I am is so far beneath them, it doesn’t even warrant a second look. I’m as good as a hot bartender or UPS guy—disposable. Luke, I can’t even be fucking mad about it. I told her I was disposable then expected something different. It’s on me, not her.”
“Whatever happened to not giving up without a fight?”
“Believe me—if I thought there was a chance I could win, I would.”
“Since when do you only fight wars you know you’ll win?”
“Since today, I guess,” I snapped, turning on my heel for the pile.
He didn’t argue, just sighed.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” I muttered, hastily grabbing a bag.
“Someday, you’ll realize your worth, and on that day, I hope you put your pride aside.” He paused, weighing what he was about to say. “Did you know she bought an apartment?”
I stopped and turned, bag still on my shoulder. “What?” I asked quietly, another betrayal flaming in my ribs.
“Around the corner. She asked me if I’d help her renovate it, asked me not to say anything. She said she was waiting until after that godforsaken wedding to tell you. I know it’s not much, but Kash—the way she talked about you was not like you were disposable. Weirdly, she asked me if you liked dogs. She might as well have asked how many kids you wanted to have.”
I tossed the bag on its mates and shook my head to clear it.
“Do you honestly think she bought a place right here, right around the corner just for Ivy? Because she never once mentioned her sister’s name, but yours found its way into every sentence.” He watched me, and I didn’t speak, parsing what he’d said. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do or how to feel. But I’ll say this—if you truly love her, don’t just walk away. Give her a chance.”
“I already gave her my hope. How much more can I give?”
“You can give her your trust.”
I stilled.
“All of this, all these things you’re afraid of, they have nothing to do with her and everything to do with you. But Lila isn’t Ali. No amount of worrying will make it so. But if you’re not careful, you’ll lose her. And I have a feeling this time, you won’t move on.” With another sigh, he straightened up to leave. “I hope you change your mind.”
A dozen smart responses fired in my mind, but my heart stung with the truth, with the future he’d painted, the one without her. I grabbed another bag, unsure what to say, how to defend myself when he was right. But when I’d unloaded my haul, he was gone.
My pain stayed right where it was.
26
Hey, Dummy
LILA
The baby’s room had been plagued by daylight for hours, chasing me under my pillow, burying me deep in the covers where it was cool and dark and lonely.
I hadn’t slept, but I didn’t toss and turn either. Instead, I’d lay there in the dark as still and quiet as a tomb, counting my mistakes in tens and twenties.
Ivy had welcomed me in late last night, shepherded me to the baby’s room—currently unoccupied, as baby Olive had taken residence in Ivy’s room—and there we sat until the baby woke to eat. She held me when I cried and listened to me recount and sort what had happened. We’d uncovered no solutions, only an infinite sadness.
The simplest loss was my job. No doubt it was gone, the spectacle last night so outrageous, I would not only be fired, but it would be difficult for me to find another job. Impossible really, especially if Natasha got involved.
When it came to vengeance, I trusted her at her word. It was perhaps the only thing I trusted her on.
The betrayal was beyond the pale. A wriggling, writhing discomfort slithered through me, and on its tail was adrenaline, sharp and cold. They had manipulated me, controlled me, used me. And the knowledge was a shrinking cage, sparking an anxiety I hadn’t known in years but on a scale so grand, there was no escaping it. It would affect every corner of my life.
Especially once the show aired.
And underscoring it all was that I’d lost the one good thing in my life. The best thing in my life.
It was too much to bear, the burden too heavy. I could have handled the betrayal if I still had him.
I could have handled anything if I still had him.
Tears sprang fresh, sliding into the creases of my nose before being absorbed by the pillow I hid beneath.
The doorknob jiggled just before I heard the creak of the door opening.
“Hey,” Ivy said softly, closing the door behind her. “You in there?”
I scooted over so she could sit, but I didn’t emerge from my cocoon.
Her hand rested on my leg, gave it a squeeze. “Are you hungry? It’s almost two.”
“No,” I said, the sound muffled by down.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I unshielded enough of my face to squint at her with one eye. “What else can I say?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping sleep would help. That maybe you’d wake with some kind of clarity.”
“If I’d slept, maybe that would be true.”
Acclimated a little to the light, I moved the pillow, propping my head on it so I could blink at her through the sunshine. Stupid sun, all bright and cheerful. All I wanted was an unending night to mourn. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.
My gaze hung on Ophelia where she sat on the windowsill, her leaves green and vibrant, the new shoots of growth filling me a sense of pride, then a deep and relentless sadness at what I’d lost.
“Did you hear from Mom?” I asked, hoping we could avoid talking about me.
“She called yesterday, asking for more pictures. I can’t believe I got her to agree to wait to come see us for a few weeks. I think she’s had a suitcase packed for a month.”
I chuckled halfheartedly, trying to think of something else to say. But I was too slow.
“Are you going to talk to him?”
I drew a painful breath and let it out slow. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, Ivy.”
“He didn’t say that,” she said w
ith a brow up.
“It was implied.”
“He was upset and hurt. He punched Brock. You lied to him and about him. You found out about what those assholes did to you. There was a lot to process, Lila.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me, especially not today. It’s been like twelve hours.”
“Why don’t you say what you really mean? You’re scared to talk to him.”
A flash of pain cut through me. “Yes. And that.”
“Well, that’s not a good enough reason to give up. He’s too important to you.”
“You didn’t hear what he said last night. I don’t know how to convince him of what he means to me. I don’t know what to say to make him understand.” I stopped myself with a shaky breath, my eyes filling with tears.
“The Lila I know would march down there and argue with him until he agreed with you.”
“Yeah, well, that Lila was hit by a bus. She doesn’t have any fight left in her—she’s in traction.”
For a second, she just watched me. “You are not allowed to give up,” she insisted again.
A sad chuckle. “Ivy—”
“Don’t you Ivy me. You love him, dummy.”
The cut of that word carved my heart. I did love him, fiercely and desperately. I’d known it without acknowledging it, and now that it was spoken, I feared I would never unhear it.
But Ivy kept on, her face hard. “When have you ever not fought for what you want? The people you love? You know when you’re wrong, and you own it. You challenge everything head-on. Why not Kash?”
“Because … because I deserve this,” I said around a sob. “I love him and I ruined him and I ruined everything.”
“You cannot possibly believe you’re wrong.”
“I did everything he said I did.”
“Because you were trying to save him from them.” She spat the word. “Your intentions were good.”
“And I paved the road to hell with them.”
