Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  I shouldn’t have started a sexual relationship with him, to begin with. My heart wasn’t ready; I hadn’t moved on from Gray no matter how much I attempted to convince myself I had. My actions weren’t fair to me or Pierce— and now that I know more, to Gray either.

  Shutting the water off, I grab my towel and dry off, wrapping my hair up into a turban of sorts on the top of my head. I walk straight into my room, grab my phone, and call Pierce while my head is clear and I have all my courage. With shaky fingers, I dial the number, part of me praying it goes to Voicemail without him answering.

  I count each ring. First. Second. Third. Fourth. My finger hovers over the end, ready to cut off the call. It’s a relief but one I know will be short-lived. Fifth.

  “Hello?” comes Pierce’s sleep-laden voice from the other end of the line.

  Damn it.

  “Hey. I’m sorry if I woke you,” I apologize, talking through my teeth. A sleepy Pierce is not ideal for the conversation I’m wanting to have.

  “No, No. It’s fine. I fell asleep at my desk actually. If you wouldn’t have called, I’d have woken up with a dreadful crick in the neck.” His tone emanates warmth and amusement. Sure enough, I hear papers rustling on the other end of the line as he clears his throat. “Is everything okay?” he asks with concern. “Are you safe? Do you need me?”

  Ugh. Ever the Knight-in-Shining-Armor. It makes this even more difficult.

  “I just…needed to talk,” I hesitate.

  He clears his throat. “Okay. What’s up?”

  I sit up straight, attempting to compose myself like I’m at a meeting in front of my boss. I pretend I’m turning in my Letter of Resignation, and that I have every reason to do so. I’m confident in my decision.

  But it doesn’t exactly help, this mental role-playing. Not when Pierce has been nothing but a decent guy from the get-go. He’s been my friend when I needed, my companion, and even my confidant. I’ve told him a lot of my past—not as much as I told Gray, but still.

  He’s provided me with affection when it was warranted. He’s produced some Grade A orgasms every single time we had sex. Never once has he been selfish in that department. And for being a rich, well-to-do, he’s always treated me like we were on level ground.

  My thoughts wander to the beginning of the evening when we were walking into the hotel, how I was anxious and self-conscious with all the glitz and glamour surrounding me. Pierce took me under his wing and reassured me. Promised no one would mess with me. And he made good on that promise, building me up and introducing me to everyone he spoke to.

  Now, the beginning of the evening feels like a million worlds away. He’s one of the best people on the planet, and if I’m being a hundred percent honest, he’s also one of my favorite. Two broken-hearted souls seeking solace in each other, he molded himself into whatever I needed at the time. He became my crutch.

  But I’m not broken anymore.

  It’s time to move on. Our relationship hasn’t been perfectly balanced. I’ve leaned on him much more than I’ve allowed him to lean on me. Chagrined with myself, I see it now; I’m incapable of being fair to him. I’m incapable of staying close to someone I’ve been intimate with after everything that’s happened.

  I sigh, sorrow filling my bones before I even utter the words. “I can’t do this anymore.” Might as well cut straight to the point and get it over with.

  “What do you mean, Kate?” his bewildered tone probes.

  “I can’t do this whole thing. Us. This relationship.” I realize how pathetic I sound, giving him some stupid reason and no good explanation to back it up. This is even more taxing than I thought it would be.

  “If it’s the sex, we don’t have to have it. I mean, not to make you feel like I don’t enjoy it because I can’t lie…I enjoy the fuck outta it. But if it’s a deal-breaker for you, then consider it gone. I’d much rather have your friendship.” He drives a hard bargain, making a good argument like the true businessman he is.

  “That’s not it. Or, that’s not it entirely.”

  “Then what is it?” his frustrated voice questions. I can hear the irritation in his tone, he’s just good at hiding it.

  “I can’t go back to being friends when we’ve already been intimate. And that’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have let our friendship progress like it did, allow lines to blur and all that…”

  He cuts me off. “But lines weren’t blurred. It’s simple really.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It isn’t simple for me, Pierce. You already knew you were the first person I slept with after a long-term relationship, but you can’t have known you’re only the second person I’ve slept with in my entire life. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I take all the blame. I will always cherish the time we’ve had, and you’ve helped me through so many dark days.”

  I expect him to argue, to try and talk some sense into me about how I’m acting juvenile; about how we’re adults and we don’t have to sever all ties just because I suddenly don’t want to have a sexual relationship anymore. I’ve tried to mask one problem as something entirely different. But when he says the next words, I know he’s on to me.

  “I knew I recognized that fucker with Joss from somewhere…” he growls into the line.

  I can’t control the gasp that breaks free from my lips. He noticed Gray at the charity function?

  “Yes, I noticed Gray at the charity function,” he answers the question I hadn’t even realized I’d asked aloud. Double-shit. “Is he the reason my date disappeared for thirty minutes and showed back up looking like she’d been caught in a tornado? Not to mention with a ring on her finger I’m fairly certain wasn’t there before?” he quips angrily.

  I remain silent, feelings of extreme guilt bombarding me from all directions.

  “Can this night get any worse?” he asks no one in particular. Then, “Couldn’t you just be honest, Kate?”

  Yeah, Valley. Your dumbass should have been honest from the get-go.

  I lean against the wall for support, clutching the phone like my life depends on it.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you because, even though it may not seem that way, I do care for you. It’s just…”

  “You’re in love with him,” he finishes for me in exasperation. I nod but can’t find any words. “Well, I’m sorry. But this is all bollocks. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me the past few months, it’s that you shouldn’t live in the past. In fact, you preached it to me time and time again how I needed to forgive myself for things that happened and move forward. So please forgive me, if I can’t understand how you just run back to your past with arms wide open as soon as it comes knocking. Kind of hypocritical, don’t you think? You can’t live in the past. There’s nothing for you there.” He quotes the words I’ve told him on more than one occasion.

  “Pierce,” I plead, silently willing him to understand. Praying in my head that he won’t hate me for what I’m doing.

  “If you didn’t want to hurt me, you sure have a shitty way of showing it,” he grunts.

  The line goes dead in my ear.

  I stand here in shock, phone still against my ear listening to dead silence. I stand here for eternities upon eternities, and although my heart feels lighter, my mind settles on one distinct thought alone: I can’t fight the sensation of sorrow that passes through me; mourning one of the best and most complicated friendships I’ve ever experienced.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three Months Later…

  THE LIGHT OUTSIDE is quickly fading, temperatures plummeting with each passing minute. Dark gray clouds release a peppering of quarter-sized flakes that shimmy and twirl in the blistering wind. If I were wearing something sensible, I’d stop dead in my tracks, turn my face up to the sky and present my tongue as if it were a net and I was catching butterflies. I’d enjoy the way the ice-shavings melted as quickly as they landed, just like I used to as a young child.

  Be that as it may, I’m not wearing something sensible and
some unknown force pushes me onward, insisting I haven’t the time to dawdle. Jerking my thin cardigan further around my torso, I continue on my way, squinting through the bombardment of nature’s wrath. Off in the distance, I can finally make out the end of the street, highlighted by two softly illuminated orbs flanking each side. Despite there being lampposts every few meters, the light radiating from them is a dull flicker, paling in comparison to the two at the street’s end.

  Someone bumps me from behind, brushing past in a hurry and swiftly makes their way ahead of me.

  “Hey,” I protest angrily, shooting daggers at the back of their dark-haired head as they trudge along. Intuition pricks my scalp, a sense of familiarity.

  “Wait up,” I call, but they don’t hear. Or they choose to ignore me.

  My feet stamp the pavement erratically, attempting to catch up to them. And that’s when I recognize the posture, the gait, the fluid movement of a man who is comfortable in his own skin.

  “Gray!” Picking up my already running pace, I push myself to the limit, arms pumping the air in time with my feet. Less than five seconds in, my lungs have already begun to burn from the punishment of winter temperatures. His dark figure is just up ahead, barely visible through the thick downfall of snow, when my foot hits a patch of black ice and I fall face-first onto the ground.

  Determined to catch up to him, I’m back up within seconds. Only, when I scan the sidewalk, he’s no longer in sight. With a slight limp, I continue toward the end of the street, assuming he’s turned the corner.

  What feels like an hour later, I reach the twin lamp-posts, finding I’ve come to a fork. There are no corners to turn here… only two very different paths.

  The path on the left has a continuation of street lamps, with a similar side-walk to the one I’ve been walking. There are even Christmas lights lining the shop-windows, with the occasional bow and wreath. Half-way down the path sits a wooden bench, the perfect place to stop and rest, which is appealing right about now considering how exhausted I am.

  The path on the right holds no appeal at all. A lantern sits at the base of the lamppost closest to it. Darkness shrouds the dirt footpath so that I can only see to about the third tree lining the trail, but no further. A chill zips down my spine as I stare, my subconscious searching for something hidden in the dark, although the specifics are hazy.

  After a few minutes of indecision, my eyes adjust enough to make out the silhouette of someone standing on down the path, seemingly watching me since they too are stark still.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention back to the illuminated side. A man has just taken a seat on the wooden bench. From here I can see he’s wearing a button-up flannel shirt, blue jeans, and work boots.

  My heart flutters.

  “Gray!” I yell out to him, taking two steps forward before he answers.

  “Valley!” his voice calls in reply. Only, the response comes from the eerily darkened footpath.

  I glance back to where I just saw him, sitting on the bench. He’s closer now, standing feet in front of me and staring right at me.

  “Valley,” Gray’s voice calls out to me from the right again, causing my eyes to cut over to the dark walkway. The person standing on the darkened path strides toward me, and I squint, waiting to see who it is. Moments later, Gray comes into view, wearing the same tux he was wearing the night of the Charity function.

  My eyes flick back to the lightened path, and I’m surprised to see my Country-Boy Gray is still standing there waiting for me. I look back to Dark-and-Dangerous Gray for a clue as to what’s going on. Dark-and-Dangerous motions for me to come to him, Country-Boy Gray mirroring him perfectly.

  I take a step toward Dark-and-Dangerous.

  “Don’t go with him,” Country Gray begs, looking so much like he did the night he asked me to stay behind when Mom was ready to leave Central Valley. His caramel eyes appear frightened for me. “He’s a bad man, Valley. He’s done bad things!”

  A tortured expression passes over the face of Dark-and-Dangerous, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he turns, head hanging low as he sadly retreats into the waiting darkness. In seconds he’s swallowed up in the shadows.

  What do I do?

  How do I choose?

  Pierce’s voice comes out of nowhere. “You can’t live in the past. There’s nothing for you there.”

  Determination courses through me.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell the Gray from Central Valley. Picking up the lantern, I run full-force down the darkened path, terrified that if I lose sight of him, I’ll never find him again.

  ~XoXo~

  Jerking awake, I catapult myself out of bed and run to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time before several waves of nausea come clawing their way out of my stomach. The dream was so real. Too real. And the choice I had to make felt like there was some underlying message of dire importance.

  When the nausea has finally passed, I sigh, holding up the ring that sits on my finger just to make sure it’s still there. I may do the same thing every morning, but today it seems imperative, particularly after flopping around all over the bed last night, tossing and turning like a madwoman who couldn’t get a lick of sleep. It’s no wonder. This isn’t the first time I’ve awoken after a nightmare issuing anxiety so acute, it brings about physical repercussions.

  Sure enough, the ring sits right where I left it, just like it always does. I make quick work of brushing my teeth, then head back to my bedroom to lie back down. It is Saturday after all, and the weekend is made for sleeping in.

  Beep-beep. The message indicator on my phone sounds and I roll over to retrieve it from my nightstand, groaning as I do. Flipping my iPhone over to see the screen, I’m not at all surprised the text is from my mom. I open it up in an instant, eager to respond before she marches over here and begins pounding on my door. That’s always her protocol when I take too long getting back to her. And by too long, I’m talking more than five minutes. Talk about stifling.

  Mom: We need to talk. NOW. Call me. IMMEDIATELY.

  Me: OKAY, DRAMA QUEEN.

  I shouty-caps back to her in annoyance. My phone begins ringing less than a second later.

  “Hello, Mother,” I answer on a yawn, stretching my arms out above me.

  “Do not ‘Mother’ me. You have screwed up ROYALLY this time, Valentina. I’m on my way over. Open the damn door for me.”

  The line clicks off in my ear, and I think I might be sick all over again.

  It’s like life knows when I’m amped up about something, and chooses to throw an additional challenge into the equation. She’s pissed, and while I’m not particularly sure what it's about, I can think of a few many things I’ve done recently that she could be displeased with. My mind attempts to prepare an argument, an explanation for each possible thing she could be upset over, while my body tries to settle into the thought of a real battle with my mother.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Mom usually softly raps at the door with one knuckle, and it’s always some dainty little tune. A side-fist bang can only mean she’s furious.

  And so it begins…

  She must have run over here, and that thought alone isn’t a soothing one. Mentally bracing myself, I open the door to her standing there, face red and eyes more hostile than I’ve ever seen on her in my entire life. My mother is not a hostile person, so this is a little terrifying, even though I know she won’t actually harm me. Then she surprises me even further. Her palm rises up, and I watch in slow-motion as it slices the air, striking my cheek. Whop!

  Ouch.

  I take two steps back, staring at her in horror as I clutch my face. She closes the distance I just created and slams the door behind us, pausing only to bolt it before she spins back around, still glaring.

  She’s never hit me before, not like this. Sure she’s bopped me on the top of the head, or the forehead, telling me to get some sense. But this brings tears to my eyes.

  “Wha
t the fuck, Mom?” I shriek.

  Pulling a printed-off piece of paper that’s folded underneath her arms, she opens it, holding up a picture to my face. It’s so close I have to take a step back to focus in on what I’m seeing. I feel a wave of relief only to realize it isn’t relieving at all that she isn’t pissed about what I had originally thought she was.

  “Explain this, Valentina Elise!” she orders, stamping her expensive stilettos on the ground so hard I hear the heel crack off.

  I gulp, taking a moment to focus back on the paper before me. It’s easy to discern it’s some type of internet article printed off, but of what exactly?

  Then my eyes take in the headline causing me to gulp again, but this time it gets stuck in my throat. I grab the paper from her, clutching it so that I don’t have to decipher it over her shaking hands, and I re-read the headline once more.

  Charity Dinner Brings Out Some of Baltimore’s Finest Citizens

  Oh, Shit…

  The photo in the paper is fuzzy and taken from a slight distance; easily arguable if I wanted to do so. But she produces another photo, one that’s up close, and it’s an original. I know what it’s going to depict before I even look at it, but that doesn’t stop me from doing so anyway. It’s a close-up of a couple sitting at a dinner table, and it takes a millisecond to realize who the couple is. There I sit, all dolled up, plain as day, nestled up to Pierce’s side. And glancing back at the paper again, my eyes linger on the words below the fuzzy photo.

  The caption reads: Local Business Tycoon, Pierce Wilder and Mystery Date, Kate Knightley

  Fuck me…there’s no explaining this away. She’s right to be upset. I knew that night it was risky, but I thought I could skate by without any repercussions. How wrong I was.

  This story is months old. The big question is where and how did she even get it?