Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “May I ask why not?”

  I down the rest of my drink before answering her.

  “I don’t have the energy to fight at work and fight when I get home, Riss. I can’t afford to chase her down—especially when I have so much shit happening right now.” I set the glass on the counter. “And you know what? She needs someone who can spend the weekends walking around town with her and not feel guilty. She deserves someone who can have a fucking conversation without their phone going off fourteen times. That someone is not me.”

  “But you asked her to stay, right?”

  My silence speaks for itself.

  “Holt …”

  “She has a full life in Chicago. I have a full life here. We both are so busy that it would never work anyway, even if it were a good idea.”

  “I’m assuming you got her opinion on the matter. Right?”

  “She’ll agree once she gets home and thinks about it.”

  She groans. “I could kill you right now.”

  “For being kind? Thoughtful? Mature? Okay.”

  “For being a fucking idiot. How can someone so brilliant be so dense at the same time?”

  The alcohol begins to do its job. My veins pulse with an unnatural warmth. My head fogs with a welcomed haze. I’m still well aware that Blaire is gone and that I’m a well-intentioned asshole, but the sharpness of the pain is muted.

  Thank God.

  “Tell you what,” I tell her. “I’ll try to call her again. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll assume that’s her way of telling me to go fuck myself. And if that’s the case, I’ll agree with her methodology.”

  “Please, Holt—please think about this before you make it worse.”

  I laugh sadly. “How worse could it get? She’s gone.”

  “Because you let her go.”

  “Because I had to.”

  I eye the bottle of bourbon again.

  “I gotta go, Riss. Thanks for calling and checking on me.”

  She sighs. “You’re welcome. Just … remember that it’s okay to be happy. It’s not a character flaw.”

  “Sure. Talk to you later.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I end the call and pour myself another drink.

  Chapter Thirty

  Blaire

  My apartment is so cold.

  I shiver as I pull the shades down over the windows. The thermostat says that it’s not as frigid as it feels, so I wonder if the chill is somehow coming from me.

  By a stroke of luck, Yancy texted me as soon as my plane landed. The Grimrose Building was open again, and I could go back home. It was like the universe took pity on my poor self and couldn’t stand to watch me struggle anymore.

  My face is swollen from crying for the past three hours. As soon as I walked through the door, I started crying and couldn’t stop.

  I’m sure Sienna thinks I’m a complete lunatic because she called in the middle of it. It was all I could do to reassure her that I was fine.

  I just wish that I felt reassured too.

  My stomach growls, but the idea of food makes me want to hurl. I want to crawl in Holt’s bed, under one of his strong arms, and listen to him tell me about his day.

  I wince as the fibers in my heart rip even further apart.

  “It was never meant to be,” I tell myself.

  Maybe not, but it feels like it was.

  No matter what affirmation or sentence of strength I say aloud, it doesn’t resonate inside my brain. My inner monologue is much different and just as insistent.

  I flop down on the couch and look at my phone. He’s called me three times tonight.

  I close my eyes and hear his sweet, Southern voice saying my name. His smile is imprinted in my mind for the rest of time. My skin tingles as I remember the heat of his touch.

  Even if it was all in my imagination, I liked it. And I’ll treasure it for the rest of time because I’m not answering his calls. I’m not listening to his voice messages. There’s no need for him to try to explain why he doesn’t want me.

  A knock raps on my door.

  My heartbeat quickens as I get to my feet. I’m too nervous to ask who it is.

  Before I can get across the room, I hear Sienna’s voice from the other side.

  “Blaire? It’s Sienna. Open up.”

  I flip the lock and open the door. My brother’s girlfriend is standing on the other side with a bag in each hand. Her eyes are filled with concern.

  “Hey,” she says softly.

  I try to speak but end up opening my mouth and making a sound that’s half-laugh and half-sigh.

  Sienna steps into my apartment and places the bags on the floor. She then pulls me into the biggest hug.

  I’m taken aback at first. Sienna and I have never hugged. But as she holds me tight and fills me with good energy, I find myself hugging her back.

  Finally, she pulls away.

  “It took all of this to get me an invitation to your apartment,” she jokes.

  “I would’ve invited you without having to endure all of this.” I walk toward the living room. “Come on in.”

  “I brought things.”

  “What kind of things?” I ask, sitting on the sofa again.

  She sits next to me and places the bags on the coffee table. She reaches inside and pulls out a bottle of wine, a giant bar of chocolate, and a bag of microwave popcorn.

  “If I failed to be clear, this isn’t a slumber party,” I tell her, laughing. “I have to wallow tonight. I must feel to heal.”

  “What the heck is that? Feel to heal.”

  “It’s a thing I learned in therapy.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, no worries about this being a slumber party. If I tried to stay here, Walker would come and get me. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up anyway.”

  I fall back into the pillows and fake cry. “Does he know about Holt?”

  “I tried super hard not to tell him anything. I told him it was your business and your story to tell—or not. But you know how he can be.”

  I stick out my bottom lip. “Is he on a plane to Savannah right now?”

  “He probably would’ve been if I hadn’t taken his credit card.” She winks. “But no, really, he’s worried about you. He wants you to call him.”

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  She laughs. “Do you want some wine?”

  “Only if you’re going to pour it.”

  She looks around my apartment. “Is the kitchen through there?”

  I nod, and she gets up and disappears around the corner.

  My chest feels like there’s a hole where my heart used to be. It’s like someone used a spoon to scoop out my organ and throw it away.

  I close my eyes and imagine how long it might take me to feel better again. Days? Weeks? Months?

  Ever?

  Sienna reappears with two coffee mugs. She shrugs. “It was all I could find.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think I actually have wine glasses.”

  She sits down and looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “What?” I ask, watching her open the bottle. “I don’t drink a ton. I have to stay sober to keep people out of prison.”

  She hands me a glass of a deep, burgundy-colored drink. “That’s so noble of you.”

  “I’ll be able to tell my nieces and nephews one day that I was an honorable, noble woman until I met this guy on vacation, and he ruined my life.”

  She shakes her head. “You know, you’re much more dramatic than I would’ve guessed.”

  “I don’t know why you’re surprised. I am Lance’s sister.”

  We both laugh.

  I take a sip of my wine and then rest my head on the pillows again. It feels good to have some distance between Holt and me. It’s easier to process.

  It’s easier, too, having Sienna here.

  I look at her and smile. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” She curls her legs up under her. “For the wine? Don’t thank me. Thank Machlan
. I took it from his bar.”

  It feels good to smile. I was afraid I wouldn’t smile again for a long time.

  “Thank you for coming all the way up here,” I tell her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “No. I did.”

  “You could’ve called me from home. Or met me for lunch tomorrow.”

  She sets her glass down. “You still don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Blaire, we’re friends. If you need me, I’m going to be there. I would’ve flown to Savannah if you needed me … although Walker probably would’ve come, and I’m one hundred percent sure that he could take Holt with one punch.”

  She makes a face that makes me laugh.

  “I was this close to sending my sister, Camilla, over to check on you,” Sienna says. “I was afraid that would freak you out, though.”

  “Yeah. That might’ve been awkward.”

  Sienna smiles. “You’d love Cam.”

  I start to say that maybe I’ll meet her one day, but I stop myself.

  I’m never setting foot in Savannah again.

  Sienna stretches her arms over her head and sighs. I know she’s giving me space and avoiding the elephant in the room, but the longer we go without addressing it, the more my anxiety about the whole thing increases.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m proud of myself.”

  It’s an odd thing to blurt out, and it catches Sienna off guard. She drops her hands to the sofa slowly.

  “Today was awful and, at times, humiliating. But I didn’t crumple. I chose to leave because it was the best choice for me—and what he really wanted, anyway. But I made that decision, and it’s not something I’ve always been able to do in my personal life. I’m proud of that.”

  “I’m happy for you,” she says carefully.

  “I mean it.” I scoot to a more upright position. “Today was a really hard day.”

  I feel my throat tighten again as if it’s begging me not to talk anymore. But Sienna has been with me through the whole thing, and I want her to know how it ended.

  We’re friends, after all.

  “I went with Holt to his parents for brunch this morning.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe that was this morning.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Really good and really terrible.”

  My breathing stays even as I mentally replay walking into the Mason’s home.

  “His family is wonderful,” I say. “I met Coy in person. He’s a train wreck.”

  “But so hot.”

  “He’s pretty cute,” I say with a grin. “Then I had the best chat with Rodney about a legal issue. And Siggy is just … she reminds me of my mom. Well, if my mom wore pearls.”

  Sienna grins but doesn’t say anything.

  “But, um …” I force a swallow. “Siggy asked me to get Holt and Oliver from the other room. And when I went to do that, I overheard them talking. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I hurry to add. “I just heard it before I could not hear it, if that makes any sense.”

  “It does. Especially if there are all kinds of noise floating around, and you’re hyper-focused on one person’s voice.”

  I nod. “Anyway, Holt was telling Oliver that he didn’t have the energy or time to really deal with me. That’s not what he said verbatim but close enough. That was the point.”

  My voice dips at the end as my spirits fall. Even though I’ve thought about that a hundred times since then, it still stings.

  Sienna smiles sadly. “I know that wasn’t a good feeling.”

  I shake my head.

  She shifts in her seat as she sips her wine. Her eyes stay trained on me over the rim of her glass. Finally, she sets the glass back down.

  “I’ll never forget the night when Walker’s truth hit me in the face. I was surrounded by his family—your family. Do you remember that?”

  I nod.

  “It was terrible. Humiliating. And I had to sit there and absorb this … bullshit and try to act like my world wasn’t crashing down.”

  “I remember Machlan calling me that night,” I tell her. “I was so pissed at Walker.”

  “That makes two of us.” She smiles. “But the reason I bring this up now is because it took Walker a hot minute to realize how he felt about me. And then it took another hot minute for him to work through his shit. Sometimes, it’s not as easy for guys who are used to being independent to realize they need a woman in their lives.”

  “I guess. But you know what? That used to be me too. It’s not easy for anyone. It’s not a good excuse.”

  She places her hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. “If Holt doesn’t come around, you’re gonna be fine. You’ll find a stud in a suit in Chicago, and we’ll be so glad that Holt screwed up. And if you want me to get plane tickets to Savannah for the morning, we can fly down and put a can of clams in his car.”

  I laugh. “Why would we do that?”

  “Ha. You’ve never met a can of clams in the hot Southern sun, have you?”

  I can only imagine what she’s getting at. And even though it sounds utterly disgusting and juvenile and something I’d never do, I’m happy she said it. It just feels good to have someone on my side.

  Sienna stands up. “I’m gonna pop this popcorn, and then we’re gonna watch a romantic comedy and go through all the emotions.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because it’s cathartic. You can feel your pain or whatever your snappy little mantra is.”

  I cock my head to the side. “I’m not sure you’re right about this methodology.”

  “And how many times have you been in this position?” She winks. “Trust me, girl. I got you.”

  As she walks into the kitchen with the popcorn in her hand, I lay back and close my eyes.

  And I trust her.

  Because what do I have to lose?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Holt

  “You look like shit.”

  I ignore Wade’s remark and go back to the papers on my desk. He makes himself at home across from me, casually propping one ankle on the opposite knee.

  If I look like shit, then I feel like hell.

  I should’ve gotten some sleep last night. I should’ve tried, at least. But just going into my room makes me think of Blaire, and that wasn’t going to bring sweet dreams.

  So I worked instead. All. Night. Long. I switched my shirt at four this morning and drove to the office. Rosie brought me coffee and a donut at six.

  “You could’ve at least combed your hair,” Wade says. “Fuck, Holt. We have this under control, you know. You don’t have to turn into a troll.”

  “You know what?” I say, looking up. “Fuck off.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  I let my hands fall to my desktop. The sound echoes around the room.

  My body sags, and I feel my energy plummet. I’ve been running on fumes for hours. I was afraid that if I stopped, I’d never gear back up.

  “Good morning, boys,” Oliver booms as he walks into my office. But one look at Wade quells his spunk. “Well, fuck.”

  “Same thing I said,” Wade chimes in.

  “No. You said I look like shit.”

  Oliver sits down next to Wade. “Well, he was right. Damn, man. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let me rephrase—are you going to be okay? I’m asking in a totally serious way,” Oliver says.

  My brothers watch me with total seriousness. Gone are their jokes and jabs, and in their place is a concern for my well-being.

  It’s not misplaced.

  Nothing feels right today. My house feels too big and my office too quiet. My shirt is too tight, and my stomach, despite being empty except for Rosie’s donut, threatens to spill its contents all over the floor.

  I keep telling myself this will get easier. I just need to get absorbed back into this project and forget all about Blaire.

  My head hangs in front of me.

  “Of c
ourse, I’m going to be okay,” I say without any gumption behind it.

  Oliver and Wade sit quietly—something that’s unusual for them. It makes a strange day even stranger having my brothers in a room with silence.

  The truth is, I don’t even care. I lost all my fucks to give somewhere around two this morning.

  I just don’t care.

  I should. I want to care. I cared so much yesterday. I cared so fucking much that I left a woman who’s a damn unicorn —a woman unlike any other I’ll ever meet in my entire life—in my house crying.

  I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve lost touch with reality.

  How did I get here? Why do I feel defeated?

  Especially when I’m on the precipice of the biggest victory in Mason Ltd. history.

  Wade checks his watch. “Look, we have a few minutes before we have to leave. You are going to have to pull your head out of your ass.”

  Oliver sighs. “Come on, Wade. Have a little heart.”

  “I have a heart,” he says. “I just don’t have room in it for someone to fuck up my future.”

  “He’s our brother. He’s heartbroken.”

  “I’m right fucking here,” I tell them both. “Damn.”

  Wade places both feet on the floor. “I’m trying really hard here to have some empathy for your situation. However, I’m coming up shorthanded.”

  “Shocker,” Oliver mutters.

  Wade doesn’t look bothered. “I’m going to be quick about this and very cut-and-dry.”

  “You just keep bringing the shockers, don’t ya?” Oliver asks.

  Wade ignores him again. “This whole thing you have going on today is because of Blaire. Correct?”

  “Well,” I say, “it is. But really, it’s more about—”

  “A simple yes or no will suffice,” Wade deadpans.

  I sit up, making myself appear as tall as I can.

  “You know what? Maybe it doesn’t suffice,” I counter. “Maybe life isn’t black and white and yes and no and up and down and left and right. Maybe it’s fucking gray. Maybe it’s a decimal point. Maybe it’s a … tie game, and there is no overtime.”

  That last bit doesn’t make a lot of sense. I just keep going so Wade doesn’t start picking at my analogies.