by Whitley Cox
She needed to get out of there. She needed to go find Mason.
God, what a terrible day this was shaping up to be.
A terrible Valentine’s.
A terrible birthday.
She hardly had anything to drink; she was fine to drive. So after a round of quick goodbyes to her grandparents, aunts, uncles and parents, Lowenna ducked into the bathroom to check her makeup before she hit the road in the company van.
She was just touching up her lipstick when the toilet in the larger handicapped stall flushed and the door opened to reveal none other than Doneen, the blushing—more like fuming—bride. Her sister’s eyes turned lethal, and she glowered at Lowenna in the mirror as she came up behind her. She moved over to the adjacent sink and washed her hands, her lips pursed tight, her nostrils flaring.
Was Lowenna going to get out of there unscathed?
Lowenna grabbed a tissue and blotted her forehead and beneath her eyes, grateful that her waterproof makeup had held up and she didn’t have raccoon eyes.
Doneen dried her hands, her eyes locking with Lowenna’s in the mirror. She hesitated, opened her mouth. Lowenna froze. But then her sister closed her mouth again and turned to go.
Holy crap. Wow. Maybe she really was going to get out of there without having to endure the wrath of Bridezilla herself.
She watched as her sister made to leave.
Phew.
The sound of the door locking made Lowenna jump. At first, she thought her sister had locked her in the bathroom—alone—but when Doneen turned around and stalked back toward her, Lowenna was beginning to wish she was in there alone.
“How dare you?” Doneen’s voice cut an angry swath through the air.
Lowenna’s brows rose. “How dare I? How dare you. You honestly didn’t think I knew you were sleeping with Brody while we were still married. While I was fighting for my life, going through chemo, losing my uterus and cervix … my ability to carry a child.”
Doneen’s cheeks burned bright, but her eyes formed thin slits which were only accentuated by her thick, sculpted brows that sharpened into a deep V. “Get off your high horse, Lowenna. It wasn’t that bad. You’re alive, aren’t you? God, you’re such a fucking drama queen. It’s always about Lowenna. Lowenna, Lowenna, Lowenna.”
Lowenna made to take a step back, but the sink was right behind her, so she couldn’t.
“Ever since you were born, it’s been the fucking Lowenna Show. Allll about you.”
“Excuse me? It most certainly fucking has not. What family did you grow up in? You’ve been a bully my whole life, always pushing me out of the way so you could take center stage.”
Doneen rolled her eyes. “Only way to get attention in the Chambers house was to demand it. Otherwise, all eyes were on you, all the time. First, you were a preemie in the NICU with a hole in your heart, so I was left with family daily while Mom and Dad went to visit you, tend to you, see you. Then you were a newborn, home and so fucking demanding. We couldn’t go out to playdates or playgroups because Lowenna’s immune system couldn’t be compromised by all the germs. Because of you, I did absolutely nothing as a child.”
“I was a baby, you psycho!”
“And obviously a cuter one than me, because all I ever heard growing up was Lowenna is such a cutie. You should put Lowenna into modeling. Oh, Conrad, you’re going to have to keep the boys away from Lowenna. As if I were a fucking troll with a lazy eye and hunchback, destined for the nunnery.”
This crazy bitch was not serious. She was blaming Lowenna for all the crap other people said.
“So that gave you permission to treat me like shit my entire childhood?”
Doneen shrugged. “Only way I got attention.”
Lowenna shook her head. “That’s bullshit. You locked me under your bed when you babysat me. Told me you’d hurt me if I told Mom and Dad.”
The corner of Doneen’s mouth dipped slightly, and her eyes slid to the side. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”
Lowenna squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then flared them open in disbelief. “You’re messed up, you know that? Seriously messed up.”
“And then you had to bring him to my rehearsal dinner and wedding.” Doneen pointed to the door, making Lowenna’s eyes follow.
“Who? Mason?”
“All I’ve heard all fucking night is, That Mason is such a charmer. He and Lowenna are such a striking couple. You can tell he really loves her. She deserves this after everything she’s gone through.”
She sure fucking did deserve Mason, his love and their happiness, after everything she’d been through.
“Now it’s not just the Lowenna Show, it’s the Lowenna Show featuring Mason the bartender.”
Lowenna lifted a shoulder. “So? You’re alive, aren’t you? You’re married, aren’t you? To my fucking husband no less.”
Doneen’s nostrils flared and her jaw clenched. “So it’s MY day! And all I’ve heard is how great you are. How great your boyfriend is. You know Aunt Nellie slipped up and actually said that Mason was a real improvement from your ex-husband until she saw my face and realized who she was talking about.”
Okay, well, that was downright hilarious.
Lowenna snorted, then hid her smile and laugh behind her hand.
Doneen’s eyes flashed fire.
She needed to get to Mason. She needed to clear the air with him. This was not where she wanted to be right now, locked in a bathroom with her psycho big sister, who clearly had a major ax to grind.
All the fight inside her, all the need for revenge and getting even, fell away the moment she realized Mason had left. Because when he left, he took her hope for the future with him. And she desperately wanted that back. She wanted a life and future with Mason, Willow and her frozen eggs more than she wanted anything else in the world.
Her shoulders dropped with a sigh, and she brought her voice right down. “Doneen, you slept with my husband. Then he divorced me because I couldn’t give him children. You asked me to be your maid of honor. Then, when I agreed to do the guest favors as a favor to Mom and Dad, you took advantage of my generosity and piled on an enormous chocolate centerpiece and chocolate covered strawberries—all for free. And at the busiest time of year for people in the chocolate business. Come on, admit it, you’ve been a bitch to me my whole life, but all this was a new low, even for you. Everything you’ve done to me, everything you’ve asked of me ... I haven’t deserved any of it. And yet, I still did what you asked, all of it.”
Doneen’s jaw tightened, and she exhaled deep through her nose.
Don’t let the anger consume you.
Don’t let the demons win.
Choose love, not hate.
Mason’s words came back to her, his blue eyes, so bright and full of hope and happiness. Willow giggling as he blew raspberries on her belly while the three of them lay on his bed.
That was what she wanted.
That picture, right there.
Mason.
Willow.
Hope.
A future.
A family.
Before she could think twice about what she was doing, Lowenna lunged forward and wrapped her arms around her sister. But unlike their hug on stage, where both women had been faking it, Lowenna wasn’t faking it now. She squeezed her sister tight.
At first, Doneen resisted, even tried to push Lowenna away, but as Lowenna held on tight, refusing to let go, Doneen’s body eventually relaxed and her hands fell to Lowenna’s back.
“I’m sorry for my part in the demise of our relationship. I’m sorry that Mom and Dad were so consumed with my needs while neglecting yours. If I was the firstborn and you had been a preemie and demanding newborn, I’m sure I would have felt similar.” She squeezed Doneen tighter. A tear slipped down her cheek, falling down her sister’s back. “You’re my sister, Doneen. The only one I have. I hate our relationship, hate it.”
Doneen shuddered in her arms, then exhaled, her entire body slumping against Low
enna’s. “I’m sorry for sleeping with Brody while the two of you were still married.”
Lowenna’s eyes practically popped out of her head.
“And thank you for not telling all the guests that. I could tell you were thinking about it.”
“I’d planned on it,” Lowenna said, finally pulling away.
“I could tell.”
“I’m also sorry I asked so much of you for the wedding. You really did an amazing job on everything. People have been raving about the centerpiece and strawberries.”
“Which I’m sure irritated you to no end.”
“It did.”
Lowenna chuckled. “Sorry for being so damn good at my job.”
Doneen took a step back. “I don’t like you.”
Well, fuck.
Love, not hate.
“I don’t like you either, if we’re being completely honest.”
Doneen nodded. “Fair enough. I’ve never been kind to you, so I would think you were crazy if you did.”
“Well, most of the time I think you’re crazy, sooo … ”
Doneen huffed. “We’ll never be friends.”
“You’re right. I don’t see that happening. Doesn’t help that I can’t stand your husband.”
Her sister’s smile was tight. “Thank you again for not telling all the guests about our affair.”
“You can thank Mason for that. He’s the one who convinced me to put my anger behind me.”
“And have you?” Fear glimmered behind her eyes, and for the first time ever, Lowenna’s big sister looked incredibly small.
“You don’t have to worry about me telling anybody. I promise. It’s in the past.”
Doneen’s shoulders dropped down from her ears, and she exhaled. “Thank you.”
They would never be like Tori and Isobel—best friends. Hell, they would probably never even be acquaintances. But Lowenna was going to take this bathroom tête-à-tête as a win and move on—move forward. She made to step around Doneen. “I should go find my date.”
“You’re happy with him?” Doneen asked.
Lowenna paused and faced her sister again. A lump formed in her throat. She was beyond happy with Mason. She was in bliss with Mason, in heaven with Mason.
Mason was her happily ever after.
But now she might have gone and mucked it all up. All because she let her anger, her lust for revenge, her hate consume her. Cloud her vision to what was really in front of her—happiness.
But instead of getting into that, she simply nodded. “Mason makes me very happy.”
Doneen’s smile was small, almost grim. “I hate that your new boyfriend is hotter than my husband. Like way hotter.”
Lowenna tossed her head back and laughed. “I don’t.”
Still chuckling, she unlocked the door. “Congratulations, Doneen. You make an absolutely stunning bride.”
Doneen’s smile was small but undeniably the most genuine Lowenna had ever seen. “Happy birthday, sis.”
22
Mason held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he gently shut Willow’s bedroom door, praying that she didn’t wake up the moment the latch went click. He really needed to get that damn creak in the floor fixed. Or at the very least spray-paint a big X over where the squeak was. Every time he set the sleeping baby down in her bed, turned to go, he’d step on that fucking spot and Willow would start to wail again.
They’d been at this since they got home from his mother’s over an hour ago.
Willow just did not want to go down.
It was times like these he wished he had functioning nipples. As easy as Willow was, he was jealous of the breastfed babies out there that just passed out on the boob so easily. Drunk on milk with noodle limbs, easily transferable to their crib.
Not his baby. It took forever with the formula and the rocking to get Willow to sleep, then when he thought she was asleep and would try to put her down, she’d freak out and the whole thing would start over again.
But it looked like he was about to catch a break … finally.
The door clicked ever so softly. His lungs burned from how long he was holding in his breath.
And … nothing.
Phew.
“Thank you, baby,” he whispered, exhaling that long-held breath and opening his eyes.
The moment he got home, he’d ditched his tuxedo jacket and loosened the collar and cuffs of his white dress shirt. His tie was somewhere on the kitchen counter next to his beer, which was now probably piss-warm.
Running his fingers through his hair and breathing out another long breath, he made his way into the kitchen and grabbed his beer bottle. Yep, warm.
He took a swig anyway and blanched when the disgusting shit hit his tongue.
One sip was all he could take, and he dumped the rest down the sink. He probably shouldn’t be drinking anyway. He should be sleeping.
In his bed.
Alone.
Just like he did every night.
That hadn’t been the plan tonight, though.
Lowenna was supposed to be in his bed. Lowenna was supposed to be with him.
He hung his head and shook it, staring at his black socks on the tile floor of his kitchen, his heart aching as he thought about her.
How could he have been so wrong? He’d fallen hard for her. He’d fallen in love with her. But she loved revenge more. She wasn’t ready to let go of the past, to stop looking behind her at everything she’d lost, and he knew he had to let her go.
He wasn’t there anymore, wasn’t consumed with anger, and he couldn’t be with someone who was. It was toxic. Anger and hate over things that had already happened, over things we had no control over, were poison to the mind and heart, and if he could do one thing for Willow it would be to raise her in an environment as toxic- and poison-free as he could.
He knew he couldn’t bubble-wrap his daughter, that the world was full of shitheads and shitty things, but what he could control—to some degree—was the kind of environment and people he raised his daughter around. And a person as hell-bent on revenge as Lowenna was not someone he wanted in Willow’s life—or his.
He turned off all the lights in the kitchen, living room and dining room, then headed to the front door to double-check that it was locked.
Bright headlights turning into his driveway blinded him and made him pause.
He didn’t recognize the vehicle.
A car door slammed, and the sound of heels on the walkway drew near. He peered out the side window once again and flicked on the porch light.
The silver of her dress sparkled along with her eyes. Although they were certainly sad, they also held a strong glint of confidence and conviction. She glanced at the doorbell.
Please, PLEASE don’t ring it.
But she didn’t move to ring it. Her fist lifted in the air and moved toward the door, preparing to knock, but then it dropped, and her shoulders slumped. She grabbed her phone from her purse, the backlight on the screen illuminating her face.
His phone beeped and buzzed on the kitchen counter, but he didn’t bother running to get it. Instead he opened the door.
“I didn’t want to ring the bell or knock in case Willow was sleeping,” she whispered, lifting her head to look at him, her eyes beseeching. Deep fathomless pools of quicksilver.
It didn’t matter that he’d left the wedding, that he’d given up on them. When he saw her, when he looked into her eyes, his reaction was visceral. Primal.
Every hair on his scalp stood to attention, every skin cell tingled, every neuron fired. She was magnificent.
But she wasn’t his.
Not anymore.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, wanting nothing more than to grab her by the face, crush his mouth to hers and whisk her upstairs to his bed.
But he couldn’t.
She wasn’t his.
She went to open her mouth, but a shiver wracked her body, and she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
>
Fuck, he was an idiot.
“Come inside,” he offered, holding the door open for her and encouraging her to step forward. “It’s freezing out here, and you’re wearing”—he pointed at her slinky dress—“that.”
Her lip jiggled as she stepped over the threshold into his home. He shut the door behind her and followed her into the living room, turning on a light so they weren’t standing there in the dark.
When he walked out of that wedding, she was getting ready to roast and humiliate the bride and groom. She was about to show over three hundred people her ugliest side, how low she could stoop, how much she was unwilling to let go of the past, of the hate and anger.
He couldn’t watch. It was bound to be a train wreck. A train wreck in a forest fire with barrels of gunpowder on every train car. Cataclysmic.
He hated having to ask again, but he really did need an explanation for why she was there. “Lowenna,” he exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the load-bearing beam that stood fixed between the living room and dining room. “What are you—”
“I didn’t do the speech,” she blurted out, cutting him off.
“But … but you were up there. I saw you. I heard you.”
She shook her head, stepping toward him, the faux fur shawl on her shoulders slipping over her arms.
“You left before my conscience got the better of me. Before you and your love and your hope and your optimism got the better of me. You should have stayed. I gave a speech, yes,” she went on, nodding. “But I didn’t give the speech. I didn’t go through with it. I didn’t humiliate them. I congratulated them, gave them my best wishes and that was it. I couldn’t do it, not after I saw you walk away and what going through with it would mean to us … what it would do to us. You’re more important than revenge, than hate. My love for you is stronger than all the anger that I’ve held onto for much too long. I’m so sorry for the things I said earlier, for what I put you through, for how I behaved. I’m ashamed of how I allowed the anger to consume me. To be the driving force behind so many of my actions. I wasted a lot of time hating when I could have been loving.”
