This time I inhale the sweet scent. Fuck, it smells as good as it tastes.
“We need more.” I gulp down the drink, staring at the phone on the table as Liam continues. “We got the estates on the Upper East Side and the committee approved the demolition plans.”
As I take a step forward, I start to regret having the last two drinks. My head feels groggy and my body hot. “No, they didn’t.”
“I got it overturned. We’ve got everything approved, Mason.” I can hear the glee in Liam’s voice. Pride even. He claps on the other end of the phone, a rough laugh filling the room as it spins around me. “We just need that last check from your father.”
Setting both of my elbows on the table to steady myself, I tell him, “We don’t need shit from him.”
It takes a moment for Liam to respond, “What?” He took so long I almost forgot he was on the phone.
“Are you drunk?” Liam asks, his annoyance only thinly veiled.
“No.” I’m quick to deny it, but I know I am.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asks. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
I shake my head, not wanting to answer. “We aren’t taking shit from my father.” It’s all I can say.
“We are. We need those funds by Monday.” Liam’s voice is hard but also panicked.
“We’ll find someone else.” My eyes narrow as I steady my breathing and steel my resolve. I refuse to owe a man like him. I refuse to play by his rules.
“By Monday?” he says, raising his voice and the disbelief rings through. “Mason, we can’t. We’ll lose the deal. It’s not like no one else was waiting for this property. It took almost a year to get it.”
Liam’s voice drones on as he lists off every reason why this plan is fucked. How we’ll be ruined. How everything will fall around us.
I already knew it, though.
I stand, leaving the glass where it is and the bottle of whisky open, taking the phone and leaving the dining room.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I take a deep breath, listening to the silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m not taking another cent from him.”
I have to face reality. Even if it fucking kills me.
Julia
Nothing is suffocating.
It cuts off the air.
Nothing is drowning,
But nothing is fair.
Nothing to hold and nothing to thrill.
When left with nothing, nothing can kill.
The air is crisp on the iron balcony. The thick canopy of oak trees just barely blocks the sounds of the city traffic. I’ve always loved the colors of autumn and the way the dark green leaves thin out and shift to gorgeous reds and burnt oranges.
They’ll fall and wither away to nothing. Yet every spring they come back, good as new.
I’ve always loved their majestic natural beauty in the middle of this concrete jungle. Not today, though.
It’s not fair that they come back untarnished. It’s not right that life continues after death … only for those deserving.
Bundled in my favorite cashmere throw and sipping tea, I let out a deep breath, calming myself. I twist the cap to my flask and pour a bit of tincture into my tea. A small, faint chuckle leaves me as the liquid mixes with the now lukewarm tea. Tincture. Really, it’s just vodka.
It used to be a tincture. It used to be just enough to take the pain away.
But sips turned to bottles as I preferred to feel numb.
Today is one of those days.
If I can roll out of bed and have the strength to tuck the sheets in and fluff the pillows, the day will be okay. That’s what I’d tell myself over and over again when Jace first died. Sometimes it’s true. All you need to do is make your bed and somehow the day is possible. As if simply pulling the sheets tight and smoothing out all the wrinkles is enough to hide the past and put the daily routine into motion.
Some days, it’s all a lie.
All the time I spent with Mason … all that time feels like a lie. Some fantasy I forced to convince myself that life could be okay again. That it could somehow mend itself.
I take a sip of the tea, but it only makes my throat feel more parched. Instead of gulping it down like I’ve been doing, it finds its place on the saucer and I press my palms against my sore eyes.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this empty. Since my heart has felt as though it’s been torn open.
It doesn’t make sense in the least. I was over him. I was making progress. True progress in healing by being okay with Jace being gone.
I was okay.
For the first time since his death, I felt like I had a reason to be happy. More importantly, like it was okay to be happy.
Glancing over my shoulder, I rub my tired eyes with the sleeve of my silk blouse. I thought I heard someone. Just for a second, I thought I heard someone behind me.
My first thought is Mason. That he’s come back and he isn’t taking no for an answer. I roll my eyes feeling my heart squeeze violently in my chest.
I can’t make that situation more than what it was. A hookup, a fuck buddy, I don’t have a clue. I know what it is now, though. It’s over.
Settling back down in the iron chair, I snatch up my notepad. I haven’t written like this in so long, but there are scribbles everywhere. It’s all loose poetry, lazy I suppose. It tells the story of how Jace and I met when we were young. How we fit so well together and everyone told us we were meant to be.
My eyes close as I remember the day we first got together. I can still hear how the school bells went off as we walked on the sidewalk to get to class. I brushed my knuckles against his, waiting and hoping. It had to have been obvious to him. Maybe I was the one to make the first move, but he chose me. He threaded his fingers through mine and he didn’t let go. He was a good man, not a perfect man. He was good to me. Or so I thought.
“I hate this.” I utter the words beneath my breath and it comes out shaky. They say when someone dies, you remember the good times more than the bad. Rose-colored glasses or something like that. I have to keep reminding myself that there were bad times too. With all these articles, I’m not having a difficult time remembering.
There’s guilt too, which is something that I don’t want. I don’t want to be angry at someone who will never again have the chance to defend himself.
How can I move forward when I’m too busy hating everything as I scribble down scenes of our fights in this notepad? I let the words flow and poured out all of it, but mostly his infidelity.
Creak. The creak of the floorboards behind me sends chills sweeping down my body. I stand abruptly from the chair and the iron scrapes on the balcony.
Every emotion that’s made me a wreck washes away, quickly cleansed by fear. I turn slowly, my mouth parted but words refuse to come out.
I don’t have the strength or courage to ask who’s behind me.
But I don’t have to.
I let out a breath as a bushy tail comes into view.
“Boots,” I say, greeting the neighbor’s tabby cat and add, “You scared me,” with my hand over my heart.
She must’ve snuck in while the balcony door was open and I was busy mulling over my wretched married life. There’s an archway between my house and the neighbor’s, and Boots used to be a regular on this balcony. Taking a few steps inside the bedroom, I scoop up the small cat. Her fur is soft and she purrs with contentment the moment I pet her. I only have a moment, though. She gets fed up with attention quickly and I’ve been on the wrong end of her claws before.
“You know you’re not supposed to be in here,” I scold her. Suddenly feeling exhausted, my conviction wanes. I escort Boots back outside, setting her down and move to shut the door just as my phone rings behind me on the bed.
The balcony is at the end of the bedroom so I have to walk quickly to answer in time, but I do on the last ring.
“Hello?”
“Jules, how are you?” Kat’s voice asks. “I w
as just calling to check in.”
“A mess,” I say and my throat is tight. Is this what a breakup feels like? Or is this what regret feels like? I’m not sure which is which anymore. I supposed the two are one and the same.
“God, I know … it has to be rough.” I nod my head but my lips are pressed into a thin line without any words wanting to come and contribute to the conversation.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head even though I know she can’t see; a moment later I’m able to tell her no.
“Hey, it’s all going to be okay,” Kat says as if it’s a fact. “You know that, don’t you?”
A small breath of disbelief leaves me. “No, Kat.” I lay back on the bed and add, “No, I don’t know it’s going to be all right. It doesn’t feel like it will.”
“Stop it. Stop it right now.” Although her tone is harsh, the pain behind her words is undeniable. “Not everything in life is good, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a good life.”
I lick my dry lips and close my eyes, lying back farther on the bed and trying to absorb my friend’s advice.
“You have a great life, Jules. You really do.”
“I thought I was okay. I thought I’d be able to move on. I thought I was moving on.”
“You’re going to, Jules.”
My exhausted eyes stay shut tight, refusing to feel anymore and I hold my breath. “One day, probably sooner than you know it, it’s going to feel normal without him. It’s going to feel good without him. And there’s not a single thing wrong with that.”
“It doesn’t feel like it’s okay, though. It doesn’t feel like it’s all right to not be upset.”
“It doesn’t have to right now. You don’t have to do anything right now, except tell me you’re going to come to my house tomorrow night.”
A sniff is what she gets in response until I’m able to compose myself.
“Of course.”
“Good, now … are you all right?”
I answer her honestly. “I’m not, but I think I will be.”
“You definitely will be,” she says with such conviction, I believe her. My body feels lighter as I scoot closer to the edge of the bed, ready to do something.
“Do you want to go out for dinner?” I ask Kat.
Kat takes a deep breath on the other end of the line and I know she’s busy and can’t. That’s her I wish I could sigh. She’s always busy with work. “I can’t—”
“It’s fine,” I say, cutting her off. “I’ve got to get out of this house.” I speak while looking up at the coffered ceilings in the bedroom. This house has too many memories in it.
“You go out and get some fresh air, maybe get some shopping in and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Nodding in agreement, I answer, “See you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Jules.” Kat’s voice is soft when she tells me she loves me.
“I love you too.” It’s so true. I’d crumble into a complete mess without her.
As I rise from the bed, it groans slightly and I look back to find it in disarray. I take the time to pull the sheets tight and lay the comforter just right. I even fluff the pillows and place them where they’re supposed to be.
As my feet pad against the old wooden floor, it creaks right where I know it should and that chill from earlier comes back to me. I look up at the balcony door and find it unlocked, which is odd. I swear I locked it.
Click. The sound is loud as I stare at the lock, my fingers still on the cold hard metal.
I never did like having a balcony in the bedroom. Jace told me it was a silly fear. I cross my arms, feeling unsteady and colder by the second. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, grabbing my phone and clutch then throw on a pair of faded blue jeans.
Unsteady is the feeling that’s most recognizable. I’m not sure where I go from here. Worse, I don’t know where I want to go.
All I know in this moment, with everything in me, is that I just want to get out of this house.
Mason
Ticktock.
It’s a bomb, not a clock.
Ticktock.
It’s about time to go off.
Ticktock.
Prepare for the shock.
Ticktock.
It’s the truth to unlock.
I stand facing the window in my father’s office with my hands behind my back and don’t bother turning around to greet him as the door opens. I watch as my cold gray eyes narrow in the reflection. The city traffic below is stirring with life, but it’s silent up here. So many people surround us, but not one of them can save me. Not one of them would even give a fuck.
Julia would. My sweetheart. Or at least she would have days ago before she realized she needed to get away from me.
“Mason,” my father says and I turn around, finally facing him and knowing I need to confront him along with everything else I’ve been running from. As much as I want to hold Jules close and pretend just being with her will make this right, I know it won’t.
“Father,” I say, greeting him with an icy tone in my voice, hating that I’m even related to this man. I stare into his eyes and see my own. Everything about him reminds me of what I’m becoming. I fucking hate it.
“We need to get over this,” my father says and gestures between the two of us.
“We do.” I clench my jaw, my pulse rushing faster. I rip my gaze away from his, staring down at my hands. “I don’t think there should be any more ties.” It pains me to tell him that. Even after all these years and everything he’s done, I still feel a gaping hole in my chest at the thought of severing this relationship.
“Ties to what?” he asks.
“Between the two of us.”
My father flinches as if I’ve struck him. But what did he expect?
“Watch your mouth,” he says. I’m surprised he has the nerve to admonish me as if what I’m saying is unspeakable.
“I want to walk away. I don’t want to be tied to this anymore. I don’t want to be associated with you.”
“I’m your father, Mason. You can’t walk away from that.”
The fuck I can’t. I bite down on my tongue to stop from blurting out that answer, gritting my teeth as he walks closer to the left side of the desk. I walk to the right, matching his pace, a careful dance of power that escalates the conversation.
“You need to just forgive—”
“I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Avery,” I say, looking my father in the eye as I say her name for the first time in months. Every muscle in me is wound tightly, waiting for his next move so I can destroy him and let out this rage.
His eyes flash with something—anger, maybe betrayal, I don’t know what.
“I did what I had to do to protect you,” he says, pushing out the words from between clenched teeth, but his nerve is shaken, unlike mine.
“She didn’t deserve to be murdered.” My hands ball into fists. Avery was a mistake. A fiery redhead with long legs and a smile that could kill. She had mistake written all over her.
I met her late one night at an event and I knew she was trouble. I knew it from the start but I needed a quick fuck. She tempted me and I took the bait. But I could never have imagined how it would all end.
“That’s what happens when you blackmail a Thatcher.” My father practically spits. “She decided to roll the dice. She’s the one who came to me with demands and tried to back us into a corner.”
“You could have sent her to me.” My muscles twitch with the need to pound my fist into his face as I take a step forward. “I would have told her the baby couldn’t have been mine.”
“If I’d known then—”
“You didn’t have to know!” I shout, unable to control myself any longer. My throat feels raw as the words are ripped from me, screaming up my chest. “She wasn’t innocent.” I take a step toward my father and grab the edge of the desk to keep from gripping his collar and say, “But she didn’t deserve to die.
”
“She did.” My father’s voice is hard, his back straight and his gaze full of confidence.
“She was pregnant!” I tell him. Hating how he could so easily dismiss her existence. He had her murdered. He didn’t even think twice about ending her life.
“With a married man’s child!” my father sneers, his face turning red as he leans in closer to me and I can’t take it any longer.
I can’t take the arrogance and justification of ending a person’s life so easily. I clench my fist until my knuckles are white and punch my father in the jaw. His teeth crack from the weight of the blow. His head whips to the side as he falls to the floor, limp and shocked. My arm stings with the pain of impact.
It feels so fucking good to finally give him a piece of what he deserves.
He lays there for a moment, his hand over his mouth as a trickle of blood leaks from the corner of his lips. I shake out my hand, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I just barely restrain myself from kicking him in the ribs, from letting all this anger and pent-up guilt out on him.
“You ungrateful prick.” He spits blood onto the floor and looks up at me with a menacing glare. “You chose some whore over your own family.”
No, I’m choosing what’s right. I’m choosing to be better than this life I was born into.
My father doesn’t quit with his justification. “Anderson didn’t want that kid. Think about what she would have done to him!”
The mention of Jace Anderson makes my gaze break from my father’s. The memories come back and make my tense muscles spasm. I can’t hear whatever my father’s yelling at me. It’s all white noise.
I may have been born a Thatcher and I’ll die a Thatcher, but I refuse to be anything like my father. Not today, not ever.
“I won’t forgive you.” I force my body to relax. I’ve said what I came to say. This ends now. “I never will.” I start to walk out, accompanied by the sound of my heart racing.
Just as my hand grips the doorknob, I finally get the balls to ask him.
One last thing to say. One final question.
You Are My Reason (You Are Mine Book 1) Page 14
