by L. A. Fiore
“I’m not surprised you couldn’t hold onto him.”
My feet stopped and my hands fisted. Maybe she knew what happened, maybe she didn’t, but I was done with her bullshit.
Turning to her, she still played regal like she was born to it. “What the fuck is your problem? You’ve had a hard-on for me since we were kids.”
“I just don’t understand why everyone gives such a shit about you. What’s so fucking special about you?”
“Nothing, Debbie. There’s nothing special about me but when someone is in my company they don’t leave it feeling like shit because I don’t bring them down to make myself feel better. That is all you do. Your insecurity and jealousy eat you alive and you are an even bigger fool than I thought if you think for one second people don’t see that.”
The screenplay for the movie I’d been working on before the accident had been given to another writer because I couldn’t meet the deadlines. I couldn’t blame them; time was money. Adele recently worked a deal for me on another movie project that she thought was a good fit and she was right. It was a heartbreaking story; I certainly had a pool of pain to draw from. The phone pulled me from the scene.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Ratcliffe?”
I took that hit to my heart in stride. “Yes.”
“I’m Marge Jones of State Street Reality. We have a new family for the house on Green Street, but during the inspection we discovered that the furnace has a crack so I wanted to get the okay to replace it. Normally, I work through Mr. Ratcliffe, but I’m having trouble getting in touch with him.”
I went numb at the memory. Green Street was where the foster monsters had lived.
“What’s the address of the house?”
“24 Green Street.”
It was a good thing I was sitting down because my legs went weak. Greyson was the one who bought the foster monsters’ house out from under them and forced them to move away.
“Mrs. Ratcliffe?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. This is the first I’m hearing about the house on Green Street. Could you explain to me what arrangements Mr. Ratcliffe has made for that house?”
“Oh, sure. For about ten years the house has been available for families struggling to make ends meet. It’s offered to any family who meets the criteria for a year free of charge, though they are responsible for the utilities, maintaining the yard, that sort of thing. Mr. Ratcliffe isn’t offering a free ride, he doesn’t want to attract sponges, but he wants a place for families to feel they have a home base, to give them that security until they can get themselves back on their feet. His ultimate goal is to help keep families together, to prevent children from being taken from their parents just because their parents have stumbled onto hard times. It’s very important to him and I’ve only ever worked with him directly, but like I said, I can’t seem to get in touch with him. We have a family waiting to move in.”
I didn’t know at what point the tears started. They rolled down my cheeks because I knew it was Greyson’s way of preventing another little kid from having foster parents like I had.
I wiped at my eyes. “Please, yes, replace the furnace. Would it be possible to tour the house before the new people move in?”
“Sure. Mr. Ratcliffe bought the property in your maiden name, so it’s technically your property.”
I swallowed the sob. “Could I stop by today?”
“I can meet you whenever you’d like.”
“Is ten minutes too soon?”
“I’ll meet you there.”
I arrived before Marge and looked at the house that had been my home for sixteen years. I hadn’t been down this street since the Cantenellis moved. Greyson had been busy. The place when I lived here was falling apart and now it was the picture of charm. Gray siding had been added, black shutters and a stone facade to match the stone of the chimney. There was a new flagstone front walk and gardens everywhere.
The memory of Greyson walking up the old path brought a smile, the memory of him walking away from me after The Cure concert, climbing onto his bike and riding off into the sunset brought pain.
The old tree in the front was still thriving, and now it boasted a tree house and a tire swing. It was the perfect place for a family. He had done this because of me, because he wanted to make a difference, and he never told me. Even now, with all we’d been through, he was still that boy on the jetty, the one I loved to distraction.
Marge arrived and hurried up the path. She offered her hand. “Mrs. Ratcliffe, Marge. It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“Likewise. Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Certainly.” She looked around the yard. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Come, I’ll show you inside.”
The inside had been completely redone as well, hardwood floors, new bathrooms, a gourmet kitchen, fresh paint and moldings. Greyson’s artwork was scattered throughout the rooms. He had made a home here, a cozy and welcoming home.
Marge joined me. “He told me that there was once a girl who lived here and he wished that he could have given to her then what he has been able to give to these families now.”
“He did, just in a different way,” I whispered. My eyes found Marge’s. “I was that girl.”
She smiled and reached for my hand. “I know.”
Greyson
My phone buzzed, some upbeat tune that Maggie had programmed. It made me want to commit murder. I hurled the thing across the room. That didn’t help because it was still chiming, but now it sounded like a deranged android. I rolled over, looked up at the ceiling. I’d counted the gold leaf work. Knew which ones were in need of a touchup, which ones were slightly larger than the others. Daylight was trying to penetrate the thick drapes covering the windows, a few golden rays reflected off the old wood floors.
I missed her, missed…what a fucking joke. I couldn’t function. I hadn’t painted a fucking thing since I walked out. I’d called her my muse during that interview from so long ago and how true those words were. I had nothing. I was fucking empty, no inspiration and no desire to find any. The days passed and I waited. For what? I didn’t know. Maybe the sky would fall and put me out of my misery or I’d fall down a rabbit hole. I wasn’t living. I was existing and I’d done it to myself. What brought the self-loathing was I’d forced this fucking existence on Alexis too.
The number of times I almost gave in, prepared to get on my knees and beg her to take me back, yeah that was practically every fucking day. Then I’d see her that night. The look on her face as the bullet tore through her, the blood. I always found the strength to continue on in this pathetic excuse of a life because my girl had a life. I didn’t have to mourn her, weeping at another grave of an angel resting over a stone heart.
I climbed from bed and retrieved my phone then slammed it into the wall until it shattered. That was my eighth phone in as many months. Fuck it. I headed to the shower; stripped on my way, and set the temperature to scalding because it was the only time I felt anything. I rested my hand against the wall, my head lowered as my nerve endings screamed at the blistering heat. Thoughts of Alexis kept me sane, remembering her wiggling her ass when she cleaned the dishes. She sang when she cleaned, even knowing how she sounded she belted those songs out like she was Celine Dion. And after an afternoon of cleaning, getting her wet and naked, moving my hands over her beautiful body. Fucking her in the shower, out of the shower, against the wall. I slid my hand down my body to my cock, stroked it. Her mouth, her taste and the way she moaned in the back of her throat. I tugged harder, hitting my balls on the up stroke. Watching her ride my cock, the way she drew her lower lip between her teeth, how she whispered she loved me. I slammed my hand against the wall when I came, but instead of finding release I only felt emptier.
I dressed and headed downstairs for a cup of coffee and then research. I was looking into the Ratcliffe history. I couldn’t paint a damn thing, so I decided to learn more about those who came bef
ore me. Maggie was behind the stove when I entered. I saw the look; they each had their own version of it, a cross between pity and irritation. They didn’t agree with me, none of them. They thought I was a fool for walking away. I was a fool for walking away, but I was right to.
“Good morning. How are you this fine morning?” Maggie was particularly cheerful.
“I broke another phone.”
She shook her head. “It’s becoming a problem.”
“They should make them stronger.”
“I doubt very much they can make them strong enough to withstand repeated slams into a stone wall.”
I shrugged.
“You should stop by the portrait gallery. I just had all the paintings cleaned. It’s lovely.”
I swear she had a twinkle in her eyes, far too bright for the conversation. “What’s going on with you? Why are you so cheerful?”
She feigned annoyance. “I’m like this every morning.”
That wasn’t true. Pouring my coffee, I leaned against the counter and watched her. She was practically dancing in place. Grandfather entered, saw me and beamed.
“Greyson, good morning.”
“All right. What the hell is going on?”
It was uncanny how his expression mirrored Maggie’s, that same feigned annoyance. “Were you two abducted and replaced with cyborgs?”
He laughed, like a belly laugh. It wasn’t that funny.
“That’s funny.”
It really wasn’t. I had research to do.
I felt their eyes on me when I walked out and know I heard laughter following shortly after. What the fuck?
I’d check out the gallery later. I headed to the library. For the last few months I’d been researching my family. If I was being honest, it wasn’t my family that motivated me but the link to Alexis. She’d been working on our family’s book, and even with me walking out, I knew she’d finish what she started.
I settled at the desk, took another gulp of coffee before I got to it. It was fascinating reading the thoughts of my ancestors that had lived so long ago. I was focusing my research on Caitlin and Rafer Ratcliffe because it was during their time that the stone disappeared. They were hurting, financially. Theirs was one of the very few love matches in our history, but one that didn’t put money in the coffers. Alexis’ theory about the fire and hiding the assets seemed spot on. So where the hell did they hide it?
“Simone Ratcliffe almost died of poison. Targeted by an enemy of her husband’s.” Grandfather stood just inside the library. “Elizabeth Ratcliffe was stabbed in the street, payback for a debt unpaid by her husband. My own sweet Colleen was mistaken for me once driving in my car. She was run off the road. I’ll never forget how she looked, the memory is burned on my brain.”
“You never told me that. Why would someone come at you?”
“I don’t know. Jealousy or just disturbed, but it was a dark time in my life. I too, believing I was doing what was best, left her.”
“You left Grandmother?”
“For six months, two days and twelve hours.”
“Where did you go?”
“One of the many outbuildings on the property.”
“I can’t imagine Grandmother was very happy about that.”
“She wasn’t. She was livid. It took me nearly as long to get back into her good graces. My intentions were in the right place, but you know what they say about the best of intentions.”
“You think I was wrong to leave.”
“I know you were wrong to leave. I want to show you something.”
It was a maze of passages, cold and damp. The dungeons used to be down here, but my great grandfather removed the cells. It was while we moved in the deepest recesses of the castle that it dawned why we were down here.
“You found it?”
He said nothing, but I felt his excitement.
We reached a section of the basement, like all the other sections, but this one had a hole in the wall, a manmade and rather hastily done hole. My blood was zipping through my veins. “How did you know?”
“The room specs didn’t match the blueprints. Alexis was right. The fire had been set so Caitlin and Rafer could hide assets, partly to ease their burden, but partly to preserve a piece of our history.”
“Why didn’t you show me sooner?”
“You weren’t ready to listen then. I think you are now. Come see.”
We walked through the wall, work lamps were set up but it was the stash that held my complete attention.
“Holy shit.”
“My exact words,” Grandfather teased.
There were old weapons and armor, silver in the form of candlesticks and trays, chests opened revealing clothes and books and jewels. Big pieces covered in cloth, antique furniture. Alexis had been right.
“This is incredible.”
“It really is. We’ve started an inventory and from what we’ve researched so far, millions worth of loot.”
“Have you found the diamond?”
Grandfather’s shoulders slumped a bit. “Not yet.”
It wasn’t monetary for him, like Alexis, it was the story.
“If it’s here, we’ll find it.”
“That wasn’t my point in showing you this. Look around, Greyson.” He walked to a dust-covered chair that was massive with a thick ornate wood frame. “These items were set aside to protect them and yet look at them. Dusty, tarnished, forgotten. What was the point? No one got to enjoy them. Stories weren’t shared about them. They were hidden away and forgotten.” He turned to me and it was one of a very few times I saw not just anger, but disappointment in his expression, disappointment in me. “You did this to Alexis. You hid her away to protect her. She doesn’t belong in this room. There’s one more thing I need you to see.”
We walked to the gallery and as soon as we stepped inside I understood Maggie’s encouragement to visit. My heart twisted in my chest. She was so fucking beautiful. Alexis’ painting hung next to mine.
“This is where Alexis belongs, at your side. And I know you know that.”
“You didn’t see her,” my throat closed with emotion.
His voice softened. “I didn’t and you’ll never get that image from your mind, but she’s alive. She lived. I got ten more years with Colleen before cancer killed her. Ten years and I lost six months of those because I thought I was doing what was best for her. But it wasn’t her I was protecting. I was protecting myself, from the pain, from the loss, from being the one left behind. You can’t know the future. You could walk outside and get trampled by wild horses, or get hit by a bus, or you could die of cancer or a heart attack. Nothing is certain in life but birth and death, and believe it or not, that is part of what makes the journey so sweet.”
I hated hearing the words that had been gnawing in my gut, but he was right. If I was being completely honest with myself, I left her to protect myself. She was right; I was a coward. I walked away from the best fucking thing in my life and I wanted her back so damn much. I almost chuckled because Mom had been right too. I was a stubborn ass, but I finally saw the light. I had been wrong, so fucking wrong to leave. “It’s been eight months.”
“You’ll have some groveling to do.”
I’d grovel, beg, and plead, whatever I had to. Looking around at the gallery Alexis loved an idea came to me. “Do you think the diamond is down there?”
“If it is anywhere in the castle, I think it would be there.”
“I’ll help you go through the stuff,” I offered.
“And not return to Alexis?”
“Like you said. I’ve got some groveling to do. I need to come prepared.”
He smiled in approval. “You want to give her the diamond.”
“If we can’t find it I’ll have one made.”
“Good thinking.”
I glanced around the room. “She can’t have children.”
He palmed my cheek, something he hadn’t done since I was little. “Family is more than blood. Your
lovely Alexis must have taught you that. Times are changing and the Ratcliffes will change right along with them. Our name will continue on.”
I did something I hadn’t done since I was a kid; I hugged him. “Thank you.”
His voice broke a little when he said, “Let’s go find that diamond.”
We didn’t find the diamond. We’d searched every chest, every drawer. I’d just gotten off the phone with a jeweler to discuss recreating it; the look would be different but not the intent. I walked to the French doors in the study and looked out. I was going home to Alexis. I hoped like hell she took me back.
It was while I stood thinking about the diamond and Alexis that I noticed the mist in the distance. It looked green. What kind of odd anomaly would cause that? Before my eyes it took shape into two figures much like in my painting. I rubbed my eyes and looked again but it was gone. I then heard the distinct sound of laughter coming from behind me. Turning for the door, I expected to see the housemaids with their heads together, but the room was empty. A chill passed through me, goosebumps rose on my arms. Was it possible I had inhaled too many paint fumes over the years?
A shadow moved just outside the door. My heart slammed into my ribs. Maybe the rumors about ghosts weren’t rumors. Was it my mom or dad? I almost called out to them when William entered. I exhaled then pulled a hand through my hair. Holy shit I was losing my fucking mind.
“There’s a gentleman outside for you.”
For me? Who the hell would be here for me?
“Did he give his name?”
“No.” William turned his nose up in distaste. “He simply informed me to get you.”
I suspected whoever it was hadn’t been that nice about it. “Did he now. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
We reached the door. There was no one there. William answered my question. “He’s outside.”
Yanking open the door, the words on my tongue died. Leaning against a black car, wearing his leather cut and looking just the same as he had the last time I saw him was Finn Levy.
“I think you took a serious wrong turn somewhere.”
