The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  She nods. “I guess it is.”

  I have the unmistakable urge to refuse to do this, to make an excuse and run far away from this harsh reality. But I owe it to her. It’s the last part of our fake relationship contract, the final piece of the puzzle that will protect her from the school’s mean girls come September.

  And I’d do anything to protect her. Even if it means breaking my own heart.

  I sit gingerly on the edge of her bed. “So, how should we do this?”

  Anaya grabs a notebook from her nightstand. “I made some notes.”

  My heart thuds in my chest. Of course she made notes. With Anaya, it’s all business, all the time. I can’t believe I let myself forget that.

  She rubs her eyes and blinks heavily. She looks different, muted somehow. She might just be tired, ready to be done with me and move on from our contract.

  Anaya consults her notebook. “Isabella will be attending a wedding here tomorrow evening as a bridesmaid. I took a look at the schedule and there’ll be pictures by the gazebo at 6pm, right between the ceremony and the reception. We can hang out around there, and when we know that she’s within earshot, we can break up.”

  I feel a headache coming on behind my eyes. I push through it and force a half-smile. “I guess you should be the one to break it off?”

  She hesitates for a beat and then frowns. “I’d rather not.”

  “I don’t want to break it off either.” My words are sincere. I wish she knew just how sincere.

  Our eyes meet for a moment and the air feels heavy and uncomfortable. The silence in the cabin is punctuated by the rain pounding on the roof. The storm has well and truly begun.

  Anaya clears her throat. “We’ll make it mutual then?”

  “Sure.” I concede with a shrug. I pick up Hamlet the whale and squeeze him. “What should I say?”

  Anaya’s brow creases further, like she’s lost in thought. “What do you want to say?”

  “That you’ve been the best girlfriend ever. That I don’t want us to break up.”

  She smiles thinly. “Well, that would look good for Isabella, but it doesn’t really qualify for a break up. I could accuse you of still being in love with Brooklyn?”

  I squeeze Hamlet harder. Her proposition makes sense for the sake of the contract. “Sure... I’ll deny it.”

  At least that part will be truthful. I’m not in love with Brooklyn anymore, and we aren’t going to get back together. She brushed off my words at the garden party last week, but I intend to tell her the next time we see each other that it’s truly over.

  In the meantime, I need to focus on being here for Anaya and honoring the last step of our contract. She needs me to stage this break up in front of Isabella and I won’t let her down.

  “Perfect.” Anaya’s face seems torn, upset. Is this not going the way she wants?

  The rain falls harder, pounding almost deafeningly on the roof. I wait for her to speak, and then realize she won’t. “Anything else?”

  She appears to think for a moment, but then shakes her head.

  “Who gets custody of Hamlet?” It’s meant to be a joke, but my voice cracks. Our eyes meet, and I fall into her liquid chocolate gaze. My heart pounds violently, echoing the rain on the rooftop.

  BANG!

  The clap of thunder makes us leap. The lights go out, and instinctively, I put my arms out. When the lights flicker back on, I’m cradling her to my chest. Her hair smells like vanilla. For a brief moment, with Anaya in my arms, everything feels okay again. Things just feel right with us.

  I can’t be the only one who feels this way. I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Anaya?”

  She looks at me, her eyes glassy. “Yeah?”

  “Is this what you really want?”

  My heart beats so hard that I’m sure she can hear it. Her eyes search my face intently, like she’s looking for an answer she can’t find. She looks almost hopeful, curious. But then, her face falls and her mouth sets in a grim line.

  “It’s what’s in the contract,” she says finally.

  My spark of hope is snuffed out. The fact that I don’t want to get back together with Brooklyn must mean nothing to her.

  Lightning flashes and the room illuminates like a nightmare. I release Anaya from my arms and stand at a distance away from her. I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or anything. She’s made her feelings about me pretty clear.

  “Well, for a fake relationship, it’s certainly been real,” I say awkwardly.

  Anaya chuckles, the sound devoid of any humor. “Thanks again for everything, Wes. It was a big help to me this summer.”

  My heart cracks. She sounds like she’s giving a political speech to strangers, not talking to the person she’s shared intimate details of her life with.

  “It helped us both.” I point out in reply.

  She stares at her bedspread and traces a finger across the floral pattern. “I guess it did.”

  37

  Anaya

  After Wes leaves, I lie awake for hours, barely able to move. I’m curled up on my bed in the spot where he was sitting, my arms wrapped tight around Hamlet and my face buried in his fur. The faint smell of Wes — clean laundry, sunscreen and pine — lingers on the stuffed animal. It makes my throat constrict and squeezes my heart all the more.

  I wish I’d asked him to stay, to hold me in his arms again. I wanted to pretend for one last night that it's us against the world, and not the world against us.

  At the start of the summer, our contract was set up so I could get Isabella and Chloe off my back, so I could prove them wrong. But I don’t know if I care about what they think anymore. Their opinions shouldn’t matter when real lives, real feelings, are at stake. Underneath this mess, the truth is that I want to be with Wes, for real. But I can’t tell him that.

  I caught the end of his conversation with Brooklyn at the garden party loud and clear. She told him to finish things up with me so he can get back together with her.

  The girl that he wants to be with.

  There was no escaping this fate. Our relationship was destined to be temporary, and this is just the final step of our plan.

  So, I let him leave.

  The fracture in my heart cracks open like a faultline as I think about the wedding, the moment Wes and I will be over. I can no longer fight the tears and I break into sobs, cuddling Hamlet tight to my chest.

  By the morning, my eyes are puffy and red, my face swollen.

  My heart is about to be broken in public.

  At least I’ll look the part.

  38

  Anaya

  I usually love weddings.

  The flowers, the fancy cakes, the gorgeous dresses... Weddings bring smiles and cheers. The feeling of love in the air is always intoxicating. After all, a wedding is a public declaration of true love and commitment between two people who want to tell the world how they feel. What could be more romantic?

  But, today’s wedding feels more like a funeral march. And when my watch beeps at 6pm, it’s like an official death toll.

  I shake myself off and smooth my dress — baby pink, the same one I wore to the Welcome Bash — and start down the path to the lake. The sunlight is blinding and I shove on my sunglasses. I’m all too happy to disguise my swollen, pink eyes anyway.

  Laughter carries from the gazebo, which is decorated with white roses and sparkling fairy lights. The twinkling sound is light and airy, the opposite to how I’m currently feeling. Most of the bridal party is gathered in the Inn’s gardens, watching the bride and groom while Kiara snaps pictures. I approach the gardens slowly and stand at the edge.

  The bride looks radiant in her classic and elegant white dress. She tosses her head back in laughter, looking totally carefree and in love. The groom can barely tear his eyes away from her. His cheeks are flushed with joy, his hair lightly tousled.

  “They look so happy.”

  I startle out of my trance. Wes has come to stand besi
de me. He’s wearing a blue button-down shirt and khakis. He told me once that Brooklyn liked him in blue. I guess it's one thing that she and I agree on.

  “They do,” I reply, my throat tight.

  We stand side by side and watch the happy scene unfold. Wes’s hand brushes mine and he draws it back. My skin tingles from where he touched me.

  He takes a deep breath, his inhale shaky. “Ready?”

  No. Breaking up is the last thing I want to do.

  “I guess,” I mutter at the ground.

  “Let’s hope I get another Oscar nomination today.” Wes smiles, but his tone is a bit flat.

  I feel nauseous as I look around for Isabella. I spot her talking with the rest of the bridal party, looking beautiful in her long dress with flowers in her hair. That’s the kind of girl Wes would date. And the kind of girl I’ll never be.

  I lead him to a park bench near where she stands. It’s actually a lovely bench overlooking the lake. Fitting for this moment.

  I glance back at Isabella, waiting for her to notice Wes and I.

  “Nervous?” Wes whispers.

  I meet his eyes and, for the first time today, I register how he looks. His face is pale and it looks like he didn’t sleep either. I want to ask him if something’s wrong, if something’s bothering him.

  But at that moment, Isabella spots us. Her face twists and she starts walking towards us.

  “Showtime,” I whisper, turning away from her. I take a deep breath and then point an accusing finger at him. “Liar!”

  The word sounds half-hearted even to my ears, but Wes picks up on it. He pulls a face and then his expression changes. It’s like I’m watching his walls go up in real time. “I never lied to you, Anaya!”

  His voice carries across the grounds. A hundred yards away, I notice Isabella halt in her tracks.

  “Yes, you did.” I cross my arms. “You told me you only wanted to be with me.”

  “That’s true.” His eyes are wide, his hands splayed open dramatically. This is the Oscar-winning Wes I know. “You are my one and only, honeymuffin.”

  I shoot him a look. Honeymuffin, again? Then, I raise my voice. “See, you can’t even take an argument seriously. You don’t take anything seriously. Am I a joke to you?”

  Wes blinks a few times, looking taken aback. “Well, you are funny... But no, you’ve never been a joke to me.”

  I tilt my head. His words almost sounded genuine, but we’re meant to be breaking up. Why is he making this so tough?

  “Don’t play games with me. We’re not good together. You fit with Brooklyn, not me.” My heart cracks. This might be a fake break up but these words are true.

  Wes’s mouth drops open and he looks at me in shock. “Is that what you really think?”

  For a moment, I wonder if he’s serious. His look of surprise throws me off, but I redirect my focus to the task at hand. I just want this to be over so I can go back to my cabin and cry properly. We’re almost done now.

  “It’s what I know,” I say, but the words leave me breathless. “You’re perfect together. You never wanted me, only her.”

  “Are you blind or something?” Wes raises his voice, incredulous. He’s playing the part well and I forget, for a moment, that this is an act. Should he want to forego football and law school to pursue a career as an actor, he’d do well.

  “No.” My voice is weak, quiet. “I see exactly what’s happening.”

  His face is white as a ghost. He’s really good at this. “I’m crazy about you. You, Anaya. I’ve fallen head over heels for you. You’re amazing! But you’re so obsessed with what everyone else thinks, you could never see it.”

  His words strike my heart. How I wish this were true. How does Wes know exactly what to say?

  “No,” I whisper. “You got what you wanted.”

  Wes nods stiffly. “And, now, so did you. I guess it’s over.”

  “It’s over,” I echo.

  Hot tears course down my face and I’m out of breath. Wes stares at me blankly, his mouth set in a grim line. As of now, the contract is null, but then why do neither of us look happy about it?

  I shoot a glance at Isabella and she smiles like a Cheshire Cat. She catches me looking and leaves, no doubt going to text her minions. Soon, everyone at school will know that Anaya Dewan is, once again, boyfriendless.

  But, the thing is, I don’t care. The pain of her teasing is nothing compared to how real this fake break up feels.

  “We did it,” I whisper.

  Wes shoots me an unreadable look. His face is devoid of color. “I guess I’ll get going.”

  I nod. “Makes sense. I’ll sit here a little while longer, we probably shouldn’t leave together.”

  Wes hesitates, looking like he’s about to say something else. But then, he nods. “Of course.”

  I stare at my hands as he leaves. It’s too painful to watch his retreating back. This was the plan all along. It was always going to happen. Someone sits on the bench next to me and I look up, a traitorous hope rising in my chest.

  It’s Isabella.

  “Bad day, Anaya?” She smiles sweetly.

  I don’t bother replying.

  “You know, I found it very difficult to believe your whole boyfriend story. I thought you were making it up, and you’d just paid that poor boy to act like your boyfriend or something. But, after seeing that trainwreck...” Isabella snickers, her voice full of condescension. “You guys must’ve loved each other.”

  My mouth pops open. What did she say?

  She laughs and the sound is light but stilted, like broken windchimes. Then, she goes in for the kill. “Honestly, Anaya, it’s for the best. Wes may have loved you for a summer, but things always revert to their natural course. We both know that he wouldn’t be seen with someone like you at school. Breaking up with you was just par for the course, and you should count yourself lucky that he agreed to go out with you in the first place. It’s like a little boost for your social status.”

  Her words are like venom, but I feel numb to them. I laugh coldly. “You know what, Isabella?”

  “What?” she asks, her expression smug.

  I slowly rise to my feet. I’m too full of anger and sadness to argue with her right now. “You’re right.”

  I walk away before she can say anything further. The irony is that she has no idea how right she is. Wes agreed to help me solve my problem, and I should be grateful. We both achieved what we had set out to do. We were never meant to be together in the real world.

  But, the memory of Wes’s ashen face haunts me. He certainly didn’t look like a man who just claimed victory.

  He looked defeated.

  39

  Wes

  I’ve thrown a few Hail Marys in my time, but only one ever changed the result of the game. That’s the whole point of the Hail Mary in football — it’s a last ditch attempt, a shot in the dark when all of your other options have run out. And more often than not, that wild, long shot attempt fails.

  Until last Homecoming.

  We were 4 points down with 6 seconds left on the clock. It was hopeless. One of the other team’s linebackers charged through the offensive line and was running right for me. Before he made impact, I threw the ball as hard as I could towards the end zone. It was a blind throw, and it bounced through a pile of hands, but by some miracle, my receiver came down with the ball.

  The clock ran to zero. The crowd went wild. And from that night onwards, I have always truly believed that the game is never over until the final whistle blows.

  Now, the memory consumes me as I draw my arm backwards and launch the football into the air. It spirals in a perfect arc across the meadow and then ricochets off a tree.

  My aim may be true, but the sound is hollow.

  After what happened last night, I had to escape, clear my mind. And nothing works better for me than throwing a football. I’m alone in a meadow just a short walk from the Legacy Inn. The sky is overcast, the clouds hanging low. I can understa
nd why the guests aren’t outside relaxing on a day like today.

  I jog across the meadow and retrieve the ball, my mind stuck on that Homecoming Hail Mary. Yesterday, I threw another Hail Mary — to save my relationship with Anaya.

  As we were breaking up, I knew that I had to try one final time. It’s not over until the final whistle, right? So, I told her how I felt. I laid my cards on the table and told her I was crazy about her, that I had fallen for her.

  But the pass was incomplete, nobody was in the end zone to catch it.

  Game over.

  I scoop up the ball and throw it back across the meadow, hard as I can.

  “Nice throw.” The familiar voice carries across the meadow and my stomach sinks.

  Brooklyn stands in the clearing, wearing a floaty, floral dress. Snuffles is tucked under her arm and, with the mountain backdrop, she looks like an ad in a magazine. Glossy. Perfect. And completely removed from me.

  She walks to the center of the meadow, her eyes fixed on me. “Are you practicing because you're moving back to Billings? Because you totally should. It’ll be perfect — we’ll be back together, you’ll be living in Billings and you’ll be a football star again. It’ll be like nothing changed.”

  I stare at her for a long moment, remembering our conversation at the start of the summer. How differently I feel now. “But, things have changed. Look, we’re not good together.”

  Brooklyn’s face wrinkles in distaste. “Wow. So you were actually serious about what you said at the garden party?”

  “Yes. I was.”

  “But what about Billings? What am I supposed to do? I can’t be single for my Senior Year.”

  I look at my ex-girlfriend with new eyes, acknowledging the truth for the first time. I sigh, exhaling a breath I’d been holding for far too long. “I’ve realized something, Brooklyn. For so long, I thought this was what I wanted — to get back together with you, to get my life back. But, the truth is, what we have isn’t love.”

  I take another breath, finally free with the confession. “When everything fell apart for me, you walked away. And I was so blinded by what I thought I wanted that I tried to win you back at any cost, even sacrificing what’s right. I’ll admit it, I was trying to make you jealous with Anaya. That wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. But this isn’t love... None of this is love.”