by J. L. White
I sit there stunned, my heart pounding soundly in my ears, when there’s a sharp rap at the door.
I jump and let out an audible gasp.
I freeze, my heart falling down on the job again as it stops beating.
What if it’s Grayson? What if it’s Sam?
I sit there frozen another few seconds. There’s another knock, this time followed by Ashley’s voice, “Chloe? You okay?”
I scramble to my feet and open the door enough to peek out and verify it’s really her and that she’s alone.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I open the door all the way and gesture her in. She comes in, giving me a questioning look, and I close the door behind her. Still hanging on to the door knob, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steel myself.
“Chloe—” she begins.
“It’s him,” I say, grasping my hands together and holding them to my chest. “He’s the guy.”
“Who? What guy?”
“Grayson,” I say. I don’t know that I’ve ever said his name aloud. Not since I was with him. “Sam’s guy.”
“Yeah, who is that guy?” Ashley asks. “He looks so familiar. Did he go to Hartman with us?”
I shake my head impatiently. “We met him and another guy at the Perched Owl, remember? On the night of my—”
“—Not Wedding!” she says, her eyes lighting up as the mystery is solved. “That’s right!” Her expression falls again, trying to figure out what that has to do with my distraught state.
“He’s the guy,” I say.
A look of dawning falls over Ashley’s face, followed by a look of horror. “Oh my god.”
I put my hands over my face. “What am I going to do?”
“He’s the guy?”
I nod, my hands still over my face.
“The guy you slept with?”
I groan. “What am I going to do?” I say again.
“Okay,” Ashley says firmly. I slowly lower my hands to look at her. “Okay,” she says again, “let’s just... think for a minute.”
She leads me over to the bed and we sit down.
We both take a deep breath.
“So...” Ashley begins, then stops.
I nod. What in the hell can either one of us say?
“Um...” she says, then nothing.
“Ashley,” I say desperately, “What do I do? Do I tell her?”
“Ugh. I don’t know. Let’s... just... back up a second.” She takes another deep breath. “Are you... interested in him or anything?”
Interested? What difference does it make? I fucking ran out on him, and I did not miss the anger in his eyes when he saw me. And who can blame him? To top it off, he’s clearly gotten over it since he’s here as Sam’s fucking date. “Things ended really badly between us,” I answer. “Plus, it was, you know, just one night.”
“Okay,” she says, “then it’s not like you want to be with him or something.” I swallow hard. “So, this situation obviously isn’t... ideal. But, like you said, it was just a one-night stand so it’s not like he’s your ex or something.”
I blink at her and nod stupidly. That’s what it would be for a normal person anyway, right? Just a one-night stand and nothing more. In my weakened state, I’m not terribly inclined to admit I’m the kind of girl who falls for a guy after one night.
“And...” she seems to be casting around, trying to catch her thoughts, “Sam didn’t know so she didn’t do anything wrong.”
“God no,” I say. “This isn’t Sam’s fault.”
It’s mine, mine, mine.
“And...” Ashley continues, “it’s not like we need to worry about her getting all serious about him because she doesn’t get serious about anybody. He’ll probably be in an out of here as fast as all of her other guys. So...”
Ashley let’s her sentence trail off and takes a deep breath.
“As far as the whole...” she gives me an uncomfortable look, “...sharing the same guy thing, knowing Sam, the damage has probably already been done.”
I groan and cover my face with my hands again. Oh god, the thought of them together literally hurts. And let me tell you, I’ve been down this road before when that bastard Brad cheated on me. But the thought of Grayson with Sam... I pinch my eyes against the mental image that springs unwanted to my mind.
“What do I do?” I groan. “I have no idea what to do.”
It’s quiet for a moment, then Ashley says gently, “I think this comes down to you and whether you can... handle this or not.”
I look at her and she shrugs sympathetically.
“If you can deal with it, you could just not say anything and it’ll all be over soon. She’ll probably be sick of him by week’s end anyway. I was kinda shocked she even agreed to the full five days.”
I nod. It’s a whole lot of one guy for Sam’s taste.
“But,” Ashley says, “if you can’t handle it, just tell her. She’ll send him packing.”
I sigh. Sam would, if I said something. But I don’t know if I can tell her. Do I really want that kind of thing going down during Isabella’s wedding? And is it fair to rob Sam of her plans when, let’s face it, I blew it with Grayson a long time ago? It’s not like I’m trying to claim territorial rights. He’s not mine to claim and never was. Right? What right have I to be selfish about it when, like Ashley said, the damage has already been done. It feels selfish to ruin Sam’s week (not to mention Isabella’s) just because of my drama.
But, a little dark corner of myself admits, I selfishly don’t want to tell her, because if I tell her she’ll send him away and I don’t want him to go. As fucked up as that is, this tiny, horrible part of me can’t bear the thought of him leaving.
But can I bear the thought of him staying, and all that implies?
I sigh. “What would you do?” I ask.
Ashley absently runs her hand down her long braid, bringing it in front of her shoulder and playing with the end. “I don’t know. This is a tough one. But... you know, it’s too late to avoid the ick factor. I think since he’s really not that important to either one of you, I’d maybe just let it slide. But Chloe, it really does come down to what you think you can handle. You’re the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”
I sit there for a while, debating with myself. The one thing I’d like to do—go back in time and make this not happen—isn’t really an option. So either I tell Sam (not appealing) or I suck it up and just try to get through the weekend (also not appealing).
The longer I sit there, the more I come down from the initial shock and the more I think I might need to just keep my mouth shut. Sam didn’t do anything wrong. Why should she have to suffer? And Grayson is clearly no longer an option for me either, no matter how much I may regret that fact. While I haven’t dated or been interested in dating anyone because I haven’t been able to get him out of my system yet, he’s obviously moved on. Do I really want to yank the rug out from underneath him once again? How callous would that be?
I glance out my window. The grassy grounds are covered with flowers and Bird of Paradise bushes and softly swaying palms. The sea beyond is glittering yellow in the late afternoon sun.
“It’s Isabella’s wedding,” I say finally. “I’m not going to risk ruining it. And we’re here in this amazing place that I’ve really been looking forward to enjoying.” I give Ashley a weak smile. “I’ll let them have their fun and I’ll try to have mine.”
“Good for you,” she says, patting my knee.
“But... tomorrow.” I don’t think I can handle dinner with everyone. I’m just going to order room service, binge watch some cooking shows, and get myself geared up for the rest of the week. “I’ll text them and let them know I’m not feeling well so you don’t have to make excuses for me. Tomorrow, I’ll be ready to go.”
Ashley watches me carefully. “You sure?”
I nod, then smile. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be a fun week, right?”
I don’
t believe that yet, but I’m determined to believe it by tomorrow.
After Ashley leaves, I send out a few texts and order room service. By the time I’m curled up on the bed watching TV and eating a most delicious chicken and mushroom quesadilla, I damn near have myself convinced it really is going to be okay.
I’m a stronger woman now. I can do this.
Right?
Chapter 9
The next morning as I’m getting ready, a rather terrifying thought occurs to me. I immediately dive for my phone and text Ashley.
Me: What if he told Sam?
My heart pounds as I watch my phone, waiting for her reply. What if he told Sam? What if she’s mad at me for not telling her first? My phone dings.
Ashley: Has Sam said anything to you?
Me: No.
Ashley: Then she doesn’t know.
That’s true. If Sam knew, I’d know it. God, I hate this.
Ashley: If he was going to say something, I think he’d done it by now.
Me: Yeah. Okay.
I’m relieved, but not. I don’t know that I like keeping this from Sam.
I go through all my reasoning from last night to see if it still holds. Should I just go ahead and tell her? But in the end I come to the same conclusion. Saying something would only mean drama for Sam, Grayson, and possibly Isabella, and for what? To spare my feelings over a guy I can’t even have? I need to just suck it up and eventually Grayson will be out of everyone’s life and it’ll be over.
My heart clenches at the thought of Grayson being out of my life again, but then I snap myself out of it. It’s not like he’s in my life now. He’s here with Sam, and I just need to deal with it.
I consider skipping the zip line and going to the beach with Isabella and Ashley instead. I know Sam and Grayson are going on the zip line. I’m not sure I can handle being that close.
But after a few minutes’ consideration, I decide against it. That’s what the old Chloe would do: run. Go the safe route. Trying out the zip line is the thing I’ve been looking forward to most, aside from seeing Isabella marry the man of her dreams. I’ve been wanting to go, so I’m going.
I can do this.
The resort’s massive and luxurious lobby is humming with people, including a crowd that’s here for Isabella’s wedding, from what I can tell. Among the many strangers, I see familiar faces: Isabella and Shane, her parents, a few other family members I met yesterday, my brother, my girls and, yes, there’s Grayson too. The crowd seems to be roughly divided into two groups, though one is significantly smaller than the other.
I go to Isabella’s group first, to apologize for missing dinner last night.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks and I nod. She looks stunning in white shorts and a blue midriff top. She’s obviously wearing a string bikini underneath, since the tie behind her neck is visible. Shane has his arm around her waist. They’re both positively glowing and I can’t help but smile at it. I wonder again if I should go with them. Seeing her so happy is lightening my mood, for sure.
But I really did want to try that zip line. If I don’t go, I’m just going to feel like I’m chickening out.
I chat with them a minute, then excuse myself. I take a resolute breath and go up to the other, smaller group. I stop on the outskirts even though Sam and the others are still several feet away from me.
No need to get too close.
“Is this for the van to the zip line?” I ask the guy next to me. I think he’s one of Isabella’s many cousins, but I’m not sure. He looks maybe a couple years younger than my brother.
He says yes just as Sam catches my eye and waves me over. Grayson’s standing right next to her but they’re not touching, thank god.
I steel myself. I can do this.
I smile at her, thank the kid, and head over, trying not to look at Grayson even though I can feel him watching me approach.
Bobby is there too, chatting with a girl with big blonde hair and a bright pink shorts outfit. She looks like a big bag of cotton candy. She even has on big hoop earrings and heels. Where in the hell does she think she’s going in that outfit?
Bobby looks a little too absorbed in this girl for my taste. I say hi to Sam and Grayson—grateful for a reason to keep it brief—then put my hand on Bobby’s arm, drawing his attention.
He sees me and smiles. “Hey, you made it. Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” I say, accepting a hug from him. Miss Cotton Candy gives me a cold, appraising look, taking in my denim shorts and olive green tank top.
Oh please. Who is this girl?
“Chloe, this is Scarlett,” Bobby says. Scarlett? Seriously? This day just gets better and better. She’s giving me that thinly-veiled, stay-away-from-my-territory look. “She’s Shane’s cousin,” Bobby continues. “Scarlett, this is my sister, Chloe.”
“Oh!” she says, in a ridiculously high voice, her face lighting up. “Your sister! Well, hi sweetie.” She launches at me and envelopes me in a hug. I try not to cough, surrounded in a cloud of her perfume. “I’m sure we’ll get to be fast friends!” she says.
“Uh huh,” I say, trying not to be impolite, but she’s already gone back to being absorbed in my little brother. Idiot that he is, he’s lapping it up. What is it with the male species sometimes?
“There are the vans,” Grayson says.
My eyes swing to his face involuntarily. It’s the first time I’ve looked at him—really looked at him, close up—since he got here. I can’t keep my heart from reacting, but I’m trying to settle it down. I really am.
He’s not looking at me, and wasn’t talking to me specifically. Just the group. He nods his head toward the circular drive in front of the lobby, which we can see through the big glass windows. Indeed, there are a couple of large, luxurious-looking charter vans pulling in. They’re actually more like little busses than vans.
“Okay everybody.” Shane’s commanding but friendly voice booms over the crowd. “The vans are here. The first one will take you down to the beach with us. The second goes up to the zip line. Have fun. We’ll see you back here for dinner. Six o’clock.”
Some people in the crowd start shuffling toward the lobby doors, while others are a little slower getting started.
“I actually think I’d rather go to the beach,” Sam says.
Grayson and I both look at her.
“I’m not really a zip line fan.” She seems a little irritated, but I’m not sure because she gives Grayson a smile.
“You’re not coming?” Grayson asks, clearly surprised she’s backing out.
“Don’t worry, you won’t be alone,” she says lightly, but I can see the determination underneath. She puts her hand on his chest and smiles at him. I frown. “Bobby will keep you company,” Sam continues. “You two seemed to hit it off at dinner last night.”
I glance at Bobby. He hasn’t heard a word, absorbed as he is with Miss Cotton Candy. My frown deepens.
“And you can get to know Chloe,” Sam presses on, gesturing to me.
Grayson and I exchange glances. I can’t figure out which I feel more right now: panic or irritation. I think I see a glimpse of something like panic in Grayson’s eyes too.
“You said you’d come,” Grayson says, returning to Sam.
Maybe he thinks he can persuade her to change her mind, but it’s pretty clear to me there’s no going back now. He can either go with Sam or go zip lining alone, but she’s not coming. Apparently he hasn’t yet figured out that Sam does what Sam wants to do and not one thing more.
But the joke’s really on me, because here’s what I just figured out.
By not telling Sam about my history with Grayson, I’ve basically given over “rights” to her. I mean, I know it shouldn’t matter, because it’s not like I have any sort of a future with him anyway. But keeping my mouth shut is the same thing as saying, “He’s yours.”
My head’s spinning a bit because I’ve basically turned the tables on myself. If Sam gets tired of Grayson (w
hich she’s likely to do), and if I decided to at least try to mend things between us, I’d be the one breaking the friend rule. Not Sam.
“You have fun,” Sam says lightly. “I’ll see you when you get back.” She goes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on him. And he kisses her back. Right in front of me.
Fuck. If that’s not a clear message, I don’t know what is. What the hell am I even worrying about? It’s over with Grayson and has been since the moment I walked out on him.
I avert my eyes away from their kiss. My eyes land, unfortunately, on my baby brother tossing an arm around Miss Cotton Candy’s shoulders and whispering something in her ear. I can’t hear a word, but based on the looks on their faces and the ridiculous giggle now issuing forth from her mouth, I get the general idea.
Whatever.
I head for the door. I don’t care who comes and who doesn’t. I’m going and I don’t need a freaking escort. Sam and Grayson can figure things out on their own. Why should I care?
I step through the rotating door and toward the charter van. It’s a glorious California day and I am not going to let Sam or Grayson or anyone else get under my skin.
I hear Miss Cotton Candy and her giggling coming through the doors. I glance back and see her and my brother arm in arm. Grayson’s nowhere in sight. Maybe he’s going to the beach with Sam.
Good. Fine. Whatever.
I turn away and take a deep breath of fresh sea air. I’m just going to do my own thing. I know how to be single. I’m okay getting on the van by myself and having a grand time.
There are four guides near the van doors, handing people forms and pens. One guide—a surprisingly squat, heavy-set man—hands me one and I look it over. It’s the consent form. I’d already read it online so I sign it straight away. Meanwhile, the guide is trying to explain why Miss Cotton Candy can’t go zip lining in high heels and with hoop earrings.
She’s trying to argue, but one of the other guides steps in—a cute, athletic guy with an easy-going air of authority—and kindly tells her she can either change her shoes or stay behind.
