by Ward, Alice
When my father died, the world as I knew it had changed, but it had gone on spinning. This, this breakup or fight or whatever wasn’t nearly as kind. It was serrated and vicious and cruel. I was being torn from the inside out, and I didn’t know how to make it stop because I’d never thought it would start.
Without saying a word, I strode past her to the stairwell. I heard her slipping off her chair behind me and her footsteps following in my wake, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t turn around. What was I supposed to say? The only thing I’d meant to happen in coming to Fawn was living up to the expectations of the board and my late father, but Gretchen was the dark horse who’d thrown all my questionably ethical plans to the wayside and made her affection a more desirable acquisition than her property.
The footsteps stopped at the landing while mine continued down the steps. I looked back for a split second as I closed my fingers around the doorknob. She watched me from the top of the stairs with fresh tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks. My innards hollowed, and I left.
Everything is fucked up.
My boots thudded against the ground as I rounded the building to my car.
None of this was supposed to happen.
Out of her presence, the rage was welling up within me again, swallowing the guilt.
What am I supposed to do?
I unlocked the car, threw myself into the driver’s seat, and listened to the engine purr to life.
Why did I let myself get in so deep?
I didn’t pay attention to where I was going. I just drove. Comfortable streets lined with sidewalks and professional landscaping became winding roads intruding upon thick forests, and vintage streetlamps surrendered to the foliage as my headlights became my only guide. The sunset was waning, but under the balding canopy of overreaching tree boughs, it might as well have been midnight. I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal and hoped nobody else was trying to outrun their problems on the snaking back avenue.
The clock on the dash blinked with passing time, and the orange gas gage drooped lower by millimeters, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still too close. Too close to Fawn, too close to Gretchen, too close to myself. I’d become both predator and prey, and the humble rental was an incompetent ally.
I finally came to a stop when the road ended abruptly. A shovel-shaped beach overlooked the mouth of an elegant harbor dressed in plush evergreens, and the sun was tucked in for the night to allow a spread of white-gold stars to wink cheerfully overhead. I blinked at the utopic vision.
“Well, there it is, Pennington.” I breathed in deeply and tapped my fingers on the wheel. “You’ve run out of road, and you’ve run out of options.”
I looked out over the water, the navy waves licking the suede sand, and I remembered the sailboat.
Light blue ripples…
Rich, golden sunshine…
A taut body bending…
And pure, honest, soulful green eyes. In those eyes, I saw everything I ever wanted and everything I thought I’d never have.
“No, fuck this. You’re not going out like this.” I threw the car into reverse, deafened the tendrils of my growl with a hike to the radio volume, and punched the gas. The last thing Gretchen saw of me wasn’t going to be my back, and it wasn’t going to be anytime soon.
I cared too much about her to let my dad’s cursed empire force my hand to let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Gretchen
I stood at the top of the stairs for a long while after Cash left. The blank face of the door stared back at me, sometimes taunting and sometimes sympathetic, but always final. My skin was emanating heat, yet I couldn’t stop shivering.
It was over. Our relationship was shaky enough in its strangeness without the drama of Harlan Dade’s call or building permit rumors. I didn’t see how we could pull through an argument like the one we’d just had when our entire foundation was unstable, let alone how we would fare going forward if we did.
Our worlds were simply too different to mesh comfortably. Hell, our immediate goals were literal adversaries with each other. For the first time, Madam Adam had read the cards wrong, and I was left alone in the apartment above the shop I would probably be forced to give up soon with the ashes of my heart being ground into the carpet beneath my feet.
They always said that home was where the heart was, right?
I didn’t realize I was crying until a warm droplet splashed on my wrist, and I hastily wiped my face with my arm. Hopefully, the tears hadn’t started until Cash left, but I wasn’t sure. It probably didn’t matter anyway. As soon as I dried my face, more drips cascaded from the corners of my eyes to my chin, and I gave up trying to urge myself into stoicism. If this was the end of my unconventional, tumultuous, passionate, thrilling romance, a weak moment to weep was the least I deserved.
So, I crumpled. I dropped to the floor in a heap and let the wracking sobs pull me apart at the seams. My breath came in heaves, my tears flowed in floods, and I mourned for all the hurt that was twisting and tearing my guts. It was all too much. Pennington’s, Cash, Auras… Too much.
All at once, I was irate. My gasps turned to snarls, snarls turned to roars. The grief coursing through me hardened into vengeful steel, and I shot up off my knees like I’d been struck by lightning.
Who the hell did this board of directors think they were? What gave them the right to march into my town and decide they were taking over an entire block without a care in the world for those who’d already established thriving businesses and the history of the place? Was money truly the only thing that mattered?
And Cash, where the hell did he get off walking into my life just to walk out again? He didn’t make me have feelings for him, but I’d seen his eyes. I’d felt his touch. He felt something for me too, damn it, but he planned to choose a paycheck over us?
A dragon released from its prison, I exploded with the kind of aggression I’d never felt and only experienced when my dad realized my mom filed divorce papers. The essential oil diffuser I kept near the stairs to greet visitors upon entrance went flying, smashing against the living room wall in a dozen shards, spilling a puddle of peppermint-scented liquid on the rug. My series of chakra symbol canvases careened across the room with a swipe of my arm. The pain surging through me was wicked and sinister, and I couldn’t stop myself from the destruction. If I did, I was sure to implode.
The table where I had several unfinished bracelets laid out was within reach, and I toppled it over. Beads rolled across the carpet in disarray, their colors scattering about with the same haplessness I was feeling. A candle, previously lit but blown out from the wind of my flailing limbs, slid across the coffee table and doused the floor with hot wax.
I was out of control.
Chest heaving, I forced myself to take several deep breaths. I had to get a grip. Destroying my apartment wouldn’t change what had happened, nor would it ease the burn of my crushed heart. Drawing in a hoarse wheeze, I expelled the air and inhaled again.
A sharp, acrid smell met my nostrils. I stilled, trying to determine the source of the odor. It wasn’t the wax melting into the fibrous carpet, nor was it an adverse effect from the spilled peppermint oil. But it was very present and becoming more potent by the second.
My smoke alarm went nuts, screaming at me to do something. “Shit!” I whirled on the spot and darted into the kitchen. In my emotional frenzy, I’d forgotten about the dinner I was cooking.
Charcoal-gray smoke was streaming from the edges of the oven door. I yanked it open and broke out into hacking coughs immediately as a dark plume clouded my vision and suffocated my lungs. Inside the appliance, brilliant orange flames danced to a beat I couldn’t hear. The pizza crust was as black as the oven walls, and I could barely see it through the fog.
Instinctively, I snatched mitts from the hooks beneath the cabinets and shoved them onto my hands, but I didn’t get further than an inch or two into the oven before retreating through another round of choking co
ughs.
The flames started stretching outward beyond the limits of the oven, and I inwardly cursed myself for failing to clean food and grease remnants from the racks like I should’ve. My panic rose as I desperately sifted through ideas to stop the blaze. Throw water on it? The stove was electric, the plug hidden behind the heavy appliance, and my concerns about electrocution outweighed the benefits of dousing the inferno. Flour? I knew I didn’t have enough flour in my pantry to smother half of the flames.
“Fire extinguisher.” I whipped my head back and forth, looking wildly around the kitchen for the small red tank. There was an extinguisher somewhere in my apartment — I’d made sure to buy one when I’d been required to also purchase one for the shop below — but I hadn’t the slightest idea where I’d put it. There was the option of running downstairs to grab the tank behind the counter, but I was too worried about leaving the fire unattended to brave the quick trip.
“Gretchen.” Through my panic, I heard the deep, familiar voice at the base of the stairwell. “I’m not leaving things like that… shit. What’s going on?”
His footsteps banged up the steps, and Cash appeared amidst the smoke and the mess I’d made. His eyes flicked between me, my strewn belongings, the open oven, and the snapping flames. Alarm split through his brooding expression, and he leaped forward.
“Get out!” he barked, wrapping his hands around my forearms and heaving me from the kitchen like I was no heavier than a beach ball. I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over my feet, and backed into the couch as he grabbed a nearby towel and reached into the fume. He barked a string of obscenities over the screech of the aged rack and jumped back when he extracted it from its shelf, sending it clattering onto the linoleum.
Acting without thinking, I sprinted forward. The fire looked infinitely more dangerous out in the open on my kitchen floor without anything between the snapping furls of flame and the rest of my apartment. Cash threw his arm around my middle as I launched toward the hellish scene. “No! Stay out!”
I didn’t listen. The hand-sprayer attachment on the sink beckoned to me, and I braced against his hold to grab it. Twisting the tap on, I pushed the trigger and aimed the gush of water directly at the raging crust.
His muscles relaxed when the first jet tamped the blaze considerably, but he didn’t release me. I continued my extinguishing efforts until the only thing left on my floor was a soggy hunk of charred dough. Even after the fire was dead, I kept the sprayer poised in my hand out of paranoia, afraid the whole thing would burst back to life.
Cash’s breath was hot on my neck as he panted, his chest rising and falling against my back. “What the hell happened?”
I didn’t say anything. There were so many answers to that question, and only one had to do with my ruined dinner.
Still shaking, I slowly let the hose retract itself into its neat pocket beside the faucet and reached over to turn the oven off. Why it hadn’t occurred to me to do that earlier when I first discovered the fire, I didn’t know, but I was grateful nothing worse had happened.
“I guess it doesn’t matter.” He pushed on my waist to turn me toward him, but I resisted. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I extracted myself from him and skirted my way around the mess to grab a roll of paper towels.
He watched me silently. I could feel his eyes burning into me, probing me, urging me to look at him and have the conversation he wanted. Part of me was desperate to comply, but it was a small part compared to the numbness spreading over my body — both physically and emotionally. I didn’t even want to look at him because his gorgeousness and the memories were like bitter knives stabbing into my gut.
“Gretchen.”
My name was silvery on his tongue, and tears sprang into my eyes again of their own volition. I turned my back to him, and to the ruins of my dinner, to hide my emotion, but it didn’t deter him.
“I’m not letting us end like this.”
“Then how would you like it to end?” I despised the crack in my voice.
He didn’t respond, but I heard the thud of his boots on the cheap floor as he crossed the small galley kitchen to me. Each nearing footstep drew another tear from my eyes until I was practically full-blown sobbing by the time he reached me. Hands snaked around my hips, and he spun me around. I didn’t bother trying to fend him off. I didn’t have the energy.
One finger came to rest beneath my chin, and he tilted my face up to his. Those rich eyes were hooded with purpose as they carved themselves into me. My vision was blurry from weeping, and I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from completely falling apart into his chest, but I gazed up at him and wondered why it couldn’t be easier. Why we couldn’t be easier.
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t specify his apology, but he didn’t need to. There was so much weight in those two words that I felt his regret within them, and it burrowed into the broken part of my soul.
I crumpled. A sob slid from my throat, and I broke down against him. He curled his arms around me to pull me tight to his form, and we stood there, the sound of my pain the only interruption to the silence. My whole body was trembling, but he remained firm and steady. Comforting. There.
“I didn’t mean for you to end up hurt like this,” he murmured into my hair. My scalp prickled with the movements of his lips. “I never thought it would turn out this way.”
“It’s not just you.” I hiccupped and lifted my head so he could hear me. “It’s everything. Pennington’s taking over the town I know and love. The letters and the phone calls and the constant degradation for standing my ground. Never knowing if you’re a double agent or if what’s between us is real. I just… I can’t handle this anymore. I feel like I’m being beaten down.”
He palmed the back of my head, rolling it backward until I was looking him dead in the eyes. “I know.” He wiped away the trickling frustration from my cheeks with his thumb. “That’s why I came back. I needed you to know.”
“To know what?” Hiccup. Sniffle.
“That I don’t give a damn about Pennington’s. I don’t care what they want me to get from you, and I don’t care if they can’t move forward with their project.”
I let out a derisive snort. “How can you say that? You’re the CEO. Your father is the founder of the company.”
“Yeah, and I wish I could tell you I hated my dad because it would make my apathy toward Pennington’s so much easier. But I don’t hate him. I definitely feel some ridiculous, irrational need to fulfill whatever familial prophecy he planned for the business.” He leaned closer, and I smelled his sensual cologne despite the stench in the kitchen and my stuffed nose. “But, Gretchen, I care about you more.”
“You do?”
He nodded, and his lips swooped down to meet mine. I accepted the kiss and reciprocated hungrily, and the hopelessness I’d felt after the phone call and our argument started to fade. Hearing his feelings for me spoken aloud was a dose of strength, and I suddenly felt able to take on everything I’d been about to give up. Including him.
We broke apart, and he peered down at me with a slightly quirked brow. “Can I tell you something else?”
I eyed him hesitantly. “What?”
“You really need to get a fire extinguisher.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cash
I spent the night at Gretchen’s after the fight and fire fiasco. We ate a dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, curled up on the couch to watch sitcom reruns, and spooned in bed after relieving some stress with passionate sex. By morning, the mess was still there, but the typical post-argument awkwardness was gone.
Before I left, I offered to help her clean the place up, but she dismissed me with a wave of her hand and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Abby’s on deck today, so I’ve got some free time to mop and scrub. I’m pretty good with a broom.”
“You sure?” I pulled her in for a hug and tried to shove away the instant recollection of my witchy dream. “You might need some serious
elbow grease.”
“It’s my disaster to clean up. Go do CEO things. We can meet up later.”
I tasted her lips one more time, lightly smacked her butt, and departed. My steps were light on the way to my rental, and I cheerfully tapped my finger against the steering wheel in rhythm with the radio as I drove, but the dark cloud I’d pushed aside last night started creeping overhead.
By the time I reached the bed and breakfast, I was engulfed by the realities of my present situation. Though I’d come to terms with my feelings for Gretchen, I was still obligated to Pennington’s to secure her land and facilitate the new store construction. Everything had changed, yet nothing was different.
Back in my room, I started pacing. I needed to talk to someone, to sort my thoughts out verbally and make sense of myself, but I was reluctant to do so. Drew was hardly the type of sympathetic ear I was searching for at the moment, and I was furious with Harlan for calling Gretchen behind my back. I did want to find out how he knew about us, though I didn’t want to make that call while the anger was still fresh for fear of making a big problem bigger.
So, I called the only other person I could think to call under these circumstances. My mom.
With all the family money and luxuries available because of it, my mother was an odd duck. She still wrote paper checks rather than giving in to the technology of credit cards, her email tended to have thousands of unread messages at any given time because she checked it so infrequently, and she refused to carry a cell phone on her unless she was out and about — which she’d only agreed to after my dad insisted it was for her safety. Therefore, when I dialed her cell and got the voicemail, I wasn’t surprised and tried the home landline instead.
“Pennington residence.” I didn’t recognize the voice on the other end, but I assumed it was a member of Mom’s staff.
“May I speak to Carol Ann, please, ma’am?”
“Of course, sir, who may I say is calling?”
