Never Say Never (Written in the Stars Book 2)

by Brittany Holland

  She turns into me, and softly whispers, “Piers? I’m so glad you finally came.”

  Piers. I snatch my hand away, as if her words burn my skin, then let myself out, locking up as I go. It was definitely time for me to get out of there.

  This was a bad idea. A completely fucked up, unnecessary idea. The worst.

  Because instead of finding anything out, all I found out was how much I want her…and how much she wants him.

  #####

  Scarlett

  Everything is hazy. Someone is here, a man. But I think I’m at home. So it must be him.

  Who else would it be?

  I feel his tender touch, and shift to get closer to his warmth.

  “Piers? I’m so glad you finally came,” I whisper.

  But he doesn’t say anything. He’s leaves me…just like always.

  My cheek grows cold in the absence of his touch.

  My head. I can’t shake this fog.

  Something else is on my cheeks now. Something hot. More tears?

  No, not tears. I can’t. Don’t cry…don’t cry. Not with mascara on. It’ll run, and Mum will be so mad. Think happy thoughts. I try…but the light fades.

  Everything goes dark again as I’m pulled under by the ghosts of my past, the smell of smoke tickling my nose, the stench of alcohol surrounding me in a fog of unwanted memories.

  I sit so still, my seven-year-old muscles hurt—as still as those creepy stone things with ugly faces and pointy wings on the top of buildings. I don’t dare move while my mum puts the sticky black stuff on my eyes, a cigarette nearly touching my cheek as she holds the wand to my face. It’s bright orange end burns brightly in the dimly lit room. A colorful threat.

  “Open.” She exhales smoke into my face as I press my red lips in a tight line, holding my breath, but careful not to mess up my lipstick. “Blink.” She continues putting the dark goop on my eyes. The same stuff she always put on Jasmine’s. The same stuff that was always running down her cheeks when she came home at night. I don’t want to look messy like Jazz. I miss her.

  Even though she hurt me, I still miss her. With eight years between us, she took care of me. I think about the last time I saw her a few weeks ago. I don’t know why she was so mad. She came home again with the black on her cheeks and saw mum brushing my hair. Maybe she was just jealous. Mum always says how my hair’s golden white like an angel, and how it would make the men love me. I don’t know why I needed men to love me. I just wanted my mum to love me.

  “Open. Blink,” my mum orders, sweeping it on, her voice startling me, the movement causing ashes to flutter down my cheek. I jump back, afraid of the burn as her hand slips, the wand hitting my temple.

  “Dammit! You little twit! Look what you’ve done now!” she yells in my face, the smell of alcohol burning my nose.

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” I whisper.

  “You’re sorry? Sorry? I’m sorry too! Sorry I had you and your worthless sister. Sorry my son died.” I try not to cry, knowing it’ll only make her yell more. “If I would have had boys, I wouldn’t have had to worry about this. Boys take care of their mothers. Girls…girls are good for nothing whores. That’s all you’ll ever be, you and your sister.”

  I try not to cry as she squeezes my jaw in her hand. I don’t know what she means, but I’ve heard men call her that a lot, so I’m pretty sure it’s bad. “Naughty little girls don’t get to play dress up,” she spits out as she takes her thumb and silences my whimpers by dragging it across the seam of my lips, smearing red lipstick as she goes. I can’t help the tears that fall. I try to blink them back, but they won’t stop coming.

  “Stop crying, you little brat.” She squeezes tighter.

  “Please, Mum. You’re hurting me,” I cry.

  “Look what you’ve done to your mascara. Whiny little babies get locked up while Mommy goes to work to get candy.” She drops my face when there is a loud knock at the door. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, brat. Go wash your face. You look like a filthy whore.”

  She drops her cigarette on the ground and steps on it as she turns to go answer the door.

  I run to the bathroom, locking myself in. “I’m going out, honey. There’s food in the fridge,” she yells as she slams the door. I know she’s lying. There’s never food in the fridge. There’s hardly any food at all since Jazz left.

  Looking in the dirty mirror, I take in the black marks under my eyes and red smeared all around my lips like a clown. “No, no, no!” It’s all over my face.

  I grab the cleanest towel I can find and turn the faucet on, the pipes making a scary groan. Letting the water run from brown to clear, I wet the towel and wash my mouth, trying to wipe the red away. It looks like blood on the dingy tan cloth. Then I scrub and scrub my cheeks until they burn, but it’s not all gone. I panic and scrub some more, until it hurts.

  I cry and scrub.

  Scrub and cry.

  I’m a good girl. I’m not naughty. There’s no food.

  All her words are lies. I’ll never be like her.

  Sitting up with a gasp, I take a deep breath. There’s no smoke. I’m home. My home.

  I’m safe.

  Standing, I stumble to the toilet. I wince at the harsh light before looking in the mirror.

  My face is clear. No streaks.

  No red. No black.

  No shame. No tears.

  Just me.

  I exhale a sigh of relief and splash some cold water on my face before lifting a palm full of water from the tap to wet my parched mouth.

  After I’m finished in the loo, I return to the couch where I chase my dream—the good one that came before her.

  A man. His touch. A cloth. So gentle. I’m safe.

  It was all just a dream.

  Chapter Six

  Scarlett

  After showering until there was no hot water left, I felt almost human again. Thankfully Teddy made me take aspirin after he brought me home or I’d have an even worse hangover.

  Pulling out my mobile, I ring him as the car pulls away from my flat. Three rings later, he answers.

  “Morning, love,” he quips.

  “I know very well it’s past lunch, you arse.” I slide my sunnies into place. “I’m actually calling to say thanks for showing up last night.”

  Silence.

  “Teddy?” I ask, careful not to raise my voice. My head is still banging.

  “Look, I know I had no business tying one on with this deal looming over the weekend, but I didn’t expect Piers to drop a bomb on me like that. So thanks for crawling out of your hole to bail me out,” I carry on.

  “What are you talking about? I was in my office ‘til nearly dawn. I didn’t come. I told you I couldn’t,” he replies.

  “Quit being cheeky, Theodore Stone. It’s not funny.”

  “I swear to you, I would never joke about something like that. I told you I couldn’t meet, love. I’m telling the truth.” His voice is filled with concern. Great. Just what I need—him worrying over me the way he does. “Where were you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Other than still being a little pissed. I just stopped off at this pub on the way from Piers’ flat last night.”

  “Christ, Scarlett! You could have been mugged!” Fail.

  “I’m fine. I told you. And please, lower your voice,” I shush him.

  “What were you doing at Piers’?” he asks, and I hear what he’s not saying in his tone.

  “Calm down. I didn’t do anything. I drove him home after bumping into him at the office. He had some rather interesting news to share and he had a few drinks.”

  His silence lets me know he already heard the big news.

  “Obviously you know. It’s fine.” I brush it off. “I drove him home. End of.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks quietly, ever the big teddy bear, always so worried about everyone. I wish it could have been him I fell for and not Piers. But Teddy is just a brother to me.

  “Well, I’ve been better,” I an
swer honestly, surprising myself. I really need a filter today.

  “Where is your car? Are you on your way to the country yet?” he asks.

  “No, headed to the office now to grab a few papers I need first, then taking a car service. My car is home, but I don’t feel like driving,” I tell him, although I have no memory of how it got there.

  “How the hell did your car get home if you were too drunk to know who got you home?” he grills me. Shit!

  “I don’t know. But I know I wouldn’t have driven it pissed,” I snap. “There are a lot of black holes in my evening.”

  “Scarlett, you’ve got to be more—”

  “Just pulling up to the office. Ring you later,” I interrupt and end the call. Taking my sunnies off, I massage my temples and lay my head back against the soft leather for the last couple blocks, trying to gather my thoughts.

  What the hell happened last night?

  The sun is blinding as I exit the car and walk toward the office. I’m so glad to be taking a car service this weekend and not driving. Even with all this bloody rain, mother-nature manages to save up all her sunny goodness for the exact moment I’m walking outside. I instantly regret my decision to leave my sunnies in the car. Squinting, I find my way to the door, just as it opens. “Morning, Miss Scarlett.” Our guard nods with a knowing smile.

  “Morning, Otis,” I reply, knowing it’s well past noon.

  “Hair of the dog?” He chuckles.

  “Already done,” I reply with a smile, hoping the Chanel no 5 covers the booze seeping from my pores.

  I ride the lift up, holding my head with one hand and the railing with the other, willing the movement to stop. The doors open, providing me an escape. I was hoping to avoid seeing him altogether, but I left that damn file on his desk. The whole reason for going in his office last night was that missing document. Then he dropped a bomb on me and the Anderson papers were lost in the shrapnel of my mind as I picked up the pieces of my heart and left.

  I really need to get on the road for the retreat. I’m already behind. Maybe his assistant can help me. Mine’s still on family leave.

  “Harriet?” I call out, seeing she’s not at her desk. Shit! Where is she?

  “Piers! Where the hell is Harriet? Look, I should have already been gone, I just need the—” I barge into Piers’ office, still a little pissed, but doing my best to hold it together.

  Nothing could have prepared me for what stood behind that door. Literally.

  The hair of the dog long forgotten, my hangover is back with a vengeance.

  My gaze collides with Willow, who’s still as a statue with no expression on her face. My thoughts exactly. Piers’ eyes fly to mine, so many emotions flashing through them, and I get a little motion sick.

  “I…um, pardon the intrusion, Piers. I wasn’t aware you had…uh…guests,” I stutter out, praying I don’t throw up and make an even bigger fool of myself.

  Piers clears his throat. “Yes, well. Willow, you remember Scarlett?” Willow glares at him as I look at her.

  “And, Scarlett, you know Willow.” I nod, pulling myself together and extending my hand. “Delightful to see you again.” I nearly choke on the words as the lie tumbles out.

  “I wish I could say the same,” Willow mumbles under her breath, crossing her arms in defiance.

  “Fair enough,” I mutter. At least she’s being honest. For the first time, I notice the small boy holding Piers’s hand, and I’m nearly knocked off my feet. The resemblance is frightening. There is no denying that’s his son. As much as it hurts me to know he has a child, a family that’s not mine…I can’t help but be happy for him. He deserves a happy ending.

  “Scarlett, this is Drew. Drew, this is my mate and coworker, Scarlett.”

  “You look just like him.” I move toward Drew, still stunned, only realizing I said it aloud as soon as Willow gasps.

  “Like who?” Drew questions innocently, and I’m mesmerized by this small boy.

  “Your father,” I blurt out, then slap a hand over my mouth, realizing my mistake too late. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “Scarlett!” Piers scolds as Willow steps forward and gently tugs Drew along, causing his small hand to slip from Piers’.

  “Come on, Drew. It would seem Mr. Nichols has some...work to tend to after all.” Her tone chills the room by ten degrees.

  “But I don’t want to go,” he whines.

  “Let’s go look for more busses,” she attempts to persuade him.

  “Okay,” he agrees.

  “Willow, please. Lunch!” Piers brushes past me, chasing after them—after her. Just like always. “Please, just wait.”

  “Fine. We’ll go on ahead to the pub and wait,” she tells him, lowering her voice. They exchange words while I press a hand to my stomach, feeling ill.

  I watch them, and there’s no doubt the fire is still there. Even tension is a spark. They get into the lift, and he turns back toward me, eyes burning with anger.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” he yells, slamming the door to allow us privacy. The noise sounds like a gong inside my head, banging repeatedly.

  “With me?” I’m confused by his rage.

  “You. Look. Just. Like. Him?” he grits out, and I cringe. “Really?”

  “Piers, it slipped. Honestly, it did,” I say, trying to convince him, too ashamed to confess the reason for my dim-wittedness today. That last night I was pissed out of my mind, so much so, I blacked out…and all because I was devastated by his happy news. “I didn’t know they would be here, and seeing them, seeing him…I was shocked. Can you blame me? He really looks just like you.”

  His face softens a bit.

  “What have I told you about barging in?” He exhales a heavy breath as I take one and try to explain.

  “Harriet was gone. I honestly had no idea they were here. But I was looking for the additional files Anderson requested.” I walk to my desk and begin looking.

  “Fine. Grab the files and be on your way. Good luck this weekend,” he tells me, gathering up his things to leave.

  “Good luck? That’s the best you can do? What about the files?” He’s really leaving?

  “What about them? Find them on my desk. They should be on the top. Since you’re so capable, as you seem to like reminding me, it should be no problem,” he snips out, hitting his mark.

  “So you’re just gonna chase after her again?” I throw my hands up in the air, the movement reminding me I’m not completely sober.

  “I’m not chasing, not that it’s any of your business. This is about Drew. This has nothing to do with Willow.” His face is red, and for the first time in a long time, I feel Piers’ anger directed at me. And I know he’s lying. This may be about Drew, but this has everything to do with Willow.

  “Like hell it doesn’t! You always take her side!” I can’t stop, even though I know it’s not fair. I know it’s going to make him even angrier. But I can’t help it. When do I get to be angry? When is it my turn? Will he ever choose me?

  “It’s not about sides,” he growls, grabbing his jacket and walking away. “It’s not about you or me. Or her. It’s about him. My son,” he yells as he walks out the door.

  “Open up your eyes and think past yourself for a fucking minute, Scarlett.” He slams the door shut, and the sound is as loud as thunder booming around me. Another perfect storm I’ve found myself in the middle of.

  I walk on shaky legs to the desk and collapse into his chair before letting my head crash forward on the desk. Taking deep breaths, I try to keep the tears at bay, but they pour from me and fall like rain. And for the first time in a long time, I let them, bleeding myself dry of their salty betrayal. Tears for every wish I wasted and every dream that never came true. Today is just another sad reminder, that not everyone gets the fairytale. He was supposed to be my storybook ending, but she was his happy ever after.

  ####

  Cohen

  I woke from a nearly sleepless night. After walking the str
eets of west London to clear my mind, I didn’t climb into a cab until just before dawn. Tired of taking cabs and needing a driver for my trip to the country, I called in a favor to an associate for a driver—someone who works for cash and doesn’t ask questions, the perfect combination for a delicate situation.

  While waiting for him to arrive, I go for a run, hoping to relieve some of the tension coursing through my veins. It has the desired effect on my body, but my mind still works overtime, trying to make sense of this all as I stand in the shower washing away the sweat from my run. My past, James, his illness, the company, Piers, and now Scarlett.

  Thoughts of her invade my mind, and I’m tempted to end the shower with cold water, but a message alerts me the driver is here. Tick-tock, I remind myself.

  Our first stop is Scarlett’s. And it’s not just about the plan. I’m really wondering how she’s recovering. Last night was…pretty fucked up.

  I’ve never been so careless before. Something about her was unexpected, in a way that makes me want to see what else she’s hiding behind the façade she’s built so carefully around herself. Seeing her so vulnerable last night left me unsettled—and that’s not a state I’m comfortable being in. Before I have too much time to dissect what that means, she emerges from her house as a car pulls up. We follow her to the office. I send Harry, my driver, for coffee, as I stand in my preferred spot across the street from Piers’ office.

  Not long after Scarlett enters, I catch a glimpse of fiery red as Willow and her son exit. Oh, shit. That probably didn’t end well for anyone, and she doesn’t look too happy. They walk away, and the lad points to a sign ahead, The Ships Wheel pub. Deciding to get my head in the game, I leave my self-assigned post and head to the pub, careful not to be seen as I cross the street and hurry past them into the pub.

  Shooting Harry a quick text to let him know there has been a slight change in plan, I order a drink and wait. Not quite sure what I’m going to do, but hoping to at last get close to Willow, I stand near the bar. The bell jingles as they step in, and the barman hollers, “Pick a seat. Anywhere ye like.”