Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  I welcome the heat the moment it wraps around me, the smell of cookies and sweets fill my nostrils as I glance around the place. It has a homey feel, the walls painted in an off blue with a twinge of green. Wooden shelves stack up behind the counter where they stack the to-go coffee cups and mugs for people that want to stay. Pastries line and overflow in a glass showcase and only a few people with laptops and books fill the area.

  Standing behind a man ordering his beverage, I can’t help but notice his business attire. The black slacks and white shirt with his matching coat hanging over his arm. The older woman behind the counter brings him over his coffee and a small brown bag while wishing him a good rest of his day when he quickly spins on his heels and almost bumps right into me.

  “Oh, shoot, sorry,” he laments, holding up his coffee over my head so I don’t dislodge it into me. When I peer up at him, my eyes practically bulge from my head as I stare up at him.

  There is no fucking way.

  “Did I spill anything on you?” He looks me over real quick as I remain silent, then his eyes fall back on my face. “You alright?”

  I open my mouth, but that’s all I got.

  I want to ask him why it takes days for him to text me back and why is he so vague all of a sudden. I need to ask him if I did something wrong or if he’s alright. His friendship was something I enjoyed, and I’ve been doing a lot of losing lately, so he wasn’t something or someone I wanted to add on to the list.

  “Are you…” I point my index finger at him. “Is it you?”

  “Depends on who ‘you’ is? I’m a lot of things.” He sends me a stomach-flipping smile, and that’s when I know it’s him. His words, that damn smile that creates small wrinkles by his eyes.

  “Chase.” His name comes out like a mumble, a little desperate, but that’s because it is.

  I need him to say that it’s him. I need a damn break right now.

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m Chase.” His eyes squint. “Do I know you?” My face falls, I feel it, all the way down to the floor.

  “It’s Reagan,” I assert. “We’ve been talking, I mean, texting.” His brows snap together. “You’re a lawyer, right?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah.” He begins to fidget with the lid on his coffee cup, using his index finger. ”I’m sorry, did I meet you at a party or something? I haven’t been out lately, been in court, so I’m sorry if—”

  “We met on the Bumblebee app.” He stares at me for a moment, probably racking his brain for a response or answer, but he shouldn’t have to.

  He shouldn’t have to because if it was Chase I’ve been texting with, he’d react a whole different way than the confused look I’m getting from the man in front of me.

  I’ve been fucking catfished.

  I take a step away from him, ready to flee right back out into the cold. “I’m so sorry,” I concede. “You’re not him. I must’ve been—”

  “I do have the Bumblebee app, but I haven’t been speaking to anyone on it. Not in a while anyway.”

  I give him a shaky nod. “Okay...thanks.” I pivot around only to almost trip on my own feet when a strong hand catches me.

  “You’re her, aren’t you?” Stranger-Chase asks in a low rumble. He helps me straighten myself, and I turn to face him. “The fifty-year-old bagger lady?”

  “The what?” My eyes are on fire as I try to keep the tears that are already in my eye ducts at bay.

  Stranger-Chase studies my face, looking for confirmation or if he’s trying to remember me, I don’t know. He doesn’t talk like my Chase. He’s too normal. Too concerned and not...Oh my God…

  “You’ve been...shit.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Listen, I know this looks bad but—wait, are you still talking?”

  “What?”

  “To him—I mean, well—” He finger quotes. “—’me’. He hasn’t mentioned it and—”

  “Who hasn’t mentioned it?”

  “I know this isn’t ideal, but I swear he means well. He isn’t trying to be malicious or—”

  “I have to go,” I blurt, stepping back from Stranger-Chase and pivoting for the door.

  Shoving it open, I pray I break it off its hinges.

  I pray that my heart slows down so that I don’t land in the hospital right next to Mama.

  I pray that I can look at Marty again and not feel distant from him.

  I pray that I can forgive myself for staying with Wade and letting him remain in my life when Demi warned me off because I can’t take anymore.

  My mind can’t comprehend any more surprises. My head feels like it’s been whipped and jerked in a tornado just to land into an alternate universe where my whole life is a lie.

  I guess I wasn’t as good as I thought I was with keeping my guard up, but I was trying to learn. I was attempting to make a new chapter for myself and live a happy life.

  But this section of my story just turned dark, lonely, and hopeless in means of making some life-altering decisions again.

  I led myself here. I denied the fact that I was stepping into quicksand with Wade and still lingered around like a sixteen-year-old with a mad crush on someone who had the world in his hands.

  Wade couldn’t save me because he can’t save his damn self. He’s not my Superman but Batman, a dark shadowy figure that sticks around with all his pretty gadgets of words and declarations.

  And I’m the fucking Joker.

  ♫ Somebody Else — The 1975 ♫

  "There are two men in her hotel room right now," my P.I., Mavin, says over the phone. "We've got some good pictures from across the way but nothing scandalous enough to show her infidelities. She closes the curtains when...when things might be getting more hot and heavy, sir."

  Tapping my pen on my desk, each word that leaves his mouth makes my frown deepen. Demi is one smart bitch to make sure her surroundings are literally well covered.

  But it’s not going to halt a damn thing.

  I'm going to lasso this woman by the neck and hang her myself for the shit she's done. The dumb bitch almost killed Reagan's mom, and then what? How in the fuck would I be able to live with that, knowing that my sin was the culprit behind murdering my girl’s mother?

  Being president doesn't matter anymore, not when it comes at a price. Not when it strings along Demi and all her diabolical plans of destroying everything around me while keeping me safe from harm. She can't off me if she wants to become the next First Lady, so she'll leave me miserable and down on my knees in agony while she gets to reap the benefits. I should've gotten rid of her a long time ago.

  A long ass time ago.

  I let my career step in the way like it always does, sacrificed myself to appease my dream, pettiness, and stubborn nature to prove a point, and for what?

  And now Reagan is paying for it.

  That stubbornness I just mentioned, it’ll be the death of one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

  I tell Mavin to keep on his task and report back to me tomorrow, earlier if something more interesting comes up when my phone buzzes in my hand.

  Reagan: Please tell me you’re around. I’m about to lose my mind.

  I can't help it when my brows fall because she hasn't texted me yet. But then again, Reagan started off as my safe haven, maybe Chase is hers. Not that I fucking want him to be, but I'm in no position to deny her anything she needs or wants right now.

  Me: I’m here, Sox, what’s up?

  Reagan: Have you ever dealt with death before?

  My eyes bulge out my fucking head. DID HER FUCKING MOM DIE?! I exit out of my texting app to call her but stop myself.

  I have to stop myself because I'm not supposed to know shit, she’s saying this to my alter ego. The one I should've never made up, the lie I've been holding on to, the shit I can't come clean about because she'll never forgive me—ever.

  How would I ever explain it, I don’t even have the words. Not ones that would be good enough anyway.

  Pushing myself out of my own head,
I go back to her text with shaky hands.

  Me: Who died? Are you okay? What happened?

  Reagan: I did. Today.

  Me: Talk to me, I’m here.

  Reagan: I don’t think I can even though I need to.

  Me: Since when don’t we talk about everything? Even the shitty stuff, Sox, it’s what friends are for.

  Reagan: I thought we were so much more than that. I wanted to be so much more.

  My heart yields its next beat because I know for a solid fact how I’m reading into this.

  She had her heart open for another man, but she had me forcing myself on her instead. I've been trying so hard to be what she needs, what I can promise her. I'd give her the world and the moon and every single fucking star if she wanted it.

  Me: I’ll be whatever you want, Sox. Just talk to me.

  Reagan: Have you ever felt your heart slowly crack open? When everything happens all at one time, and you can feel the sick infection of spoiled words and things you believed were true?

  Me: Really bad things?

  Reagan: Yes.

  Me: What kinds of things?

  Reagan: But how do you forgive that and everything else? How can you look at a person you’ve known and overlook their lies?

  Me: Time. They say it heals everything.

  Reagan: I don’t have time. Not anymore. It’s up, been up, and I’m ready to break free from it all.

  Me: Sox, you’re breaking my heart over here.

  “And you broke mine.” My head jerks up to see Reagan standing in the doorway of my office with tears streaming down her face. Her skin blotchy red, looking as though she hasn’t slept in a year or two.

  She more than likely hasn’t, especially after everything that has transpired in the last few days.

  And now this—my truth and lies.

  My body is frozen to my chair as she stares at me with conviction and misery glistening in her violet eyes. Even hatred, it’s there because I know what it looks like. I’ve looked at myself in the mirror for years peering at my own reflection and despising who I’ve become—what I am.

  My phone suddenly rings, and I steal a glance, seeing Reagan’s name showing up on the screen through my hidden app.

  “Hey, Yank.”

  Fuck.

  Slowly, I haul my gaze back to her. “Reagan.” I croak, forcing the muscles in my legs to push me to stand.

  This is the moment I’ve been dreading and haven’t wanted to deal with. I’ve been trying to rid Chase from her life and mine—a real/fake person that should’ve never lay between us.

  “What are you…”

  I know why she’s here.

  She knows.

  She knows every fucking thing.

  “You don’t get to call me by my name anymore,” she rebuffs, staying grounded in my open office door where my staff bustles behind her.

  Some glance over, quickly averting their gaze when they see me upright behind my desk, and aware that I can see them.

  That I will fire them because I’m that dickhead that can’t handle being judged and prodded because I’m Governor Wade Lockwood—the cold-hearted, mystery man who no one knows because I don’t want them to. There is nothing that lies underneath my skin that will win the favor of the people. Nothing besides wanting to take down the corrupt and build a new future for other people because I can’t for myself.

  Up until Reagan.

  My phone buzzes again in my hand, and I quickly peer down at it, Chase's name showing up with the message, "I met the fifty-year-old bagger lady today”.

  My nostrils flare, aligning my gaze back to hers to be met with a glare that holds so much hatred that it pierces right through my chest cavity.

  “Me and you,” she sneers through her lips. “We’re—”

  “I can explain everything,” I tell her, rounding my desk with my hands held up in defense. “I swear, baby, it’s not what you think. It’s not—”

  “Motherfucker, you played me,” she seethes, clutching her phone in her hands. “You led me to believe that there was someone else. Someone who cared enough and wanted to be there for me.”

  “I do,” I retort. “When it started, I didn’t know you yet. It was an outlet for me, I never thought I’d meet you—ever.”

  "So, what, that gave you the audacity to continue? To string me along? To fucking lie to me?!" Her voice is shrill, shaky, and determined.

  Determined to cut my dick off and feed it to me.

  Resolution to pounding my face in until it caves while she watches me die in front of her. I'll take the latter so that she's the last fucking thing I see because I deserve it. I merit everything she's saying, and I’ve earned losing her in return—again.

  “Come inside,” I coo gently. “And we’ll talk about—” She jerks away as my hand reaches out for her.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” she fumes, eyes constricting as another tear falls from one of her eyes and hits her cheek.

  My whole soul is breaking in front of her, but it's not me I'm worried about making it out of this alive, it's her.

  I’ve loved her for what seems to be forever. Fate couldn’t be so awful and cruel to put her into my life only to yank her away. Not when it knows that my demise will follow shortly afterward.

  “Reagan,” I start again. “I never thought you’d end up working for me. I didn’t think we’d end up here. It was never to hurt you, I swear. You were the only one I could talk to freely without knowing who I was. And when I met you, I didn’t know how to make it stop. You were still there, talking to me and—”

  "So, this is my fault?”

  I violently shake my head. “No, absolutely not. It’s mine, I know that. I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how—”

  “Don’t say another word to me,” she upbraids, wiping the tear that just fell. “We’re done. Don’t ever come near me again. If you—" Call me an asshole, but I yank her into my office and slam the door behind her.

  We’re not doing this.

  I’m not and can’t do this. She can be mad, livid, pissed, but we're not done. I won't accept that shit. People fuck up all the time, and she needs and will forgive me.

  Reagan lurches away from me like I’m a disease and stumbles back a step. I guess I am one. I embedded myself into her body, mentally and physically, just to cause a bad reaction of loathing and sickness. The kind that you never forget and wish you could be rid of with every ounce of your being.

  “You don’t seem to like to listen,” Reagan sneers. “I wasn’t looking to have a full-blown conversation about it.”

  “Reagan,” I start, shoving my hands into my pockets so that I don’t have another urge to touch her. “Please believe me when I say that I never ever wanted to hurt you. I would cut every single one of my limbs off for you. Shit, I’d cut my dick off if I could take back everything to—”

  “It wouldn’t make you any more useless than you are now, Lockwood. You were an absolute waste of time and energy on my part. And I was stupid enough to let you in. You’re married and look at what happened—” She points behind her to the door. “—my mother is in the hospital because your crazy bitch of a wife lit her fucking house on fire!”

  “I know, I’m—”

  “What? Working on it? Here’s a fucking thought—” She takes a step in my direction, her body oozing every amount of hostility that I’m feeling towards myself. “—why don’t you get in a car, go pick her up, and drive off a fucking cliff with it. That way, you'll solve my problem. You...you're a fucking bastard, and you'd have to mean something to me for me to give a fuck about you being an obstacle in my life. I'm just tired of you showing up out of nowhere unannounced. I'm tired of how you think you have the right to ask things of me. And I am so fucking tired of you.

  “I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want to look at you, feel you, hear you. You've been nothing but a good fuck, and that's about it. You made me come so hard, and I loved every single moment of it, but as far as a future…" She scoffs. "That s
hit is potently never going to happen. I hate your life, who you are, what you are. You can't satisfy what I need, and that's a—"

  "A man that will submit to every little fucking thing you say?" I challenge back, unable to keep the anger from my own tone. "Because I never made it easy for you? You’re too chicken shit to open up to me because you're scared and—"

  “There’s nothing to be scared of except what your wife has—”

  “Stop calling her my fucking wife,” I snap, clutching the cloth inside my pockets. “We’ve been through this already. I’m not—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not married,” she seethes. “You are married, you fucking tool. That bitch holds your last name, and, honestly, you two deserve each other. You are both deceitful and—" I latch my hands on to her biceps and squeeze. Harder than I should.

  Harder because she's breaking me down and cutting into too deeply, and I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on.

  "You might be pissed off at me right now, Reagan, but I told you I'd give this hellhole of a life up for you. I will divorce that cunt right the fuck now, and I won't look back. I can't apologize for the shit I haven't done because there was no you. There was no other reason to—"

  “Stop accusing me of being the reason for you not moving forward with what a normal person would do! You’re a grown-ass man, Wade. And you brought me into your little web of fucked up and crazy. And I’m—” She thrusts her hands down, hitting my forearms to release her. “—done.”

  She whirls on her feet, striding for the door, but I follow her. Before she can open it, my palm blocks her escape, landing on the barrier that keeps her here with me. That keeps her from running away from me, where I have to chase her and beg for forgiveness. When she leaves this room, it'll be harder to get her alone. It'll be a fucking shitshow to get her to stay the fuck still and listen to me.