by Monica James
Rubbing my temple, I attempt to decipher what in God’s name just happened. How did we end up here? Were Lincoln and I doomed from the beginning? Are our differences winning out in the end?
The past few years weren’t for nothing, but the man I saw tonight was not the man I fell in love with. The man I thought I knew would fight for what’s right. He would fight for us, but he didn’t. He rolled over, all because of the ghosts of our past? If so, he isn’t the man I believed him to be. I suddenly feel as if I’ve been sleeping with a stranger.
Something doesn’t add up, it hasn’t for a long time, and I know the answer lies with one person, well, two.
“Mom…” I have to go.
“I know,” she says, even before I’ve finished what I started. Turning to look at me, she brushes the hair from my cheek. “Just remember…we all make mistakes.”
I have no idea what she means, but I suddenly feel nostalgic.
If only I had spoken to my mom in the past, told her about my feelings, then maybe, just maybe things would have turned out differently for us all. But that’s the thing about hindsight; it doesn’t make a lick of difference when you’re always destined to be on the same path.
I hail a cab and am thankful the street is littered with a sea of yellow. I can only hope that relief continues when I venture down the boulevard on the quest to find out the truth once and for all.
It’s hard to believe I’ve only been here a few days, as it feels like I never left. I never anticipated my life could alter so dramatically in the blink of an eye. I also never foresaw that I’d be stepping into this bar ever again.
I don’t bother with pretenses, and after being patted down by my new favorite security guard, I make a beeline straight for the bar. The place is crowded, packed full, but seeing as I don’t want to order a drink, I walk over to the end of the counter and hail a young bartender. The mohawked server doesn’t see me, but sadly, London’s squeeze does.
Her eyes narrow into slits when we lock gazes, but I stand tall and wave her over. If she decides to ignore me, I have no reservations pulling her down this long aisle by her hair. She tosses the dishcloth she’s holding onto the bar and whispers into mohawk’s ear.
He looks me up and down and snickers, but nods.
She saunters over in no real hurry, obviously knowing I’m here because I need something from her. She owes me no favors, and I’m sure she’ll ensure I know it. “What do you want?”
It’s so loud in here, I have to scream to be heard. “I need to see London. Is he here?” I don’t see the point in sugarcoating it.
She tongues her cheek and shakes her head. “You’ve got some nerve coming here. Just in case you didn’t know, Sin is my man.”
If she’s looking for a fight, then she has another thing coming. “My condolences,” I bite back, annoyed. “My name is Holland, and I…”
I linger midsentence because her reaction derails me from my thoughts. She looks as if I’ve just solved some longstanding mystery. “You’re Holland?”
“Um, yes,” I reply, unsure if this is a trick question.
Her entire demeanor goes from bitch to scolding lover in a nanosecond. She marches forward and jabs her finger in my chest. “Get out. Now.”
“Excuse me.” I swat away her hand because she has three seconds to remove herself from my personal space before I snap her finger. “Get your hands off me. I don’t know where they’ve been.”
“If you don’t leave, so help me god…” She tries to intimidate me by thrusting her fake boobs into my chest. I do not appreciate the sentiment in the slightest.
“What are you going to do? Suffocate me to death?” I push back twice as hard, getting into her face, refusing to back down. It’s survival of the strongest, and I eat little girls like this for breakfast.
Just as I’m about to resort to hair pulling, a strong hand grips my upper arm and spins me around. It takes the wind from my sails, but when I see London standing before me, a little intrigued, but a lot pissed off, I’m rendered incapacitated.
“Why are you here?”
Regaining my composure, I yank from his hold and match his heated glower. “What happened to Belle?” The room drops to subzero temperatures.
London is the only person I know who will tell me the truth. I could have gone to her parents, but they never cared about their daughter, and I don’t see that changing over the years.
“Did you hear me?” I press when he stands before me, weighing up what to say.
This is not exactly the response I was hoping for. I’d hope he’d tell me Belle was living the high life with the man of her dreams. But his troubled expression reveals I’d hope wrong.
“Why is she here? Throw her out now.”
“Sandy, enough!” London growls, running a hand through his snarled hair. Even I recoil from the wrath behind his words.
Tears prick her eyes, but she bravely blinks them back. “After all this time, I finally get to meet the third wheel.”
Her comment winds me. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Just as I’m about to ask her, London latches onto my arm once again and drags me away from Sandy, who allows the tears to break past the floodgates. A small part of me feels sorry for her because I know what it’s like to be held under London’s spell.
But I have other things to deal with, like London dragging me through the crowd like some underage troublemaker. I could attempt to break free, but I’m hoping wherever he takes me has the answers I desperately seek.
I’m surprised when we walk through the door together and my ass doesn’t hit the pavement. “Is she causing trouble again?” asks the security guard.
I roll my eyes at him while London tightens his grip around my bicep. “She’s always causing trouble, Manny. That’ll never change.”
I don’t appreciate being hauled away like some criminal, but when we continue walking, headed toward the parking garage, I seal my lips and wonder what happens now. London escorts me to a monstrous black Chevy pickup, where he opens the passenger door.
“Get in,” he commands when I stand still. Breaking from his hold, I scrunch up my nose, far from impressed with his demands. When I open my mouth, prepared to give him an earful, he steps forward, caging me in his burn. “You can either get in of your own accord, or I can help you.”
There will be no helping on his behalf. “You wouldn’t dare,” I contest, but yelp when he bends at the knees to pick me up, intent on throwing me over his shoulder.
I dance out of the firing line, hands raised in surrender. “Okay, fine.”
Without much of a choice, I climb up the step and boost myself into the truck. I’m in six-inch heels, but I don’t let that deter me. Once I’m settled, I make a point to reach for the seat belt and buckle myself in. Satisfied, he slams the door shut, the reality of what I’m doing sinking in.
I watch as he rounds the hood, clearly frustrated. I secretly exhale in relief when he opens the door and gets in beside me. The motor comes to life with a roar, a reflection of how we both feel. Neither of us says a word when London puts the car into drive and sails into traffic.
Now that I’m semi-rational, the consequences of my actions hit home. Lincoln is probably never going to talk to me again, but that was a probability even before I decided to walk into the bar. I have no idea what is next for us. I saw a side of him I didn’t like—it made me feel like I was only ever worth covert kisses.
Turning to peer out the window, I watch as my life flashes me by. So much has changed, but could it be some things haven’t changed at all? I refuse to believe Lincoln is someone other than I believe him to be. The past few years cannot have been for nothing.
The rest of the ride pans out in silence, but the unspoken is enough to fill in the stillness.
Before long, the salty smell of sand and surf permeates the air. Snapping from my thoughts, I see we’re in Santa Monica. I’ve always loved this neighborhood. Still a touch of bohemia lingers. London takes
a left and drives up a long driveway, coming to a stop at a keypad. He punches in some numbers before the boom gates open, granting us entry.
I’m still deathly quiet as he parks the truck beneath an apartment complex and kills the engine. Scoping out my surroundings, I shrug. “Why are we here?”
“Because I live here.” There is no further explanation.
When he jumps from the truck, I figure that’s my cue to do the same. I unsnap my belt, a bundle of nerves. I don’t let it show as I very ungracefully dismount from the beast, almost re-twisting my ankle. I straighten out my dress, however, head held high.
London’s lips twitch, but that’s where the humor ends. He reaches for a set of keys from his pocket and enters the stairwell. Again, I’m presuming I’m to follow.
As each floor passes, a weight settles heavier in my stomach. I have no idea what I’m walking into, but just like always, I trust London. When we finally reach the fifth floor, London opens the stairwell door, holding it ajar for me.
I brush past him, instantly engulfed in his warm scent.
“Which way?” I ask, the huskiness to my tone betraying my nerves. London points to the left.
I make my way down the very sophisticated looking, glassed hallway, but it doesn’t stink of arrogance or wealth. I have no doubt this place with ocean views straight to the west and all the way up the Malibu coastline would cost a small fortune, but something is almost homey about it.
It’s quiet, something that doesn’t happen often in this town, but the serenity helps clear my head. Just like the rolling waves beyond me, a sense of calm surrounds me and sweeps away the anxiety.
When we stop at door five fifteen, I take a deep breath. I have no idea what’s just beyond this door, but I’m ready to find out. It whines open like the hinges on my heart when I step inside this beautiful home.
I don’t know what I expected his residence to look like, but this is something else.
The first thing that hits me is how bright and buoyant it is. The open kitchen, living, and dining areas are surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass, giving me a three-sixty view of the breathtaking scenes. Peering upward, a white staircase and pleated railing reveal the elegance continues on the second floor.
“Do you want a drink?” London asks, disturbing me from my gawking.
“Sure. Thanks.” I continue gazing around, taking in the sights, liking what I see.
A painting on the far wall in the living area catches my eye, so I walk toward it, wanting to take a closer look. When I see what it actually depicts, I stop dead in my tracks, barely breathing. It’s spectacular, the centerpiece a sycamore tree resting innocently beneath a star-filled sky. I’ve seen this before, not on paper but in my head. I’ve relived this moment too many times to count because it kicked off a chain reaction which changed my life forever.
“Here.” I jolt, lost in memories. London passes me a beer.
This seems so civil; I’m waiting for the catch. Is someone going to jump out of the closet and shake things up further than they already are?
“I promise I didn’t spit in it.” I recoil backward because is he making jokes now? As he tosses back his beer, I sense he’s as nervous as I am. This can’t be good.
Needing the courage, I take a long sip, cringing at the bitterness, but the moment the bite hits the back of my throat, I relish in the taste. I have no idea how this is going to end. He knows why I came to him, but I still don’t know why I’m here.
“London, what’s going on? As much as I hate to admit it, you’re the only person who will tell me the truth.” The desperation is clear, but I’ll beg if I have to.
“What happened tonight?”
A sarcastic snicker escapes me. “I have no clue. Lincoln just transformed from loving fiancé to gigantic jerk in a heartbeat.”
London shakes his head, the anger rising. “He’s always been a jerk. That’s never changed.”
“Well, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think, considering last I checked you weren’t exactly in line for sainthood.”
“I never claimed to be. You knew what I was, who I am, yet here you are,” he offers, tipping his beer in salute before he downs the entire bottle.
His smugness irks me. I place the beer on the glass coffee table before I’m enticed to use it as a weapon. “I’m here because you owe me answers.”
“And you owe me an explanation as to why the fuck you would ever consider marrying that asshole,” he snaps, his breath leaving him in winded exhalations.
I take a physical step backward before I slap him. “Because I love him,” I weakly reply, but London sees straight through me.
“You do not.”
“Don’t you dare tell me who I do or do not love. I’m not sixteen anymore.”
His gaze scalds my flesh as he studies me from top to bottom. “I can see that. But even then, I never told you who you should or shouldn’t love.”
My lips clamp shut. Where is he going with this?
He takes one step forward. I take two back. But my retreat only seems to spur him on. “Why are you here?”
“I told you…” I swallow, suddenly feeling like prey.
“You’re here for answers.” He fills in the blanks but seems unconvinced. We continue our slow dance around the living area, me retreating, he advancing. “Why don’t you ask your perfect fiancé?”
His antagonism is not helping, and I suddenly regret coming to him for help. “Just forget about it. I should have known nothing would have changed between us.”
I turn to make a mad dash for the door, but London reads me like a book. He steps to the left, blocking my exit. “Move out of the way,” I demand, but he doesn’t budge.
“You’re right; nothing has changed between us.” I have no idea how to interpret his comment because it can be read in so many different ways.
His arrogance is my undoing, and I charge forward, ready to lay all my cards on the table once and for all. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who left me!” I jab my thumb so hard into my chest, it’s bound to leave a bruise. “You’re the one who ruined me, and now, now, I think…I think I’m broken,” I confess to not only London, but also myself. What other explanation is there? “You broke me.”
I hate how weak I sound. I hate myself even more so when tears leak from the corner of my eyes.
“Princess…”
But I don’t want his sympathy. All I ever wanted was his love. “No, don’t.” I retreat when he attempts to console me. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I just want t-to k-know the tr-truth.”
“Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“Why? My tears never seemed to bother you in the past! If I remember correctly, each tear was a notch on your victory belt.” Big, fat ugly tears cascade down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away as more will only take their place.
He closes his eyes, pained. “That’s not true.”
I can’t stand this a second longer. With wrath as my driving force, I storm forward, pressing us front to front. “Then why did you do it? Why would you play me like that? I never thought you hated me that much!”
He hisses, turning his cheek, my words slapping him harshly.
“Tell me the truth, please, just this once. Please.” A god-awful sob escapes me, and I know it’s the first of many to come. “I can’t do this anymore. If you feel anything, anything at all for me, please just tell me the truth.”
This conversation is ten years in the making. It was inevitable it would come to this.
London’s shoulders slump, and he finally, after all these years, he finally surrenders…to me. “I wasn’t the one to move away without a word! You knew where I was, but you just vanished. You disconnected your phone; how was I supposed to call you to make sure you were all right?”
“You c-called me?” The stutter highlights my utter surprise.
“Of course, I did! It was like you disappeared, but after a while, I knew you di
dn’t want to be found.” He bites his upper lip, sucking the scar deep into his mouth.
“You could have tried harder,” I whimper, unbelieving what he just revealed.
“I did try! Ask your dad how hard I tried.”
“My dad?” The room begins spinning. “What has he got to do with this?”
When London chews over his scar once again, lost in the past, I remember my mom’s ambiguous warning. “We all make mistakes.”
I had no idea what she meant, but now, I think I do. “My father gave you that, didn’t he?” He raises those soulful orbs, but he doesn’t need to reply. The answer is reflected deep within. “Oh god.” I hug my arms around my middle, needing a minute to collect my thoughts.
“For obvious reasons, I couldn’t ask your parents, but after a while, I just couldn’t stand it. I knew I was committing suicide by knocking at your front door, but I had to know where you were.”
I blink past my tears, clinging to this small snippet of information, hopeful it’ll lead to more.
“I begged your parents to tell me where you’d gone, but your dad had every right to throw me off that porch and beat the living shit out of me. I hurt you, and I deserved everything I got. After everything I put you through, it was long overdue.”
I cover my gaping mouth, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Once he was done, your mom told me that you were happy, and that if I felt anything for you, I’d leave you alone. I’d let you live your life and not interfere because you deserved a chance to be happy.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my breakdown. It sounds like something she’d say. But little did she know, London was my happy.
“What she meant was that you could never be happy with me. And she was right. What kind of future could we have?” He exhales heavily, interlacing his hands behind his nape.
“So everything you said to me…the night we made love, was that all bullshit? Just to get in my pants? To teach me a lesson?”
