by Monica James
But regardless, if I’m the reason London was born, then I’ll bear accountability forevermore because a world without London isn’t a world I want to know.
My father reaches for my mother, but she shrugs from his advances. Kayla’s job here is done. “Let’s go, Ralphie. I feel like celebrating.”
Her heels pitter-patter in a satisfied tone on the carpet as she walks toward London and places a kiss on his cheek. He stands rigid, probably in just as much shock as I am. When she fixes those cold steel blue eyes on me, I flinch.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?”
I refuse to be intimidated by her. “What does?” I spit, wanting her gone for good.
But she knows after today, her memory will never be forgotten. “Being betrayed by someone you love.”
Touché.
No matter what she says, she is right. My dad did use her, only to turn around and sleep with her best friend in the same night, resulting in a pregnancy. Kayla was betrayed by her best friend and the boy she loved.
I remain quiet, refusing to entertain her any longer. The damage here is done.
Ralphie looks at my mom with nothing but remorse. I wish he didn’t have such an impenetrable poker face because I’d give a penny for his thoughts. “Goodbye, son.” He pats London on the back before following Kayla out the door.
I need a minute to gather my thoughts.
This entire time, I thought Kayla was hung up on something she should have gotten over long ago, but now I can understand her bitterness and hatred. What a mess.
Cradling my forehead, I quash down the impending headache. My mom looks broken. I need to comfort her, but she shows us just how strong she is. “Bobby, let’s go. We have a lot to discuss.” Her tone is firm, and my dad nods.
He may have been able to dodge this topic for years, but now, it’s time he fessed up to his sins. No wonder he never wanted London in his life—he’d have to face what he did.
My mom turns to me, but I shake my head, knowing what she silently wants. “Go. London can take me home.”
My parents need to talk, and I’ve already heard more than enough. Both London and I need therapy to erase the very graphic images from our minds.
“Okay, sweetie.” She gives me a gentle hug, then nods at London.
“Ms. Brooks, I’m so sorry.”
But she waves him off. “Don’t be. This should have been dealt with years ago. I now understand your mother’s resentment. But regardless of all this”—she smiles at me tenderly—“you were never a regret, Holland. If I had my time again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Tears prick my eyes.
My father ambles over, his tail between his legs. “I’m sorry, Holland. I should have told you, both of you sooner. I just didn’t see the point in hurting you. It wouldn’t have solved a thing. It still hasn’t.”
London shuffles uncomfortably.
My father acknowledges him briefly. “Don’t hurt my daughter. She is my world, and it seems she is yours too.”
“I won’t,” London replies, never wavering.
They will have their chance to talk, but now, my father has a lot of explaining to do. My parents walk out the door, worlds apart than when they entered. The moment the door closes, I exhale and bend at the waist.
Taking three deep breaths, I process everything, but it still feels surreal. “Princess, I am so sorry. That was not what I intended.”
“I know,” I say, still bent in half.
London allows me the time I need to calm down, but it seems I’ve been on edge since the moment I came back to this fucking town.
“It could be worse,” he states.
I chuckle, but there is no warmth behind it. “How?”
“We could have been brother and sister.”
This time, I laugh, but it’s a mix of humor and wanting to curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep.
Taking one final breath, I straighten, shaking my head. “How is it our life is this fucked up?”
London raises his broad shoulders. “Our life is ours. It may not be ideal, but it seems you literally are the reason for my existence. It’s just more of a reason to reinforce I belong to you”—he brushes my cheek with a feather touch—“and you belong to me. The stars aligned, so who are we to test fate?” he teases.
I smile; his words of comfort are exactly what I need to hear. If this wasn’t so messed up, I could say we are the epitome of star-crossed lovers.
After the events of today, all I want to do is nestle in London’s arms and allow his heartbeat to lull me into a much-needed slumber. But when my cell chimes, sleep will have to wait. Reaching for it from my back pocket, a chill passes over me when I see who the caller is. “Martha?”
“Hello, Holland,” says my usual cheery neighbor. Her grim tone has me biting my cheek. “I know you asked me to call when I saw Lincoln.”
“Yes, that’s right.” London watches me closely.
“Well, dear, he’s here…moving things out.”
I take a physical step backward. “He’s moving out?”
Her hesitation, however, is the icing on this fucking asshole cake. “No, it seems you’re the one who he’s moving out. All your things are on the sidewalk.”
“Motherfucker,” I snarl but quickly backtrack for swearing. “Sorry, Martha. Thank you for calling me. I really appreciate it.” I hang up, seconds away from hurling my phone at the wall.
London spoke of fate. Well, this just confirmed that fate is a sadistic bitch, enjoying a good laugh at my expense.
“What is it?” he asks, gently cupping my curled fist that is crushing the phone to my palm.
“It’s Lincoln.”
His name is an atomic bomb, and the room explodes around us.
London’s nostrils are flared, and his jaw clenches tight. “What about him?”
This was coming, and we both knew it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to digest. “He’s back in New York. All my stuff is on the sidewalk.”
“Motherfucker,” he repeats, understanding my outburst. “So what happens now?”
And that’s the million-dollar question.
But there has only ever been one answer. “I go back to New York and fix this because every dog has its day.”
Today has proved just how correct that saying really is.
Woof.
Once upon a time, New York was my happy place. It was the place that allowed me to escape the sins of my past. But now, as I push the elevator button to the twenty-fifth floor, the floor my apartment is on, I realize coming here was just a temporary fix, a Band-Aid as such, because my demons are back—tenfold.
The moment I told London I knew of Lincoln’s whereabouts, he insisted on coming to New York with me. As much as I wanted him to come, I knew it wasn’t possible. I needed to talk to Lincoln on my own. And London being here would just result in him going to prison for murder.
He wasn’t happy when he bid me farewell at the airport, but he understood why I had to do this on my own.
As he showered me with poignant kisses, the inevitable lingered between us—when would I be back?
Honestly, I don’t know.
I need to sort so much out, but more importantly, I need to figure out Lincoln’s next steps. Someone like him doesn’t just fade into the background, intent on being forgotten. I have no doubt he has something up his sleeve, and until I find out what that is, I’m not going anywhere.
The polished silver elevator doors slide open to the corridor, welcoming me to my once home. But now, it feels foreign and overdone. The grand chandelier hanging from the ornate ceiling has me curling my lip at its snooty feel. I used to love the way it warmly lit up the soft apricot wallpapered walls, but now, it has me craving organic oceanic views.
Coming here has me desperately yearning for London, but I quash down that desire because I need to focus.
The luxurious cream-colored carpet is spongy beneath my sneakers—it’s funny that I never noticed this before. But I suppose t
he reason for that is because I’m usually in heels when ambling down this ostentatious hallway.
The thought has me quickening my steps, desperate to end this once and for all. However, the moment I come face to face with my front door, my courage soon diminishes, and I take a steadying breath.
This is what I’m here for—to get answers—no matter how painful they may be.
With that mindset, I hunt through my bag and retrieve my keys. I’m surprised when they slip into the keyhole with ease as I was half expecting the locks to have been changed. When it clicks open, I forget all reservations and push open the door with newfound bravery.
As I step into the foyer, I pause as a thousand memories crash into me. I was happy here. No matter what’s happened, there is no denying that. When Lincoln and I bought this place, not once did I ever think things would end the way they have.
I never anticipated walking out this door, only to return changed in ways I never imagined. So the question lingers—if I knew then what I know now, would I have left? Would I have been happier living a lie than being faced with the hardships which plague me now?
Observing my surroundings—the elegance, the precision—I know there is only one answer. No. I would rather deal with this shitstorm than live without London again. I’ve already missed out on so much.
I keep that thought close to my heart when I lock eyes with the man I was going to marry.
Although I have seen him a thousand times before, it suddenly feels like I’m seeing him for the first time. In some ways, I suppose that I am.
Lincoln is in a sharp suit with his tie loosely fastened; he looks the part of a successful businessman, totally owning Wall Street. But underneath this perfection lies a very different picture. I know what lurks beneath the surface, and I was stupid not to have seen it sooner.
“You’ve finally come to your senses.” Those are the first words my apparent beloved speaks. What a fucking joke.
He is arrogant and smug. It’s nice to see that in a time of crisis, some things never change.
“Yes, I have,” I reply, playing his game. Walking toward him, I smile, but on the inside, an anger is close to igniting. “Where have you been?”
He grins, the gesture that of a snake sizing up its prey. “Here and there. Besides, I figured you needed time to get over your bout of insanity.”
I blink once, not believing I ever felt a sliver of emotion for this asshole.
Continuing my saunter, I smile and feign innocence. “You’re right. I did need time.” He nods, pleased, but that happiness soon nosedives when I come within reach of his cheek and slap the smugness from it. “I needed time to see what a fucking idiot I’ve been!”
Lincoln cups his reddening cheek, his eyes ablaze as he glares at me. But he doesn’t scare me. I’m not Belle.
“You’re fucking delusional if you think I’d come back here and we’d live happily ever after. I know everything, everything”—I spread my arms out wide—“which is the only reason I’m here. If you weren’t such a chicken shit and had faced me sooner, I would have done this days ago. We are done.”
He stands motionless with his hand still pressed to his cheek. I wait for him to speak, but he simply stares at me.
“You have absolutely nothing to say?”
“It seems you’ve convicted me before giving me a fair trial,” he calmly says, and his unruffled demeanor pisses me off more so.
“Go on then,” I say, gesturing that the floor is his. “Tell me you aren’t a lying son of a bitch. Tell me there is some horrible mistake, and you didn’t sleep with Belle when we were together. Tell me you haven’t played me this entire time because I am all ears. Tell me!”
My last tether snaps, and I go to strike him again, but he grips my wrist mid flight, stopping me. “Don’t play the victim, Holland. It’s not becoming of you. Besides, I’m sure you found comfort the moment my back was turned, spreading your legs for that filthy motherfucker.”
My cheeks redden—not in bashfulness but in anger. I attempt to raise my other hand, but he’s faster and binds both my wrists. “Let me go.” I wriggle wildly, but he only tightens his punishing hold.
“Deny it,” he venomously spits. “You tell me you haven’t slept with him, and I’ll also tell you what you want to hear.” We are fighting in a synchronized dance, the perfect push and pull.
“Unlike you,” I exclaim, refusing to surrender as I lunge forward, pinning him with a glower, “I’m not a liar. I did sleep with London.” His jaw clenches when I say his name. “But you and I are worlds apart because I actually love him. It wasn’t just sex; it was everything. It changed everything. He changes everything.
“You slept with Belle because you’re a narcissistic asshole who craves power and control—something you don’t have over me. You need someone like her to nurture all your insecurities. To tell you what a big, strong man you are, and that no one is better or more handsome than you. That no one fucks harder than you.”
He is seconds away from imploding, which is my cue to continue.
“But guess what?” I stand on tippy toes to level the playing field. “That’s not true,” I mock whisper, leaning in close as his grip slackens. “There is someone better. More handsome. Someone who has far more integrity than you. Someone who fucks harder and faster; someone who knows how to please me…every. Single. Time.” The pause between each word causes a twitch under his left eye.
“Someone who I have always, always loved more than you. London Sinclair has always been your predecessor, and to beat him, you had to lie, cheat, and steal. But now that the truth has been revealed, you don’t stand a chance.”
His jaw clenches, and his measured breaths expose he’s barely holding on. The sight shouldn’t give me this much satisfaction, but it does. Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
With pure arrogance, I state, “I can’t wait until you finally get what’s coming to you, you lying, manipulative—” My sentence remains unfinished however because just when I think Lincoln can’t shock me further, he does.
I don’t realize he’s hit me until the brutal sound echoes in my ears. The sting on my cheek comes seconds later. Staggering backward, I cup my face, stunned.
With his hand still raised, Lincoln appears just as shocked as I am, but regardless of his remorse, I’m seconds away from tearing out his spleen. This is a complete double standard, as I did hit him moments ago, but my slap was a tickle compared to the blow he just delivered to me.
“I’m sorry, Holland!” He lunges forward, but I thrust out my palm, demanding he not take another step as I move my aching jaw from side to side.
“Don’t you come near me,” I spit, my words fueled with anger. “Don’t you dare!”
He thankfully listens but tugs at his hair in frustration. “I didn’t mean it. I just…why would you say that? I love you, and in return, you break my fucking heart! No matter what has happened, I did everything because of my love for you.”
“Love me?” I scoff. “You fucking hit me!” I yank my hand away, revealing just how much he “loves me.” His flinch tells me my cheek is probably as red as it feels.
“You don’t love me. Someone like you isn’t capable of love. You see people as property. Yours to do with as you please. If that were true, then why did you sleep with Belle? Why would you lie to me this entire time? Why would you allow me to believe those letters were meant for me when, in reality, they were your karma finally catching up to you?”
I spew forth everything as I want him to deny it or at least explain. However, all he offers me is excuses.
“I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. But believe me when I tell you what I feel for you is real. I’ve always known you’ve only ever loved me with half your heart, and that was okay because I would settle for anything, rather than not have your love at all.” He keeps his distance, but suddenly, being in the same room with him is too much.
Most would soften at his confession, maybe even forgive him for his a
ctions, but I’m not most. His admission has me wanting to murder him all the more.
“What I felt for you,” I snarl, “was based on a lie. You lied to me. For years. You twisted the truth. Both you and Belle did. You deserve one another.”
“I don’t want her.” He swoops forward, attempting to touch me, but I leap back as he will never touch me again.
My actions don’t go unnoticed. “Tell me what you want. Anything and it’s yours.”
“Are you seriously bargaining with me? There is nothing”—I shake my head once—“nothing I want from you.”
Signing over full custody of Emily to London crosses my mind, but I have to watch my words when it comes to her. If Lincoln gets wind of my train of thoughts, I’m frightened my good intentions will backfire.
“Where is my stuff?” I ask, so done with looking at Lincoln’s face.
“In our bedroom,” he replies while I shudder that once upon a time, it was, indeed, ours. “I’m presuming Martha has been her usual nosy self. But I was trying to smoke you out. I would have never given your things away.”
I can’t believe I stayed with this asshole without force.
“You were the one hiding out, not me. You were hoping this would pass, but this time, there is nothing to hide behind.”
“After everything we’ve been through, you’re really going back to him?”
Stepping forward, I swallow down my revulsion at breathing the same air as him, and bluntly state, “He was always with me. In here.” I place my fist on my chest over my heart, softening when the image of my name tattooed on his chest flashes clearly in my mind. “He never left.”
Lincoln tongues his cheek, shaking his head slowly. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s the truth, and I’m done with this pointless conversation.
Turning on my heel, I head to my bedroom, ignoring the surroundings because it sickens me that I thought I was happy here. The silk draped king-size bed turns my stomach for many reasons. At the forefront is the fact I slept next to that lying son of a bitch. I can’t help but wonder if Lincoln brought anyone here for a quickie on all those long nights I spent at work?
