Breathe (Hollow Ridge Book 2)

by C. L. Matthews

  While it paid next to nothing, he was happy, blissful, and trying. Something I think every human could hope for—joy and contentedness, even while unrealistic.

  When Dad put a ring on that psycho bitch’s finger, I rebelled. Can you blame me? She stepped in, being this perfect trophy wife, doting on him at his time in need. In reality, Marsha made Meredith Blake look charming.

  I hated her and, in turn, hated my dad too. A spoiled brat? Perhaps. A daughter abandoned for fame? Sure. A broken shell of a girl, forced to grow up? Definitely. Call it daddy issues or whatever you think is befitting, but after Dad threw me wherever he could, moving me from place to place, and marrying that gold-digger, Wes became everything I needed to get back at him for moving on.

  Mom had only been missing for four years. We don’t even know if she’s alive, safe, or scared.

  Yet he moved on.

  How could he?

  Either way, Wes became more than just a ploy. We bonded through our fucked-up upbringings. I mean, he had it bad. He’s poor, never staying in one place for too long, and always struggling to live. At least I’m loaded. Or was. We both went through a lot before turning eighteen, and it built this safe place for me to go to. Even while he doesn’t know my entire story.

  Climbing up the steps to our place, I notice a tattered package leaning against the door. Sweet. Maybe it’s my custom apron that I’ve been waiting for since graduating. It has J. Moore embroidered on the left breast pocket. It was my one splurge after Dad stopped sending me checks. I really couldn’t blame him since I’m his mess of a daughter. The one that refused to study law or become a politician like he wanted for me. The one who defied, partied, used his money for trips across the world, and did whatever I wanted because I could.

  Josephine Moore, the mayor’s damnation.

  Tabloids loved to hate me, and I hated to hate me.

  My fingers wrestle the key into the lock, and I unlatch it to head inside. Pushing the battered door, it makes a loud yawning noise. When the package nearly slips from my grip, I tuck it underneath my arm.

  It’s an absolute mess in here. The couch is covered in used blankets, Wesley’s clothes are strewn about, and the goddamn dirty dishes everywhere makes me nauseous. He’s a slob, so much so, that I feel like a maid rather than a girlfriend.

  Shutting the door, I’m immediately met with the sound of moaning. It fills my ears obnoxiously, in a loud shrill way that could only mean one of two things.

  Porn or—

  “Oh, Wes! Harder, Wes!”

  —my boyfriend cheating.

  My ears bleed. Not physically, but the pain is just as brutal. The eardrum bursts open as I hear the sounds of her mewling like a porn star. My heart collapses in my chest, deflating like the balloon my neighbor Sarah popped of mine on my fifth birthday.

  My mind flips through the past few days, months, and even the almost two years we’ve been together. Memories flicker in my mind as contemplation sinks in, and every situation, mood, and days spent away from Wes skitter across my mind. No matter the imagery, I can’t recall a change in him. Did I love this blindly? The notion to run floods my veins like wax drying, thick, heady, unmovable. What did I do? It has to be me. It’s always me. The constant hours, the never being around... it’s my fault, right?

  Instead of freaking out, I allow a calm to settle. Like when you straddle a board, waiting for the surf, and just feel the ocean beneath you and the air surrounding you, it frees me. I open our bedroom door to her on all fours while my boyfriend’s dick thrusts in and out of her ass. Bare. It takes everything in me not to gag. We’ve never done that, let alone without a condom. I’m glad. With my luck, this isn’t his first pump and dump in a cumdumpster.

  He doesn’t turn immediately, not until she gasps. “Wes, stop!” He turns to me then, all six feet of him staring at me in surprise.

  Well, yeah, motherfucker. I’m surprised too.

  His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, sunken and dry. He’s high again. I turn away, not wanting to see the visual of him inside her for longer than I already have. It’ll be burned into my brain.

  Memories don’t fade.

  They reside on our skin like a living brand, making sure we never forget the past.

  “Josey,” he gently tries, his voice heady with emotion. Hurt blooms inside my chest as I shake my head at him, going to our closet. Whenever he called me by my dad’s nickname, my body ached in an intrinsic way. He did it to connect with the broken part of me—the one that misses my mom, wishes my dad wasn’t heartless, and hopes life would be less of a dick.

  I grab my travel bags from our closet, realizing they’re not nearly big enough to carry everything. Two years of growth. Dust wafts from the movement, and I start piling everything I can fit of mine in them. I have a lot to bag up, and not all of it is physical either. Some exist deeper. Emotional damage, the wounds that never drain and heal will only get deeper, sicker, and more detrimental with time.

  Years I’ve wasted. That’s the one thing we never have. Time. It tricks us, thinking we have it, own it, and have the capability to manipulate it, but that’s the biggest lie of all. It has us. It owns us. It manipulates us. We’re just too dumb to see it.

  “Hotwheels,” he calls out from behind me, the pet name from a story not meant to be slices through me. I refuse to turn to him. Refuse to see his body that’s tainted. Refuse to be broken by something I can’t control. Again.

  I’m not weak. I’m not malleable. I’m not a victim.

  “Don’t,” I bite out, barely holding in the tears. No. I won’t cry. Not for him. Not for them. Not for me. “Let me get my shit so I can leave.”

  “It was a mistake,” he pleads, his voice small and apologetic. My hand grips a hoodie, my fisted fingers crumpling it as the pain of his betrayal presses into me.

  “A mistake is falling off your surfboard and causing someone else to crash along with you. It’s not sticking your dick in some random chick’s ass in our bed. And fucking raw. You’re so dumb, Wesley. We’re done.” I say these words with a fierceness I don’t feel. It’s all a façade. It’s a front to save myself; it’s my mesh guard for the cold bitter bite of love.

  “Please look at me, Josey. I’m not lying,” he implores, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard him. But it doesn’t matter because he’s not getting a second chance. Second chances are for people willing to change. Yet for as long as I’ve known him, change isn’t something he’s capable of. He’s okay with staying as is, being content but not happy, being financially fine but not stable. He’s accepting of a standstill, but I’m not.

  I turn to him, seeing his chest, the one I’ve touched and loved and cuddled. It’s all him, it’s us, it’s nothing.

  Tears prick my eyes as they catch on eight words tattooed on his rib, the one I have a match of on my own. His inscribed with still like the sky, free like the waves while mine is be free, not still. The one that’s tainted now. He has done that. And it’s not my fault.

  “It’s over, Wesley. We are over.” A clean break. Like a goddamn butter knife to the flesh.

  Ever heard of sarcasm?

  His eyes close, and he folds his arms over his chest. I’m afraid if I stay, I’ll forgive him. If I let him talk to me, he’ll convince me that he’s a good guy... but he’s not. He’s not a good guy. He’s the villain of this fucked-up fairy tale. Or maybe it’s me. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  Opening his eyes to gaze at me, tears well up. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. The sincerity is there but makes zero sense. If he’s sorry, why’d he do it? If it was a mistake, why’d he risk it? If it wasn’t meant to be, why’d I ever love him?

  “I’ve forgiven you for many things over the course of our friendship and relationship, Wes. But this...” I gesture to the room behind us, a heaping mess of never-meant-to-bes. “This is not something I can move past. I’m not even sure how I’m not stabbing you right now,” I whisper, my throat constricting with fresh wounds.

  “I
t’s because you fell out of love with me,” he replies, matter of fact, his voice bereft. He scratches his chin as our gazes meet with confusion. “Don’t you see it, Josey?” He waves his hands, gesturing to the room, but refering to our relationship. “You stopped caring what I did ages ago. It was always about being a chef and what you wanted. You forgot what we built together. This wasn’t the first time, but you never noticed. At first, I wanted you to notice me, feel the pain you brought, but you abandoned me... just like your pops did to you.”

  “That’s not what happened,” I bite out, bitterness coating my tongue, threatening to spew out and be as morbid as my thoughts.

  “Then tell me, what the fuck happened to us?” he implores, running both hands through his hair before pulling it at the roots.

  “I died inside.” With those words, my scars burn. All of them, the ones across my entire body, meaty and grubby. My answer is as close to the truth as he’ll ever get from me. He could have done so many other things in this world to get answers, but this? Anything but this. In the entirety of our relationship, he never asked about them.

  Not the ones on my arms.

  Not the dozens on my thighs.

  Definitely not the ones on my chest.

  “Babe,” he tries, using the single most boring word in the world, but one I allowed for the sake of his care. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s too late for that. Don’t you see? This is goodbye, Wesley. It was fun while it lasted.”

  “Don’t leave,” he begs, touching my arm. I whip it back, feeling like he’s invaded my space, my life, and my traitorous heart. I smack his hand away hard and take my bags with me. To hell with all the stuff I didn’t get. He can keep it. Along with his stupid surfboard he bought me. As I leave the apartment, I close another chapter in my life.

  Dad isn’t going to be happy.

  Will he even help me this time?

  Fucking Marsha. Fucking Wesley. Fucking Lucien.

  They can all deep throat a cactus.

  Chapter Four

  Two Days Earlier

  Toby

  Let me start by saying that I never intended to fall in love with my best friend, who also happened to be married to my brother. I never wanted to break apart a family or derail my own life in the process. I never wanted to be my father. Married to the bottle, lusting after the pain, and sleeping with someone who wasn’t mine to sleep with.

  Whether my intention or not, it happened. It’s my fault.

  It is what it is and isn’t.

  I made my bed, and now I must lie in it.

  She chose him, and I lost. Now, it’s time to pick myself back up and stop moping.

  Many things contributed to the fall of Tobias Hayes, restaurant conglomerate business owner. Me. I’ve done it all to myself, but even with that acknowledgment, I’m bitter and have been hugging the bottle again. Some would belittle me for my lack of purpose these past few months, but I blame love. Love ruined me. Kissing me with death and lies, love promised everything by masking it with feelings. In the end, it gave me nothing but a heart sickness that darkened my existence.

  That was over two years ago. Since then, I’ve been on a constant bender. Drinking. More drinking. And you guessed it, even more drinking. When Jase asked me to leave, I wanted to fight tooth and nail against it. Why did he get to choose? Listening to him belittle me while I threatened to erase myself from his life wasn’t something I’d kindly accepted.

  Then Lo—his wife—asked me to, and it changed my entire outlook on the ordeal. It’s her. She matters. Her happiness means the world to me. It has since we were sixteen and met for the first time.

  I’d destroy anything if she’d only ask.

  And that’s the problem.

  I always push even when the door says pull.

  Her asking me to vanish triggered this spiral. After two years, it’s time to move forward. As much as a man like me could go.

  She visited me after Jase kicked me outside of their house, practically begging me to give her a fresh start. And in return, it’d give me the same.

  “It’s too hard, Tobe. Being around you is difficult enough, but being around you while Jase and I are finally on the same page... is impossible. I know. It’s not fair of me to ask, it’s not even okay to, but I need you to go. Whether it’s for a while or to one of your other restaurants in another state, I need this. You need this,” she pleads. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and the sincerity in her voice has me nearly falling to my knees.

  She needs this.

  Me... gone.

  “You’re all I’ve got, Sparkle. You’re everything to me,” I mutter, stunned speechless by her request. She wants me to go away? No more morning runs, coffee stops, late-night phone calls, movie nights, or times with Ace and Jazzy? My stomach implodes on itself, dropping entirely with implications of what this will mean. She takes my surprise as her cue to continue.

  “I’m not meant to be your everything, Tobe. You know it as much as I do. We were destined to break each other, not fix each other.” Tears spring in my eyes as hers pour over. “I’ll always love you, but it’s not the kind of love that’ll last. Not the love you deserve—definitely not the life you deserve,” she finishes, her voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it. My best friend, the one I’ve spent my entire life loving, caring for, and wanting, she wants me out of Hollow Ridge, my home.

  She sobs, noticing my silent tears. Her shoulders shake, almost as if this admittance hurt her more than me. All this time, she knew—she knew it’d never be more, but she selfishly clung to me—stealing all my opportunities to find and secure a forever kind of love. She did that. And actually coming to terms with this hurts a hell of a lot worse than I thought.

  “Okay,” I concede, realizing this would be the last gift I’d give her. I won’t argue or fight it; I’ll just let it happen. Because regardless of how much we both wrecked each other’s lives, she deserves to be happy. As does my brother. Even if he hates me once again. Even if I did this. Even if I deserve every disgust-filled word he slings my way.

  She doesn’t say anything else but rises up and kisses my forehead as I’ve done to her on so many occasions. My eyes close on their own accord, absorbing the last morsel of love she offers. She lingers for a moment too long before pulling away.

  “Goodbye, Sparkle,” I whisper, my heart detaching from my chest with my last flattened words.

  But it’s too late because she’s already gone.

  I walked away. For once, I did the selfless and right thing. To my own stupidity, I thought it’d make me feel better, but it didn’t. All I feel is this insatiable loneliness. One deeper than the bottomless ocean, vast and wide and never-ending.

  Now, I’m stuck on repeat like she was once before. Except in this story, I don’t have someone to rein me back—to fix me—to save me.

  She had me.

  I have no one.

  Two months ago, I woke up in some random hotel, deciding to stop boozing it up. It should be simple enough, right? This isn’t how my story has to end, which is why I made the choice to change. I’ve been in Hawthorn ever since. It’s not where I intended to go, but it’s far enough away from Hollow Ridge that I can breathe and so can they.

  Getting out of bed, I take a quick shower and decide to start my changes. First on the agenda today, I need to do what I should have done two years ago.

  Calling Daphne, the head hostess at Su Casa, I’m given a newfound hope.

  “This is Su Casa. Where everything that’s mine is yours,” she chirps cheerfully into the phone.

  “Daph,” I say, “Will you get Raul on the phone? He’s supposed to be there right now.”

  “Of course, I’ll check in your office. One moment please.” She puts me on hold, and I straighten my spine, gathering courage to not bail out. She asked me to leave. Now, I’m finally doing it. Took five months, but I’m ready. I can do this.

  “Raul, here,” my financial adviser answers.

  “I need you t
o draft some papers for me. It’s a perfect time since you’re already there.”

  “How convenient,” he says exasperated. “What for?”

  “I’m signing it over to my sister in-law.” He makes an unrecognizable noise at the back of his throat.

  “Are you sure? She’s never managed a business before. She might burn it into the ground.”

  I smile, knowing he’s wrong. Whether a new job position or the weight the world is brought down on her, Sparkle would thrive.

  “Positive. Have them delivered to her by the end of week.”

  “You don’t want to take a day and think on it? This is a huge gamble. She hasn’t been back here in two years, Toby. She’s probably already moved on.”

  “It’s worth the risk. Get it done.”

  “Of course,” he mumbles; his lack of faith has me smiling even wider. At least he’ll be surprised when it soars, just like I know she will. She deserves to be happy. I want that for her.

  By the time I get everything in order over the phone, I’m searching my email for updates across the country. I’ve missed many conference calls and updates on my new venues. But life goes on even if I’m not around. It’s the beauty about having a manager at every location. They can handle all the stuff I’m not babysitting as long as all the numbers add up.

  One email stands out as I’m scrolling.

  You’re invited to our seventh annual... clicking on the link for the email, I scroll, noticing it’s from the Culinary Con event coordinators. Their names are signed at the bottom. They’re always trying to get me to attend this event. Every year, I donate, but not once have I shown up. It’s one of those events where boring businessmen and women pile together and flash their money. They buy chefs, hookers, and they drink profusely. Either way, it’s a shitshow.

  RSVP here, a link sits, waiting for me to make a dumb decision. Sobriety. I’m supposed to try that.

  I hover over it, wondering if I should take the dive, but before my head decides, my phone rings.

  “Yeah?” I say, picking it up. It’s my business cell.