“Okay,” he exhales and steps closer to the edge of the cliff. I stand a foot or two back. If anyone was going to fall off these cliffs, it would be me.
“Noodge, buddy,” he starts. "I miss ya. You were the friend who never left me. The one constant thing in my life and the friend I told all my secrets to. You were there when Sam and I got into those awful fights. You were there when I left home and traveled across the ocean to America. I knew you couldn’t live forever, but I sorta wish you would have. You’ll be missed.”
Tears brim in my eyes and sorrow clogs my throat. This is sad, so utterly sad. I feel horrible for ever making fun of Noodge’s name. I want to tell Mason and somehow say something about his beloved pet, but I didn’t know Noodge, and it would seem out of place, so I stay quiet. Mason carefully lifts the lid of the urn and places it on the grass. I hold my breath as he looks out over the edge and takes a step forward to spread the ashes. He keeps his eyes on the sea, and a second later, he trips. Half the ashes fall out of the urn on to the ground.
“Damnit!” he yells, falling to his knees, quickly trying to push the ashes back into the urn.
For some damn reason, I feel laughter tickle my throat and bite down hard on my cheek to keep it at bay. Now is not the time!
I drop to try and help Mason, but he waves me off.
“It’s alright,” he mutters. "Maybe this is better. Maybe part of him should stay here on land since this is where I found him.” He sends me a smile and I melt. We both stand, and he turns to face the ledge again.
“Goodbye, friend.” He tips the urn to the side and tosses the rest of the ashes out to the sea, right as a heavy gust of wind slams into us, throwing the ashes back, directly into my face.
Noodge’s remains blow straight into my eyes, land in my open mouth and in my hair. Stunned, I freeze for a second, not sure exactly what just happened. Because my mind refuses to accept what just happened, it’s piecing together the only probable reason why my tongue feels like I just licked an ashtray. Reality catches up with the bitter taste on my tongue, and I start coughing violently, spitting into the grass, fervently wiping at my face and hair.
Mason is laughing so hard, his face is now flushed crimson. He makes his way to me, sputtering a halfhearted apology while trying to shake free the ashes from my hair.
“Mason, stop laughing!” I plead with him. He ignores me. Tears are in his eyes and a look of pure joy has settled there—at least he’s not sad.
“I’m so sorry,” he laughs again, still dusting off my hair and my dress.
I’m fighting laughter now as well. Once I’m free of Noodge, I look up to find Mason’s eyes pinned on me. His hand is on the bottom of my jaw as his thumb gently glides across my bottom lip. I take a steady breath and wait—for what, I'm unsure. I've come to learn the unexpected ins and outs of spending a day with Mason McConnell. He’s still assessing my features, assessing the moment, maybe whether he should kiss me. Some very deep place in my stomach is hoping that’s the case. His other hand moves over my hair again, then slides to my waist, holding me in place. I watch his mouth, hoping he’ll see the agreement in my gaze.
"I think all the ashes are gone now,” he whispers.
A second later, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, his hands tightening on my waist and on the back of my neck, tugging me closer until I’m flat against his chest. I tilt my head to give him better access and let my hands drift up to his face and up his strong back. The short stubble lining his jaw grates against my fingernails. I can't get over how warm he is, every part of him. His body presses against mine and his hands keep me in place, holding me firm against his body. The longer his lips remain pressed against mine, the more I don't want him to stop.
I pull him closer and deepen the kiss. His tongue traces my bottom lip, requesting access, and I happily give it to him.
His tongue is warm and perfect against mine. His hand goes from my neck to my hair, lightly tugging, tipping my head back just a fraction, so he has better access. My hand slips beneath his coat and up his shirt, feeling his hot skin. He groans into my mouth, and I step closer, trying to eliminate whatever distance might still exist between us.
I’ve never felt this way. I’ve never been kissed this way. It’s not enough and entirely too much. Our lips move at a frantic, desperate pace. Just as fast as the moment began, it ends as Mason breaks away, pushing me back a fraction by my shoulders, putting space between us. My face heats with embarrassment at the look of fucking guilt now plastered all over his face. His breathing is erratic and heavy as he runs his hand through his hair.
“I can’t be your revenge,” he mumbles, bending down to pick up the now empty urn. His eyes haven’t once landed on me since pushing me away.
"What's that supposed to mean?” My heart is beating frantically in my chest, screaming for Mason to come back, to grab me again, to mold his lips to mine.
The second he begins walking away, it dawns on me what he means. He thinks I kissed him to get back at Kyle. But why would that be the first reason he thought of when what happened between me and Kyle was so long ago?
I clear my throat and grab his forearm to stop him from leaving.
“You aren’t my revenge, Mason. And anyway, I tried to call him today to break up.” My face burns at my admission and the fact I’m still technically in a relationship.
Furrowing his eyebrows, he sneers and tilts his head to the side, questioning me.
“So, you thought you’d try to call, maybe leave a message, and that was that? You’re suddenly free to make out with strangers?” He firmly pulls his arm free and pushes past me.
“No.” I follow him and try to explain myself. “And you aren’t a stranger, Mason." When he doesn't stop long enough to listen, I pick up my feet, closing the growing distance. "Damnit. Please just stop and listen to me.” I hate the desperation leaking from my voice. I hate how pathetic I sound. Mason turns but doesn’t look at me, looking past me, over the cliffs. I swallow and try to fix this.
“Last night at the pub..." I'm breathless and only allow myself the space of one breath to calm my nerves. "You said I deserved better. You’re right, I do deserve better. I’ve deserved better for a long fucking time. Kyle and I…” I drift off. I stare straight into his eyes, forcing the words to pass my lips. "We haven’t been a real couple in forever. I thought about what you said last night for hours and hours until I couldn’t put it off any longer. I don’t want Kyle. I haven't in a long time.”
Mason is watching me now, staring daggers at me.
“You were drunk last night, Charlotte. You probably don’t even remember the context of what I said.”
Something like acid burns my throat and churns in my stomach. The way his caramel-apple eyes look at me is like a hot branding iron, searing the letter A on my skin like a scarlet letter.
“I wasn’t drunk," I yell, rolling my eyes. "I remember every bit of last night. And whether you want to be the person to give me what I do deserve doesn’t make a difference. I made this decision long before I met you, I just didn't realize it until last night. I’m through with Kyle. We’re done, whether you want me or not.” I look down and push out the next few words through gritted teeth, the cold air seeping through my jacket.
“I think you’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want me… so... I just needed you to understand where I’m coming from. Although if you’re this upset, I’m not sure why you kissed me at all.”
I look up to try to see what Mason is feeling or what he might do next, but he’s a statue—frozen, grinding his teeth, and locking his jaw. His hands slowly unclench, his arms relaxing at his sides. He lets out a sigh and scans the ground.
“I think we should take some time to figure this out. I don’t want to be the reason you cheat. I don’t want to be the reason you break up with your boyfriend. I already told you what I thought about that the day we met.” He doesn't even wait for me to agree or disagree with his offer before he turns and walks away.
/>
I cross my arms to ward off the unwelcome sea spray and start walking back toward the car. Mason has his eyes glued to the ground and a light sheen of red coloring his deeply chiseled cheeks. I want to cry, but I keep my eyes forward. I’m not sure how to stuff these emotions back into my soul. I’m not sure how to fix how broken this makes me feel. I pick up speed as he falls behind. How could we have gone from one spectacular kiss to this?
As much as I didn’t want Mason to look at me as if I was unfaithful, it didn’t change the fact I was. I needed to call Kyle. Maybe I needed to just go back home and call this trip off before I did anything else to damage my heart.
***
Mason dropped me off at his parents’ house, then left. I don’t know where he went, and I really don’t care. Honestly, I’m hurt he reacted the way he did, but on some strange level, I get it.
I’m in the back yard, in the garden with my phone to my ear, listening to Kyle’s voicemail greeting for the tenth time. He still hasn’t responded. I’d check social media to see if he’s on there, but I didn’t know Mason’s parents’ WIFI password and don’t have an international internet plan. I'd rather not have to pay an arm and a leg just to check his social media activity. Surely, if he was active on his social media, he would see the dozen missed calls from me, right?
I begin thinking of other ways to get in touch with him. Maybe I should call Sam and see if he’s heard from Kyle? No, I don't want to bother Sam with my ridiculous situation. Frustrated, I hang up and look around the garden.
It’s so peaceful here, so beautiful and serene. The sun has come out and chased away the cold drizzle and ugly clouds from earlier. I sit back against the tree and relax. Then my mind starts to wander, thinking about why I came here, why I ventured half way across the world to find my family, to find the people I belong with. I don’t want to give up, and if Mason needs space, he can have it. Maybe I could figure out a way to get some money and leave him out of the rest of my time here. Either way, I know I’m not done, I need to see this through.
Feeling determined to enjoy what’s left of my trip and finally put an end to this annoyingly long reflection on my relationship with Kyle, I call him again. This time, I leave a message and don’t care how cold or mean my message comes across—I’m done.
“Kyle, it’s Charlotte. You won’t return my calls and haven’t even bothered to check in with me since I got here. I think this has been coming for a while now, so I doubt you’ll be that surprised… but I’m done. I’m breaking up with you. I can’t do this anymore. I deserve better than a vacant, obligatory relationship. You work yourself to death, and when I do see you, it’s silent between us. Sex is boring and lifeless. I don't know but part of me feels like I lost you a long time ago. Being here, in this place, feels so freeing, and it’s put some things in perspective for me. Like how I don’t want to waste any more time with someone who doesn’t want to be with me. I’ll give you the time you need to find a new place, but please start boxing up your things. Maybe you could crash with someone for a while until you find a new place. I’ll answer my phone if you want to talk, but I won’t change my mind. This is over, Kyle.” I pause, allowing the last words to sink in to my very core. “Goodbye, Kyle.”
I press end and let out a heavy sigh, feeling, for the first time in a long time, freedom—utter, glorious freedom. Not the freedom to date or see new people but to be free of guilt and freedom from being tied to someone who doesn’t really want me. I stand up and stretch, feeling the lightness in my chest grow. This was good. This was the fresh start I needed. Now, I just needed to find my family.
Mason
“LISTEN TO ME, MASON. You need to calm down.”
“No, ye gobshite. It’s about feckin’ time you started listening to me.” I can already tell my accent has grown thicker the more I yell into my phone.
I’m sitting in my father’s car with the engine off. After dropping Charlotte back at my parents’ house, I couldn’t think about what it would have been like if I had followed her in. I told her we needed some space, some time to think this over. I just don’t think she expected me to mean the precise moment she stepped out of my father’s car, but I needed space and I needed time. Damn, how I needed it.
I’m still angry, feeling the ghost of Char’s lips on mine. We kissed. We actually fucking kissed. And it was amazing, brilliant even. It was the kind of kiss people write stories about. It was the kind of kiss written in the kind of books I’ve seen Charlotte completely get lost in. I’m lost in her.
I grit my teeth, pressing them together with all the strength I have. The pressure causes my temples to swell, and my hands shake as I hold my phone against my ear. Sam is still on the other line, his irritation with me increasing by the minute. Ask me if I care, but I’ll already tell you I don’t.
Sam sighs into the phone at my remark. He finally answered his phone after my third attempt. I knew he was with Emily, planning his wedding, but every thought of Kyle and the picture Sam had sent me the day before still hasn’t broken free from my mind. It’s like Sam purposely sent it to me, just to piss me off. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Then get on with it,” he sighs.
“What is wrong with you?” I’m not sure why it’s the first thing I say, him opening the gate for me to say anything on my mind. For me to explain why I called him so many times in the first place. Even after the words have left my mouth, I don’t take them back, waiting for his answer.
“You’ll have to be a little more specific there, dear brother,” he quips.
I groan, feeling the frustration in my chest swell. “Why did you have to send me that fucking picture of Kyle? What good did it do?”
“I didn’t want Charlotte to check her Facebook or Instagram accounts and stumble upon it,” he explains. The way his voice is so casual and calm only grates my nerves even more like the sound of a fork scraping across a porcelain plate. How is he so calm about this? Isn’t he protective over Charlotte? How is he not angry about Kyle’s lack of respect for monogamy? Unless… Sam already knew. My eyes widen, realizing what’s going on. Sam isn’t protecting Charlotte, he’s protecting Kyle.
“You’re a fucking arse.”
“Huh? Why am I an arse?” He sounds completely stunned, and if it weren’t for the words I wanted to say to him right now, I would have hung up the moment this new found realization dawned on me.
“You knew. Charlotte told me he’s cheated before.” I grit my teeth again, feeling my headache grow. “If it were me, I would have beat his arse the second I found out. Actually, I wanted to after you sent me that picture.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you kidding me, Mason? Of course, I didn’t fecking know. What kind of person do you think I am? And what is wrong with you? I know you’re usually the moody, brooding type, but shit, you’re worse than usual today.”
I ignore my brother’s stab at my usual behavior, focusing on his comment. He didn’t know Kyle had cheated before, he didn’t know it until he saw the picture. My stomach settles, happy my brother isn’t a complete dick.
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t want me to tell Charlotte. Why are you protecting Kyle?”
“I’m not protecting Kyle. As far as I’m concerned, he can go to hell.” He pauses and releases a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want you telling Charlotte because I didn’t want her getting upset when I’m unable to be there to comfort her. She shouldn’t find out about something like that when she doesn’t have anyone around who truly cares for her.”
“Well,” I scoff. “I’m here. She has me.” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Actually, I realize I don’t regret the words—Charlotte does have me to lean on—but I regret speaking them to Sam. I didn’t plan telling him about how close I’ve become to Charlotte, and I definitely didn’t plan on telling him about our kiss. I still don’t, but I can already sense the change in our conversation.
In true Sam fashion, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to tell me he
knows something’s up.
“Wait a minute,” he draws out. “I thought you hated her.”
I can picture it, the smug look on his face, finding humor in the events of my exciting life. Taking that as my sign, I decide to hang up.
“Oh, look at that. There’s an old lady trying to cross the street. I better go help her. Talk to you later. Bye!”
I slam my thumb against the red button on my screen and step out of my father’s car. It’s funny because when I had told Sam there was an old lady crossing the street, there wasn’t, but now as I make my way down the main street in the center of the marketplace, I find an old lady walking across the street, carrying two large paper bags full of groceries to her small car. What are the odds? My conscience feels better, knowing I didn’t completely lie to my brother.
After helping the woman, I walk down the main street, my tongue and my heart craving a pint of Guinness. Some people say there’s no problem that can’t be solved with a good cup of tea or a scone, but I beg to differ. There’s no problem that can’t be solved by a fresh pint of Guinness.
A moment later, I find myself walking through the doorway to a pub, “The Irish Lily.” I vaguely remember Sam talking about this pub in the past. He said he came the one time and never cared too much for the atmosphere, said it reminded him too much of old Ireland.
As soon as I step into the main dining area, I know exactly what Sam was referring to. I’m the youngest customer in the room, and apparently, the one with the least amount of facial hair. There are several crowds of older men standing near the back with long beards, long enough to rest on top of their enormous beer bellies.
With my desire for one glass of Guinness and a moment to mull over what to do about my sticky situation with Charlotte, I cross the room and slide onto a barstool.
I remove my black wool coat and drape it across the back of my seat. Resting my elbows against the old weathered bar top, I lean forward and find the bartender a few feet down from me. His back is turned, and he appears to be sorting through a stack of receipts.
What are the Chances Page 10
