Relapse
J.P. Nicholas
Copyright © 2018 by J.P. Nicholas
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Photograph Copyright © 2018 by Arron Dunworth
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
30. Chapter Thirty
31. Chapter Thirty-One
32. Chapter Thirty-Two
33. Chapter Thirty-Three
34. Chapter Thirty-Four
35. Chapter Thirty-Five
36. Chapter Thirty-Six
37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Sneak Peek
Also by J.P. Nicholas
Chapter One
Aly - Five years ago
Lightning illuminates the gloomy gray sky as the raindrops descend upon the top of my head, cloaking my face in a showery veil of water. The thunder, like my heartbeat, is swift and fierce, bellowing its sorrows as it rumbles through the sky. I keep my head bowed toward the ground, watching my feet pitter-patter into the puddles on the pavement as I walk toward my destination.
My heart and mind are at war. The former is begging for me to stop all actions and head home, while the latter is demanding that I continue forward. As much as I know this is going to pain me, it must be done. For not all decisions can be made with your heart.
You can do this, Aly. Just take one step at a time.
I clutch my purse closer to my side, hoping to shield it from the heavy rainfall that has already soaked through my—I mean—his hoodie. I guess I'll have to give this back to him after tonight.
I carefully ascend the three steps to the porch, making sure to grip tightly onto the handrail, so the wet soles of my shoes don't fly out from under me. Five more steps. Just five more steps and I'll reach the majestic mahogany door. I count in my head as I take each step.
One.
Two.
Three.
My heartbeat grows faster as the distance between the door and me dissipates.
Four.
Just one more step. You can do this.
Five.
As I ready my fist to collide against the solid wooden door, it swings on its hinges, bringing Darren's signature smolder into my view. Surprise flickers in his blue-gray eyes as he scrubs a hand over his chiseled square jaw.
"Hello, Love. I wasn't expecting to encounter you on my way to the rubbish bin." Darren flings a black garbage bag over his shoulder, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
God, his charming British accent is going to make this much harder than I thought.
Darren furrows his brow, dragging his free hand through his dark-brown locks as he catches a glimpse of the nervous expression on my face. He places the garbage bag on the porch, shuts the front door, and kickstands himself up against it. His hands sink into his pockets as he tilts his head slightly and studies me. "Alyssa, what's wrong?"
Seeing his concern smeared across his face tugs at my heartstrings. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid.
I open my mouth to speak, but the words don't come out. They're stuck in the back of my throat, refusing to obey my commands. Ashamed, I bow my head to the floor.
His hands brush against my skin, framing my face as he brings my green-eyed gaze to meet his. Well, that backfired.
My heartbeat intensifies, pounding rapidly and painfully against my chest. The panic starts to set in as his piercing eyes start searching for an answer in mine.
"I-I bought you something," I spit out in a flurry, hoping to change the topic.
He steps back, a mix of excitement and confusion on his beautiful face. "You did?"
I nod, reaching into my purse to retrieve his gift. Once I find the little black box, I present it to him.
Darren grabs it skeptically. "What's this for?"
I flash him a wide-toothed grin, hoping the facade will conceal my true intentions for coming over here tonight. "It's your graduation present, silly."
"Graduation present?" With one finger, he bops me on the forehead. "Somebody's a little confused. Graduation's two weeks from now. You can just give this to me then."
He reaches out his arm, attempting to give it back to me, but I refuse it with a shake of my head.
"Just open it," I insist, my voice full of eagerness and impatience.
Darren grimaces with apprehension. "Alright…"
I watch anxiously as he slowly removes the lid.
A charming smile ignites his face as he brushes his thumb over the necklace. He lifts the silver chain, dangling it in front of him to further analyze the pendant. Secretly, I’m hoping that he doesn't recognize it. That'll only make this breakup ten times harder.
His eyes narrow in on the pendant for a few seconds before he shifts his gaze to me. "Is this what I think it is?"
Shit!
"That depends. What do you think it is?" I tease him in a feigned attempt to lighten the mood.
Darren brushes his forefinger against his bottom lip. "Is this the twenty pence I gave you when we first met?"
I nod. "That's the one. The same one you gave me when I asked to borrow a quarter."
He furrows his brow. "And you saved the blasted thing? Why?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Where would I have used it?"
"Good point." Darren fastens the chain around his neck, puffing out his chest to proudly model it for me.
In one swift move, Darren grips the belt-loops of my shorts, tugs me into his embrace, and brings his lips down to my neck. He makes sure to let each kiss linger longer than the last as he trails his way upward. I gotta give it to him; he's always been smooth and precise in his movements.
"Why don't you come inside and let me show you just how much I appreciate your kind gesture?” he whispers against my neck. The warmth of his breath turns my blood to fire as it dances against my skin.
I must end this now. With his lips on me, that is going to be impossible. I must muster up the strength to push him off, no matter how badly I don't want to.
"Darren, I…" I lose all train of thought when he licks the spot where my neck meets my chin. The scruff on his jaw scratches my neck, sending a tingling sensation straight to my sex. My body is betraying me, just like I knew it would. Physical contact was never part of the plan.
Our bodies are flush together. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. Sex to sex. God, how I love-hate that I can feel his hard-on pulsating against the fly of his jeans. It's too tempting. Correction, he's too tempting.
The heat from his body warms me even through my dampened clothe
s. And I'm not gonna lie; it feels damn good. Damn right. Like this is where I am meant to be. But I know better. There is no future for us…no matter how badly I want there to be.
I've got plans for my future, goals I want to accomplish. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed about traveling the world. To see everything life has to offer. To open my eyes to new experiences. To learn from other cultures. And that ember that was sparked within me at such a young age has now ignited into a blazing inferno.
I thought I could have it all. The dream job on the Travel Channel (currently an intern, but hopefully not for long if my plan pans out) and the perfect guy. But that was a foolish thought created by my overactive imagination. I was naive and fell in love. In love with my very own Prince Charming, devilishly handsome looks and a panty-wetting accent to match.
But the man standing in front of me today is not the same man I fell in love with. He's changed. The ambition that once burned in his eyes has simmered. I'm not exactly sure what brought on this change, all I know is that whatever it is happened last month. That's when I noticed it anyway. No matter how hard I try to get him to tell me what happened, what changed him, he just deflects the question. After numerous failed attempts over the past few weeks, I'm tired of trying.
The truth is, whether I like it or not, Darren is no longer the ambitious man I fell in love with. Something changed him. Something caused him to change his priorities——he told me as much last week. Thus, all the delightful plans we made together were altered.
He is no longer the man that promised to sip a cocktail in front of the Eiffel Tower, go for a morning jog in the Luxembourg Gardens, visit the Louvre in Paris, take a carriage ride through Krakow, live like royalty in the Scottish Highlands, go on a pub crawl in Dublin, give me a personal tour through his hometown of London, eat paella in Barcelona, see the Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany, sail around the Greek Isles, sunbathe on a beach in Montenegro, stand on the end of the continent in Portugal, visit the opera one night in Vienna, go skinny dipping in Sweden, have a gelato in Rome, and grow old with me on a vineyard in Tuscany.
I want that man. I miss that man. That is the man I fell in love with. But that's not the same man who stands before me today. No, this man is the man whose heart I am going to shatter into a million pieces.
I don’t want to leave but considering that he refuses to tell me what is bothering him, I can’t stay. As much as the thought pains me, I know he will only hold me back.
As his tongue makes his way to my ear, I slam my hands hard against his chest. He gets the message, releasing my earlobe from his clenched teeth, and pushing away slightly to look at me.
The pain reflecting in his eyes causes guilt to pang sharply in the pit of my stomach. "You didn't just come here to give me this necklace, did you?"
Unable to hold his gaze any longer, I close my eyes and shake my head, giving him his answer.
"Look at me," he growls, barking out each word like an order. "If you're here to do what I think you are, you are going to look me in the eyes when you do it."
He's right. Even though it will make this more difficult, I owe it to him not to cower behind my eyelids. I open my eyes and meet his saddened gaze. I can see droplets of water forming in the corner of his eyes. And even though I know it's not, I chalk it up to the rain. "Darren, I—"
"Please, don't." He closes his eyes, bowing his head down to place his forehead against mine. Even through the obnoxiously loud torrential downpour, I can hear his breath grow quick and shallow. "Don't do this to me. To us."
His whispered words cut through me like a knife.
"You've left me no choice. You're not the same man I fell in love with. You've changed. I barely even recognize the man that's been walking next to me this past month," I choke out, trying my best to fight back tears of my own. I force myself to power through and keep speaking. "What happened you? To the man I fell in love with? Huh? I want him back."
Once again, to no surprise, he doesn't answer my question. He just shuts me out completely.
"And this is precisely why I'm leaving. I can't do this anymore, Darren. I'm sorry."
With tears streaking my face, I pull away from him, turn around, and run back into the rain.
I wanted him to chase after me. To prove to me that he has enough ambition left in him to fight for us. To fight for me. But he doesn't. Which only further exemplified that the man I fell in love with was no more. He would never have let me walk away like that. Or ever for that matter.
This is officially the end of an era. The end of us.
Chapter Two
Aly - Present day
As I wait anxiously for the plane to take off, I make a point to scroll through the dozens of pictures of bridesmaids’ dresses Hannah sent me to cycle through. After swiping through about thirty of them, I am determined that she just threw some of these in for a good laugh. At least, that's what I hope. Some of these dresses should be illegal. It's one disaster dress right after the other. Every color under the rainbow. From orange silk to turquoise taffeta, these dresses don't discriminate.
After scanning through around sixty more monstrosities, I find the one. The ugly dress that surpasses all ugly dresses. The picture that rests on my screen is of a drab brown dress. It is sleeveless with a poorly beaded sweetheart neckline and a laced-up corset on the back. The corset is followed by an organza-looking fabric train in the shape of a dozen roses. And to top it all off, the dress has a yellow tulle overlay that starts at the waist and extends the entirety of the train. This dress officially wins the challenge.
"Excuse me, Miss." A feeble voice snaps my attention away from my phone's screen and toward the shrill shriek that now rings in my ears. As I lock eyes with the voice's owner, an elderly woman probably in her seventies, she nods her head to my left. "Can I get past you?"
I assume by her accent, her deliberate annunciation of every syllable, and the crisp pronunciation of her t's that she is British.
"Oh, of course." I force a smile to curve my lips as I stand upright, allowing her access to pass by me and sit in her seat. When I sit down, she nudges my side with her elbow. I turn to face her.
"I guess we are airplane neighbors." Oh, dear God. Airplane neighbors? Seriously? This is going to be a long flight. Maybe I can get away with putting in my earphones and listening to my latest romance novel in peace. Granted, the odds are against it since my plane neighbor seems to be a Chatty Cathy. But a girl can hope, right?
I feign excitement. "Looks like it."
With nimble hands, I reach into my pocket, pulling out my earphones. I make sure the right one is securely fastened before I attempt inserting the left one. Just three more seconds. Three. Two. One.
"What brings you to Florida, Dear?" Shit! I wasn't fast enough. I keep meaning to perfect my resting bitch face. It would save me so much time in moments like this when I want to be left alone.
"Family," I spit out, hoping that giving her a one-word answer would cause this conversation to come to an end much faster. After all, I had to stop listening to my book mid-chapter to board the plane. And as any good book-connoisseur knows, stopping mid-chapter is beyond torturous. Personally, it makes my skin crawl with agony. Okay, so I might be an extreme case, but nonetheless, it still sucks.
"Oh, how lovely." She takes a beat to swallow before she continues. "I was here in New York visiting my son. He married some American woman, you know. Beautiful thing she is. That is why he moved here to the States a few years ago. He's an American citizen now, would you believe it? Who would have thought that I, Cordelia Ainsworth, would have an American son?"
She giggles for a brief moment before the thought of her having an American son loses all amusement, causing her smile to fall from her lips.
I've officially given up on trying to listen to my book. There is just something about Granny Cordelia—that's what I'm going to call her anyway—that is both endearing and fascinating. Maybe it's her cheerful demeanor or her positive attitude. Bu
t most likely, it's the comfortable grandmotherly quality she possesses. I might as well act like a decent human-being and engage in a polite conversation with her. Who knows? Maybe she’ll have some great stories to tell me to help pass the time.
"Sounds like you had a great time here in New York."
She places a gloved hand over the emerald broach pinned to the left lapel of her jacket. "Oh, I sure did, Dearie. The most pleasant time. I finally got to meet my first grandbaby."
"Boy or girl?" I ask, surprised by my innate curiosity. She has somehow sucked me in with her words. How did she manage that?
"Blue-eyed, brown-haired boy, just like his father. Would you like to see pictures?"
I nod, deciding to indulge her a little. Based on the delighted smile that curves her lips, I'm glad I did.
"Oh, great! I just got them developed last night."
Did she just say developed? Who develops film anymore? I understand not keeping up with the latest technology, but even digital cameras have come and gone since then.
Sure as shit, she said developed. That became crystal clear when she pulled out a white envelope full of pictures and started to thumb through them with me.
"Now, make sure only to touch the corners. We don't want to get thumbprints all over the nice glossy finish."
As the minutes shift to hours, I become more grateful for my plane neighbor. It turns out that Granny Cordelia looks damn good for her age. She's eighty-four! Our conversation somehow morphed from her grandchildren to her explaining to me what it was like to be a six-year-old living in London during The Blitz. Being a proud history nerd, I have never been more transfixed in a conversation before in my life. She had me on the edge of my seat, hanging onto every word. Before I know it, the plane has landed, and the flight attendant is announcing the exit procedures through the intercom.
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