Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  "Man, I can't believe it," he keeps saying. "Can't fucking believe I'm going to be a father."

  James Newton is a few years older to me, but he's still a huge fucking kid. We've been working at the same company for a few years now, me just as the delivery guy and him as one of the newest partners. His wife Corinne and he have been trying to have a baby for a while now, and it looks like the time is finally here. Looking at my buddy's eyes and the pure joy displayed in them makes me wonder if I'll ever be this excited about the prospect of having a child.

  I don't think so.

  "Congratulations, man," I say as we sit down at the bar. "Can't believe this is actually happening. I'm going to be uncle fucking Mason!"

  "And you won't be able to curse around her," he warns me.

  "Her?" I lift my brows in wonder. "Didn't know they could find out the gender so early on."

  "It's just a feeling." James is smiling wide as he orders a round of drinks for us. Scotch. "That reminds me, I brought you something."

  "Now you're making me look bad," I joke. "I haven't got anything for you. Making me feel like a prick."

  James laugh and pulls a bottle from a paper bag.

  "Got this from the in-laws. I want you to hold on to it for me," he tells me, emotion getting the better of him as he hands the bottle over. "It's Scotch. I want you to keep it until the kid turns eighteen. Then, we can have some together."

  "You know I should be the one giving you a bottle, right?" I remind him, and we both laugh. Truth be told, I'm kind of touched he thought of me as the keeper for this bottle. "Of course, man, I'll hold on to it. To your baby girl!"

  We drank ourselves into a stupor that night, and coincidentally, it was one of the last nights I spent with James for a long time after that.

  I got promotion after promotion, and ended up getting offered a job to handle the Italian branch of the company, while James moved up north with his family. By the time his wife gave birth, we'd grown so far apart he never even called me. I found out about the little girl, Cara, from another co-worker.

  We stayed in touch sporadically over the years. A birthday message here and there, a Christmas card once in a while. No phone calls or texts. The odd Facebook message.

  When I was in town, James found out through a mutual friend. His invitation to his daughter's birthday party seemed more of a chore than an exciting occasion. But I'd heard of James' wife passing, knew he was having a hard time, and I decided to pay a visit to my old friend.

  It had been good catching up with him, and we had fun remembering moments from all those years ago. He even asked me about the Scotch, and I promised him I was still keeping it safe.

  I don't remember whether I told him about Luca or just-about-to-be ex-wife. I forgot every fucking detail of that day after I set my eyes on Cara for the first time. And then everything else went out of the fucking window, my only intention getting Cara into my life. And it worked like a damn charm.

  I open the Scotch and drain it down my throat. One sip, two, three, four, five. It burns my throat and I keep drinking until the pain takes over my broken heart. At least this one's fucking temporary.

  HOURS LATER, I drag myself from the dining room table and head upstairs. The door to the gallery mocks me, hanging wide open. The faces of all the women I've painted laugh at me from the walls, becoming my downfall in the very end.

  I walk inside the room, barely able to stand on my feet. My fingers graze the surface of the paintings Cara's father has ruined. The only ones that really mean anything to me. Ruined.

  I head for the ones on the wall, looking at the women Cara thought were her competition. The women she thinks I betrayed her with.

  All of them, all eleven, were for practice.

  All of them knew what was going to happen.

  That I was in love with someone else, waiting for her. Even then, I loved her. I just didn't fucking know it.

  I look at the portraits on the walls, remembering each and every woman fondly. The very first one only two weeks after Cara's sixteen birthday. She taught me how to turn punishments into unbearable pleasure.

  I go through all the muses this way, thinking about what each one of them has taught me. All in preparation for Cara, so I could be the best master she could wish for. So I could be the right man for her. To lessen the blow to her dad, to make her fall in love with me more - because I was so fucking paranoid about losing her, even then, when she wasn't in my arms yet.

  I start picking at the surface of the paintings, getting my hands dirty with the dried-up paint. When I can't destroy them sufficiently that way, I take matters into my own hands, just like James did. I punch a hole in every one of the canvases until there's nothing left of the paintings on the walls. I break the frames, smash them on my knee, break them on the ground. I don't stop until the whole gallery is ruined.

  I don't need it anymore. It was all for Cara, but Cara is fucking gone.

  I pull out my cellphone and dial James' number, even though I know they're on the plane back right now and there's no chance he'll see my call. I let it ring repeatedly, over and over again until the shrill dial town is making me lose my mind.

  I feel the loss of Cara everywhere, my head, my heart, my fucking limbs. I miss the weight of her on top of me, the way her head fit into the crook of my arm. She's been gone a mere few hours and already, I'm losing my damn mind.

  "What's going on?"

  I turn towards the source of the voice, for a moment certain that I'm imagining the figure standing in the doorway. But as my eyes come into focus I realize it really is him.

  "Get the fuck out," I snarl at him. "I can't deal with your shit right now."

  Luca hesitates before approaching me slowly. I collapse against the wall, my back sliding down until my ass hits the ground. I cover my face in my hands and Luca sits down in front of me.

  "What happened?" he asks simply.

  "She's gone," I tell him.

  It's all he needs to know. It's all that matters, really. Cara is gone and she isn't coming back.

  "Shit, I'm sorry." Luca does sound genuinely sorry, and I'm surprised he's actually capable of any kind of emotion.

  I look up at him and find him staring at me with bloodshot eyes. He's not drunk though, not like I am.

  "What happened to you?" I ask him.

  I choose to overlook the fact that he technically shouldn't be back at the house after I kicked him out a few weeks ago. I didn't care where he ended up that night, after treating Cara the way he did. But now that he's back, I'm almost relieved that he's in one piece.

  "I found her," he tells me simply, and I give him a blank stare.

  "Found who?" He looks into my eyes and I see the pain in his gaze, the answer so obvious it makes me sigh out loud, saying, "Oh, Luca."

  "I was surprised she lives so close by," he says conversationally, but a single look at him explains how hurt he is by this knowledge. "Did you know she was only an hour's drive away from us?"

  I hesitate for a second before nodding. I can see my admission has hurt the young man even more.

  "How did you find her?" I ask him, and he runs a hand through his dark hair.

  We really do look alike, even though we're not related. I wasn't much of a father figure for Luca either, and I never gave a shit about it. But seeing him so vulnerable now makes me wonder how much of his fucked up personality is really on me.

  "I've been looking for a while now," he admits. "I just... I guess I wanted to see if she had any interest in seeing me. Maybe making things right."

  "I'm sorry, Luca," I say roughly.

  I don't tell him he could've asked me. Don't tell him she stopped paying for him ages ago, that she never even responded to my calls when I wanted to talk about him. She's written us both off, for good.

  "It's okay," he says. "I guess we've both messed up, haven't we?"

  I laugh bitterly at his words, wondering how much he actually knows. He must've figured out Cara was special to me -
it was why he was picking on her, after all. Maybe it was to get my attention as well, I don't know.

  "You really shouldn't be here," I tell him coolly. "Not after what you did to Cara."

  "I know." His voice is weak, for once. "I wanted to apologize to her. I know I can't really say or d anything that would make it better. I never meant to hurt her, I swear."

  I look up at him, realizing I don't even know him after all these years. But I think he's telling the truth.

  "Okay," I say quietly. "We need to talk, anyway. But I need to get to bed first."

  We both know I'm lying, that I'll spend the next few hours tossing and turning. I also know I'll be dialling James' number the whole time, hoping and begging that he'll pick up. That he'll change his mind.

  Luca gets up from the floor and gives me a small smile.

  "Goodnight, old man," he says. His voice is tired.

  "Good night, Luca."

  I don't move from the floor I've collapsed on, and he doesn't make a move to help me, either.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CARA

  THE FLIGHT back and the first few days at home are a blur. I barely remember a thing from that time, and I sleep for hours and hours, day and night blending into one another and making me forget about my whereabouts.

  Dad doesn't pry. He makes sure I'm fed and that I take care of myself, but I've switched on autopilot. I'm barely aware of what's going on as the days start to pass.

  On the fifth day, I ask dad for my phone, and he refuses. I realize he's taken it away from me, worried Mason will try to make contact. My computer is gone as well, and I've never felt more isolated.

  "I'm not going to call him," I tell dad.

  He refuses to acknowledge Mason, hasn't said his name or anything about him since we got back. Now, his hands form fists at his sides and he looks away, like he can't bear looking at me anymore.

  "I said no," he says simply, and with that, he leaves the room.

  I listen on and hear the tell-tale sound of the lock turning. He's locked me into my own room, made me a prisoner in this goddamn house. I start to get antsy, wanting to get out, wanting to make sure I'm making the right decision. Doubt gnaws at me like an old friend, reminding me I never truly believed Mason loved me. Yes, he was fond of me, yes, he loved touching me. But he made it plenty clear he never fucking loved me in the first place.

  Dad doesn't really talk to me either. Sometimes I wake up to find him in the room, leaving me some food on the desk or checking up to make sure I'm fine. He never says a word though, usually doesn't even reply when I'm the one addressing him. I've never felt so alone, not even when my mom passed away when I was seven.

  Hours blend into days and the future looks bleak. I have no interest in getting out of the bed and moving on with my life. Every thought I have is preoccupied by Mason, thinking about what happened between us and how much of it was just a damn lie. I'm obsessed. I spend hours upon hours lying awake, worrying, daydreaming about him.

  I don't know whether I regret my decision - well, it wasn't really my decision - to leave. I know I was upset when it all went down, but I never gave him a chance to explain.

  Sometimes I wonder if he's trying to make contact. Maybe he's calling my cell in vein, maybe he's tried my dad's number and had another huge fight with him. I don't know, and I might never find out. My dad's made it plenty clear that I need to just move on.

  Dad sees how upset I am and how lethargic I've become, and when a week passes, he lets me out of my bedroom. We never talk about what happened. He doesn't ask and I don't offer him any details. I wonder if he knows everything and what his version of the events that transpired is. I don't make an effort to find out.

  It's a week later, I think, when I break down.

  I beg dad for my phone and laptop again, and he refuses every single time. I sink down into a heap at his feet, sobbing like fucking crazy because I can't keep these emotions bottled up inside of me for much longer. I need to show him that I'm hurting, and I need to fucking talk to Mason.

  Dad walks away from me, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the floor. He sends a maid to make sure I'm alright later, and I wonder if our relationship will ever go back to being the way it was before.

  That night, I convince myself I'm dreaming when I hear Mason's voice downstairs. I toss and turn at night, imagining him coming back and demanding my dad let him see me. For a moment, I'm almost convinced it really happened, but when I ask my dad about it in the morning, he refuses to tell me anything.

  I stop sleeping completely and my nights are spent tossing and turning the whole time, just waiting in limbo for something to happen. The days are passing so fast now, and I'm becoming aware that it's going to be fall-time soon. Time for me to go to school and put this summer in Italy behind me. I wonder if I'll even be able to do that.

  The next day, I lie in bed awake just as dawn breaks outside. I get up on auto pilot even though it's much, much too early, and dress myself in one of the dresses I wore in Italy. I do my makeup, too, because I need something to do, and it's a good distraction.

  I sit at my vanity table in my childhood bedroom, combing through the tangles in my hair and looking at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot from crying, my complexion pale, like it's already lost the tan I got in Italy. I look unwell.

  I've just finished getting ready as the clock strikes 6 in the morning, and the door to my bedroom opens slowly.

  I look at the intruder in the mirror, and my eyes widen in shock and surprise when I see Mason's broad form filling the doorway. I must be dreaming, because there's no way this is happening. No chance he's actually here with me.

  I hear someone racing up the stairs as I stare at Mason, my eyes drinking him in. He's as handsome as he's always been, but he doesn't look well. I turn around in my chair to convince myself he's merely a mirage, a figment of my imagination. But when I look at him now, he's still standing there, as solid as he ever was.

  "Cara mia," he says softly, his lips parting as the nickname slips from his mouth.

  My whole body shivers when he calls me that, reminding me of a different time when those two words made me submit so freely.

  In that moment, my dad walks up behind him, hitting Mason's head hard. The two men fall to the floor and I get up, my hands going to my face as I stare at them going at it for the second time in a row.

  I don't just watch this time, though. I come in between them and try to separate them, and they stop brawling for a second to make sure I'm safe. I stand in front of my father, protecting him from Mason's punches, even though he hasn't even thrown any.

  "Stop it," I hiss at them both. "Just fucking stop it already."

  "Cara, get the hell out of my way," my dad says in a strained tone, trying to push me to the side. But I'm relentless, and there's not a fucking chance I'm going to move before we settle this once and for all.

  My heart is beating loudly because Mason is so close once again. I've finally realized he really is here, looking at me with those hungry eyes, like he's trying to devour me with his gaze alone.

  "Stop fighting," I tell them both again. "This isn't solving anything."

  "Cara," Mason bellows out. "Let us sort this by ourselves."

  "Don't I get a say?" I bite back. "Don't I get to decide what I fucking want?"

  They both stare at me as I take a deep breath and walk away from them both. My skin is prickled with goosebumps and I'm desperate to be back in Mason's arms. I hate the way my body has betrayed me already.

  "I need to explain," Mason tells me gently. "I wanted to show you those portraits, Cara, when the time was right. I want to explain everything. I want to make it fucking right."

  I stare at him, waiting for him to go on. Even my dad seems to be listening for once. Mason runs his fingers through that dark hair of his, and my stomach hurts from being so close to him without touching him.

  "They didn't mean anything to me," he explains. "I just wanted to make sure I knew how to take p
roper care of you, how to make sure you were... okay. I saw those women after I met you two years ago. I waited for you, Cara. I was trying to make things right before we even saw each other again."

  "You bastard," my father snarls at Mason. "You think she can make a choice by herself in this state, when you're feeding her lies? She's convinced she's in love with you, you jackass!"

  "Good," Mason tells him firmly, looking at me for confirmation. I avert my eyes. "I hope she fucking is, because I'm in love with her too."

  With that, he comes at me, grabbing me by the thighs and lifting me up. I'm thrown over his shoulder in the next second, and I don't even fucking resist. He carries me out of the room, and after a moment's hesitation, my father follows.

  "If you fucking hurt her," he bellows after Mason. "I'm going to kill you."

  "Likewise," Mason says back over his shoulder.

  "If you make her cry," my dad goes on. "I'll make you pay."

  We make our way down the stairs and I don't even fight Mason as he carries me out of the house. I'm so fucking confused, my heart and my head pounding as I try to make sense of this situation. I don't have a clue if what's happening is what's right for me, but I know, without a doubt, Mason's the man I want to be with.

  He sets me down in the front room, and my dad and I look at each other with tears in our eyes. I think I've already made my decision - I'm leaving with Mason.

  "I'm sorry, Daddy," I tell him softly, and he covers his eyes as he realizes this is really happening. "I need to go with him."

  "Cara..."

  His voice is hurt, but at least it isn't broken. He understands I need to do this, and though he my think it's a foolish decision, I hope I'll prove him wrong in due time.

  "Take care of her," he orders Mason as he pulls me in for a tight hug.

  I relish the feel of him against me, knowing it might be a while before I see my father again. He lets go of me after a while, angrily wiping at the traitorous tears in his eyes.

  "I want to hear from you every day," he makes me promise. "Just so I know you're okay."