“Is it your prick of a husband?” he asks with disgust so apparent I hate him in this moment. I confided in him about my departed husband and yes, he may have hurt me, cheated on me and lied to me, but that’s not for Mason to judge. I still don’t even know how to feel about it all.
“That’s exactly why this shit needs to stop.” My heart rages in my chest, hating me for spilling my guts, but I can’t stop.
Mason looks as if I’ve slapped him. As if I’ve truly hurt him, but I can’t stop.
“I’m not okay,” I tell him feeling the burn in my eyes being dampened from the tears, but I don’t care, let them fall. Let everyone see. “I haven’t been okay, and I’ve been running from it. You can’t come along and fix me. I can’t just fall into another man’s arms and forget about everything I’m going through.”
I almost throw my phone out the window, the absurdity of my entire world crashing down around me feeling too overwhelming. I’m too hot, too angry, too miserable.
That’s what it is. I’m fucking miserable, but aren’t I supposed to be?
“Hey, stop,” Mason says as he slows down at a crosswalk. “Just take it easy.” His entire demeanor changes to something placating, as if he’s talking to a wounded animal. It only makes me angrier.
“No. No, I won’t stop. What do you want from me, Mason?” I ask him. And part of me is hoping he really is my knight in shining armor. Part of me wants to be weak. I want him to solve all my problems and just crawl into his bed every night, moving on to a new life and leaving the old one in shattered pieces behind me.
I know it’s wrong, it’s giving in and denying my responsibilities. But God I want it. My heart is suffocating, hoping for him to say just the right things to convince me to be his. Just like he has from the first night I met him. “What is it that you want from me?” I ask and my voice shakes.
“Jules,” he says my name and looks at me with a gaze I don’t understand and then he looks at me as if I’m broken.
“Just tell me right now, where is this going?” I try to swallow the spikes growing in my throat, but they don’t move. They only grow larger, harder, and sharper and make the words scrape and hurt as they leave me. “I can’t give myself to you right now unless…”
“Unless what?” Mason asks me, and it hurts so much because I don’t have an answer.
I can’t give myself to him unless this is forever, unless I can trust him.
But right now I can’t trust anyone. The harsh reality is what truly does me in. I don’t trust anyone anymore. I don’t want to love anyone anymore.
I can’t breathe as I take off my seat belt. My townhome is only a block away. I can see the iron gate. My hands shake as the seat belt pulls back, hissing and hating me just as much as I hate myself. My shelter. My sanctuary, and my grave.
“I can’t,” I breathe the words, feeling so fucking shitty. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I unlock the door and push it open. A car’s close but I close the door quickly, avoiding Mason’s reach for me. His fingers brush against my back as I get out, just barely out of his reach.
“Jules!” Mason calls after me. I cross the lane, the car beeping and the driver holding down his horn.
I hear Mason get out of his car, leaving it parked in the middle of the road and already holding up traffic. “Jules!” he screams, but I keep running.
I push past the people and ignore the dirty looks and stares. My shoulders rise with a heavy breath. I just need to go home. Tears stream down my face. I need to take care of myself and figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.
Tires screech and make my head throb as Mason drives alongside me.
I ignore him yelling at me as I whip open the iron gate. I don’t stop until I’m safe inside my house, my back to the hard door, my body shaking and my heart hammering.
I hate myself for running from Mason.
But this is reckless. It was a distraction that turned into a fantasy of a reality.
I cover my mouth as another sob leaves me, slowly falling to my ass as I slide down the door.
He’s a good man, and he deserves someone better than me.
Someone who doesn’t have all these problems.
Someone who can fall for him freely and openly.
I sag against the door, curling my body and letting it all out, still hoping he’ll come bang on the door and plead with me to explain. I can’t be this person though.
It’s the way we both knew it would end. I envisioned it would be him leaving me though, not the other way around. I take in a deep breath, feeling exactly how I should, like shit. Not that any of it matters.
It was never meant to be. And that’s all there is to it.
Chapter 24
Mason
Caught between what you want, and you know.
Desperate for more, but struck back by the blow.
What to do, what to do.
When words will destroy,
There’s no way up, and only hell below.
Seventeen. I called her seventeen fucking times. It hurts worse knowing she left me for something other than the one reason she should. That I couldn’t keep her on my own. I held on too tight. It’s my own fucking mistake.
But I saw what I could do for her.
What I could do to her.
And that made me feel… something other than this. This fucking hate I have brewing inside of me.
It was supposed to end this way. What the hell did I expect? I expected to keep her. For her to learn to love me. For that to make what I’d done right.
None of the reasoning and logic explains why I feel betrayed and alone. Not a damn explanation leaves me feeling as though this is something that doesn’t need to be mended. The ice clinks in my glass I grab a bottle of Macallan Single Malt. The liquid sloshes in the bottle as I read the label, my fingers playing along the seal.
My father gave me this bottle as a gift when I started the company. When I told him I was going into business, but still doing what I loved. I felt so much fucking pride that day. My breathing quickens, and my grip on the bottle tightens.
Relax. I grind my teeth, feeling an uneasy tightness settle through my body.
Jules was a sweet distraction; how fucking ironic. She pulled me away from reality. She made me feel like I had time. Like I had a choice.
I toss the seal onto the top of my sideboard buffet, opening the bottle and not bothering to take a whiff before pouring it into a glass.
If my father was here, he’d give me hell for drinking it over ice.
“But that bastard’s not here,” I sneer under my breath. “No one is.” The last thought leaves my chest feeling hollow. I take a long drink of the whisky, and it flows so easily. Burning and traveling through my chest, moving down deeper and stirring in the pit of my stomach. I take another, my head still tipped back and just finish the damn thing. The cold ice against my lips does nothing to numb my pain. I slam the glass down, a little harder than I should and let the liquor hit me.
But it takes too damn long. My eyes look straight ahead to the family portrait sitting on top of the buffet. This room, the dining room, is the only room in the whole damn place where there’s a picture of anyone.
The rest of the house is devoid of anything truly personal. But what do I really have that’s personal anyway? My lacrosse stick and all those fucking uniforms stayed at my parents' where they belonged. I’m sure they were thrown away long ago.
I pour the whisky into the glass, feeling my breathing slow as my body sways and I remember the first day I walked in here.
I’d just gotten all new clothes, all new furniture, all new everything. This home was the start of the professional version of me. All that was in the cardboard box I was holding was a handful of CDs, a few postcards from a friend of mine in Germany I’d met in college. We’ve lost touch since then.
My diploma was at the bottom, not that I have any real reason to hold onto it.
I take a sip, listening
to the ice clack against the glass. The whisky sits on my tongue, and I press it against my teeth before swallowing. All of the awards I’ve won are in my office, framed and lining the wall.
My eyes drift back to the portrait of the three of us. I don’t look a damn thing like her, like my mother. I’m the spitting image of my father, standing between the two of them. Mom’s smile is soft, but her eyes are what sparkle. She was so expressive. Soft-spoken, but what she said, she made count.
She could make an entire room laugh by only speaking once the whole night. I let out a breath, looking at the firm hand my father has on my shoulder in the photograph.
He liked that about her. He told me once she was the perfect example of what a wife should be. That was before he caught her cheating.
I wonder if that man, the one she risked her marriage to sleep with, loved to hear her talk. I wonder if that’s why she did it.
I down the whisky, pulling out the head seat at the table and sinking into it, my head leaning back against the crest rail of the antique chair.
This room is so fucking dark, with black textured wallpaper on the longest wall and the other three walls painted a soft grey. I wanted it to feel masculine. I remember telling the designer that. I told her I wanted it to feel like me.
On the right, centered in the room and next to the dark mahogany buffet is a long gas fireplace. With dark black crystals where the flames burn and sleek marble surrounding it. More black. Even the light fixture in the room is black. A circular pendulum that holds the light inside.
I huff a breath into the short glass and suck an ice cube into my mouth.
This is me.
A heart of fire that’s never lit. A dark past that only holds a single moment of time in significance.
I wonder if that bitch designer knew what she was doing.
I kick the leg of the antique chair next to me. It’s carved wood that’s been smoked. The deep brown leather of the chairs has a worn look to it.
I fucking loved this room. I loved everything about it when I laid eyes on it. The only addition I made was that fucking silver picture frame, and then I filled that buffet with liquor.
And thank fuck I did. I raise a glass to the picture, even though my glass is empty, save for ice. “To you, you fucking prick,” I breathe the last two words and take another ice cube into my mouth.
I crunch down on it, wondering if the toast was for my father or for me.
I push the glass across the slick table that I’ve never sat at for more than a drink or two and bring out my cell phone.
I fucking want Jules.
She’s pure and sweet, and there’s so much about her that I want to keep. I really shouldn’t have her. I’ve already been given more than I deserve.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
The screen lights up as I hear her words echo in my head. She shouldn’t get to decide when it’s over. Not like that. Not because of something so fucking stupid.
We work together. We make each other happy. I’m tired of living this life with nothing to fight for. I want her back.
My phone rings in my hand, startling me and making me drop it on the table. It vibrates, moving slightly as the ringtone goes off again.
I rub my eyes, feeling the heat of the drunken night start to take me in.
“Hello?” I think my voice is even. I’m fairly certain it comes out strong.
“Mason, we need to talk.” I recognize Liam’s voice immediately.
I rest my head in my hand and my elbow on the table before pinching the bridge of my nose. We do need to talk; we need to have a long fucking talk about how I can’t go through with this.
All the money is spent.
But I can’t keep pushing forward.
I need to give it all back to my father and cut ties. I need to turn him in.
Every bit of breath in my lungs leaves me, making my body feel light and my stomach sick. We’re going to go fucking bankrupt without his money. But I can’t be under his thumb any longer.
“We need that investment from your father’s firm.” A sad pathetic laugh leaves me as I register what Liam’s said.
“We already have it,” I say and stagger to the buffet, the phone on speaker, still on the dining room table as I pour another glass. The bottle’s already halfway gone. “We’ve already spent it,” I say loud and clear as I bring the amber liquor to my lips.
This time I inhale the sweet scent. Fuck, it smells as good as it tastes.
“We need more.” I swallow the drink, staring at the phone on the table as Liam continues. “We got the estates on the Upper East Side, and the committee approved the demolition plans.”
I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose again, setting the glass down. As I take a step forward, I start to regret having the last two drinks. My head feels groggy, and my body hot. “No, they didn’t.”
“I got it overturned. We’ve got everything approved, Mason.” I can hear happiness in Liam’s voice. Pride even. He claps on the other end of the phone, a rough laugh filling the room as it spins around me. “We just need that last check from your father.”
I put both elbows on the table and breathe, “We don’t need shit from him.”
It takes a moment for Liam to respond, “What?” He took so long I almost forgot he was even on the phone.
“Are you drunk?” Liam asks me, the anger only thinly covered and I’m not sure why.
“No,” I’m quick to deny it, but I know I am.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asks. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
I shake my head, not wanting to answer.
“We aren’t taking shit from my father,” and it’s all I can say.
“We are. We need those funds by Monday.” Liam’s voice is hard, but also panicked.
“We’ll find someone else.” My eyes narrow, and I steady my breathing. And my resolve. I refuse to owe a man like him. I refuse to play by these rules.
“By Monday?” He raises his voice and lets the disbelief ring through. “Mason, we can’t. We’ll lose the deal. It’s not like no one else was waiting for this property. It took almost a year to get it.”
Liam’s voice starts to go in and out as he lists off every reason why this plan of mine is fucked. How we’ll be ruined. How everything with fall around us.
I already knew it though.
I stand, leaving the glass where it is and the bottle of whisky still open, taking the phone and leaving the dining room.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I take a deep breath, listening to the silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m not taking another dime from him.”
I have to face reality. Even if it fucking kills me.
Chapter 25
Julia
Nothing is suffocating,
It cuts off the air.
Nothing is drowning,
But nothing is fair.
Nothing to hold, and nothing to thrill.
When left with nothing, nothing can kill.
The air is crisp on the iron balcony. The thick oak trees just barely block the sounds of the city traffic. I’ve always loved the colors of autumn. The way the thick dark green leaves thin out and crisp up to gorgeous reds and burnt oranges.
They’ll fall and waste away to nothing. Every spring they come back, good as new.
Bundled in my cashmere throw and sipping hot tea from the thin porcelain cup that drips of wealth, I’ve always loved their pale green beauty. But not today.
It’s not fair that they come back untarnished. It’s not right that life continues after death… only for those deserving.
I let out a deep breath, calming myself and then twist the cap to the flask and pour a bit of tincture into my tea. A small, faint chuckle makes my shoulders shake slightly as the liquid mixes with the now lukewarm tea. Tincture. Vodka, really.
It used to be a tincture. It used to be just enough to take the pain away.
But sips turned to bottles
as I preferred to feel numb.
And today is one of those days.
If I can just get out of bed and make it, the day will be okay. That’s what I’d tell myself over and over again when Jace first died. Sometimes it’s true. It’s as if simply pulling the sheets tight and patting down the creases until they're all smooth is enough to hide the past and put the daily routine into motion.
Some days, it’s all a lie.
All the time I spent with Mason. All that shit was just a lie. Some fantasy that life could be okay again. As if the crack in the glass didn’t exist, or could somehow mend itself.
I take a sip of the tea, but it only makes my throat feel more parched. I set it down on the saucer and breathe in the cool air before covering my face with both of my hands. I press my palms against my sore, reddened eyes.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this empty. Since my heart has felt as though it’s been torn open.
It doesn’t make sense in the least. I was over him. I was making progress. True progress in healing by being okay with Jace being gone.
I was okay.
For the first time since his death, I felt like I had a reason to be happy. Like it was okay to be happy.
I look over my shoulder as I rub my tired eyes with the sleeve of my silk blouse. I thought I heard someone. Just for a second, I thought I heard a creak in the old floorboards, as if someone was behind me.
My first thought is Mason. That he’s come back, and he isn’t taking no for an answer. I roll my eyes, feeling my heart squeeze violently in my chest.
I can’t make that more than what it was. A hookup, a fuckbuddy, I don’t fucking know. But I know what it is now; it’s over.
I settle back down in the iron chair and pick up the notepad. I haven’t written a poem in so long, but there are scribbles everywhere. Like loose poetry, lazy I suppose. It’s a story. Of how Jace and I met when we were young. How we fit so well together, and everyone told us we were meant to be.
Imperfect (Sins and Secrets Series of Duets Book 1) Page 13
