Imperfect (Sins and Secrets Series of Duets Book 1)

by Willow Winters

  I close my eyes, remembering how the school bells would go off as we walked on the sidewalk to get to class. I brushed my knuckles against his, waiting and hoping. It had to have been obvious to him. Maybe I was the one to make the first move, but he chose me. He intertwined his fingers with mine, and he didn’t let go. He was a good man, not a perfect man. But he was good to me. Or so I thought.

  “Fuck,” I utter the word beneath my breath and it comes out shaky. They say when someone dies, you remember the good times. But damn are the bad times there, too. And that guilt, that’s something I don’t want. I don’t want to be angry at someone who will never have the chance to defend themselves again.

  I feel like a bitch for scratching down the scenes of our fights in that notepad. I let the words flow and poured out all my fucked up memories. His infidelity.

  I hear it again. I stand abruptly from the chair and as the iron scrapes on the balcony. I hear the creak of the floorboards behind me, and a chill sweeps down my body.

  Every emotion that’s made me a wreck washes away, quickly cleansed by fear. I turn slowly, my mouth parted but the words refuse to come out.

  I don’t have the strength or courage to ask who’s behind me.

  But I don’t have to.

  I let out a breath as a bushy tail comes into view.

  “Boots,” I say the neighbor's cat’s name and add, “you bitch,” with my hand over my heart.

  She must’ve snuck in while the balcony door was open and I was busy mulling over my wretched life. There’s an archway between my house and the neighbors, and Boots used to be a regular on this balcony. I take a few steps inside the bedroom and pick up the small tabby cat. Her fur is soft, and she purrs with content the moment I pet her. I only have a moment though. She gets fed up with attention quick and I’ve been on the ugly side of her claws before.

  “You know you’re not supposed to be in here,” I scold her. Suddenly feeling exhausted, I walk her back outside, setting her down and shut the door just as the phone rings behind me on the bed.

  The balcony is at the entrance of the bedroom so I have to walk quickly to get to the bed in time, but I do on the last ring.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Jules, how are you?” Kat’s voice asks over the phone. “I was just calling to check in.”

  “A fucking mess,” I tell her. My throat feels so damn tight. Is this what a breakup feels like? Or is this what regret feels like? I’m not sure which is which anymore. I suppose the two are one and the same.

  “God, I know it’s has to be rough.” I nod my head, but my lips are pressed into a thin line.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. I close my eyes and shake my head, and a moment later I’m able to tell her no. I’m composed, but only just barely.

  “Hey, it’s all going to be okay,” Kat says as if it’s a fact. “You know that, don’t you?”

  A small breath of disbelief leaves me. “No, Kat.” I lie back on the bed and say, “No, I don’t.”

  “Stop it. Stop it right now.” Although her voice is harsh, I can hear the pain behind her words. “Not everything in life is good, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a good life.”

  I lick my dry lips and close my eyes, lying back further on the bed and trying to relax.

  “And you have a great life, Jules. You really do.”

  I hate that she can say that. Especially now when my life feels so empty and meaningless.

  “I thought I was okay,” I open up to her. “I thought I’d be able to move on. I thought I was moving on.”

  “You’re going to, Jules.” For the first time today, tears slip from the corners of my eyes as she speaks. I keep my eyes shut tight and hold my breath. “One day, probably sooner than you know, it’s going to feel normal without him. It’s going to feel good without him. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it’s okay though. It doesn’t feel like it’s alright to not be upset.” I shake my head, my throat feeling tight and hate that I can’t explain what I’m feeling.

  “It doesn’t have to right now. You don’t have to do anything right now, except tell me you’re going to come to my house tomorrow night.”

  I sniffle into the phone, with a stupid smile that I’m sure looks ugly as hell plastered on my lips. I nod my head and I make sure I wipe every tear away from my eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “Good, now… are you alright?”

  I answer her honestly, “I’m not, but I think I will be.”

  “You definitely will be,” she says with such conviction, even I believe her. My body feels lighter as I scoot closer to the edge of the bed, ready to do something.

  “Do you want to go out for dinner?” I ask.

  I hear her take a deep breath on the other end of the line, and I know she’s busy. She’s always busy with work. “I can’t-”

  “It’s fine,” I cut her off. “I’ve got to get out of this house,” I tell her as I look up at the coffered ceilings in the bedroom. This house has too many memories in it.

  “You go out and get some fresh air and maybe some shopping in, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  I nod my head. “You will.”

  “Love you, Jules.” Kat’s voice is soft when she tells me she loves me. It usually isn’t.

  “I love you, too,” I tell her and it’s so true. I’d crumble into a blithering mess without her.

  As I rise from the bed, it groans slightly and I look back to find it a mess. I take the time to pull the sheets tight and lay the comforter just right. I even fluff the pillows and place them just where they’re supposed to be.

  As my feet pad against the old wooden floor, it creaks right where I know it should and that chill comes back to me. I look up at the balcony door and find it unlocked, which is odd. I swear I locked it. I go to turn the lock.

  Click. It’s loud as I stare at the lock, my fingers still on the cold hard metal.

  I never did like having a balcony in the bedroom. Jace told me it was a silly fear. I cross my arms, feeling colder by the second and unsteady. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, grabbing my phone and clutch and throwing on a pair of faded blue jeans.

  That’s the feeling that’s most recognizable, being unsteady. I’m not sure where I go from here. Worse, I don’t know where I want to go.

  But I know in this moment, with everything in me, I just want to get the fuck out of here.

  Chapter 26

  Mason

  Tick-tock.

  It’s a bomb, not a clock.

  Tick-tock.

  It’s about time to go off.

  Tick-tock.

  Prepare for the shock.

  Tick-tock.

  It’s the truth to unlock.

  I grab my wrist behind my back.

  I stand at the window in my father’s office on the other side of his desk with my back to the door as it opens. I watch as my cold grey eyes narrow in the reflection. The city traffic below is stirring with life, but it’s silent up here. So many fucking people surround us, but not one of them can save me. Not one of them would even give a fuck.

  Julia would. My sweetheart.

  “Mason,” my father calls my name and I turn to him, finally facing him and knowing I need to confront him and all this bullshit I’ve been running from. As much as I want to hold Jules close and pretend just being with her will make this right, I know it won’t.

  “Father,” I greet him with a cold tone in my voice. Hating that this man is even related to me. I stare into his eyes and see my own. Everything about him reminds me of what I’m going to become. And I fucking hate it.

  “We need to get over this,” my father says and gestures between the two of us.

  “We do.” I clench my jaw, my heart beating faster. I stare down at my hands, ripping my gaze away from him. “I don’t think there should be any more ties.” It fucking hurts to tell him that. Even after all these years and every
thing he’s done, I still feel pain at the thought of severing this relationship.

  “Ties to what?” he asks.

  “Between the two of us.”

  My father flinches as if I’ve struck him. But what did he expect?

  “Watch your mouth.” I can't believe he has the nerve to admonish me. As if what I’m saying is unspeakable.

  “I want to walk away. I don’t want to be tied to this anymore. I don’t want to be associated with you.” I hold my breath and wait for him to say something. I’ve played my cards.

  “I’m your father, Mason. You can’t walk away.”

  The fuck I can’t. I bite my tongue, gritting my teeth as he walks closer to the left side of the desk and I walk around the right, a careful dance of power that escalates the conversation.

  “You need to just forgive-”

  “I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Avery,” I look my father in the eyes as I cut him off. Every muscle in me is wound tight, waiting for him to make the first move so I can destroy him and let out this rage.

  His eyes flash with something. Anger, or maybe betrayal, but I don’t know what.

  “I did what I had to do to protect you,” he says and pushes the words out between clenched teeth.

  “She didn’t deserve to be murdered,” I seethe with anger. My hands ball into fists. Avery was a mistake. A fiery redhead with long legs, and a smile that could kill.

  I met her late at night at an event, and I knew she was trouble.

  I knew it that night, but I was in need of a quick fuck. She tempted me, and I took the bait. But I didn’t know how it would end. I never could have imagined.

  “That’s what happens when you fuck with a Thatcher.” My teeth grind as my father continues. “She decided to roll the dice. She’s the one who came to me with demands and tried to blackmail us.”

  “You could have sent her to me,” I point out and my muscles twitch with the need to pound my fist into his face as I take a step forward. “I would have told her the baby couldn’t have been mine.”

  “If I’d known then-”

  “You didn’t have to know!” I yell at him, my throat feeling raw as the words are ripped from me, screaming up my chest and leaving me in a painful cleanse. “She wasn’t innocent,” I take a step toward my father and grab the edge of the desk to keep from gripping onto his collar, “but she didn’t deserve to die.”

  “She did.” My father’s voice is hard, his back straight and his gaze full of confidence.

  “She was pregnant!” I scream at him. Hating how he could so easily demean her existence. He had her murdered. He didn’t even think twice about ending her life.

  “With a married man’s child!” my father screams back at me, his face turning red as he leans in closer to me, and I can’t take it any longer.

  I can’t take the arrogance and justification of ending a young woman’s life so easily. I ball my hand until my knuckles turn white and punch my father in the jaw. His teeth crack and crunch under the weight of the blow. His head whips to the side as he reaches out to grip onto anything for balance, but it doesn’t help him as he falls to the floor. He's limp and shocked, completely dazed. My arm stings with the pain of impact.

  But it feels so fucking good.

  He lies there for a moment, his hand over his mouth as trickles of blood leak from the corners of his lips. I shake my hand out, adrenaline rushing through my blood. I just barely restrain from kicking him in the ribs, from letting all of this anger and pent-up guilt out on him.

  “You fucking prick.” He spits blood out onto the floor and looks up at me with a menacing glare. “You choose some bitch over your own family.”

  No, I’m choosing what’s right. I’m choosing to be better than this life I was born into. I don’t bother to tell him my thoughts. They wouldn’t do any good to him.

  “Anderson didn’t want that kid. Think about what she would have done to him!”

  The mention of Jace Anderson makes me break my gaze. The memories come back and make my tense muscles spasm. I can’t even hear whatever my father’s yelling at me. It’s all white noise.

  I was born a Thatcher and I’ll die a Thatcher, but I refuse to be anything like my father. Not today, not ever.

  “I don’t forgive you.” I force my body to relax. I’ve said what I came to say. This ends now. “I never will.” I walk out, the sound of my heart beating fast and my shoes smacking on the ground accompanying me.

  Just as my hand grips the doorknob, I finally get the balls to ask him.

  One last thing to say. One final question.

  I turn to him, walking back to his desk with confident steps. He turns slightly from facing the window behind his desk, peering at me as if he doesn’t trust me. And he shouldn’t. Not with how I’m feeling in this moment.

  I stop on the opposite side of the desk, my heart racing as I go back years and years. Back to a boy who lost his mother. Scared, confused… and angry.

  “Mom didn’t die from an overdose.” The statement comes out accusatory, but it’s meant to. He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth with the bright white sleeve of his dress shirt. He doesn’t look me in the eyes, he doesn’t acknowledge me in the least.

  I take one step toward him, a large step that gets his attention. His gaze whips up to me. “You killed her?” I ask him.

  “How dare you,” he says and his nostrils flare as he pins me with his gaze. “How fucking dare you…” He doesn’t finish, and his shoulders hunch forward as he grips onto his desk chair for balance.

  I’m struck by the powerful way he’s affected. I’ve wondered for so long, for months now. If he’d had Avery killed, maybe my own mother suffered the same fate.

  I flex my hand and swallow thickly, feeling like I need to explain. It’s a gut feeling more than anything else. I don’t remember much around the time she died, but I remember how I felt, how the air between them was tense. How scared my mother was that he would find out her dirty little secret. “I know she was cheating-”

  “Get out!” my father screams at me, not holding anything back as he throws his chair to the side, putting all of his weight into it. It crashes against the bookshelf, several texts falling down as he slams his fists against his desk.

  I turn my back on him, my heart racing, my fist pulsing in agony from the punch and my chest hurting with a pain I can’t explain.

  He pounds his fists again and again as I see myself out.

  Leaving my father and promising myself never to see him again, never to speak to him, never to trust him. And never to be like him. Never again.

  Chapter 27

  Julia

  I asked for this.

  I asked for pain.

  I said goodbye to what caused shame.

  They were watching,

  And judging me.

  But it’s myself I have to blame.

  I stare down at the neat piles of papers to my right in the dining room. My back is fucking killing me, and my shoulders are screaming in pain. It’s wrong, so fucking wrong that now that this shit is sorted out my first thought is to call Mason, to see if he’s free and tell him that I miss him.

  He could ease the pain in my body, but also that sick lonely feeling I have after going through three years of finances.

  Three years of hard evidence of Jace cheating. Three fucking years.

  I glance at the email still open on my laptop. Mr. Walker will have more for me tomorrow. It makes my heart lurch in my chest, because I know I’ll see more of this shit. I don’t need to see it. That’s the really fucked up part of it all.

  I should and will sell the apartment and be done with it and all of the problems and loose ends that Jace left.

  I’ll be fine financially, and everything is going to be okay. But I want to know how long it went on for. I want to know at what point in my life I wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

  The wine in the glass is almost gone and it’s late, but I pour myself another. We all
have our vices and it turns out mine are Cabernet and Mason Thatcher. I take a sip of the sweet wine, my sad smile pathetic and weak.

  I stare at the open newspaper on the table. The one with a photograph of Mason and someone else. Someone new. Fuck it hurts to see it, to think that he’s moved on already. It hasn't even been two seeks since I saw him last. It has their picture, but the article is about me being left brokenhearted and used by the playboy bachelor. They know nothing, and I find it hard to give a fuck about what they all think.

  But Mason. I’ve stared at that photo for far too long, praying it isn’t true. Mostly because I’m a selfish bitch. I’m not ready to commit to him, or to anyone, but I want him all the same.

  Sue has assured me it’s bullshit and she’s just some woman he dated long ago.

  I take another gulp of the wine and look up when I hear my phone go off.

  It’s a text from Kat wanting my manuscript. Fuck my life.

  It’s a good thing I have an apartment to sell I suppose. Maybe I should thank my lying asshole of a husband.

  I text her back asking for an extension, and then sit down to write. To let the words flow. If anything, I expect it to be about anger, grief, betrayal. But all that comes to me are thoughts of Mason’s touch. How powerful his physical presence can be. How he can soothe my every pain. How he wants to, and about how much I want that, too.

  I let my head fall to the left, exposing my neck as I remember him kissing me, as he played my body right here. I open my eyes and look down at the table where I bent over for him. I confessed something so real, so painful and he made me feel alive and as though it didn’t matter.

  I suck in a deep breath, hating that I left him the way that I did. But I’m so damn broken. I don’t understand why he even wants me when it’s so obvious I’m a wreck.

  I bite down on my lip, picking the phone up and thinking of texting him.

  I miss you. I type in the words and then delete them.

  I’m sorry. I stare at the two words that mean so little, yet so much.