by Reed, Zelda
“No. He had the same thought process as you; that something bad would happen if we shattered what he thinks is his reality.”
We crossed the street and made our way into a small café, the smell of roasted coffee filling our nostrils as the barista greeted us with a smile. The walls matched the color of coffee mixed with cream, brown and red chairs set around brown and red tables, littering the inside and the front of the store.
We sat outside beneath a black umbrella, Evie’s leg thrown over her knee as she sipped her iced coffee and I sucked down a smoothie.
“Where is Jonah, anyway?” I asked.
“He had to stay in New York to slowly transition the power away from my father to him. He’s taking over the business once he passes away.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, straw between my teeth.
She nodded. “It’s what he’s always wanted.”
“Does that mean he’ll stop being Chace’s manager?”
“Probably. But he’ll make sure to pair him with one of the best.”
Her lips wrapped around her straw as I asked, “And what do you get?”
“Hmm?”
“When your dad dies? If you don’t mind me asking.”
She thought for a moment. “Money. That’s all. Not that I’m complaining, I know plenty of girls who father’s died and they didn’t leave them shit. But Jonah gets the business, Mom gets the house, the boats and some money, Tyler gets the cars and some stocks, Chace gets the entire library and some stocks, and I get,” she waved her hand in the air. “Money.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Right,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Especially because I’m the only one…I’m the only one who, aside from my mom, sits with him every day. Jonah hasn’t been home in a year, Chace only comes around for holidays and Tyler,” she rolled her eyes. “Look, I love my brothers and I don’t want to seem ungrateful it’s just,” she sighed. “I would love to have something tangible to remember my father by.”
I knew what she meant.
The good thing about my mother’s death was Laura and I were able to pick through her things and decide what we were going to keep and what would be thrown away. Laura kept her bed, my mother’s mattress only two years old, and I took her jewelry box and collection of cigarette lighters. The rest we hauled to the alley next to her apartment building, furniture and dishes ready for bulk trash.
There were times when Laura and I would lay on her bed, our knees pulled to our chests as we flicked our mother’s lighters on and off, on and off, as if we could conjure her presence with sparks of fire. Even though nothing would bring her back, it was nice to touch something she touched, to lay across the same place where she slept, to breathe in her scent.
“Maybe you can ask Chace for some of his books?”
Evie shrugged. “Maybe.” Then, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s talk about you and my brother.”
A wave of red brushed across my cheeks. I ducked my head to hide it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh really?” she said, smirking. “Then why did Tyler say he heard you two fucking last night?”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth before, “I didn’t…I mean…I…”
Evie titled her head back and laughed. “Calm down. No one’s surprised. We all see the way you look at him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“For some godforsaken reason, you like him. And I’m pretty sure he likes you too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. In case you haven’t noticed, Chace doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit, except for yours.”
I settled back in my chair, sipping on my smoothie as I thought of all the times Chace should’ve fired me but didn’t.
“He’s gonna be pissed when we tell him the truth,” I said.
Evie nodded. “He certainly will be. But something tells me the pros are going to outweigh the cons.”
***
When we returned to the estate Chace was pacing in his bedroom, scratching at the stubble that grew along his jaw. He smiled when I knocked and pushed open the door, the corners of his mouth twitching nervously.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, closing the door behind me.
It was easy, to fall into the role of Chace’s girlfriend, like slipping on a pair of gloves, or a mask. His smile was no longer foreign to me and I constantly itched to touch him. Except now I could touch him without fear of repercussions, just my hand on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I have to see my father today,” he said.
I gripped his arms. “I know. Aren’t you excited?”
His smile dropped from his mouth. “Not really.”
Chace released me and I stood near his desk, his novel more than halfway complete, the edits looked over, the sentence structure and the plot changed.
He paced a small circle in the floor before I said, “You’re gonna regret not speaking to him before he dies.”
Chace nodded. “I know but,” he shook his head. I could feel his words dying in his throat.
“What?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.
He looked at me. There was something new in his eyes, an openness I was never privy to see. He held out his hand and I took it, fingers lacing with his as he said, “I want to show you something.”
Chace led me out of his bedroom and to the first floor, passing the dining room and turning a corner in the east wing. We passed a closed door where soft music played behind it, across the hall stood a large guest bathroom, a gold trim around the mirror. Chace opened a door to the right and led me inside the library, a modest room filled with bookshelves and comfortable couches, the windows overlooking the front of the house, gardeners curing the lawn, the butlers taking a stroll.
He dropped my hand and I followed him to the other side of the room. Chace stretched his arm high, reaching for a mid-level shelf, pulling out three books he tucked in his arm. The fourth, he handed to me.
It was small, with a cream colored hardcover and cream colored pages. The book was filled with messy handwriting, all of it in crayon, the large words forming short stories concerning dogs and superheroes and magical creatures. A healthy chunk of the pages were burnt, crinkled into themselves and black around the edges.
“What happened to it?” I asked.
“When I was seven I decided I wanted to be a writer,” Chace said. “The same age that Tyler said he wanted to be the first man on the sun and Evie wanted to be a cat. My father sat me down and told me writing wasn’t a responsible career and I should choose something else. I told him I wanted to be a doctor and he was pleased.”
“My mother bought me a journal and I wrote stories in it before I went to bed. One night my father found it, took my hand, dragged me to this library and,” Chace motioned towards the fireplace, cold and black. “Threw it in the fire. My mother got it out for me, but not before my father slapped me and told me I wasn’t allowed to write fiction anymore.”
Chace handed me two other books, the pair of them sporting charred edges.
“My journals from middle and high school. The same story as before. Except now my father could tell I was serious, that my dreams of becoming a writer were manifesting into something dangerous. He threatened to take my inheritance away from me if I continued with it and in my junior year I told him I would be going to college for English. He said if I did, he was going to kick me out and I would have to pay my own way.”
He handed me the last book. This wasn’t one a journal and I recognized it immediately. It was Chace’s first novel, the Pulitzer Prize winning, Battlerun. His handsome portrait decorated the back, glittering reviews sprawled on the jacket. It was charred more than the others, like someone tried to stomp it out with fire, barely recognizable to someone who hadn’t spent their freshmen year staring at it.
“I worked three jobs to pay for college and in the end I
wrote a book, hoping for success so my father could see that writing was the best career move for me. But I came home, handed it to him, and he burned it.” Chace fell silent for a moment. “He said I was foolish and acting like a girl with her head in the clouds. That in a few years I would know what he was talking about.”
“But you’re in his will,” I said, clutching the book to my chest. “He’s forgiven you.”
Chace snorted. “He shouldn’t have to forgive me, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
I nodded. “Do you hate your father?”
Chace spit out a laugh. “Hating him would be easy. Then I’d just be one of those sons who never came home.”
He took the charred book from me and put it back on the shelf with the rest of them.
Chace didn’t hate his father, he was desperate for his approval. Even though he was on his deathbed, he was struggling to face him, having swallowed and digested the lie that he was failure because he didn’t live up to his father’s standards.
I grabbed his hand. “He should be proud of you,” I said. “You’re one of the most successful men I know.”
Chace smirked. “Is that really saying much?”
I had to laugh. “No. I guess it’s not.”
He smiled. Then, “I have nothing to say to him.”
“You can tell him that you’re sorry he never got the chance to know his son.”
He pulled me in for a hug, his chin resting on top of my head. “I don’t think I’m going to say that.”
I laughed. “You’ll think of something.”
Fourteen
There was nothing particularly dramatic about Chace’s meeting with his comatose father. No fodder for his next novel or anything I could steal to put into my mine. Just a few minutes of a son sitting next to his father, staring down at him as his chest rose and fell.
Bonnie and I waited near the threshold, her arms crossed at her chest, then her hands in front of her lap, then one hand resting against her chin as the other tucked around her elbow. She sighed quietly, then heavily, moving every time Chace did.
Chace said one thing and one thing only. He stood and patted his father on the shoulder. “Sorry.”
His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he moved out the room, passing Bonnie and I without so much as a glance.
I moved to walk after him but Bonnie grabbed my wrist. “Give him some time,” she said.
Evie was in the living on the phone with the family doctor.
“Trust me,” she said. “I’m sure he has some fucked up sort of amnesia.”
She made an appointment for first thing tomorrow afternoon. A house call at eleven. Most likely minutes before Chace permanently kicked me out of his life.
Evie hung up the phone with a smile. “How did it go?”
“I think it went as well as it could’ve gone.”
“And my mom? Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think she is.”
Evie’s smile grew. “Where’s your boyfriend now?”
I blushed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He thinks he is.”
“Yeah but…After tomorrow that’s all going to change.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”
When it came to this situation I tried not to dwell on the “maybes”. Yes, maybe Chace wouldn’t hate me and would allow me to keep my job. Maybe he would go back to treating me like shit, only now he would slip in jabs about how much of a liar I was. Maybe he wouldn’t fire me, but he would be horrible enough that I would quit.
But maybe the fog in his head would clear and he would see me in a new light. Someone who wasn’t his lowly assistant who lied to get him to fuck her. But a girl who was starry eyed around him, even when he was being a dick.
Evie hooked her arm around mine. “Come on, let’s go find Chace.”
***
We found Chace by the water, barefoot and wandering in the grass, his hands shoved in his pockets and salt water licking his hair.
Evie broke away from me, running towards her brother and surprising him with a jump, her arms going around his neck, her legs wrapping around his waist. It was the first time since we stepped on the estate that I saw him smile so wide, a deep laughter passing through his mouth as Evie planted a wet kiss in his hair.
Chace pretended to fall over to get her to jump off, laughter ringing in the air as she kicked up dirt to stain the bottom of his pants. He chased her, the two of them like children, Chace’s arms reaching out for her, her fists clenched as she ran. She circled towards the house then back towards me.
Her face was pressed against my shoulder as she ran behind me and said, “If you want me you have to go through Alice.”
“You say that like it’s going to be difficult,” Chace said.
“Hey,” I said, hands on my hips. “I’m tougher than you think.”
Chace laughed and for a minute I was thrown back to before. It was patronizing but playful, only an inch of sting behind it.
“I can take down the both of you at the same time,” he said.
“Prove it,” Evie and I said, in unison.
Chace charged towards us, our feet digging into the ground as we grabbed his arms and tried to push him back, but he was too strong. We toppled over after a second of scuffle, Evie landing on the grass and me halfway on top of her.
“Oh shit, are you okay?” I asked, rolling off of her.
She was giggling on the ground, her mouth wide open as she said, “Chace, you fucking asshole!”
Chace stood over us, triumphant and pleased with himself.
The remainder of the day played out in a similar fashion. Chace was more pleasant than I’d ever seen him, his smile almost a permanent fixture on his face as he reached for my hand and laughed along with his family, even Tyler.
We fucked again but on the bedroom floor, Chace on his back as I rode him, my knees scratching against the carpet and his hands massaging my breasts. I came with his arms wrapped around me, pulling me down onto his chest as he fucked up his hips and snaked his tongue in my mouth. I swallowed his moans as he finished, the smell of him, the taste of him, the fell of him rendering me dizzy and uncontrollably transfixed on elation.
As we laid in bed, I couldn’t help but think that it all couldn’t be fake. There was intensity Chace and I shared when we looked into each other’s eyes, one that couldn’t be fabricated from a bump to the head. Desperately I hoped there was something inside of Chace that felt an inch of something for me, a spark that could be enflamed if he gave it chance.
Once he was back to himself, that is.
Fifteen
The doorbell.
We were woken by it around seven in the morning, the sound of it incessantly chiming throughout the house. No one was up, not even “the help” who started their day around nine, after Bonnie made breakfast and they filled the kitchen, cleaning and putting away dishes.
Chace propped up his head, his hair a mess and his eyes narrowed with sleep. He glanced around the room as if the sound was right outside his door, staring at it before he said, “Go down and see who it is.”
I almost laughed. The demand was so much like who he was days ago.
I dressed in my clothes from the day before, pulling my hair into a ponytail as I walked down the steps.
Evie made her way to the door before me, a robe pulled tight around her slim form as she cracked open the door and poked out her head. She stumbled backward when the force on the other side pushed it open and forced their way inside.
My feet landed on the second step when I stopped.
“Jennifer?” Evie said, running a hand through her short hair. “What are you doing here?”
Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “It’s seven in the morning. Why is no one up yet?”
“Because it’s seven,” Evie said with a yawn.
Jennifer rolled her eyes, her scrunched up face surveying the entire foyer befor
e she landed on me.
The anger in her face transformed into rage, lines building on her forehead, teeth grinding against one another as she pointed a finger at me and charged forward.
“You little bitch,” she said, spitting out every word.
I gripped the railing of the steps as she stepped onto the first step, her nose inches away from mine. She grabbed the front of my shirt and hoisted me closer, her hot breath sliding across my face.
“I knew it was you he was cheating on me with,” she said. “You slut. You miserable, fucking slut.”
I heard Evie shout, the sound of it like a cloud building in my ears.
All of it happened so fast I barely had time to process.
Jennifer pulled back her arm, her fingers tightening in a fist, and then – SLAM. Her fist slammed right into my jaw.
Thank You
Writing Escape is as much of a wild ride for me, as it is for Alice. I hope you’re exited for more! If you enjoyed part two, please let me know in a review on Amazon, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, and Goodreads. I depend you, the reader, to craft an enjoyable and steamy story.
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Once again, thank you!
About the Author
Zelda Reed has never met a glass of whiskey she didn’t love. A Los Angeles native, she moved to the windy city of Chicago to complete a degree in Fiction Writing before falling head over heels for every romance novel she could find. Writing is her passion and she lives for making her readers happy, using her novels to spread a little more love in the world.
