Hold Me (Promise Me Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  Fuck that.

  Or B: I could give in to my need for a little egotistical whining, refuse to pull up my big girl panties, and make a stink. Release my pent-up aggravation, weariness, and disappointment.

  I gathered up my strength and resolved myself to B.

  The next morning, I waited until I was certain Duncan had left for work, then I went to the hotel and gathered up everything I could, attacking the room with the vigor of a whirlwind. My things went into the suitcases while I put Duncan’s things into trash bags. I’d covered my eyes walking in the door, unable to look at the bed without imagining once more their entwined figures.

  “Ah, your favorite shirt.” I plucked the green-and-white checkered button-down from the chair and shoved it deep into the plastic garbage bag. “Trash now. And your pleated pants too.”

  I stormed the small space and then left with the car packed full. My own garments I placed neatly in the backseat, while I gave little regard for Duncan’s; those I threw together in a mangled heap in the trunk when I ran out of bags. Then I drove away with a smile on my lips.

  Duncan was my first victim. August, for his betrayal, warranted something different. He hated our five-year separation? Let’s see how he fared with it for the rest of his life.

  The man claimed to love me, so what was the use in destroying his material possessions. For him the worst consequence I could think of was denying him the one thing he wanted: me.

  After I left the hotel, I did something drastic. I called Leslie.

  “How fast can you get to my old house?” I wanted to know. “Do you know where it is?”

  “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there’s this app called Google maps? It will take me anywhere I need to go. And sweetheart, I can be there as fast as green grass through a goose.”

  “Which sounds disgusting. Come quickly, okay? I need your help.”

  “Absolutely scandalous. I’ll be there as soon as I put this squalling toddler down for a nap and leave him with Ma.”

  I clicked off with purpose and zipped through the single stoplight in town. Leslie was nothing if not prompt and always ready for action. I suppose I appreciated her, or her willingness at least. She was the type of person who didn’t ask questions; she simply dove in.

  Maybe this made us friends after all. The thought caused me as much disgust as pleasure at the prospect. But a woman needed other women around her, I decided. My coworkers taught me nothing if not the value of female companionship. In that moment I gathered my meager tribe around me and tried to remind myself that everything happens for a reason.

  Thirty minutes later I heard the sound of tires crunching over gravel. The hood of Leslie’s vehicle barreled around the corner through pine trees and pulled to a stop. Dust followed in her wake.

  “It took you long enough,” I jested, squinting against the intense sunshine.

  “Yeah, well, it happens when tractors are allowed on the road and there’s a single passing spot in a twenty-mile stretch,” Leslie called from the open window.

  The engine cut off and she sauntered around from the driver’s side. “I’m not one to dole out compliments, you know, but they did a nice job with the old place.”

  I glanced back at the new porch waiting for me to stain. “Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of nice. So far.”

  In truth, I was proud. Damned proud of the place and the potential I now saw. All it needed was polish.

  “So what’s up? I hope this is important.” She spared me a look over the rim of her sunglasses. “My kid did not want to take a nap and I had to bribe him with a trip to the candy store. Do you have any idea what sugar does to a child? It’s like speed.”

  Leslie looked fresh and cheerful despite her familial woes. If I had half her poise, I wouldn’t be running my tongue over gritty teeth, still garbed in yesterday’s clothes. I motioned for her to follow me.

  We walked out into the cleared field beside the house, where I’d pulled my car up near a pile of wood scraps and construction debris ready to be burned. Topping the mound, like the wilted leaves of a strawberry, were Duncan’s clothes. Vindictive? Yes. Clichéd? Unquestionably. Necessary? You betcha.

  I wanted to watch them burn.

  Leslie sauntered to a halt beside me and stared. “What’s the occasion? If I’d known we were having a bonfire, I would have brought marshmallows and champagne.”

  “A horrifying combination.”

  “Explain. Now.”

  I took a deep breath and ignored the sudden pain just below my chest. “August sabotaged my relationship by setting a trap with Leda, and Duncan took the bait.”

  Leslie sighed, cocking her hip to the side and considering me for a long moment. Finally, she came out with, “Sometimes I hate being right.”

  On any other day I would have taken offense at her cocky attitude. Today it was just what I needed.

  I laughed bitterly. “Sure, you hate it. And I hate walking in on my fiancé getting it on with someone else. Learning that my friendship with August was all a lie didn’t help either.”

  Leslie gave me an awkward pat on my shoulder. I knew she didn’t do sympathy well. At the moment I didn’t want her pity. I wanted her cool, calculating determination.

  Channeling my inner Leslie, I blurted out the rest of the story, from my ill-timed and ill-fated interruption of the clandestine lovers to the awkward drive home with August at the wheel. Tears never came, though I’d expected them in the retelling. It had happened to someone else, in my mind. Some other poor sap with bad luck their lot in life.

  When I finished, Leslie drew in a breath. “Wow, that sucks.”

  “All you can say is it sucks? Trust me, I know. It took forty years off my life, walking in on them. And finding out that August sabotaged every one of my relationships—” I broke off. “It’s devastating.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” she asked. “Because honestly, Isabel, I’ve been waiting for you to grow a sac since you joined the cheerleading squad and I developed breasts. I must say I’ve been unimpressed so far.”

  I once more indicated the bonfire pile, gesturing with my chin. “Are you in the mood for s’mores?”

  She grinned slowly, devilishly. “Always.”

  Leslie helped me gather the rest of Duncan’s clothes from the trunk of my car. She pushed up her proverbial sleeves and lugged armfuls to the nearby pile.

  “Maybe you could sell some shirts.” Leslie held a jacket up for perusal. “These are custom-tailored. I wish your damn fiancé—”

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  “—didn’t have such broad shoulders. I’d take some of this stuff home to my husband.” Leslie fingered a sleeve. “Why didn’t you take a page out of his book? The man obviously has style.”

  “What, and I don’t?”

  “Well…”

  “Clothes mean nothing to me. But they do to Duncan. These are his favorites.”

  She caught my meaning and nodded. “Then let’s incinerate them.”

  Oh yes, we’d get along just fine.

  Leslie knew her way around a fire. I saw it in the ease of her body, the tensionless set of her shoulders. I envied her in the moment, not for her happiness but for her nonchalance as she handled the gas can I’d found among the construction crew’s tools.

  I stood by with my hands in my pockets, shuffling from foot to foot and wondering if I was doing the right thing. Then August’s words came back to me. He made this happen. Like a puppet master, he’d tugged my strings until I ended up exactly where he wanted me. In his arms.

  “Do you want to do the honors? Or shall I?” Leslie swung the can around in a circle, pirouetting. “Are you sure you can go through with this?”

  No, I wasn’t sure at all, as arson had never been my forte. I drew a deep breath and straightened my spine. “I’ll do it, and yes, I’m sure.”

  I took the container from her and sprinkled more gas on the pile, watched the drops sink into the expensive material of those hand-c
rafted suits and shirts. Duncan would be furious when he came back to find his clothes gone. Even more so when he discovered how they met their end.

  Yes, this was something I could handle exceptionally well.

  “By the way,” Leslie said as she watched me pour out the contents of the container until it was empty. “I know someone who would pay cash for those suits. Seems a shame not to get something out of it.”

  “I appreciate your advice, but I am getting something out of it. Revenge.”

  “You think burning his clothing is enough?”

  I caught the hint of excitement in her voice but shied away from it. “For now. This is all new to me.”

  Leslie chuckled. “Honey, stick with me. We’ll have you straightened out in no time.”

  I moved my car around to the other side of the house away from possible danger, then we stood a careful distance from the pile, in the opposite direction of the blustering breeze. Leslie handed me a pack of matches from her pocket and, with a flick and a strike, three burst to life in one go. I shared a look with her before throwing the matches toward the wood.

  There was no going back.

  A great whoosh took us by surprise as the gasoline fumes burned fiercely hot. Then cotton, linen, silk, and other expensive fabrics went up in a rich display of spark and flame. My own Fourth of July celebration. Buttons melted, thread popped and sizzled, and the rest of the kindling caught in an instant.

  The flames danced before us, our entertainment for the afternoon, and any reservations I’d had went up in literal smoke.

  “I’m happy to be here for this.” Leslie was gleeful as she spoke. “Pleased beyond words.”

  “Words have always been your strong suit, so I’m sure you’ll find some appropriate ones soon.”

  “You’re finally growing a backbone.”

  “Kind of hard to go through life without one.” It took me long enough to find mine.

  “Well, now you know. You’ve gone too long feeling like an imposter in your own skin.”

  I turned to her. “And how do you know that?”

  “You’re your own worst enemy. Judge, jury, and executioner. As far as I’m concerned, Duncan’s cheating is the best thing to happen to you. There’s a light in your eyes now.”

  “It’s called betrayal, Leslie.” I rubbed said eyes and noted the grit instead of the sparkle.

  “It’s called growing the fuck up and being accountable.” She dragged a cigarette from the pack in her pocket and brandished it with the flourish of a magician, using a burning twig from the fire to light the end. “Stop blaming the world and own up to your life. You aren’t a failure.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled.

  “Easy to accept, too. Listen to what I’m telling you.” Leslie drew in a lungful of smoke, speaking through the exhalation. “Stop dwelling on regrets and focus on your future. You’re goddamn middle-aged now.”

  She was right but I hated admitting it. It was the imposter syndrome, feeling like a fraud no matter what my accomplishments.

  “You’re the same age as me, you old bag of bones,” I retorted.

  Leslie approved the parry. “So you should listen to your peers. Now add more fuel to this fire. Let’s get the party started.”

  I thought about our conversation as I tossed another pile of debris into the raging inferno.

  “Maybe if I stare at the fire long enough it will sear those dreadful images out of my mind.”

  Leslie kicked a stray log closer. “Some things can’t be erased. Ever. Savor them and let the experience make you stronger.”

  “Easy for you to say. You didn’t catch your fiancé cheating.” I rubbed my hands along my arms to ease the chill those words caused.

  “No, I did not.”

  “And right on the heels of that, finding out your best friend has wanted you for himself all these years and orchestrated said cheating. What do you say now?”

  Leslie smirked. “I told you the timing was off. I’ve always been able to sniff out a rat.”

  “Your sense of smell is all well and good until a man has his mouth on your tit.”

  “I thought you said Duncan had his mouth on another woman’s tit? Isn’t that obscenity the whole point of my being here? To offer moral support?”

  “I wasn’t talking about Duncan.” I had hesitated letting Leslie in on my little episode of near-debauchery with August. A hint here and there to move the story along, but most of my focus had been on the big revelation. Now, with a flush reddening my cheeks, I spilled the beans, fingering the tiny scar on my palm.

  Leslie’s mouth rounded in a stunned oh as she tossed the cigarette butt into the fire. “I have underestimated you all these years.”

  “It was a weak moment,” I amended. “I wasn’t thinking straight and I paid for it. Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d actually gone through with sex?”

  Her eyes bugged. “There was sex on the table and you didn’t tell me?”

  “It’s embarrassing.” I hugged myself. “It’s August, for goodness sake. Don’t you think it’s weird to jump on your oldest friend’s dick? I think so.”

  “You know, I told you to watch your step around August, true. But he’s still a good man,” Leslie said slowly. “Sex and betrayal aside, although you know as well as I the two go hand-in-hand.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t agree. On either points.”

  “If you say you honestly believe he’s not a good man, then you aren’t the woman I think you are.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “What else do you expect me to believe, Leslie? I mean, he admitted to sabotaging my every relationship since I hit puberty.”

  It took her a moment to formulate a cogent response. “He’s dedicated. You have to say.”

  “This goes beyond dedication, though he did tell me he loved me.” I shook a finger in warning to forestall the sweet sigh I saw brewing. “And don’t say how wonderful it is. It is neither wonderful nor romantic in any sense.”

  “I didn’t plan on it,” she countered dryly. “Although…”

  “He hired Leda to sway Duncan’s affection and engineered fights to push us apart.” I spoke with conviction, toeing a path in the dirt.

  “And why, may I ask, would he go to all this trouble? You aren’t exactly the next Miss America.” Leslie gestured toward my rumpled outfit for the first time since her arrival.

  The little scar on my hand captured my attention once more. So small, innocuous, yet weighted. “Because we made a promise.”

  “Do tell.”

  “If neither one of us had married before we turned thirty-five, then we would marry each other.”

  “How sickening.” Leslie appeared appalled by the idea, the hopeless romantic in her dead and buried years ago.

  “The sick thing is how it almost worked. I think I love him too.”

  “I don’t know why he waited all these years for you. When he could have had any woman he wanted, myself included.” Leslie ran a hand down her hip. “And it’s not like any of your boyfriends were such great prizes.”

  Yes, I realized that. Until now. “Duncan was wonderful. Is wonderful. I’m sorry I dragged him here.”

  Leslie grimaced, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, he’s so wonderful he tripped and fell between another woman’s legs. How awful for him.”

  “He was coerced,” I reminded her.

  “Coercion is one name for it.” She sighed. “Some people are weak-willed. It makes me want to vomit.”

  “He was stressed.”

  “Stop making excuses. You’re defending him instead of your own honor. You deserve better, sweetie. I’m here to see you get your happy ending.”

  “So you’re playing for Team August?”

  She strode forward and grabbed me by both shoulders, standing several inches shorter than me but intimidating for her height. “You have a lot to learn.”

  I glanced down at the glittering diamond adorning my left ring finger. The golden circle
was supposed to represent fidelity. Now it was a constricting band, a reminder of yet another catastrophe. I didn’t blame myself for Duncan, but then again I did. It was an odd combination of fault and blamelessness.

  I was about to throw my engagement ring into the fire when Leslie latched onto my arm.

  “Don’t.” She shook her head. “Get your money’s worth out of the stone at least.”

  The gem caught my eye again, sending me back to the first moment of surprise. The wonderful romantic scene Duncan had set for us, where he got down on the traditional one knee and pledged himself. His faithfulness and trust and respect. I wondered where those pledges got us, and why I let our situation get so far. I should have put a stop to our engagement the moment the first doubt manifested.

  “Have you spoken to Duncan since it happened?” Leslie withdrew her pack of smokes and I handed her the matches still clutched in my fist.

  I shook my head. “No. I refuse to call and my phone hasn’t exactly been vibrating out of my pocket.”

  She gawked at me. “So the wound remains fresh and soon the flies will be buzzing.”

  “More like the vultures,” I muttered. “Mourning my dead relationship.”

  “Nothing is set in stone. You can always take him back.”

  The scowl on her face let me know exactly how she felt about that prospect.

  “Or,” she continued, “you could look down other avenues. Some closer to home and a lot more desirable. Not that Duncan wasn’t a handsome man, but he wasn’t for you. Leave him for someone a little better suited.”

  “Stop pushing me toward August. He’s as guilty as Duncan, if not more so.”

  Leslie turned back to stare at the fire. “I don’t know what else to say. I can tell you my opinion until I’m blue in the face, but you’ll have to go with your gut here.”

  Unfortunately, my gut wasn’t going to be of any great help. Because lately all it wanted to do was be sick.

  Together we watched those flames engulf whatever precious treasures I’d managed to sneak away from the hotel room in a fit of cold revenge. The phone should ring soon, I told myself, patting my back pocket. And then the real fun would begin.