by Jenika Snow
“You’re drunk—”
“And you think that’s why I’m saying it?” she said and dropped her hand to the couch, staring at Elijah again. “No, I am not so drunk that I don’t know what kind of evil bitch she really is. You deserves better than her. My father deserved better than her. And I deserve better than having to live with her.” The sadness of bringing up her father slammed into Freya harder because she was drunk, but she held back her emotions. “I should go to bed.” She stood, surprising herself that she could stand fully.
She looked over at him and saw that he watched her, this guarded, hurt, and angry expression on his face. “Goodnight, Elijah,” she said softly. He smiled, but once again it seemed a little forced, a little sad, as if he were doing the act for her benefit. “I’m really sorry things aren’t working out with Meghan. I meant it when I said you deserve better.”
“Thanks, Freya, and I’m sorry, too.” He didn’t have to say why he was apologizing, because she knew. Both of their lives had clearly not gone the way they planned or wanted, but they would make it work. They had to, because if they didn’t then what was the point?
Chapter Three
Four years later
It had been a long time, forever it almost seemed, since Freya had been back to her hometown. She’d finished college, but was taking a few months off before she started job hunting. She may have been undecided when she came to the university, but her mind had been clouded with the thought of just escaping. After she left home, she hadn’t thought twice about the woman or the house where she’d spent so many years.
But the months leading up to her departure had been tense, heavy, and heated. Elijah had finally moved out, gotten that divorce he’d spoken to Freya about, and then it was just Freya and Meghan. But Meghan hadn’t even paid attention to Freya, not when she found a new guy not even a month after Elijah had left. And then Freya had finally left, turned her back on everything, and hadn’t looked back.
No conversation with Meghan, no thinking about what she was doing, how things were going with her, or if she’d ever seen her again.
That had been four years ago. Freya was now twenty-two, had her nursing degree under her belt, and was doing something she never thought she’d do. She was heading back to her hometown.
“I bet it’s weird coming back here after all these years?” her friend Maurice said from beside her. He was driving them back from the university, which was a grueling twelve-hour trip, which they were doing straight through. She looked over at the guy that had befriended her, her geeky, but lovable friend that she’d lost her virginity to one drunken study night, a night neither really remembered, but hadn’t repeated. He’d even gotten into a fight defending her honor. He was a good guy, and all those things had made her love him so much. But that was also in the past. They were just friends, the best of friends, and she didn’t know what she’d do without him.
His dark blond hair was short, but long enough in the front that it kind of swooped over his forehead. He wore these thin black glasses, and his blue eyes always seemed to regard her as if he knew what she was thinking. He was the total opposite of Elijah.
God, why was she even thinking about him?
She’d only spoken to him once since she’d been gone to school, and it had been in the form of a surprise call from him. He’d been checking up on her, and it had been a few months after she’d settled into her dorm freshman year. But there was just something about him that she hadn’t been able to shake, hadn’t been able to get rid of ever since their conversation when she’d been drunk and he admitted his divorce to her.
“Not weird, just kind of depressing,” she said and looked out the passenger window, pushing everything Elijah out of her head, but it was hard. She knew he still lived in town, and that his business had grown exponentially and internationally. He was wildly successful now, even more so than he’d been four years prior.
Stop thinking about him. Stop it.
She could see Maurice’s reflection in the passenger’s side window, saw the concerned look on his face, and knew he’d try to comfort her. He was a good friend like that. He also knew everything about her and her past. She hadn’t kept anything from him.
They were approaching the city limits of Grapplers Corner, the town she’d been born in, grown up in, and vowed never to come back to. But this was her home, no matter how long she stayed away, and she’d told herself, though not out loud, that even if Meghan had ruined the memories she had of this place, this was where she’d spent time with her father and mother.
“Just take this road about another mile or so. You’ll see a sign for Thorndale Avenue. Take a left, and follow that for about ten minutes.”
Maurice was silent as they made the rest of their drive, but she was glad for the silence, welcomed it. There were times she had hated the solitude being orphaned, alone, and having no family provided. It made her feel like she was just floating through this world with no purpose. But she’d remember all the good memories, the ones that far superseded the bad, and she knew that despite having no extended family, she wasn’t truly alone.
“Take a left up here. When you get to the end of the street take a right. My house is the last on the left.” She spoke softly, adjusted herself on the seat, and stared straight ahead. Four years she’d stayed away, and hadn’t come back, because she honestly didn’t have any reason to.
Finally Maurice pulled to a stop in front of the house that she’d grown up in, a house she had hated after her father passed away and she was forced to live in it until she could escape.
“It’s a nice house, Freya,” Maurice said, and leaned forward to see better out of the front windshield.
Her father had left her the house. He’d made sure in the event of his passing that when Freya reached adulthood it would go to her. It was paid for, and even though he had been married, Meghan had gotten nothing aside from what would afford her living expenses. And in the event Meghan got remarried, all income from Freya’s father’s account would cease being distributed to her stepmother. Maybe that’s why Meghan had come to hate her so much? Maybe that’s why she’d seen Freya as nothing but a nuisance, a child that had taken everything from her? And in essence Freya had, she supposed. Her father had left everything to Freya, every single dime, every single possession, but then Meghan was still strapped with the child that was not even hers all because of a legally binding marriage.
They sat there for a moment, neither speaking, but both looking at the house.
“You don’t have to stay here, Freya,” Maurice said softly. “We can get a couple of rooms at a motel. You don’t have to do this, Freya, not if it’s too hard.”
She shook her head. “It’s not too hard. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been here, and it’s a little sad thinking about everything. But my dad wanted to make sure I had some place that was mine.” She looked at Maurice. A piece of blond hair fell over the top of his glasses, and she smiled. He was such a good guy, and she was sorry things hadn’t worked out for them, that he couldn’t have been the one. But she was thankful things had ended the way they did and she could have him as a close friend.
He was even going back home and had a girl he’d been talking with for the last year, waiting for him. Freya was glad he had plans, that he was happy.
“As long as you’re sure,” he said and smiled. “But I’m here.”
She knew he was, knew he’d always be there for her, just like she’d be there for him.
“I’m sure.” She took a deep breath, and climbed out of the car. After getting her bags out of the backseat, she stood there a moment looking at the house. The yard had been tended to recently, but it wasn’t because they’d paid for anyone to do it. She looked at the house next door, knew the elderly couple that had been good friends with her mother and father had likely been the ones to cut it while they did their own lawn work. It warmed her heart that after all these years they were looking out for even the smallest things.
&n
bsp; “When is the moving van supposed to be coming?” Maurice asked and stepped up beside her.
“Tomorrow morning.” He held his bag as well, but although he’d driven her home, he wasn’t staying. He’d only be here long enough to help her get settled in, something he’d insisted on, and then he’d be on his way back to his parents’ house, which was another five hours from here.
They walked up the front path, moved up the steps to the porch, and she stared at the red front door. The glass that made up an oblong shape in the center of the door was in a floral and scrollwork design. Her father had told Freya her mother had picked out the door, had loved the design in it.
“I’ll warn you, since Meghan left no one has been in the house. We are talking years.” She looked over at Maurice and made a face. “I’m kind of afraid to go in there.” Although she knew when Meghan had moved out after she met her now third husband the house had been professionally cleaned. As far as she knew all of her father’s furniture was still in the house. She grabbed her key, rubbed her finger over the faded and dull brass coloring, and breathed out. “Let’s do this.”
She walked up to the front door, put the key in the lock, and turned it. Grabbing the handle, feeling her heart race, her palms sweat, and this strange sensation moving through her, she pushed the door open and stared inside. There was the stench of musty, boarded in age that came to her. The curtains were drawn, but the light that came from outside, washing around her and into the house, made the dust particles in the air stand out in stark relief.
She stepped inside, felt the rush of memories wash through her, and the urge to cry, maybe because she was happy, or sad, or just because she hadn’t been here in so damn long, took over her.
“You doing okay?” Maurice asked, and she nodded without looking behind her.
“I am.” And although she felt like crying, she was happy to be here, because as strange as it was, she wasn’t thinking about Meghan or her father dying, but about the memories she had before Meghan, before her father’s passing, and before she felt like she was trapped. She thought about the good times, the ones that had her smiling. Yes, this was what she’d been missing, and how insane was it that she’d stayed away this long, thinking it would feel horrible, but in fact she felt good?
Setting her bags on the floor, she looked around. To her left was the living room, in front of her the stairs, and to her right the hallway and kitchen.
“We are going to have our hands full getting this place cleaned,” Maurice said in a teasing voice.
She looked over her shoulders, keeping her emotions in check, and nodded. “Yeah, but I’m looking forward to it.” And she was, and God, did it feel good to want to do this, to want to be a part of a life she’d wanted to get away from for so long.
Chapter Four
“I want these files completed by five today. They have to be sent over to the McCain firm. Do you understand?” Elijah said into the phone, feeling his patience wane, his nerves about to snap, and his anger rise. He slammed the phone down after the call ended, breathed out, and closed his eyes. His business was booming, the money was rolling in, yet he was more stressed out than he’d been in the last four years.
Turning in his chair he stared out the window of his office. He was fifteen stories up, looked down and stared at the activity below. Although it wasn’t really that high, for the town of Grapplers Corner it was considered a skyscraper view.
He stood, walked over to the glass, and continued to gaze down at the city below, not moving for what seemed like several long moments, and then he heard a knock on his office doors. Without turning around he called out for them to enter.
“Mr. Westgate?” his assistant Brenna said from behind him.
He turned and looked at her. She held a stack of papers and a manila envelope in one hand, and in her other hand held a cup of coffee. She set the coffee on the table and handed him the paperwork.
“You have three appointments this afternoon, and another one tomorrow. Mr. Jerald wants to talk to you about the new property development—”
“Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day and tomorrow.”
She was silent for a moment. “Okay. Are you feeling okay?”
He looked down at the files. “I’m fine, but the appointments today and tomorrow aren’t anything that can’t be dealt with later in the week.”
“Okay,” she said again, and turned to leave.
Once the door was shut behind her he sat back down and rested his head back on the chair. Staring at the vaulted ceiling in his office, he felt strained, pulled and tugged because of work, because of his life being so hectic anymore. It was the evil that came with success. It was the strain that came with the payoff, the loneliness that came with being wealthy.
He picked up his phone, and dialed the front desk. “Get Franco on the line for me, please,” he said to Brenna. After a second of silence he heard ringing on the other end of the receiver. He waited for a man he’d first met years ago to come on the line.
“Elijah, it has been too long,” Franco, a Portuguese business investor Elijah had met five years prior, said in his deeply accented voice.
After they small talked for about five minutes, Elijah finally got to the reason he’d called Franco. “You remember that property you mentioned all those years ago, the one you owned about two hours from the city?” They’d spoken just last month at a gala they’d both attended, and when Franco had mentioned the property to another investor Elijah hadn’t been able to help but grow interested.
“Si. I’ve been in the market to sell it, and was speaking with someone at the gala, if you remember.”
“I do.” Elijah turned and stared out the window again. “I’d like to talk business with you regarding it. Personal business.”
“You in the market for property?” Franco asked.
Elijah thought about how lonely he was, how it was pathetic that he went home every night to his apartment and stared below at the activity on the streets. He thought about how he had no one, and when he’d been married he’d felt more alone than when he stood in a room by himself. In the last four years he’d become more successful than he’d ever thought possible, especially in a city that wasn’t exactly a sprawling metropolis.
He had no wife, and the women he associated with weren’t ones he’d be interested in spending the rest of his life with, not when it was clear they were more interested in the money he had in his bank account. Yes, he was in the market for property, one that would give him the solitude and the peace he needed, even if he’d be alone.
****
Elijah pulled his Mercedes onto the cobblestoned driveway of the cabin about two hours from the city. Franco wasn’t there yet, but Elijah was about twenty minutes early. After cutting the engine he climbed out of the car. Although this was considered a cabin, was out in the middle of nowhere, sitting on ten acres of thickly wooded acreage, and was the farthest thing from simplistic Elijah had ever seen, it was still out in the middle of nowhere and he’d have his space. That’s what he needed, maybe even just as much as he didn’t want to live this successful life alone anymore.
He walked around the outside of the cabin, took in the two story height of the structure, the arched windows, modern construction, and the professional landscaping. It was a gorgeous house on an ideal piece of property. It was exactly what Elijah was looking for.
The sound of a car approaching had him turning on the porch and looking at the BMW that pulled up beside his car. When Franco came out, he was speaking on his Bluetooth, his voice angry as he yelled in Portuguese with someone on the other end. After a few minutes Franco ended the call, held his hands out, and smiled widely.
“Olá, Elijah,” he said and walked up the porch. “Bom dia. Come, let me show you inside.” Franco unlocked the stained glass double doors and pushed them open. When Elijah stepped inside he should have realized this cabin wouldn’t be rustic, not if Franco owned it. It certainly wasn’t a cabin that one would thi
nk was out in the middle of the woods.
“I purchased the land about a decade ago, and planned on making this a vacation spot because of the location and lake that’s in town,” Franco said in his thick Portuguese accent. He walked into the large, open kitchen, and turned to face Elijah, a big smile on his olive skin toned face.
They walked through the rest of the four-bedroom cabin, and Franco took great pride in explaining everything that was in the house.
“We finished construction just last year, and everything is brand new, top of the line.”
“You never thought of staying here with your family?” Elijah asked and walked over to the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the sprawling back deck and woods.
“I planned on it, but my wife and the children are not ones for rustic living.”
Elijah looked over at him and lifted a brow. “This is rustic living?” he joked and smiled.
Franco started chuckling. “Let’s just say even after it was all said and done they prefer the villa in Portugal and the penthouse suite in New York over this.”
Elijah shook his head. “It’s not as simple as I’d initially wanted, but this is perfect for me, for what I’m looking for.”
“You wish to bring a wife here, have a family?”
It wasn’t a secret that Elijah was single, and that he had no family. That kind of information went through the grapevine and their social circle like gasoline through a fire. “I don’t think a family and another wife is in my future, Franco.” He paused a moment, and then looked over his shoulder again at Franco. “I’ve come to realize that no matter how much money you have you can’t buy everything.”
And that was the sad, depressing truth of it all, of his life.
Chapter Five
One week later
“Do you really have to leave?” Freya asked Maurice, feeling sad that her best friend had to go, but knowing he couldn’t stay here forever. He had opportunities elsewhere, a job waiting for him, a career, family, and of course a girl.
