by C. Lymari
“You look lovely.” He only had eyes for Emma. Nudging her seemed to make her remember we were in a crowded bar.
“Hey.” Her voice was soft like a lullaby. It didn’t take long for me to leave. I told Emma I was going to the bathroom and gave Dex a look. We both knew I wasn’t coming back. I just hoped Emma didn’t hate me after this.
* * *
“Nah, it has to be something big, something motherfucking epic.” Quincy was pretty much shouting in Jess’s ear. She didn’t mind; she was hanging on to his every word.
“What’s motherfucking epic?” I asked.
Quincy whistled. I swore the boy got off on teasing me. “Girl, where are we going tonight? You look fine.”
“Kid, jailbait. Remember?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s a damn shame. Chicks love me. I’m a chick magnet. Tell her, Glooms.”
I gave Jess a questionable look. “Glooms?”
“Because she has that whole broody thing going. She’s my girl, Gloom.”
Jess shrugged it off.
Don’t promise when you’re happy, don’t reply when you’re angry, and don’t decide when you’re sad. I was beginning to think the blackboard was magical. It always hit the spot. Well, I was guilty of all three, but then again, it was so easy to promise when you’re happy, when you think nothing can go wrong. It was so easy to assume everything would stay the same. It was hard to keep your mouth closed when you were mad, because if you were passionate like me, you always wanted to have the last say. And sometimes deciding when you were at your breaking point was the only way you’d get results.
I knew I did.
“I’m going to help Emma with some paperwork. Then I’ll go get us some Rocco’s on me.”
Quincy and Jess got excited at the mention of free food. Show me a teenager who didn’t. I didn’t think much on overstepping when I turned on Emma’s computer. I was good with prices and budgeting a store. I wanted to lighten her load. What I didn’t think I’d find was Emma was trying to keep a secret.
The business was not doing good. The revenue in the past years had declined. Sure, Em sold coffee and pastries, but it wasn’t enough. I felt guilty, and I didn’t know why. I knew I wanted to help her. Because if it weren’t for her, I would be lost. Being here at the store had given me a new purpose and stopped me from running to Max’s house and demand to know why he could stop fighting for us.
How could he stop fighting for me?
I never moved on because I had hope.
27
Freya
I was freezing by the time I made it to Rocco’s Ristorante. Why did I think it was such a good idea to walk? With the revelations of Emma’s business I forgot I had my grandpa’s truck with me. My fingers were cold, and my back was a sharp wind away from getting frostbite. Even thinking about the word frostbite brought an ache.
I was pathetic.
Shaking my head to chase the memory away, I pulled the door open and was greeted with the smell of fresh pasta. My mouth watered. My head was trying to wrap around Emma’s troubles when my body collided with someone else. I hear a sharp intake of breath and felt fingers digging into my waist almost painfully. My heart thumped wildly, and my blood raced. I didn’t have to look up to know who I had collided with.
I knew whose arms I was in.
I was home.
I was in Max’s arms.
After what happened last time, why was I letting him touch me?
Because the feeling was familiar. It didn’t matter that seven years had passed since the last time he held me. I remembered. My body remembered. My heart never forgot.
Giving myself a mental pep talk, I looked up, even though I didn’t want to. I tried to stop it, but my eyes found him in an instant. Our eyes locked, and in a way, it felt like it was for the first time all over again. He wasn't blowing me off, telling me we were friends, or telling me I was lousy in bed. Max’s gaze traveled from my face all the way down to my toes. My belly tingled, my legs wobbled, and my sex ached.
This was not happening.
What was it about Maximilian Dunnett that made me forget the ocean of hurt and regret between us? What was it about him that made it impossible to look away and try to forget? I needed to learn to live in a world where the words Max and Freya never existed together.
“Let me go,” I pleaded.
Max smirked at me. “You know I felt the way your body shivered. I’d say you like it when I touch you.”
“It’s cold outside,” was my lame attempt to save face. It wasn’t a complete lie. Fall was already here; it usually was my favorite season. It had been a long time since I saw the leaves turn gold. I used to love it—this year, not so much. Every day that passed was another day closer to the wedding.
Before either of us could say something, Mr. Hendrix walked in, causing us both to jump back.
“Freya,” he said my name a little hesitantly, and I briefly wonder if he thought something was going on with Max and me.
“Mr. Hendrix.” I smiled, trying to hide my discomfort. Just because I was friends with his son, it didn’t translate to us being friends. Still, I walked with him to put in my order, leaving Max behind. I felt his molten stare at my bare back. Feeling exposed, I regretted my choice of dress.
“Please call me, Brandon. I don’t mean to be intrusive, but you seem familiar. Who are your parents?”
“Eugene Pratt raised me.” I could tell my answer surprised him. I knew little about Brandon Hendrix, except he was like second cousins with Abigail’s mother. Shit, that meant Dex was related to Abigail. It made sense why Mr. Hendrix would run away. If I were related to the Newtons, I would run for the hills too.
“Eugene had more kids? How old are you? I thought he and Josie only had Devora?”
“I’m Devora’s child.”
That startled Mr. Hendrix. His eyes looked like saucers. “Dev’s your mom?”
“She was,” I said the words slowly. My mom was never a mother. A real mother would have never been weak and chosen alcohol over her child.
“What do you mean ‘she was’?” He seemed confused, and I hated to be the bearer of bad news. I left for seven years, and a lot had changed. According to Dex, his father left for over twenty years. I imagined he had more of a shock when he came back than I did. Then again, I doubted he came back to find his sweetheart engaged to his nemesis.
“Um… her car skidded off the bridge, and she drowned. It was a long time ago. To be honest, I don’t even remember much. Then Grandpa and Grandma took me in. After Grandma died, it’s been Gramps and me.”
“What about your father?”
“Grandpa is my father.” I was playing with my hands because this conversation was making me uncomfortable. It felt more like an interrogation. Everyone in town already knew it, so it wasn’t like it was some guarded secret. “My mother never said who my father was.”
Dex’s dad gave me a pitiful smile. I was glad when they called my order. It gave me an excuse to leave this conversation. When I was walking away, he stopped me.
“You have her smile.” His words were barely audible, but I heard them. I knew I had my mother’s smile. My grandpa had pointed that out on many occasions. Mom had dark blue eyes, I had brown eyes. I liked to pretend I got my dark hair from my grandma since Mom was a dark blonde like my grandpa. The conversation left me a little unraveled. I hated thinking of my mom and her selfishness. When I was younger and I would get bullied, I blamed it all on her. If she had stuck around and not gotten addicted to alcohol, I wouldn’t be the girl whose mother was a whore. It wouldn’t have mattered that I was poor or even a bastard; I would have still had my mom.
When I turned around, Max was staring at me, and there was concern written all over his face. I might not know this new him, but he seemed to still recognize me. He gave me a look and then turned his gaze to Brandon. He wanted to know if I was okay, and that did things to me.
It lit a little ember of hope that had no business in lighting up.
I walked away, aware of the fact I would have to pass his table. On the plus side, Abigail wasn’t with him. Unfortunately for me, Prescott was. Fucking great. Seriously, he was still a handsome bastard. I know karma already gave me mine, but couldn’t it have given Prescott his first? For real, give him a beer gut or something. Still, now older, it was easy to see that Max was the more handsome of them too. There were two other men at their table. Hopefully that would be incentive enough for Prescott to ignore me.
“Freya Pratt.” My eyes closed, and I fisted my free hand. I could keep walking, but I wasn’t one to shy away, especially from Prescott the dick.
“Prescott,” I said in acknowledgment. The two men who were sitting with them looked at me.
“Come here and give an old friend some love.” The fucking asshole pushed his chair back and stood up. I ignored him and instead introduced myself to their companions.
“This is Chad, Juliet’s husband,” Prescott said as Max stared at me, “and Drake.”
“What a lovely name.” Drake held my hand longer than necessary. Next to me, I felt Max’s glare.
“Freya, it’s good to have you back. She was the town’s darling. Weren’t you, sweetheart?” Prescott was leisurely gazing at me, but with him, I felt repulsed.
“Enjoy your meal. Nice meeting you. I need to get going before my food gets cold.” I turned around and left without another word to Prescott. What a major dickwad. I couldn’t believe people actually wanted him to be our mayor.
When I stepped outside, it had gotten colder, and I hated my dress at that moment. Okay, not really, but I guess fashion wasn’t always comfortable—like that dress Riri wore to the Met in 2015 looked heavy AF but was still gorgeous.
“Freya!” I walked faster when I heard my name being shouted. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest, urging me to turn around and jump into the arms of a man who no longer wanted it. I felt relieved when I didn’t hear his voice again.
I told myself this was good; it was what I wanted.
“It’s cold, Freya. Get in the car.” His husky tone gave me more chills than the wind. I had spoken too soon. There he was driving his classic Mercedes right next to me. Do you know what I didn’t do? Get in the car. I kept walking, holding the food close to my chest, finding comfort in the heat it was emitting and pretending like Maximilian Dunnett was not following me.
“Freya, get in the car,” he demanded.
I mocked his command without thinking. “Get in the car, Freya.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No.”
“Jesus Christ, Freya, it’s fucking cold. Get in the car before you get sick.”
“Jesus Christ, Freya,” I mimicked again.
Max sped off, and I could breathe properly now that he wasn’t driving alongside me. Still, I kept walking because sagging to the ground was unacceptable. Then suddenly, when I was about to cross the street, there was Max cutting me off and blocking my path. He stepped out of his car, not caring it was illegal to park in the middle of the street. Then again, he could afford to pay any fine. As he approached, it was like I forgot how tall he was, how much his presence tilted my axis. I tried not to think about him and what he said in his office, but dammit it hurt.
You weren’t that good.
It sucked, but I compared Ashton to him. Ash paled in comparison, and to Max I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t special. I was nothing. I stopped walking, scared to take another step. If I pressed the food any tighter to my chest, I would find myself covered in marinara and penne.
“Let me give you a ride. Please, it’s fucking cold and your basically naked.” He opened the passenger door to his car. It would be childish if I walked around him, wouldn’t it?
“I’m not naked,” I muttered as I made my way to his passenger side before anyone saw us, or cars honked. Max didn’t move; he was holding the door for me. It made me nervous and self-conscious. I was unable to breathe. My back jolted when he put his hand on my bare skin. I was cold from not having a jacket, so when Max touched me it burned.
“You’re freezing.” His breath fanned my back, and I almost lost it when his finger traced down my spine. “You’re not wearing a bra,” he croaked, and I couldn’t help the small whimper that left my lips.
“Dammit, get in the car, Freya,” he growled in my ear. He fucking growled. I was about to protest, but he pushed me in. I watched him as he made his way over to the driver’s side. When Max climbed into the car, it suddenly wasn’t big enough; there wasn’t enough air for both of us. I wondered if he was thinking about the last time we were together in this car? I knew I was trying not to.
“You can drop me off at Emma’s.” My face turned away from him. It was easier that way. Why torture myself more? There was no point in it anymore.
When Max spoke, his voice was much gentler than it had been. “I’m not cashing the check, Freya. Eugene and I had a previous arrangement. Abigail didn’t agree to it; that’s her problem, not yours.”
I said nothing. I already had a feeling he wouldn’t cash it. Not because of me but because of my grandpa. So, I’d mailed Abigail another check.
“I’m sorry about Prescott,” he added.
“Prescott has always been a dick, not surprised by his attitude. I can’t believe people want him to be our mayor.” I thought he would take offense, but he chuckled, and I couldn’t help but turn to look at him. Since my return, I’d seen Max smile, but I hadn’t heard his laughter. It was like listening to an old song you forgot you used to love, and when you heard it again, you wondered how the hell you ever forgot it in the first place. Hearing him laugh made me sad.
I used to make him laugh all the time.
I used to make him smile.
I was the one who made him happy.
“You said the same thing when he won prom king.”
I had said many things about Prescott. I thought Max liked that I didn’t fawn over his brother like all the other girls.
Max drove slowly, but the ride was still over quickly.
When Emma’s Coffee came into view, Max spoke. “I’m sorry for what I said in my office. It was out of line… Freya… I…”
I held my hand up to stop him from saying more. I might not know this new Max, but traces of my boy were still in there. My boy wasn’t mean, and when he was, he always apologized. Abigail was lucky, and I hated that I handed Max off to her, that he found in her the love he once got from me.
With one hand on my door, I turned to look at him. “I wish you would hate me—like actually hate me so that the mere sight of me would make you sick. It would make this easier. I know it won’t mean much, especially now, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving as I did. You deserved so much better than me... I’m glad you found it.” I whispered the last part.
I got out of the car before I confessed things that were too late to say. There was no point. He didn’t know it, but he had my heart, my soul, my love.
* * *
Max
I wish you hated me. Her softly spoken words slayed me, piercing my heart, and I wished I didn’t fucking hate her. Couldn’t she see it all was an act? That being courteous to her is my way of showing that she didn’t rip my heart out. That pretending like she didn’t break me was easier than letting her know how much it affected me when she left me.
I was not the same guy who fell in love with her, the same kid who thought he was a lucky son of a bitch because he had Freya Pratt.
That guy died the day I found her fucking letter.
I slammed my hand against the steering wheel, making the car swerve. It wasn’t my car’s fault how pissed I was. I would have given it all up for her. My car, my trust fund, the Dunnett legacy, just to have her in my arms.
If I didn’t care, then why was the note she left me still in my wallet ready to fall apart? I didn’t have to read it to know what it said. I memorized every single word she wrote because it was the
last thing I had of her. The promise ring I had given her I threw in the stream. I sat on the bridge and watched it sink. Freya always said she never wanted to be like her mother. Instead, she left.
When I made it to the old water tower; I put the car in park and climbed the old stairs, scared they would break. When Freya left, I used to come up here all the time. It was in this damn place where I remembered her best. Where I could hear her laughter in the wind. Smell apples in the air. It was the place where she gave herself to me, and I swore, if I closed my eyes, I could still see her lying down looking up at me with trust, want, and love.
How did we end up like this?
I looked up at the stars, hoping like hell they had an answer because I had moved on. I had let her go, ready to move on to a life without her. “Why didn’t anyone tell me she would come back?”
28
Freya
Where had the time gone?
Wasn’t I supposed to be looking for a new dream? Getting my shit together and figuring out what I would do now? I had done everything but get my shit sorted. I had been in knots since I got here. I was confident I would have been fine living the rest of my life in denial, but that wasn’t an option anymore. It was fine when in the back of my mind lingering feelings for Max still existed. Admitting my feelings only made them real.
Trust me, it should be a sport the way I pretended not to notice Abigail walking into Max’s office with a bag of lunch or when their car passed by the shop and I saw her laughing.
“You’re wasting all the hot water. Go jump in the shower,” my grandpa grumbled. He was sitting across from me eating the breakfast he swore he didn’t want. “If you’re getting anything from that closet of yours, get it soon. It’s supposed to rain.“
I stuck my tongue out at Grandpa before I did as he asked.
While I showered, I thought about Emma and her failing business. Her coffee shop was everything to her, and I would hate for her to lose it. After I got out, I got changed and asked Grandpa for a ride. If I wanted to be godmother to Rusty’s baby, it was probably a good idea if I visited.