by Kennedy Fox
“Mission fucking accomplished,” I throw her way, blocking Gemma from both of them. Victoria’s dangerous and so is Robert.
“My previous sentiment still stands,” I say. “Fuck off.”
Gemma and I move toward the door as Robert follows us, begging her to stay like a little bitch. He continues to mutter Gemma’s name under his breath as the exit of the restaurant comes into view. Once we’re outside, he cries for her to stop. Gemma sucks in a deep breath and breaks away from my hold.
“I have to talk to him,” she whispers.
I plead with my eyes not to give in to him, but she does and keeps her distance.
“Honestly, I didn’t know,” he says again. “You have to believe me.”
Watching with my arms crossed, I’m ready to pounce if he lays a hand on her.
“Maybe you didn’t, but as you mentioned before, there’s zero trust between us. I don’t think I can believe anything you say anymore, Robert. Not that it matters since we’re no longer together.”
He acts as if she slapped him in the face, but Gemma continues. “She’s dangerous. And if you’re as smart as you claim to be, you’ll walk away from her and that deal now before she turns on you, too.”
Robert opens his mouth, then shuts it. “I’m not scared of her…” His eyes snap to me. “Or you.”
Gemma shrugs. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You agreed to have dinner with me tonight. We have other things to discuss.” Robert growls.
He must have a death wish if he’s talking to her that way.
“No.” She doesn’t explain herself and takes the ring off her finger. She steps closer, then hands it to him.
“If you go, you’ll be sorry,” he threatens, studying the diamond he thought would be enough to make her happy.
Gemma shakes her head, and when she’s next to me, she smiles. “Ready?”
“This isn’t fucking over, Gemma!” Robert yells behind us.
She looks over her shoulder. “Go to hell, Robert. And take Victoria with you.”
I can’t wipe off my smug grin as we walk to her car. I grab her keys and offer to drive. Once I unlock the doors and we’re inside, I notice her breaths are ragged. When our eyes meet, sadness is in her expression.
“I’m so sorry you had to see her, Tyler.”
“It’s not your fault. Victoria is a sneaky bitch and lives for drama,” I explain.
“Is she why you went to Vegas?” Gemma asks as I turn onto the main road. Swallowing hard, I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to get her involved any more than she is either. The less she or Everleigh knows, the better.
“Yes,” I admit.
“I never put the pieces together. It didn’t cross my mind that she was the same Victoria that you knew, and I didn’t care to ask questions.” Gemma shakes her head. “I’ve met her before.”
“When?” I ask, trying to figure out the timeline.
“Monday night. We met her for dinner. She was the one who dropped the bomb about the wedding.”
I’m lost in my thoughts for a moment. No wonder she was quiet when I was in Vegas. Victoria was here planting the seeds for her evil plan, whatever it is.
“No telling what Robert’s told her,” I say honestly.
She groans. “I hope he kept his mouth shut, but considering she knew about the wedding, I highly doubt it. Robert has a habit of running his mouth if it means building a relationship with someone. His main priority is getting them to sign the contract, and he’ll do whatever it takes, including selling them the dream.”
“The more I hear about Robert, the more I can’t stand him,” I admit.
We sit in silence until the light turns green. She glances at me. “Wanna come over for a little while and keep me company?”
“Sure,” I say, my heart hurting for her.
It doesn’t take long before we’re pulling into her driveway. The lights in her father’s house are on, and I feel like we’re sneaking around like we used to when she didn’t want her dad to know I was sleeping over. Though, we should be careful because Jerry’s already suspicious as hell. Until he knows the truth, it’d be best if we’re not seen together outside of work.
When we walk inside her house, she sets her purse on the counter and sighs. “Today has been weird as hell. I need a strong drink of something.”
“It definitely has.”
When I look around the cottage, I glance at all of her mother’s paintings on the walls. There’s a large canvas of an open field surrounded by a forest with an absolutely stunning use of colors. “She was so talented,” I say as Gemma stands next to me.
“Sometimes when I look at this painting, I imagine myself going through the plush grass and running straight into the forest.” Her voice trails off, and I try to picture what would be beyond the landscape.
I search around the room for a specific painting, but I don’t find it. “Where’s that morning glories watercolor painting?”
Moving into the kitchen, I notice an abstract canvas with bright colors splashed across it—another beautiful one her mother created.
She tilts her head with amusement in her eyes. “You remember that too?”
“Of course. I thought it was in the dining room. Where’d it go?”
A blush hits her cheeks. “I put it in my bedroom. Wanna see it?”
“Sure.” I force down the lump in my throat as she moves toward the hallway, and I follow her. There were many summer days and nights spent tangled together in the sheets of that room.
Leaning against the doorframe, I notice not much has changed in here. She still has the same headboard and dresser with framed photos of her, Everleigh, and Katie. I wait until she waves me forward. A pair of panties and bra are crumpled on the floor, and she kicks them to the side. “Sorry. I forgot about those.”
“Not like I haven’t seen them before,” I say with a chuckle, moving closer to the painting. The morning glories are so detailed they almost look real. Bright purple and pink stand out among the green grass. “Wow,” I mutter. “Just as beautiful as I remember.”
“I wish I could paint like her—or rather, I wish my mother was here to teach me,” she confesses.
“You can still learn,” I encourage. “It’s not too late.”
She cocks a brow. “I’ve tried many times, and they look like something a four-year-old made. It’s embarrassing, considering I should have her creative genes, but obviously don’t. Just imagine if Bob Ross’s son was a terrible painter!”
I laugh. “Is he?”
“No! He’s brilliant, just like his dad was. The mountainscapes he creates…it’s ridiculous. Then you have me, who can barely paint a sun—the simplest thing ever, and I still managed to screw it up.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Ha! I’ll show you,” she says and opens her closet. That’s when I notice the orange dress hanging in her closet, bringing back memories of her letter. She still has it, after all. Up on top is an old Converse box, and I’m curious what’s inside. Gemma pulls a canvas from the back and hands it to me, stealing my focus.
It takes everything I have not to lose my shit at the blob of paint. I tuck my lips into my mouth, but it’s impossible to hold back a smile.
“See!” she exclaims and points at me.
“What is it?” I ask, tilting it.
“It’s supposed to be a nest on a tree branch. Inside are baby birds and different colored eggs.”
“Ooh, sure, I see that.” I nod, but she sees through my lie and playfully smacks me.
“Hey! Picasso’s art was strange and is still extremely popular.” I throw her a wink.
She rolls her eyes, and I hand her the painting, which she shoves to the back of her closet.
“What’s in that box?” I ask, curious.
“Um. All your letters.”
“Really? You saved them even after all these years?”
&nb
sp; She nods. “Every single one.”
We’re frozen in a heated gaze, and while I’m happy my words meant as much to her as hers meant to me, it somewhat saddens me too because when I moved away, those were all she had left of me. No telling where we’d be right now if I hadn’t. I wouldn’t have met Victoria or gone to prison, but then Maddie and Liam wouldn’t be in my life either. She notices the somber mood and swiftly changes the subject.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, walking toward the doorway.
“I’m starving. I’ll be happy to make something,” I offer as I follow her to the kitchen.
“No, no, no, you’re my guest of honor and have cooked for me several times already. It’s my turn.”
I take a seat at the marble island. “Okay, fine.”
It’s hard not to think about the last time I was here when we both lost control. Just imagining her soft moans in my ear as she rode her release has my dick getting hard, but I try to think about something else. We cannot cross the line right now, regardless if she’s single and she’s all I think about.
She opens the fridge and glances inside. “Hmm.”
I chuckle at her uncertainty. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”
She pulls out cheese slices and butter, then sets them on the counter. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich? It’s been a while, but I think I can make one,” she asks.
“I just hope you’re a better cook than Everleigh,” I tease. “Because the look on your face has me worried.”
She chuckles. “My cooking isn’t as bad as my painting skills.”
“Thank God for that,” I mock, and she rolls her eyes.
“Joke’s on you, though,” she says, grabbing a skillet. “Because you’ll eat it even if it sucks. I know how nice you are.” She turns on the burner, and I watch as Gemma scoops a gigantic spoonful of butter and slaps in down on the skillet.
I cringe because she’s already screwing this up. “Let me help.”
She turns and points the spatula at me. “Not happening. Want a drink while you wait?”
The butter sizzles, and I’m convinced it’s burning. “Sure.” I might need one to swallow down her food.
She quickly reaches inside the fridge, then hands me a Whiteclaw.
“What in the hell is this?” I look at the can, and my face scrunches.
“That’s all I have!”
I laugh and crack it open. “Well, it’s no beer, but I guess it’ll do.” I take a sip and nearly spit it out.
“Don’t you dare waste a drop of that. It’s basic bitch gold.” She opens a loaf of bread and puts it in the skillet, then turns to me. “Will you tell me what you did in Vegas when you went?”
I bite the corner of my lip, thrown off by her question. “Are you sure you want all the details?”
She nods. “Yes. Now that Victoria is here, I wanna know everything.”
I swallow, then blow out a shaky breath before telling her about Eric and what Victoria did to his girlfriend, Amara. It’s impossible for me to leave out the details because Gemma needs to understand how dangerous Victoria really is. Her mouth falls open, and she gasps, pressing her hand to her chest.
“No way...” Her eyes widen in shock.
“So, I went to Vegas to testify in a deposition as a character witness for the case against Amara to discuss what I saw and heard when I worked for Victoria. The lawyer who represented me before went too,” I explain. “The day after, I flew with Serena to Sacramento and visited Liam and Maddie for the day.”
“Do you think it actually did any good?” she questions, but before I can respond, I smell something burning. As if she reads my mind, she turns around, and the skillet is smoking. The fire alarms start beeping, so I quickly open the front door and try to fan some of it out. Gemma opens a window, then throws the burnt bread in the trash. “Whoopsies. That was only a warmup round,” she claims. As if she’s well practiced, she grabs the broom and the beeping finally stops.
I walk around the island, not allowing her to embarrass herself anymore as she grabs the loaf for more bread.
“I’ll help,” I say, and this time, she willingly hands me the spatula. “We’ll do it together.”
“Perfect,” she whispers, noticing how close we are. It’s not lost on me either.
I go back to the previous conversation. “Long story short, I don’t know if it’ll help Eric. But I suspected Victoria would retaliate at some point. I just didn’t think it would be this fast, but I should’ve known better. That woman is always three steps ahead of her enemy. She lives for this shit, and probably gets off to it when she’s alone,” I groan. Talking about her puts me in a sour mood.
“Gross,” Gemma adds, which causes me to laugh.
I wipe out the skillet, and we get started on round two.
“The secret to making an amazing grilled cheese is buttering the bread, then putting it down. Otherwise, you can’t control how much butter it soaks up.” Our eyes meet for a brief second as I flip the bread. “Now, you put the cheese on while this side is still hot, then put the second piece of bread on top.”
Gemma unwraps American and cheddar, then adds them both. A minute later, I flip the sandwich and wait until it’s golden brown. When it’s good and toasty, I slide it on a plate.
“No fair. I was supposed to make dinner for you,” she playfully pouts.
“Cooking is my thing. I don't mind,” I tell her as we continue our process. “Plus, it’s more like teamwork. I butter, and you add the cheese.” I smirk.
After I cook three more sandwiches, she grabs a bag of chips from the pantry. We fill our plates, then go to the couch.
“What do you wanna watch?” Gemma asks, turning on the TV before handing me the remote.
I flip through the channels and settle on a Bruce Willis movie. It’s nothing but action and explosions, but Gemma enjoys it. After we’re done eating, she cleans up the kitchen, and I join to help her.
“I’ve got this,” she says around a yawn. It’s then I realize how exhausted she is. Too much shit has happened this week for her not to be, and we’ve had a long day.
“You should get some rest,” I tell her, grabbing the dishes she rinses to put in the dishwasher.
“Yeah, but I’ll just lie in bed. I won’t be able to sleep because my mind runs too much.”
“I totally get that,” I admit. Drying off my hands, I think back to the countless nights I’ve stayed awake because she was on my mind.
“Let me take you home,” she offers. “It’s getting late.”
“I can walk.”
“Absolutely not. There’s a murderer in Lawton Ridge who has it out for you. It’s not an option, Tyler.” Gemma grabs her keys before I can argue.
“Valid point,” I admit, chuckling lightly, though it’s really not funny. Victoria’s unpredictable. “But I’m driving, just in case.”
She hands over the keys, then grabs a light jacket before we walk out. On the way home, I think about all that’s changed between us since I first showed up a few months ago. As Gemma sits next to me and hums along to the radio, I know now more than ever that coming home was the right decision.
We chat about nothing, and the conversation flows so easily that I’m pulling into my sister’s driveway in no time at all. After I turn off the engine, we sit together for a second, not wanting the night to end even though we’re both exhausted as hell.
“Tyler,” she whispers. “Thank you again for everything. You’ve surprisingly been my rock through all of this.”
A small smile meets my lips as I study her face and take in how genuine her words are. “I’m just returning the favor for all those letters you wrote me when I needed someone.”
Right now, I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her like there’s no tomorrow—in a way I’ve dreamed about since I saw her again for the first time. By the way she licks her lips, I know she’s thinking it too, but we can’t.
“Good night, Gemma,” I say.
; “Night,” she tells me as I reach for the handle, then we both get out so she can hop in the driver’s side. Being with her is so damn electrifying, and it’s so hard to walk away, but somehow I do. I’ll kiss her when the timing is right, when she’s ready, but that’s not now.
As she backs out of the driveway, I send her a text.
Tyler: Drive safe. Let me know when you get home.
Before she pulls away, she messages me back.
Gemma: I will.
When she’s out of sight, I go inside and force myself to take a cold shower. By the time I get out, she sends me another text to say she made it safely back, and I tell her sweet dreams. I have a feeling tonight I’ll be staring at the ceiling for hours thinking about her before I finally drift off.
Gemma’s always had that effect on me.
Chapter Eight
GEMMA
After last night’s shit storm, I’m a ball of emotions. I have to give Dad the news that Robert and I won’t be getting married. Even though he’ll be disappointed, I hope he understands why. We’ve always been close, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, but I hate letting him down. I don’t plan on going into detail about Robert’s pushiness or how he tried to mold me into a Stepford wife. It will be short and to the point—we just weren’t meant to be together.
“Hey, Daddy,” I greet as soon as I walk into the kitchen. He’s drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper at the table.
“There’s my girl.” He kisses my cheek when I lean down to hug him. “How ya doing, sweetheart?”
“I’ve been better, but I’m okay.” I move around him and go straight to the coffee maker.
“Gonna explain what’s goin’ on?” he asks, concern etched on his face. “Everything okay?”
“I’ll explain. Do you want me to make breakfast first?”
“Sure, just somethin’ light is fine, though,” he insists.
I drink my coffee while I cook western omelets, and he talks about the local news. Though I’m more occupied with how to start this conversation and am barely listening.