by Kacey Shea
“Chase!”
“Yeah.” I act as if I haven’t been listening in on their entire conversation. “What’s up?”
“You’re meeting up with Alicia tomorrow, right?” Jill confirms.
“You did pair us up.” I try for casual, but I wonder if they can hear the anticipation in my words. It hurt when Alicia left town, but I dealt with that pain. Only today I realized I’m not as over her as I thought. Maybe it’s because she showed up with a kid. Maybe it’s the other dude. But deep down I know neither of those reasons are true. If she’d walked into that room solo, my insides would still be a total mess, because it’s her. She has that power over me. She always did and maybe she always will.
“Yeah, I did.” Jill leans forward, digging through a box to find one of the wedding binders and flip it open. “When are you meeting up?”
“I’m picking her up at ten.”
“Good. Do a little recon.”
I stare, brow raised. “On?”
“The past three fucking years!”
Already fucking on it. But I’m not going to play spy for Jill and Callie. Any info I find on Alicia is for myself. “Don’t you think you should ask her yourself?”
“Yeah, well, I’m a bride with no venue, her entire wedding plan torched, and a former best friend who had some secret love child I never knew about. You’ll excuse my lack of time and rational behavior.”
“Just ask her to lunch. I don’t want to be in the middle of this.” But I’m worried I already am. If Alicia’s son is mine? Fuck! I can’t allow myself to hope—or think it’s true. There’s no way she would have left pregnant with my child and never told me—right? Only, if she was worried about my sobriety, that’s exactly what she would have done. She’d have done anything to keep her child away from addiction.
“Chase?” Jill waves her hand in the air. “Hello?”
Callie giggles at my distraction. She wouldn’t find it so funny if she knew what was going through my head.
“Sorry. What?”
“Just don’t scare her away.” Jill narrows her glare. “I remember how you were—always getting under her last nerve. I don’t want her to run again, or feel uncomfortable now that she’s back. I want my best friend back in my life again.”
“Of course.” I swallow hard. “I won’t do anything to piss her off.” At least intentionally. No, I want answers, too. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get them.
10
Alicia
Three years ago, first night in London
Tomorrow I check into my dorm and meet my program coordinators, and my new life begins. I tried to time my flight so I arrived a few hours early, but my options were limited and the last thing I wanted was to show up late to my first day. Which is why I’m checked into this hotel smack in the middle of the city, bored out of my mind, and filled with a restless energy I can’t seem to escape.
I should be tired. Jet lagged. Focused on tomorrow. Resting.
Instead, the four walls of my room feel as if they’re closing in. I can’t stop thinking about Chase. My father. Then Chase again. Fuck. I have to get out of here. I need some air. Clutching my coat in one hand and my wallet in the other, I fly from my room like my own thoughts might set me on fire.
There’s an elevator but when I push the call button the doors don’t open right away. Fuck it, I’m taking the stairs.
Down the three flights sends my pulse racing to match my thoughts. I push out into the lobby. Better. But still. I think of him. I wonder if I made the right choice.
It’s a little late for regrets but my chest doesn’t seem to understand. With each passing second my ribs grow tighter. My breath shortens. I think I’m having a panic attack.
I stumble toward the entry and push outside, the damp night air a mild relief. I lean against the building and finally catch my breath. I’m okay. I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. It’s been a long day, following an even longer two weeks. I’m not Superwoman. I’m only human and I’m allowed to feel.
The problem is I don’t want to. I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop.
I need to forget. I need temporary relief. I want to be numb.
My gaze darts to the flood of laughter and music that pours from an open door. The pub is less than twenty feet away, and I take each step with an eerie sense of resolve. As if I’ve already decided.
This is a bad idea.
Nothing good comes from a recovering addict wandering into a bar.
Inside, a game is playing on the televisions and no one pays the lost American girl much attention as she finds an empty barstool. It’s nice to sink into the scene, like walking into someone else’s world. A place where there are no bedridden fathers with brain damage or ex-lovers an ocean away. Everyone here is joyful. Or at least they are until the ref makes a call, then everyone shouts obscenities as if they might actually reach the field.
“What can I get you, love?” The burly man behind the counter interrupts my people watching.
“Oh, I’ll . . .” I hesitate, but only a second. “Whatever you have on tap.”
“You sure?” He regards me with a refrained sense of humor. “We brew our beers dark and bitter here.”
He’s teasing because I’m American. That I can take. “Oh, I’m not a light beer drinker.” Or at least, I wasn’t.
He grins and pours me a pint, setting it on the bartop. “Want me to start you a tab?”
“No.” At least I have the good sense to shake my head and pull out a few bills to settle up.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says, then makes his way to another waiting customer.
For the next hour, I fade into the background, enjoying the anonymity of being a stranger in a new town. No one to judge me. No one to know my past. Even though I want to, I don’t drink the beer. Not a single sip or taste, almost as if I’m proving a point to myself. I’m in control. I’m able to sit here with no witnesses around and abstain. Of course, I get that it’s ridiculous. That it’s a dangerous game.
I expect the bartender to give me shit about it. But each time he glances over, taking in the full and now very warm glass, he lifts his brow in question and leaves me in peace at my slight head shake in the negative.
After the game on the television ends, the bar clears out and I realize I should probably head back to my room. Only I can’t stand the thought of being alone. At least in this pub I’m surrounded by people. There are conversations to overhear. A busy street outside to watch.
If I go back to the room, I’ll only think of him. I miss Chase in a way that can’t be healthy. An ocean apart and everything I see or do reminds me of him and the time we spent together. The quiet only wavers my unsteady resolve.
He’s called and texted and left voice messages, but I delete them because if I don’t I’ll be tempted to call him. To tell him everything. About my father. About my heart. And if he asks me to get on a plane, I don’t know how I’ll refuse.
“Hey.”
“Oh, hi.”
“I would ask if I could buy you a pint, but you don’t seem to be much of a beer drinker.”
“How can you tell?”
“That thing’s been sitting in front of you for at least an hour. Going on two.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to come over here for just as long.”
My body flushes under the compliment. I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little enchanted by the accent. And his eyes. The man is handsome and he probably knows it.
“I’m Simon.”
“Alicia.”
“A good Irish name.”
“Is it? I guess so, though I’m American, and my dad—” I swallow back the thick emotion that comes from thinking about him. “He’s from Spain.”
“Well, you are beautiful and I’m properly charmed. Can I get you something else to drink?”
“No, thank you. I should probably head back to my hotel.”
“Leaving so soon?
Damn it. I should have got the nerve to come over here sooner.”
“Believe me, I’m not good company.”
“Let me guess,” he says, staring into my eyes. “It’s a man.” Before I can answer. “Or is it family troubles?”
“Would you believe both?” I sigh.
“Oh, that’s rough. Lay it on me. I promise I’m a great listener.”
“You don’t want to hear my sad story.”
“What if I do?” There’s a sincerity in his offer that catches me off-guard. It’s unnerving really and knocks down a little of the guard I thought I had firmly erected around my heart.
“You’re going to regret this,” I tease.
“Try me.”
So I do. I unload all of my shit on a beautiful, perfect stranger. To his credit, he doesn’t run or act put off in the least. Instead, he takes my warm beer and sips it down, listening intently to every word I share. He interjects with questions but not so much it’s annoying or distracting. The bartender calls for the last orders just as I fill in Simon to the present day. “So that’s why I’m not drinking and sitting alone in a pub in the middle of London on a . . . shit, what day of the week is it?”
“Sunday.” He grins, finishing off the last of my beer and setting it down on the counter. “You know what you need?”
“What’s that?”
“A distraction.”
“I think that’s why I’m here.”
“No, I mean a good distraction. An enjoyable one. You deserve to be happy.”
I swallow hard, his words hitting deeply.
“At least for a few hours.” He winks.
“Uh.” My cheeks burn as his innuendo hits. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Not a relationship.” He rolls his eyes and shakes off the idea. “One night. Two adults. Consensual fun.”
I stare at him in a new light, considering his offer no matter how bad it might be. He’s handsome. He’s charming. He’s British. “It wouldn’t mean anything?”
“You worried I’m gonna catch feelings, love? Nah, I have my own heartache. Besides, I think we could both use the fun.”
It’s a bad idea. But it’s better than getting shitface drunk. It’s better than crying in an empty room. It’s better than pretty much all my alternatives. Besides, I could use fun. A distraction. There’s nothing wrong with a casual one-night fling. In fact, I’m almost certain it’s a requirement when relocating to a new country. Tomorrow, I’ll throw myself into my studies and there won’t be time for thinking or pleasure or missing Chase.
I’m doing it. Or rather, I’m doing Simon. “Your place or mine?” I hop off my barstool and pull on my coat.
“Oh, well, then.” He straightens, his brows shooting up as if he’s a little shocked by my agreement. “Whichever’s closest.”
“Okay.” I nod, fierce determination sending tingles throughout my body. A sliver of guilt creeps into my mind, as if I shouldn’t be doing this. As if I’m being unfaithful to Chase. Which is absolutely ridiculous because I am the one who ended things. There’s no one to betray other than my own heart. I shake off the thoughts and focus on the task at hand. “You better be a good lay.”
A guffaw bursts from his lips. “I promise not to let you down.” He walks with me to the door and holds it open. “Lead the way.”
11
Alicia
Present Day
It’s early when I pad down the stairs the next morning. Matthew’s still sleeping and I take advantage of a few minutes of peace. My mind has been a wreck since yesterday. Seeing Chase again has unsettled all the certainty I’ve held for past decisions made.
At least my mom seemed a little better when we got back yesterday. She wasn’t curled up next to a bottle of wine. She still had a glass in hand, but was busy directing the house staff with everything she wanted done before Saturday. Apparently, the idea of hosting an event has revitalized her. She always cared about our family’s image, and it’s sort of comforting to see her in her old element. I grew up witnessing my mother organizing endless charity and social events. Maybe Jill and Cam’s wedding will renew her sense of purpose and passion. Maybe now she’ll stop moping around this mansion, locked away under the pretense of hiding my father’s condition.
Though I couldn’t really blame her. I understand all too well how addiction masks deep pain. From my observation, she’s stuck in a mourning of her old life, but unwilling to move forward to find a new normal. I can’t push her toward recovery, as frustrating as it is. The worry I hold for both my parents grows by the day, along with the guilt for staying away so long. Maybe if I’d been here, things would be different. Maybe I would have been able to keep her from drowning. But more likely, she would have pulled me down with her.
It’s early and I stop in the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee before checking in on my dad.
“Morning,” I say, slipping into his bedroom downstairs.
Jessica, his night nurse, stands from her chair and moves to meet me at the foot of his bed. “Morning, Alicia. It’s nice to see you in person instead of on the computer screen.” I know all of my father’s nurses well, and they feel a little like family at this point. I checked in with them more than my own relatives, and they never made me feel I was being a nuisance with all my questions.
“Good to see you, Jessica.” I smile, then look down at my father. “Did he sleep well?”
“It was a rough night. I think he’ll sleep most of the day. He’s a little congested. Probably just a cold, but we’ll have his doctor come out if he’s still having issues today.” She glances at her watch. “I’ll let Theresa know when she gets here, but that’s not for a few hours. You’re up early. Jet lag?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, but that’s a lie. It’s my racing mind and feelings of uncertainty that had me tossing and turning all night. That and the fact I’ll be spending today with Chase Matthews. I swallow hard, and push away the nerves. “It’ll be a busy day. I wanted to check on dad before that.”
“Have you brought Matty in to see him yet?”
I bite at the inside of my cheek, shaking my head. “We’ve been running around like crazy since we landed.” I have no real excuse for why I haven’t. My son understands his grandpa doesn’t move or speak, at least as well as a two-and-a-half-year-old can. I need to bring him in here—it’s the right thing; at least, I think. There’s no handbook for how to navigate these things. But the first night Matty was so tired. Yesterday, we were heading out to the luncheon, and afterward I couldn’t think of anything but today. “I will though. Soon.”
The idea of my father lying incapacitated as he meets my son for the first time sends a sharp pain through my heart. This isn’t the future I wanted—for him, or me. Selfishly, I long for the impossible—a meeting filled with conversation, laughter, and warm embraces.
“I should go see if he’s up.” I back away from where my father sleeps. Emotion fills my throat, stinging my nose, and I blink away the urge to cry. It almost hurts more seeing him like this, because then I imagine him waking, sitting up, and telling us the stroke was some big misunderstanding.
She nods, her smile softening with compassion. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
I press my lips together so I don’t cry. Sadness. Anger. The unfairness of it all hits the second I close his door behind me. How did we end up here?
Two doors down is his office, a place I used to sit and watch him work. A space I felt loved and gave me temporary reprieve from my mother’s constant disapproval. The same place I discovered the man I idolized had another daughter—not me—and a secret family.
My footfalls echo softly in the empty hall until I reach his office. I rest my hand on the doorknob and close my eyes, warring inside with the conflict of whether to go in or not. I’m not sure I can handle seeing his space absent of his presence. The memories of finding the letter from my half-sister cut fresh like new wounds despite all the time that’s passed.
I wonder whe
re she is or what she’s doing. After Daddy’s stroke, I told Ricky about the file with her name, trusting my oldest brother would know how to handle what my father should have. It was the last I spoke about it since I left town. I wonder if my mother knows about my father’s other daughter, or her mother. A surge of uncontrollable anger surges forward and my fingers curl into fists as I back away. How could he do that to us? To my mother? Did he really even love us? Why weren’t we enough?
“Fuck.” I choke out the word and rush back up the stairs, needing to get away. Only it’s impossible to outrun my thoughts. Thankful the boys are still asleep, I lock myself in the bathroom and crank the shower just in time to cover the sob that leaves my mouth. Angry tears streak down my cheeks and my pulse races, my chest heaving with each breath. I need to get my shit together. The sun is barely streaking the skyline and I’m already falling apart.
I look to the bathroom mirror, catching my reflection. “You will not do this. Not today,” I warn myself. Because as hard as this all is, I refuse to appear weak or broken, even if that’s how I feel. “You’ve fucking got this,” I whisper aloud.
I think back to everyone’s expressions yesterday when I introduced Matthew and Simon.
Of their hurt. The disappointment. Of Chase and how betrayed he appeared. My shoulders fall in defeat. I definitely don’t “got this.” I understood those looks because I felt the exact things the day I discovered my father had another daughter—one he’d kept from me.
I’m no better than my father.
History repeats itself.
Maybe I’m destined for a life alone and towered by secrets.
Stripping down, I step into the hot water and spend the next thirty minutes attempting to scrub away those thoughts and the very real fear that I’ve made an irreversible mistake by coming home—one I can’t take back or move on from, no matter how hard I try.
After my shower and a cup of coffee, I feel halfway human again. Matty wakes up soon after, full of sunshine and unfurled energy. I take him outside to play in the yard, careful to steer him clear of the landscaping crew that’s been called in to prune trees and bushes.