I reach under my bed and grab my suitcase. Numb, I throw in pieces of clothing tainted with happy memories. The sunflower dress that I wore on my first date with Noah, the black lace top I wore when he told me he loved me, the red skirt I was wearing when I decided to try at my job.
After this whirlwind summer, I know one thing for certain — after graduation, I want to spend a year chasing storms. What comes after that is for future Bree to figure out for herself.
I empty my drawers and stack everything in my suitcase. By the time I’m done, the light is fading. I’ll leave first thing tomorrow. I owe Delia a proper goodbye first.
I check my puffy eyes and swollen nose in the antique mirror. I’m about to hobble down the stairs when I remember one last item. I make my way to reception and Delia is seated at my desk — the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi Delia.” My voice cracks from lack of use and too many emotions.
“Hello dear,” she frowns. “What are you—”
“Here.” I shove my favorite pink cowboy hat into her hands. I haven’t done good enough work lately to warrant a reward.
Delia stares at the hat and then meets my eyes. “What’s this for?”
“It doesn’t belong to me. It’s yours.”
Delia tilts her head. “I gave that to you for your great work this summer.”
“I don’t deserve it.” I don’t break from her gaze this time. I have no energy left to fight or argue.
Irritatingly, Delia doesn’t take the hat. She floats around the desk and stands in front of me. She raises her arm and I think she might finally take the hat, but instead, she presses firmly on my wrist until the hat is by my side.
“Hun, of course you deserve this.” Her eyes are kind and motherly.
“Why? I can’t do this.” I don’t intend to sound tearful, I don’t intend to cry. But the tears are coming down my face and I can’t stop them. Delia takes me in her arms and gives me a big hug, a real hug. The kind you’d get from an aunt or a best friend or a parent.
“Bree Lewis.” She pulls back and meets my eyes. “You can do anything you want to do.”
“You don’t know that.”
Delia grips my shoulders firmly. “I’ve seen what you can do this summer, my dear. You can accomplish anything you set your mind to in your life.”
Delia’s words wrap around me like a warm blanket. I want to believe her so badly.
“But,” I take a deep breath, hating the tearful, pathetic note in my voice. Delia grabs a tissue from the desk and wipes my cheek. “Why did you give me the day off?”
Delia laughs boisterously. She’s still holding my shoulders and the force of her laugh shakes me. “I gave you the day off because you deserve it! After being sick yesterday, I wanted you to take another day. Plus, your parents messaged me…”
My tiny smile immediately drops off my face.
Delia continues. “They told me about your ‘meeting’ tomorrow and encouraged me to let you ‘rest’ beforehand. I don’t know what all that’s about, but given that you never asked for the day off, I figured you wouldn’t be attending.”
I nod, flabbergasted that my parents would go out of their way to message Delia about my date with Andrew Stewart. I look down, feeling emotionally wrung-out. “Actually, I was hoping to leave early anyway. I’d like a couple of extra days to get ready for school and all that…”
My voice trails off and I finger the rim of the pink cowboy hat in my hands. Delia’s silent for a long moment and I sneak a glance at her face. Instead of anger of disappointment, she has a kind and compassionate expression.
“Of course, my dear. Vin and I can man reception for the next couple of days. You do what’s best for you. I hope you know that you’re welcome here at any time. You’re a part of the Legacy family, and you always will be. There is a place for you here.”
I smile tearfully and Delia wipes my face with the tissue again. She knows I’m not going back because of school. I’m leaving because of the person I love most, the one I can’t face. I hug her one last time and then clutch the pink hat to my chest like it’s a life preserver. “Thank you, Delia.”
“If you still have the antique mirror, you can leave it in the loft. One of the guest room mirrors broke so I’ll have Vin replace it with that one. And, speaking of which...” Delia whips off her glasses again, full of her theatrics. “If you were ever to decide to be a maintenance person, for example, we are sorely lacking in that department. Preferably working with wood. We have a lot of wood pieces to restore and to fix in the guest rooms — not to mention in the event room.”
For the first time all day, I let out a laugh. “You’ll be the first to know.”
57
Bree
The sky is dark when I make the decision to leave my bed. I had another sleepless night, but I might as well get on the road early. I roll over and check my phone clock.
5:37am.
Perfect time to wake up. Not.
I place my feet on the ground and stretch before going to my now-empty dresser. I scrounge for a piece of paper in the drawers and jiggle the one drawer that’s been stuck all summer. Frustrated, I give it a hard yank and, to my surprise, the drawer slides open.
I freeze. The drawer contains two items — a night light shaped like a lion, and a photo I know well. I pick up the photo and smooth out the edges. In the foreground, young me, Isla, Victoria, Grace and Noah are smiling and laughing, our noses sunburnt and our lips dyed various colors of popsicles. In the background, a smiling woman has her arms around us all, looking carefree and unbelievably happy.
My heart thumps in my chest. Noah’s mom.
I stare at the photo for ages. I must’ve stowed this away years ago, before she got sick. It’s a reminder of the happy summers we all spent together. Back before everything fell apart.
Tears prick my eyes. I can’t leave Noah without saying goodbye, but I also can’t face him. I grab a pen from my suitcase and turn the photo over. On the back, I write two simple sentences — words that will hopefully convey what I’m feeling.
I look around the loft one final time and tidy the room, making my bed and closing the dresser drawers. I pack the night light, then I steel myself and descend the loft stairs for the last time.
Outside, the sky is gradually turning dark blue as the sun approaches the horizon. I walk dejectedly to Garth with all of my bags. A chilly breeze flows over me and I wrap my jacket around myself. Fall is on its way.
After placing my bags in my SUV, I head to the cabins. Noah should be at work by now. I didn’t say bye to anyone else from Edendale High but I’ll see them at school next week anyway. I spot Noah’s cabin on the far edge, the window dark.
I’m torn. Part of me wishes he was still there. That we could say a proper goodbye. And the other part of me is relieved that I don’t have to disappoint him one more time. I can leave the photo and skip out.
I press my ear to the door, listening for footsteps or shuffling, but all I hear is silence. My heartbeat echoes in my ears and my fingers tingle as I raise my hand to knock. Old Bree would’ve done this — demanded a confrontation, initiated a blow-out. But, I’m not her anymore. Instead, I reach into my back pocket and grab the photo, the beloved photo. I crouch and slide it under the door.
I force myself to turn around and walk away from the cabins at a normal pace. I perk up my ears to hear whether he opens his door, but I’m not sure which would be worse — for him to run after me, or for silence to follow me the entire way back to Garth.
What if he isn’t working? What if he’s looking at the photo, right now? I imagine the expressions on his face when he turns it over and reads my note. Is it possible that he’s seen it and he’s deciding not to follow me?
I spot the staff lot. And then, Garth. I’m getting closer and closer.
I open the driver’s side door and my ears are still perked, listening for footsteps that never come.
58
Noah
I pull
the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and close the door with a hefty bang. It’s six in the morning, and I’m thoroughly exhausted. Whenever I close my eyes at night, I see her face. I’ve taken to sitting at my desk, trying to finish my novel in between fitful naps on a blank sheet of paper.
“Morning!” Delia dances into the kitchen.
“Mi bella! You’re up early this morning?” Fernando stares at early-bird Delia with his eyebrows raised. Delia is usually a muted version of herself until eleven in the morning.
“Indeed.” Delia pours herself a cup of coffee and chugs it gratefully. “Last day with the guests and we’re a woman down. I want to start wrapping things up.”
“A woman down?” My voice is quiet and uneven.
“Yes, dear.” Delia turns to me and sympathy glows in her eyes. “Bree is leaving this morning. She had a meeting of some sort...”
I can’t hear anything else Delia says. There’s ringing in my ears and the remnants of my broken heart splinter further. Bree is going to meet with Andrew Stewart after all. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the way it’s supposed to be. I place the cinnamon rolls on the counter and move numbly through the kitchen.
“Noah?” There’s a blurred voice just out of reach.
The voice keeps speaking, but I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, I don’t register the words.
My mind is filled with the questions that have kept me up all night. Did I make a mistake? Should I have fought harder for her? How can I fight for her when I have nothing to offer? I can’t bear the thought of giving Bree less than she deserves. Wanting her back is a selfish desire on my part.
“Noah!” A stern voice cuts through the haze and I look up in surprise.
“Finally!” Fernando’s voice is unmistakably upset. “I called your name at least five times.”
“Sorry, Fer, just distracted.” I spread icing on a cinnamon roll.
“I’ll say. You’re spreading mayonnaise on my good rolls!”
Fernando is right. I grabbed a jar of mayonnaise instead of icing. I hurriedly wipe off the mayonnaise and Fernando rolls his eyes. Fernando has never used a tone like this with me. He’s upset and angry, and the kitchen is dead silent.
“Bree’s leaving today.” His eyes search my face. “What are you still doing here?”
“I’m working.” My voice sounds far away. “I’m helping you.”
“No,” Fernando says shortly. “You’re hiding behind your job. Isn’t that what you do? Hide behind your work and your family and your lack of time? Don’t you see how crazy you two are for each other?”
His words are a slap in the face. I open my mouth to state my usual excuse. “But, Bree—”
“Bree Lewis,” Fernando interrupts, “is one of the finest, most intelligent people you’ll ever meet. But Noah? So are you. You two are meant to be together. Don’t let her slip away.”
A life without Bree — I couldn’t imagine anything more miserable. Fernando's right. My days without her have not only been devastating, they’ve also felt deeply wrong — on some basic molecular level I can’t comprehend. But it’s too late. “She’s going to meet with Andrew Stewart.”
Predictably, Fernando has a response for this too. “L’amore vince sempre! This isn’t just an old, silly Italian expression, amico. Love can and will conquer all, including time and space. It’s never too late!”
Fernando’s words sink in and I’m frozen. Love conquers time. Bree and I met before I can remember and we were friends for my entire life. The three years we spent apart simply don’t matter in the grand scheme of what she means to me. Is our future linked too?
I can’t let her go without a fight. The realization falls over me like a weighted blanket. There is only one truth — love conquers all — and, even if Bree doesn’t want to be with me, I need her to understand that I will always be here for her.
“Gotta go.” I bolt out of the kitchen.
The door slams behind me and I hear “Finally!”
I bound up the stairs to the loft, but the room is empty. The bed is made, the dresser drawers are closed and her absurd pile of blankets and pillows has disappeared.
I dash down the stairs, my heart in my throat. Please, let her be in the parking lot.
I run outside and get to the staff lot as fast as I can. No sign of a silver SUV. I look around wildly, but my stomach sinks. Garth is gone. Bree is gone.
My eyes hover over my Bonneville and I make my decision. I need to run to my cabin.
Then, I’m going after her.
59
Noah
My feet tap the gravel pathway. My lungs burn. I slam open the door to my cabin and rummage through the dresser. Finally, I find the road trip booklet stashed deep in a drawer. I’m about to run back out when I spot something on the floor near the door.
In my hurry, it had almost been swept into the corner and out of sight. The only reason I saw it was because it wasn’t crumpled up like the pages I’d rejected. Curiosity getting the better of me, I approach it and realize it’s a photo. I pick it up and my heart stops.
It’s a photo of the five of us kids seated on a bench, Bree’s arm intertwined with mine. In the background, Mom is smiling. I can almost hear the sound of her laughter. I remember that day. We spent all day in the lake and came out when my dad arrived at Legacy. He had a surprise for us — popsicles.
Bree and I fought over this photo years ago. At some point, we thought the photo was lost and we stopped looking for it. I run my fingers over the surface of the photo tenderly and almost fall to my knees. She found it.
My fingers brush something ridged on the back and I turn the photo over. In Bree’s cursive writing, there are two sentences.
I loved you then. I hope you can forgive me.
My heart races and I trace the imprint of the pen marks. Forgive her for what? For following her dreams? For pursuing Andrew Stewart?
A whirlwind of confused thoughts battle through my mind and I almost feel sick. A new feeling courses through me — something I haven’t let myself feel for a long time. I’m angry. I’m angry for what happened to Mom. I’m angry for the childhood that was stolen from me. I’m angry for the stroke of bad luck that plagued me and my family. I’m angry that Dad lost his business. And I’m angry with myself for letting Bree Lewis go without a fight.
I need to catch her. Now.
I tuck the photo into my back pocket alongside her gift before throwing on my leather jacket. I race out of the cabin, running with renewed vigor towards the staff lot. I jump on my Bonneville and throw the bike in gear, peeling noisily out of the lot. But I don’t care, let them all hear.
The only thing I know to be true is that I need to catch Bree before it’s too late.
60
Bree
The tires hit smooth pavement and a tear falls down my face. I reach into the backseat and find one lingering fruit roll-up. I tear open the packaging with my teeth and chew through the roll.
I drive towards the horizon and consider the long road ahead of me, both literally and metaphorically. With Noah, I felt grounded and safe in the best way possible. Now that he’s gone, my entire world is upside down. While I don’t want to leave the Inn, the sadness is nothing compared to what I feel about leaving Noah.
I just need to get back to Edendale. There, I can mope in private. I can cry and scream and hold a pity party for myself.
Sometime overnight, I made a decision. I’m starting fresh and working on being myself, for myself. I’ll tell my parents the truth about what happened at Legacy and I’ll face them honestly. If they choose to continue prioritizing their businesses, that’s their choice. Instead of rebelling and striving to go against what they want, I’m going to plan a future according to what I want and what feels right for me.
I don’t want to give my parents the power to dictate who I am anymore. Why can’t I decide for myself? Why can’t I break away from the labels that have been cast upon me — reckless, irresponsible, careless? Why do I
have to be placed in a box, never to escape or grow?
The anger expands within me and I reach into the backseat again, fluttering my fingers around for another fruit roll-up.
Vroom!
An ear-splitting noise approaches in the lane behind and then whips out onto the road beside me. The motorcycle is traveling quickly in the wrong lane. Before I can register what’s happening, the horn blares.
“What the?!”
I whirl around to look at the person on the bike, glaring with everything I have.
The visor flips up and it’s Noah. He indicates for me to turn off onto the road ahead. With a lump in my throat, I lower my window and shriek at him to get back in the right lane.
Then, a truck appears in the distance, coming fast towards him. Adrenaline bursts through me. The truck isn’t slowing down.
“Get back Noah, please get back!” I shout manically.
The truck blares his horn.
I slow down so Noah can tuck in ahead of me just in time.
The driver gives me a furious scowl as he drives by.
I’m shaking. That was way too close.
I turn onto the gravel road and follow the line of dust protruding from Noah’s motorcycle. I feel nauseous and my tears are now of anger and not sadness. Why was he driving in the wrong lane? Did he want to get hurt? Did he want to get killed?
Finally, he pulls off. The blood pumps fast in my veins.
“What were you thinking?” I yell as I slam the driver’s side door. “Were you trying to get killed?”
Noah takes off his helmet and places it firmly on the bar that used to hold the side-view mirror. He stalks over to me and I realize that his face is dark and his brows are furrowed. He’s angry too. Old Bree would have felt a thrill. She would have been morbidly proud that she got a rise out of him. But, New Bree just feels angrier.
The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances Page 15