by S. Ann Cole
I hang up before she can say more.
And, because Serena Bentley never accepts defeat, I straighten up from the ground and take determined strides right out of the house.
Beau had left earlier to take my father to the city, so I get behind the wheel and drive myself to Brooklyn, numb the entire way.
Kholton couldn’t have done this. It’s a coincidence. A mistake. Something is missing.
As much as I try to work it out in my head, it still ends up amounting to impossible. Kholton wanted nothing to do with me in the beginning. He pushed me away every chance he got. I was lying to him. I was using him. I forced my way in because I wanted to steal from him. Not the other way around. Not the other way around!
No matter which way I look at it, it just doesn’t make sense.
That is why I am here.
I’m here to look him straight in the face and demand answers. And he’s going to laugh at me and tell me I’m ridiculous. Because this whole idea that he conned me and ripped me off is ridiculous.
This is just another one of Virginia and Angus’s schemes. They are the con artists. Somehow, they found out about us and are trying to hurt me with these lies.
I bound up the steps two at a time.
I don’t knock.
I let myself in with the key he’d cut for me a few days ago.
“Khol?” The house is quiet. “Brian?”
I enter the living room.
Something feels different. Off. I don’t know. Everything is just as I left it a few hours ago, yet it somehow feels…empty.
I amble into the kitchen. “Khol?”
Save for the tray of pigs-in-a-blanket I made for Brian, all the baked goodies from earlier are still on the counter where I left them.
I start up the stairs, feeling less and less certain with each step.
Kholton’s door is closed. I knock first, then turn the knob and push it open. For a second, everything looks the same and I almost sigh in relief. Then I saw my bags, the bellies stuffed. Placed neatly at the foot of the bed.
He’s kicking me out.
“Khol?” I call again, even though it’s painfully obvious at this point that he’s not here.
Noticing a small lock-and-key metal box next to one of my bags, I walk over and pick it up.
There’s a Post-it on the top.
Open using the red key on your keyring.
Huh? I glance down at the jingle of keys in my hand. Sure enough, there’s a small key with a red key-cap. When did that get there?
My heart is pounding now, heart-rate elevating. I stare at the box in horror. Loath to open it. Afraid of what I’ll find inside.
You know what’s inside, Serena. You know.
With trembling hands, I insert the key into the lock and turn it. The opening “click” is like a gunshot straight to my heart.
I lift the lid.
Betrayal stares me in the face.
I drop the box, the brooch skidding across the floor, as I run to the closet, yanking the doors open.
Empty.
“Do you feel anything at all for me, Serena?”
Empty
“It’s too late anyway.”
Empty.
“Because now is all the time we have.”
Empty.
“Let her go, man. It’s done.”
Empty.
Like a mad woman, I dash around the room pulling out drawer after drawer.
Empty.
His colognes are gone. His boxers. The T-shirts I liked to steal.
The bedside clock blinks at me in mockery. 8:00 AM, it reads. Always fucking 8:00 AM.
With a loud shriek, I grab it up, ripping it out of the socket, and launch it across room.
“It’s half past eleven, you worthless piece of shit!”
That dumb clock symbolizes everything that we were. Lies.
A glimpse of yellow catches my eye, and that’s when I notice a second Post-it stuck inside the lid of the box. Like a hungry dog, I scramble across the floor to get it, hope pounding in my chest, praying that it’s a sensible explanation to all of this.
But when I get close enough to read the words through a blur of pooling tears, my hope dies a slow death.
“I’m sorry.”
Two words.
Seven letters.
I’m sorry.
My head is spinning. I crush the note in my palm and glance around the room. Searching. For what? Answers?
My darting eyes settle on the brooch, glistening under the lights.
It’s crying.
Or is that me?
This worthless, stupid thing is here and Kholton is gone. I resent it. I resent Grams for giving it to me. If I’d know it would one day ruin my life, I would have gotten rid of it. Given it away for free. I finally understand why Rose tossed the Heart of the Ocean into the deep blue at the end of Titanic.
I’ve never been more confused in my life. If he was paid to steal it, why did he leave it? Why steal it only to give it back?
I DON’T UNDERSTAND!
I get out my phone and dial his number. Straight to voicemail.
I call Brian’s number. Straight to voicemail.
I call Kholton’s again. When the voicemail chips in, I speak. “You were right. I am a selfish taker. Because I don’t understand how I feel right now. I should hate you, but I don’t. I should be mad, but I’m not. In fact, if you were in front of me right now, I’d drop to my knees and blow you.
“I’m selfish because this brooch is what’s going to buy my father his peace of mind and yet here I am wishing you’d gone through with your sin and taken the damn thing. That way I could have a real reason to hate you. That way I could be mad at you. But—"
The voicemail beeps, letting me know my time is up. Except my time isn’t up. My time will never be up.
I ring his number again and pick up right where I left off. “But you’re such an annoying do-gooder. Feeding the poor. Saving the children. Defending the women. Keeping promises made to dead people. Your goodness irritates the shit out of me. At the same time, you’re a big, fat fraud.
“You act poor when you’re really rich—the prince to my princess. You act like a playboy when you’re really a lover who likes to cuddle. You acted like you hated me, then wanted a relationship from me, when the entire time your goal was to steal from me. FRAUD!
“Do you do the good to cover up the bad? Or do you do the bad to even things out? You’ve sliced my heart up, Khol. I don’t even understand how I feel right now. I’m so confused. You’ve ruined me. I’ll never want anyone but you. How dumb of me, right? But know—”
Again, I’m cut off with a beep.
Again, I call back and continue, tears streaming down my face now. “But know this, Playboy, the game isn’t over. I’m not done with you. You have something I need. Something that belongs to me. Wherever you are, I will find you.”
This time, when the beep comes, I don’t call back. I smash the phone against the wall instead.
Weak and trembling, I slump over on the floor.
I curl up into a ball.
And I cry.
Only, this time, he’s not here to hold me.
Thirty - Eight - Kholton
“I want granddaughters with balls of steel.”
This is not how it happens in the movies.
At least not in the handful of chick-flicks I’ve been forced to watch at one time or another.
At the denouement of all those movies, it’s never the chick who chases the douchebag after he screws her over. It’s always, always the other way around.
An over-the-top chase, dramatic music, cheesy dialog. Some poor sap begging “please don’t get on that plane”, or “please don’t take that job”, or “please give me another chance”.
I should’ve known. Serena Bentley is not a romance. She’s a thriller. A psychological thriller. She gives zero shits about rules, conventions, or orthodoxy. She’s her own defiant universe. And that’s precisely why I’m currently
pressed up against these bathroom tiles, holding my breath.
It’s been a week since the lies came to light, and she’s been on the hunt for me ever since. But I’ve been ten steps ahead, dodging her at every turn.
Until today, when she showed up at Naan’s, five minutes after I arrived.
I know she visits Naan twice a week, but knowing she already made her two visits for the week, I wrongly calculated that it was safe.
This never happens to me. When I go ghost, I’m gone, never to be glimpsed by your eyes again. For one, I don’t use real names, I rent temporary homes, and I lie about every single thing, no matter how insignificant.
With Serena, however, the situation was a bit…unique. Unprofessional.
I broke the rules with her and invited her into parts of my life I shouldn’t have. I was never fake with her. I was one hundred percent myself around her the entire time. I blurred the lines. And now I’m working overtime to stay ghosted.
Until I’m ready to be found.
When she knocked on Naan’s door, I had no choice but to hide in the shower.
After about fifteen minutes of listening to their muffled gabbling, I hear her ask to use the bathroom.
Pressing myself harder against the tiles, I wonder briefly if this cherry blossom shower curtain has any secret powers like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.
Her presence is forceful, a vortex, willing my soul to hers.
Three minutes slip by and I hear neither the toilet nor the sink. With no visual, I can’t tell what the hell she’s doing in here and I don’t want to chance peeking around this noisy ass shower curtain.
A few seconds later, I hear a series of beeps. She’s texting someone.
In the next moment, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Shit.
She’s texting me. Her calls are blocked, but her messages still come through. She texts me every day. I’m not sure if she knows I’m seeing her texts or if it just makes her feel better.
I hear a sharp sound. A hiccup? A sob?
Then, footsteps. Coming toward the shower. Shit. Did she hear my phone vibrate?
I feel her weight on the other side of the shower curtain.
This is it. She’s found me before I’m ready to be found. Plans foiled once again. This is what happens when you fall for your mark.
A loud crash echoes outside the bathroom, followed by Naan’s bellow for Serena’s help. My first instinct is to rip aside the curtain and rush to her aid, but I know Naan. Whatever happened out there, she did it on purpose to lure Serena out.
And it works. Serena runs out of the bathroom to her aid and I let out a whoosh of breath.
At this point, I’m not sure whether I should fear for my life, or for my heart.
“You can come out now, coward!” Naan yells some fifteen minutes later. “She’s gone.”
I groan.
This is not how it was to be. Brian and Natalie were supposed to return the bracelet and Serena was never supposed to find out.
But, goddamn Virginia and Angus.
I could murder those two. A perfectly good plan gone to shit because of them.
Their showing up caused Aaron Bentley to beef up security. Camouflage security on the outside, protecting the security on the inside. Insane. One would think the man is a Kingpin or something.
Once he did that, returning the brooch became a virtually impossible feat. We tried, not once, but three times, and failed. The guards weren’t as lax as before. Angus and Virginia had them all on edge.
Retreat and regroup, we decided. We thought we had time.
We didn’t.
When Serena received that call from her father, I knew it was over.
Naan shakes her head at me from her armchair as I exit the bathroom. “You’re such a pussy.” As usual, she doesn’t mince words. “I don’t understand why you are hiding when she obviously loves you.”
“No. She doesn’t.” I grab a bottled water from her fridge. “She thinks she’s entitled to me. There’s a difference.”
“You are blind, boy.” She scoffs. “That girl is crazy in love with you.”
Naan believes that only because she doesn’t know Serena like I do.
Serena is determined, driven, motivated and defiant. She goes after what she wants and she doesn’t stop until she gets it and has command over it. She wants to be in control. And what I’d done with her was make her think she was in control, knowing she got off on it. Also, because it’s hot as fuck.
She thinks because she came after me and won me that she’s entitled to me. That she owns me.
What she’s yet to realize is that I made her think she was chasing me. I made her think she was winning me. It’s what I do. Or at least, used to do. ‘Cause I’m done being that man.
The entire time, I was pulling the strings. Reeling her in. So if she thinks this is going to flow the way she wants it to, she’s got another thing coming.
She could huff and puff and blow the city down, but she won’t find me until I know for sure that she loves me with her heart and not her will.
I tolerated her bullshit before for the sake of the job. But the game is over. Serena Bentley is going to be my wife or nothing at all.
Naan erupts into a fit of violent coughs. I’m by her chair in two seconds, rubbing her back. “You been feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” She waves me off. “It’s just a little cold.”
“Did you see Dr. Burke this week?”
“Don’t worry about me, coward.” She picks up her lukewarm black tea from the coffee table and takes a sip. “Just promise me you won’t let her get away. I like her. She reminds me of myself. Shameless, unapologetic, and has balls of steel.”
I fight back a smile. Serena truly is all of those things and more. Of course Naan likes her.
“Promise me, Collin,” Naan demands, glaring at me through eyes as silver as mine. “I want granddaughters with balls of steel.”
I laugh, still rubbing her back. “You’ll get your granddaughters with balls of steel, Naan. I promise.”
As I exit the doors of Naan’s building, my phone buzzes.
I get it out and glance down at the screen. California. The private hospital my family uses, to be specific. The same one that told me I wasn’t a match to donate my kidney.
My heart sinks in on itself. This is it. This is ‘The Call’.
He’s gone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kholton! How are you? It’s Dr. Ellis.”
My tense shoulders sag a little, relieved. He’s too chipper to be calling with news of death. “I’m fine, Dr. Ellis. Thanks for asking. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“Well, I’m calling to apologize, actually,” he begins. “Regarding your father’s transplant, it appears there’s been some errors with the test you did. The nurse was new—but I won’t insult you with excuses. I know you’re back in New York, but might you be able to fly down here and re-do the test?”
When I don’t reply, he goes on, “We just want to make sure we’re not erroneously ruling you out as a match. This just might be the answer to your family’s pray—”
I hang up the phone.
Fuck.
Serena
Serena: What would have happened if I’d said yes to exclusivity?
Kholton: I would have told you everything.
Thirty - Nine - Kholton
“Seven years.”
Hidden Valley,
California
I’m on the doorsteps of my old home.
A young, petite blond in nursing scrubs opens the door this time.
“Good morning,” she greets with a bright smile. “May I help you?”
“Not really.” I brush past her into the foyer. “Just here to see the dying demon.”
“I—uh, sir—Um, do you mean Mr. Capshaw?”
I shoot her with a gun finger and a wink. “That’s the one. Where is he?”
“In the family room. But—may I ask who
you are? I—”
“The black sheep,” I say as I make my way into the family room.
“Sir, please.” She hurries ahead of me, holding her hands out to stop me. “Mr. Capshaw is not taking visitors. Let me at least ask him if—”
I ignore her and keep on walking. The house is deathly quiet. It doesn’t seem that anyone else is here.
I find the bastard in his favorite massage recliner, looking ten times worse than he did the last time I saw him.
He’s nothing but skin and bones now. Dark circles and sunken cheeks. Pale and pasty.
He looks up from his newspaper when I enter, the nurse bursting ahead of me.
“Mr. Capshaw, I’m so sorry. He just barged in and—”
“It’s fine, Jessica.” He folds the newspaper and sets it aside. “I know he looks like a hipster fruitcake, but he’s actually a brilliant mastermind wasting his life.” He lifts his hand to his throat as though it hurts to speak. “He’s my son.”
Jessica apologizes again before leaving the room.
“I see you’ve finally driven everyone away.” I move farther into the room. “A wife, three—no, five children and a mistress, yet here you are, dying, alone.”
“They’ve all taken your mother’s side.” His voice is ghostly, almost nonexistent.
“She told them?”
He nods. A jerky, unstable movement. “She wants a divorce. But I’ll die before I give her that and see her with another man.”
I move to sit in the arm chair adjacent to his. “Hence your poisoned and failing kidney.”
He laughs. It’s bitter. “Apparently, I’m not dying fast enough. She wants me to sign the papers now.”
This is awful news, raining guilt like hail stones down on my head.
The woman who gave birth to me is somewhere waiting impatiently for this cruel man to take his last breath and free her from her misery. And here I come like the messiah, about to breathe life back into him. About to give Lucifer another one thousand years to wreak havoc upon the earth.
“I was not expecting to see you again. At least, not until we meet in hell,” he says, eying me warily. “To what do I owe the honor, my son?”