by Skye,Marie
As his smile faded, I felt my chin starting to shake and my eyes beginning to water. He stood up, wrapping his arms around me. "I got you," he whispered in my hair. "I got you."
"I'm sorry." I finally pulled myself free and wiped away the tears that had spilled out. "I wasn't expecting to see you."
"Emmalin, is everything ok?" At the sound of Mitch’s voice, my eyes cut to where he stood off to the side.
"Yeah. I'll close up, you can go."
He eyed Chace. "Are you sure?"
Chace turned and faced Mitch, obviously annoyed by his presence. "She said you can go."
Mitch took a deep breath before nodding at me and grabbing the rest of his stuff. Chace turned back to me and smiled. I sighed and asked, "Did you have to be so mean?"
He shrugged and held out his hand. "Let's get out of here."
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the prettiest lake the town had to offer. Chace had come prepared with a blanket, a basket of fruit, and wine. He plucked a few grapes and dropped them into his mouth, smiling a boyish grin. "The fruit tastes better here."
I nodded in agreement and I took a few as he stretched out onto the blanket. I let a few minutes pass before finally turning to him to speak.
"How did you know I was here?"
He gave me a small smile. "I have my ways, and, you know, your boyfriend is a stalker that still keeps tabs on you, so that helps, too."
I felt myself stiffen. "He's not my boyfriend," I said quietly.
It was quiet as I stared out into the lake, listening to a frog croaking in the distance. There was just enough breeze for the lake to cool us off nicely.
"He's not the same." Chace spoke quietly, and my attention focused back on him.
I thought about the pictures I saw online, picture after picture of Grayson photographed with a different woman almost every night along with dramatic headlines.
Grayson and Emmalin, no more!
Grayson Mandrake and Model Spotted at Dinner
Grayson Mandrake not heartbroken over recent split, parties at grand opening of local nightclub. Caught kissing lingerie model.
I let out a light laugh. "He seems to be doing well. He's moved on." I hugged my knees tighter to myself.
Chace shook his head. "He's not, Emmalin." He ran his hand through his hair. "All that shit is for show. That's how he's dealing with it, because he doesn't know how to deal with it. He's hurt. In his mind, you walked out."
My eyes shot up to Chace. Even though I had walked out, it wasn't just about that. It was so much more than that.
"And now he's dropped everything and shot off to London."
I froze. "He's in London?"
Chace poured another glass of wine. "Yeah. Left two weeks ago. No word on why. Just up and left."
I swallowed down the tears that threatened to spill over. This was good. This was what was supposed to happen. That was where he was supposed to be.
"He didn’t tell you anything?"
Chace shook his head. "Fuck no. He's been a complete dick these past three months." He eyed me closely. "When was the last time you saw him?"
I swallowed nervously. "Edith's wedding."
"Did you guys talk at all?"
I shut my eyes, thinking back to that day. "Not really. Briefly."
I felt Chace's thumb slide over a fallen tear. "What happened when you saw him, Emmalin?"
I could feel him urging me on as I stared out into the water. I took a deep breath. "He said he wished he’d never met me." I heard Chace mutter a curse.
"He didn't mean that, Emmalin."
I glanced at Chace. "Yeah. He did. He had so much hate in his voice, if he could have, he would've lit me on fire." I downed the rest of my wine. "He practically did set me on fire."
"I'll kill him." Chace's voice came out hard and menacing.
"He had every right—"
"No, the fuck he didn’t, Emmalin. I don't care how mad he is. He doesn't get to talk to you like that. Nobody does." He put his arm around me, pulling me close. I stiffened at first, before finally giving in and relaxing. "I don't know what happened, but I know you've been through a lot of shit in your life, shit I can't even begin to explain. Whatever your reasons are, they had to be good, but we're friends, no matter what." He kissed the top of my head.
After a few moments, I took a shaky deep breath. “Why are you here, Chace? Your loyalty is to Grayson, not me.”
He pulled away from me, reaching for another grape. “I told you at our first lunch together that I would protect you. That doesn’t change just because you two went all Ross and Rachel, and ‘took a break.’” He held up air quotes.
I laughed. “This is so much more than an episode of a TV show. So, so much more, but thanks for believing in us.” Wanting to change the subject, I moved on before he could offer a rebuttal. “How long are you in town?”
“How long do you need me?”
I gave him a look and he smiled. “With Grayson out of the country and me here dicking off, I figured I’d let you show me the best pancakes in town in the morning, and then I’d head out. Maybe hit up a farmers market to get some more of these grapes, because damn this shit is good.”
“The blueberries are sweet, too.” I smiled, reaching for the container.
“Oh, I’m sure your berries are very sweet, Emmalin.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I laughed. Chace really was the annoying big brother we all loved to hate.
Chapter Seven
Grayson
I'd been in London two weeks, watching, mostly feeling like a complete stalker. I made sure to observe from afar and keep my presence unknown. Dale came three times a week, and I gave strict orders to the facility that under no circumstances was my identity to be revealed, let alone the fact that I had been on the premises. With the help of a substantial donation, I had the guaranteed privacy I needed.
"Would you like to try talking to her today, Mr. Mandrake?"
I shook my head. "No. Not yet."
One of these days, I was going to say yes. Yes, I would like to talk to her, the person I thought had died years ago. My wife—who had been declared legally fucking dead—was sitting in front of me on a bench staring at flowers like she'd never seen them before in her life.
Oh, that's right—she fucking hadn't seen the flowers before.
"She's been a patient at our facility for almost ten years. When she was brought in, she was near death." I watched as Dr. Shipman lit up a screen behind him, showing an x-ray of Carmen's brain. "Anterograde amnesia is what she was first diagnosed with. She can tell you about her fifth birthday party, but may not have any idea what she had for breakfast this morning. Some days she wouldn’t even know anything about that birthday party."
I studied the scans behind him. "Would she remember me? Us?"
He shrugged. “That depends on the patient. She may, she may not. Like all amnesia patients, it's difficult. She’s improved tremendously, but has slip-ups of forgetfulness, which is why she’s here. She should never be on her own. She’s completely paralyzed on the left side of her body, with partial paralysis in thirty percent of the lower extremities on her right side.”
"And what about Lydia?"
"Her injuries weren't as extensive, as you know. She's had a few minor setbacks, but nothing alarming. She's confused sometimes, but she can make it. We haven't treated her long since she was just recently transferred here, but from what we've gathered, she's progressing rather well."
“What about their interaction together?”
“Complicated, and quite difficult. We actually prefer them apart. Carmen gets…aggressive, if you will, around Lydia, and Lydia becomes quite upset.”
I turned from the scans. “Aggressive?”
Dr. Shipman sat in his chair. “Very aggressive. Interacting with Lydia seems to bring back much of her past, but it’s only for a few minutes at a time. It gets to the point where Lydia becomes quite frightened of Carmen and completely shuts down.
"I would l
ike to see Lydia."
The nurse looked at me and smiled. "Sure. She just came in from a walk and was just about to begin her afternoon painting. I'll take you to her room." I nodded as I followed her down the long corridor.
I stopped and peered inside her room. She was setting her paints out before she sat in front of her blank canvas. I had never taken her for an artist. I took a moment to gaze around her room and noticed the brightly painted art she had hanging up. They were actually good. I quietly walked in, not wanting to disturb her.
"You have some beautiful work here, Lydia."
Her head turned at the sound of my voice, her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect O. "Grayson?" she whispered. She sat her paintbrush down and smoothed out her skirt.
I gave her a small smile. "How are you?"
She looked shy all of a sudden. "I'm good. I can't believe you're here."
I walked toward the chair next to her, taking a seat. "I said I would visit, although I didn't think it would be in London."
She looked down at her hands. "That wasn't my choice. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t."
She started to become almost panicked, so I tried to calm her. "I know. It's okay. As long as you're well." I looked at the blank canvas in front of us. "Show me what you can do."
Her eyes lit up as she grabbed a paintbrush and dipped it into watercolor.
Ten minutes later, Lydia was halfway done drawing the most colorful butterfly I'd ever seen. She peeked up at me under her eyelashes and smiled. "I have a boyfriend."
I looked at her in surprise. "You do?"
She nodded. “His name is Adam. He got me started in watercolors. He visits three times a week. I’m allowed to go off campus to go see him, but I haven’t had the chance to.”
I gazed at her. “Why not?”
She shrugged and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I want to, but I have to be granted permission first, and I haven’t been. I keep asking Dale, but he refuses.”
I took a moment to assess Lydia. She wasn’t the same person she had been all those months ago when she’d come barging into the charity gala claiming to be my wife. She definitely wasn’t the same Lydia she had been over the years. She’d been transformed. While I knew the medication wasn’t a permanent fixture, and she still had momentary relapses, they sure as hell were helping, as were her therapy sessions.
She suddenly crinkled her brow and looked toward the door. "Where is she?"
My thoughts were jarred by the sudden change. "Who?"
"Emmalin."
I stilled before taking a deep breath. "She's…" I took a second before figuring out how to word it. “We’re not together.”
Lydia didn't say anything as she dipped the paintbrush in the water before selecting a purple paint. "But you love her, more than Carmen. That's what you said."
I shifted in my chair. "I know what I said, Lydia." I ran my hand through my hair. Fuck, I didn't want to talk about this, and especially not with her of all people.
"Is that why you're here? For Carmen?"
Fuck. Why was I there? "No. I'm not here for Carmen," I said in a low voice. She nodded as she finished painting. I stood up to leave. "It was good seeing you, Lydia." I headed for the door.
"He made her leave."
I froze. She spoke so low, I almost didn't hear her. I turned back toward her.
"What?"
I watched as she carefully placed one last stroke on her canvas before placing the brush down and turning to face me. "Dale made her leave. He always said he would make her leave you."
I slowly walked back toward her. "What are you talking about?"
She slowly shook her head. "He doesn't want you happy. She made you happy.” Then, as if realizing she had said too much, she turned away from me. “I’m tired, and this needs time to dry. It’ll be dry by the time I get up.”
I watched as she carefully placed her paintbrushes back into the canister. I headed for the door. “I’ll see you again, Lydia.”
She nodded. “I would like that, Grayson.”
Heading back to my room, I checked the time: it was just after 5 p.m., which meant it was a little after 11 a.m. in Chicago. I hadn’t talked to Chace since I had up and left, and I knew I had to fill him in on what was going on eventually. It wasn’t exactly a conversation I was looking forward to, especially since I wasn’t exactly clear about what the fuck was going on. Picking up my phone, I dialed. He answered on the third ring.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“No shit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can we not fucking do this? There’s a lot of shit going on right now, and you’re the only one I can talk to.” He was quiet, so I decided to ease into it. “How did the meeting with Jacobs and York go? I haven’t received the minutes yet, so I figured I would get the play-by-play from you since I have you on the phone now.”
He cleared his throat. “I can email the minutes over. I wasn’t there. I sent a proctor because I went out of town.”
I paused as I tried not to let my anger get the best of me. “That was a pretty important meeting Chace. You’re the CFO in charge of that section.”
“And you’re the CEO, Grayson. You’re halfway around the world and no one seems to know why. I decided to pull a Grayson and leave town for something I felt was important.”
“And where would that be?”
He let out a laugh. “A lovely town called Quincy. Maybe you’ve heard of it. They have the best fruit, among other things.”
I noted how his voice lowered when he said ‘among other things’. That fucking fuck. “What were you doing in Quincy?” I tried keeping my voice even as I spoke, but I knew I failed.
“What do you care? She doesn’t belong to you, remember?”
“Don’t fuck with me right now Chace. I mean it.”
“Why? Because there’s a code among friends right? That code didn’t really ever apply to us did it, Grayson? We had no problem fucking the same women, since we often had similar taste.”
I couldn’t believe what was coming in from the other line. I could hear the blood thundering through my ears. The thought of Chace and Emmalin together had me roaring.
“You’re pissed because you’re hurt Grayson. I get it man. I do. I really do. But you know what? The more I think about it, you don’t deserve her. She’s too good for you.”
“Go fuck yourself, Chace.”
“No, fuck you, Grayson. What was it you said? You wish you’d never met her?” I shut my eyes at those words. Those words had been spoken out of pure anger, and I wished to that day I could take them back. “Isn’t that what you said to her, Grayson?”
I slowly sat myself down on the bed. “Yes,” I whispered.
“She doesn’t deserve that, Grayson, and you know it. No matter how pissed you were, she didn’t deserve that. You know what she’s been through. She didn’t need to hear that, especially from you.”
“You’re right,” I whispered.
“What?”
I cleared my throat. “I said you’re right. She didn’t deserve that, and I’ll fix it, you have my word on that.” I heard him sigh, like he didn’t believe me. Hell, I didn’t even believe myself, but I did know I had to fix it. “Chace. Carmen is alive.”
I heard what sounded like the phone dropping before he came back on. “Stop fucking with me, Grayson.”
I went over and poured myself a bourbon; I needed it if I was going to have this conversation. “I wish I was. She’s alive, Chace. I’ve been watching her for the past two weeks.”
“How is that even possible?”
I poured myself another two fingers and shot it back. “I’ll give you one guess.” Chace muttered a curse. “I’ve been having him followed, keeping track of his every move. If he takes a shit, I know about it.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No, not yet, but I did talk to Lydia. Tonight I plan on rectifying the situation with Dale once and for all.”
"Where is he now?"
"He just returned to his flat after a round of errands, sir. He was gone two hours and thirty-seven minutes. He spent an hour and forty-five minutes at the facility, only seeing subject A. He stopped at a local grocery store on the way home. He picked up a litre of milk, yoghurt, chicken, and some fresh bread. Paid only in cash."
I suppressed a smile at how thorough the security Benny had hired for me in London was. I looked at Hawkins, who had joined me here. He didn't look as amused as I was, and was tenser, as if sensing what I was thinking of doing. I turned back to Benson, the head of the security team. "Is he alone?"
"Yes sir. We scoured the flat, as well as all the surrounding flats, and made sure all his neighbours were well vetted. Everything is secured to my liking."
Hawkins turned to me and his gaze penetrated mine. "He's all yours, Mr. Mandrake."
I nodded as I looked both ways. It was now dark out. The streets were wet with a light mist, and a small chill had begun to pick up. I narrowed my eyes. "Excellent." I put my black hoodie over my head and crossed the street.
Because the cameras had been placed strategically throughout his flat, we knew exactly where he was at any given time. I didn't even have to break in; I had a key. At that very moment, he had just finished eating a late dinner and was on his laptop in his very spacious living room.
"We made sure the camera on his laptop had been disabled," Hawkins whispered to me.
I nodded as I slowly slid the key in. I motioned for Hawkins to stay behind, and he gave me a look. I had already told him ahead of time: if I needed him, he would know. Instead, he would stay behind. I shut the door quietly and locked it behind me. Dale was right where I had last seen him on the camera: in front of his laptop, typing away, with the small glare of the TV in the background. He had a small cup of what appeared to be tea sitting next to him; looked like he had adapted to the way of the English life.
As I took a step forward, the floor creaked, and he paused then turned around. His eyes grew wide upon seeing me. He slowly closed his laptop and started to stand up. I held my hands up.