“I tried and tried to call, but he never answered. He still hasn’t returned my calls. I just left him a voicemail. But I ended it with him before I did anything with Mason,” I try to reassure him and myself I was innocent in this whole thing.
Sam shakes his head back and forth, then resumes his seat in the chair.
“Here I was worried to no end how you’d take the news. All the while my little brother was…” he trails off, giving me a side-long glance.
Heat hits my face as assumptions silently run between us. Sam was like a brother to me, so talking to him about having sex with his brother was absolutely not something I would do. But I still had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I narrow my eyes at Sam, hoping to erase the thoughts so clearly running through his mind.
“What picture were you talking about?”
Sam watches me again, releases a heavy sigh, and tosses his phone toward me. It lands beside the knitted pillow I was cradling a few moments ago, the muffled sound of it hitting the cushion filling the room.
I stare at it as Sam says, “Fecking bastard posted this shortly after you landed here.”
I pick up his phone and hold it in my left hand, tapping the screen with my right index finger, bringing the dark screen to life. Staring back at me is a photo of Kyle kissing the same dark-haired woman I’d seen on his computer screen last year. Below this seemingly recent photo, the Instagram post mentioned he was in Spain.
“Well, I guess he had the time off work after all,” I mutter and toss the phone back to Sam.
His face is red, and his eyes are turned down, taking on a hint of remorse… or pity. Damn, I hope it’s not pity. I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I just want to be free from Kyle, once and for all.
“So, that’s dated right after I landed here in Ireland?” I ask, clarifying with Sam. I’m not asking because I’m angry. I’m asking because if it was, I now feel totally off the hook with the voicemail breakup. Kyle didn’t deserve any more explanation than the one I gave.
My mind runs through every thought imaginable. I think about Kyle and our miserable, nonexistent relationship. He had no reservations about posting that picture, not caring whether I would see it. I think of the date-time stamped on the photo. He had already posted it by the time I had kissed Mason after dumping Noodge’s ashes.
“Yeah,” Sam scoffs, interrupting my thoughts. “Bastard won’t answer my calls or texts either. Probably knows you’re with me. It’s a cowardly thing to do, and you deserve better, Char.” Sam’s words are soft and reassuring.
“Thank you, Sam, but I’ve found better with your brother. He’s everything Kyle never was and so much more. I was so afraid to truly let myself love him. At first, I felt like it was all too fast and too much. But seeing that picture of Kyle set me free, in some strange way. Like there’s nothing holding me back now.” I eye my friend and give him a half smile.
“Does Mase know yet?” he asks in a jovial tone.
“Does Mase know what yet?”
I turn my head at the sound of Mason’s voice coming from the front of the house. He barges into the room, a few grocery bags dangling from his fingers.
I swallow the thick lump of emotion in my throat as he enters the room. Yeah, there’s no denying I love this man. I already feel the instinct to go to him, the natural urge to be close to him already well engrained into my system. I stand, ready to kiss him stupid and pull him outside to confess my love for him when Sam interrupts.
He clears his throat, his eyes searching the floor before they land on the phone still gripped in his hand.
“About this wanker,” he quickly spouts out, tossing his phone to Mason. “Honestly, with you getting so close these past few days, I’m surprised you didn’t spill the beans sooner, brother.”
The room quiets as Mason looks down at Sam’s phone resting in his palm, his wide eyes fixated on the picture of Kyle kissing the brunette woman in Spain. His face is red and blotchy, and when his green eyes flick to mine, an unmistakable look of guilt passes through them—guilt I am well acquainted with.
Mason has been keeping the news about Kyle a secret from me this entire fucking time.
Mason
“YOU KNEW?”
I still have Sam’s phone resting in my hand, staring at the photo of Kyle, the picture haunting me, mocking me. But this time, with the picture staring me in the face, I know it’s coming to collect what’s due. It’s time for me to face the truth.
I hear Char’s voice, but I can’t bring myself to look away from my hand. I’m afraid to look at her. I can already picture it, the betrayal she feels filling her hazel eyes. I wanted to tell her, I was so close, but it’s as if the universe is punishing me, shoving my lack of honesty in my face.
“Mason.”
Charlotte’s voice hardens and finally, I’m able to look up, finding her standing on the other side of the room. Every thought I had of what she might look like at this moment is validated--tears pool in her eyes, her hands balling into fists at her sides.
“You knew about the picture?”
My shoulders sag, and I take a step forward.
“Yes,” I breathe out. “But...” I pause, realizing how ridiculous my excuse will sound when said out loud. “But Sam told me not to tell you.” I steel my eyes on Sam, narrowing them in anger. “What the fuck man?” I ask him. “Why would you think I told her about the picture? You knew I didn’t tell her.”
“Sorry, man.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender, his mouth falling open. “You walked in here right after Char just told me she was in love with you, and I freaked. I didn’t know what to say.”
My stomach dips, and my chest caves in, hearing Char’s name and the word love spoken in the same sentence. I turn to Charlotte who’s looking at Sam like she wants to chop his head off, her cheeks blushed a bright red.
At the same time I say, “What?” I hear Charlotte yell, “Sam! What the hell?”
“I’m sorry!” Sam yells back, frantically looking between us. “I’m getting all confused. This is why I don’t get in the middle of things like this.” He presses his hands to the side of his head, looking like he’s in front of some kind of math test, figuring out how to solve some complicated equation. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. I mean, my brother and my friend are in love...”
“Oh my God, Sam,” Charlotte says. “Please, just stop talking.” Her head is down, and she’s covering her eyes with her hand.
I don’t notice how heavy my breathing has become until I’m staring at Charlotte. Blood shoots through my veins. A feeling I’ve nearly forgotten has risen to the surface, causing my heart to nearly explode out of my chest.
Charlotte’s still looking down at the floor. I take a step toward her. We’re still at least six feet apart, but I can feel her from here. She might as well have her arms wrapped around me.
“Wait,” I choke out on a breath. My lungs struggle to keep up with the thoughts processing through my mind and the words making their way through my throat.
“You’re in love with me?”
I wait for Charlotte’s answer, noticing how the steady rise and fall of her chest matches mine. Instead of an answer, I’m met with silence. She finally looks up, and for the first time since I met her, her eyes are clouded with anger.
Sensing her anger, Sam does what he does best. He tries to avoid the shit storm he started. Clapping his hands in front of him, the loud smack echoing off the walls, he looks at both of us.
“Well, seems like you both need to talk. Apparently, I’m too exhausted to make any sense, so I’m going to head upstairs and take a nap.”
He stands up ready to walk out when Charlotte says, “Oh no you don’t. You wait just a fucking minute. You’re part of this too.”
“Fine,” Sam groans and sits back down. He really is like a child.
I’m startled when Charlotte shifts her whole body in my direction.
“You knew about the picture.” Her voice comes
out strained, and her face is filled with disbelief—not only disbelief but hurt. The way her eyes turn down in sadness and her eyes fill with tears is enough to gut me. She might as well have handed me a knife and told me to slice myself open.
“Mason, I’m only going to ask you one more time before I walk out that door.” She points toward the front of the house.
“Okay.” I step forward, raking my fingers through my hair. “Remember the day we went to search for your family? The day the flower delivery man gave us a ride?”
“You rode in a flower truck?” Sam asks. Charlotte and I glance at Sam still sitting on the couch, his mouth full and an open bag of crisps in his lap. One of the grocery bags I brought in is sitting beside him on the couch, its contents rifled through. Sometime in the past three seconds, Sam felt the need to grab himself a snack.
“Shut up, ye eegit,” I say to him before turning back to Char.
“Of course, I remember, Mason. That was the first day you started acting like a decent human being to me.” She points to her chest, slightly leaning forward. “That was the first day I made the mistake of thinking you were anything but the asshole I met on that airplane.”
“Wait a minute. Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”
“Overreacting?”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, thinking back to everything Charlotte told me about her relationship with Kyle. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry. You told me Kyle had cheated on you before. You even had proof. What difference would it have made if I told ye about the picture? You said yourself, you were long done with Kyle.”
“The difference, Mason—lies are bad, secrets are worse.” Her voice wavers, and a deep buried pain twists in my chest. Her voice is literally crushing me from the inside out. “Now, I want to know how long you’ve known about that picture.”
“Charlotte,” I plead. “Come on.”
“No. You owe me that much.”
I pause, thinking back. “The night I took you to the pub. Sam sent me a text with the picture. He told me not to show it to you, so I didn’t.” Every word falls on a sigh.
Charlotte turns to Sam, it’s and as if she’s giving me just enough slack to squeeze in one breath. I still feel her heat, her anger, but I can’t help feeling this is partially his fault as well.
“And you.” Charlotte crosses her arms, focusing solely on Sam.
“Listen, Char.” Sam wipes the crumbs from his chin and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of finding it. I knew you would need someone with you who you trusted and who cared for you. I didn’t know you and Mason had...” He trails off, apparently deciding now to choose his words wisely. “I didn’t know you and Mason had become cordial.”
I roll my eyes, and so does Charlotte. I fight back the urge to chuckle, knowing it wouldn’t help my case to get back on Char’s good side. So, I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting to see how this plays out.
“I guess...” Charlotte sighs, wincing. “I guess I could see what you were trying to do, but it doesn’t change the fact you didn’t tell me. I’m not a child, Sam.”
“I know you aren’t a child, Char.”
“Really?” Charlotte arches her eyebrows and halfway turns to me. She waves her finger between the both of us. “Because ever since I’ve been around the two of you, you seem to think you know what’s best for me.”
“That’s not what we’re doing.”
“But it is, Mason. I can make my own decisions. I spent way too many years doing what I thought I needed to. I lived a half-life, worked a job I only half-liked. I was in a relationship with a man I only half-loved. It’s not about the picture or what Kyle did. It’s the fact you and your brother felt the need to keep it from me.”
Standing here, in my mother’s house with Sam on the couch eating an entire bag of crisps, and Charlotte looking at me like she did the first day we met, I realize I’m more like Kyle than I care to admit to. I may not be a cheater, but I kept a secret just the same. I assumed I knew what was best for Charlotte. Even if Sam was the one who told me to keep it, I should have told her. I should have told her.
“Char, I’m sorry.” Sam stands up and takes a step toward Charlotte.
She recoils, then slowly walks backward toward the hallway leading to the front door.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. Her jaw is set tight, her teeth clenched. I can tell she’s fighting to keep herself together, to keep her emotions at bay, “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses.” She pauses, quickly grabbing her purse off the end table in the hallway. “I don’t think I can be around either of you right now.”
Then, before I’m able to comprehend what’s happening, she’s down the hallway and walking out the front door. The heavy wooden door shuts, the bellowing sound of it closing pulses through the hallway and into the living room where Sam and I are still standing.
“Mason, I’ll go talk to her,” Sam starts.
“I think you’ve done enough as it is, brother,” I cut him off, feeling my frustrations grow and my fear of losing Charlotte before I ever even truly had the chance to be with her. I leave Sam in the living room and jog my way down the hallway. Charlotte couldn’t have gone too far.
When I swing open the front door, I find her at the edge of the lawn, in front of the sidewalk, her purse slung over her shoulder, and her arms are crossed over her middle. The mid-day sun is shining down on her, the red strands of her hair glowing like a raging fire. It looks like she’s waiting for something or someone.
I cross the lawn without a word, relieved she’s still here, giving me a chance to talk to her, stop her from leaving. But I can’t help feeling no matter what I say won’t change the way she feels about me now. She’s angry and has every right to be.
I stand beside her on the edge of the lawn, tempted to reach out and wrap my arm around her, to grab her hand. How is it, just a few hours ago, she was lying with me in my childhood bed?
“I called an Uber. They’re on their way.”
“Char...”
“No, Mason,” she yells. “I don’t think you fucking get it.”
“I do,” I plead with her. I’m desperate, I know I’m losing her. I was already uncertain of what lay ahead of us after our final days here in Ireland. We were headed back to the United States, back to California, back to our regular everyday lives. I can’t lose her now.
“I get it. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
My eyes move away from Charlotte, watching as a blue car makes its way down my parents’ street, slowing and stopping alongside the curb, in front of where we’re standing.
Charlotte steps forward and opens the door on the passenger side. A heavy weight presses down on my chest. She’s slipping away, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell her not to go. I can’t make her stay.
“Char, wait.”
She stops, her hand resting on top of the door. She turns to face me, tears lingering in her eyes. I can tell her anger is being washed away by the hurt.
“Where are you going? I just need to know you’ll be safe.”
Blinking, a tear falls and slides down her cheek, landing on the concrete with a small, intricate splash.
“Family. I’m going to stay with my family.” Taking a deep breath, she looks down at her feet before her eyes meet mine. “You know, Mason, I’m not the pathetic, lonely woman you and Sam seem to believe I am.”
“Charlotte, that’s not—” I’m breathless. I take a step off the curb, wanting to stop her, but I’m reminded of why I can’t. I can’t make Charlotte do anything. I never wanted to, and I hate knowing she thinks I would. I only want her to be happy—even if it’s not with me.
“Goodbye, Mason.” Charlotte closes the door behind her, and the car drives off, leaving me standing in front of my parents’ house.
I’m not sure how long I stand at the edge of the sidewalk, but kno
w I’ve stood here long enough to know Charlotte isn’t coming back. I’ve also managed to play out my last moments with Charlotte like a movie on repeat. Every move from when we were lying together in my bed to when Sam showed up, and I kissed her just before she stepped out of the room. I think about when I walked back into the living room, grocery bags dangling from my hands, only to find out, mere seconds before I walked in, Charlotte had told my brother she was in love with me.
I hunch over, wrapping my arm across my stomach. It turns as I remember what Sam had said. Charlotte was in love with me, and somehow, I had fucked it up. Sam wasn’t the eegit—I was.
The sun dips in the sky and my legs feel numb. My whole body is numb as I turn around, forcing myself to go back in the house. When I walk in, I find Sam in the living room, sitting in the arm chair, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. His phone is resting in his hand, the screen blank.
“I’ve called her about a hundred times. She won’t answer,” he mumbles. His eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t move. He must have heard me come in.
My arms and legs are still numb, but as I stare at my brother, I realize I’m numb with anger. It’s the only feeling I seem to be aware of.
Rearing my leg back, I kick his chair. Startled, Sam opens his eyes and sits up. His phone drops, smacking against the tile floor.
“What the feck was that for?”
“You fecking gobshite,” I yell. “Of course, she isn’t answering her phone. This is all your fault.”
Sam stands up and walks toward me. We’re nearly the same height, so when he stands centimeters away from me, his blue eyes match my green, the tip of his nose nearly touching mine.
“My fault? Careful, dear brother,” he warns. “I don’t think this is a fight you want to start because if you do, I’m ready. I have plenty to say. Starting with you being the pot calling the kettle black. It’s just as much yer fault as it is mine.”
I roll my eyes and step back, feeling his closeness beginning to suffocate me.
“Yer full of shite, Mase,” Sam yells. From what I can see, he’s seething with rage as well. “Ye seem to forget one little detail. I was friends with Charlotte way before you even met her. I care for her like a sister. I was trying to protect her!”
What are the Chances Page 17