What are the Chances

by Brittany Taylor

  “Seems like you have something you want to say, so just say it,” he repeats in frustration.

  I clear my throat and half turn toward him. “I was just looking at your bruise. It looks terrible.”

  He eyes me but gives no indication of emotion. His firm jaw is set, and his eyes are glacial. I suddenly feel like I was the one who lied to him, then chose to fight his ex, over making up.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I whisper, hoping he’ll cut it out.

  “What? Like you pulled the plug on us before we even had a chance? Is that how I’m looking at you?” Mason’s menacing tone sets me on edge.

  “Seriously, Mason?” I roll my eyes, and he sits up, moving his body forward a few inches.

  “Yeah, Charlotte, seriously.” He emphasizes the end of my name, showcasing the removal of my nickname. It hurts, but I push through it.

  “I’m just trying to do the right thing here.” I shake my head in frustration.

  “Charlotte, you didn’t even give us a chance,” Mason scoffs and glares at me. “You’re fucking ex walked in and ruined everything.” He leans more toward me with a death-like seriousness, “I know for a fact you were going to forgive me, that you were going to give us another shot before he showed up.”

  “You could have easily walked around him and taken my hand, letting him fume and fuss without either of us there.” My voice has raised an octave, and British guy clears his throat, glancing our way.

  “So, you admit it then? This has nothing to do with your fucking quest to find yourself. You’re pissed I fought that prick,” Mason argues just as loudly. We hear more throat clearing, but neither of us look toward our third seatmate.

  “I don’t know, Mason! Okay, is that what you want to hear? Things shifted when you started fighting. When you didn’t choose to go with me, yes, something changed. I said your name and waited, but you just launched back toward him.” I half cry, half shout this at him, pointing toward my chest, nearly out of my seat. There are passengers craning their necks to see us, but I don’t care.

  “I’m sorry, Char, but when a man, who’s cheated on you twice, says under his breath he’s going to get you back after he’s spent the last two weeks fucking someone else, I’m going to fight him. I’d do it again and again, just to show him you deserve better.” Mason’s voice is eerily quiet like air in a coffin.

  My stomach twists and dips at his words. I hadn’t heard what Kyle said to Mason to cause him to re-engage the fight. I look down at my hands and swallow my pride.

  “Thank you for doing that, Mason. I’m sorry I judged you so harshly.”

  I look back up to see his reaction, he’s been quiet for too long. When his green eyes meet mine, he clenches his jaw and looks away. Finally, he shakes his head and looks back at me.

  “Forget it. Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. You’ve made yourself clear. I’ll leave you the fuck alone, from here on out.” With that, he pulls his headphones up and sticks them in his ears.

  I can feel the heat rising in my face and turn away. I know I have tears brimming at the edges of my eyes, but I refuse to let Mason see them. He’s hurt and feels rejected, and I did that, so now he’s done. No second chances for us, no happy ending. There’s just what we had, and it’s over now.

  ***

  I had a connecting flight to catch in Chicago, but I missed it on purpose. I couldn’t handle any more time around Mason. I couldn’t handle one more hate-fueled moment of negative energy between us. I caught the following flight out and sat alone, all the way to Los Angeles.

  Thankfully, Kyle hadn’t returned yet, so I packed in silence. I didn’t care about my furniture or big material things. I’ll let Kyle sell them. I didn’t even give my boss two weeks’ notice. I had been saving money for years and had a nice nest egg built up.

  I’d be fine for a while and had no plans on returning to California, so my boss’ poor comments about me didn’t hurt. I had three beautiful days alone, packing while I set up shipping my boxes and suitcases of belongings to Ireland. I already booked a new flight out and was nearly ready to leave when I heard the front door jingle.

  For some reason, my stomach dips at the idea it might be Mason, but then it dove off a depressed cliff of sadness when I realize he doesn’t even know where I live. Kyle emerges into the apartment a few moments later, carrying flowers.

  “Babe, I’m so glad you’re here,” he coos and charges forward to hug me. I put my hand out to stop him.

  “What are you doing here?” I scoff, shocked he’s here. I haven’t heard anything from him since Ireland.

  “I live here, and so do you. We’re working this out, Charlotte,” Kyle demands, peeling off his shirt, revealing his bare chest.

  I lower my eyes, not sure why he’s suddenly stripping.

  “Kyle, we aren’t. You lied to me and cheated on me. Why on earth would you think I’d come back to you?”

  “I had to know, Charlotte. I had to go to Spain and see Mia to see if there was really anything between us.” He tilts his chin up and gazes at me from under hooded eyes.

  “It’s just you, babe. You’re it for me. I broke it off with her and booked the next flight to Ireland.” Kyle’s face lights up with a smile as he takes a step closer to me.

  I resist the urge to laugh. Instead, I spin away from him and head toward my boxes.

  “I’m almost done boxing these up. My flight takes off tonight. I paid up my last half of the month, but you’re on your own after that.” I pick up a small box, filled with jackets and scarves, carrying it to the bedroom.

  “The fuck did you just say? Moving? Where?” Kyle fumbles as he tries to follow me, his feet tripping over a box in his way.

  “I’m moving to Ireland, and I’m not coming back,” I state firmly, walking around the room, grabbing what little is left of my things.

  “How do you expect to work on us if you move there?” Kyle’s panic is high as he looks at our empty closet.

  “Well, I don’t for one thing,” I laugh, unable to keep it in any longer. “I don’t want you, Kyle, I haven’t in a long time.”

  “So, you’re running to that Irish prick?” Kyle fumes, stepping closer to me.

  I look up at him, knowing he’d never physically hurt me.

  “No. I’m going back to my family. It has nothing to do with Mason… although if he moved there, I wouldn’t be against us working things out. I miss him.” I look longingly at my cell phone, wishing Mason would call.

  “And if I decide to move there?” Kyle booms, raising his voice.

  “Good luck to you.” I shake my head and laugh again. “This is where we part ways. I don’t want to be friends or anything else. I just want to leave.”

  I snag my cell phone from the bedside and press the home screen. A picture of Mason and I kissing is set as the background. I haven’t brought myself to change it yet. I’m changing my entire life, yet that one piece won’t budge. I’ve tried, but I can’t make my fingers press delete. I toss it in my purse and continue packing, preparing for the next chapter of my life.

  Mason

  Three Weeks Later

  THERE ARE ONLY SO many ways I can rearrange the furniture in my living room. I’ve deduced there are roughly three different combinations I could try to pull off. Two options consisted of my couch pressed up against the same wall it has been for the past few years I’ve lived in this apartment. But with each effort to change the space—move the TV stand here, the bookshelf there, the lamp over in that corner—I can’t help this feeling of uncertainty settling over the change. It feels wrong, foreign, and downright opposite of sparking any joy.

  As I look around, my eyes settling on Noodge’s vacant cat bed, still sitting on the floor, I can’t help feeling the slightest twinge of emptiness pass over me. Something tells me this loneliness isn’t just from coming home to an empty apartment, one without Noodge. No, this one is telling me it has to do something with Charlotte and the way we left things on that plane.
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  It hurt to see her on the plane. Having her sit beside me, wearing those all too familiar black leggings, her hair woven into that irresistible, sexy as fuck side braid, I was reminded of the day I sat outside Alma’s house. Not the day Charlotte completely shut me out and left me standing in the pouring rain, but the day I sat on the giant rock in Alma’s front yard. I remember thinking how it felt like the universe was telling me something. How it felt as if the universe had set up all these tiny, seemingly insignificant circumstances into my life, the ones that introduced me to Charlotte. But how can all that be true, how can Carl fucking Jung’s theory be accurate when I’m standing in the middle of my living room, completely alone?

  I’m resting my hands on my hips for the thousandth time, circling my living room for the thousandth time when I let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Fuck this.” I say out loud, to absolutely no one. “I need to get out of here.” Swiping my keys from the countertop, I leave my apartment and step out into the warm California air.

  The sun is hanging high, as always. And the sky is clear blue, as always. After all the years I’ve lived in Southern California, you would think I’d grown used to the practically perfect weather, nearly all the time, but it almost feels unnatural.

  The sun beats against my pale skin, a thin film of moisture building on my forehead. I lower my sunglasses, resting them against the bridge of my nose. After locking the front door to my apartment, I make the short five-minute walk down to the beach.

  As usual, floods of people line the boardwalks and sidewalks along the beach. Before I reach the sand, I stand on the sidewalk and remove my shoes. With my shoes dangling from my fingers, I step onto the sand with my bare feet and focus on the water. I sigh, feeling every granule of sand slide between my toes with each step I take. I weave in between the families and couples camped out for the day, their towels laid out underneath them and wander aimlessly for several minutes, listening to the water pulling in and out, the waves crashing onto the rocks underneath the boardwalks.

  I continue walking until I notice fewer people surrounding me. Stopping, I turn around and look back to see where I came from. In the distance, I can still see the top of my apartment building and the palm tree lined streets. It’s funny how your sense of direction can waver so easily when walking along the ever-changing motion of the water’s edge.

  I spin on my heel, feeling the coarse sand grate against my feet and look out at the water. Sitting down, I bend my legs, resting my arms on my knees.

  My chest aches, unable to think of anything but Charlotte. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since that last day. It’s been three weeks since I last saw her on the plane when she ripped my heart out.

  I hang my head low, between my arms, staring at the sand underneath me as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Sliding my phone out, I swipe the green button, already knowing who it is.

  “Hey, Sam,” I mumble.

  “Wow, Mase. Try not to sound too excited to hear from me.”

  Pressing the phone to my ear, I rest my elbow on my knee and drag my free hand across the sand, watching as it spreads and changes with every movement.

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t even bother arguing with Sam about his sarcasm. I simply don’t have the energy to dish out our typical brotherly banter.

  “Um,” Sam’s voice drifts off for a moment. I pick up a shell and begin digging a small hole into the sand. “Now, you know I’m not one to get all sentimental or emotional, but”—he inhales a breath before breathing it out—“are you doing okay?”

  I’m already envisioning his face wincing, listening to his own voice ask me how I’m doing emotionally. Ever since I returned home to Los Angeles, my life has pretty much returned to normal.

  The day after I landed, I returned to work, wanting to throw myself back in. Ignoring everyone’s reactions to my bruised face, I quietly walked in, briefcase in hand. I settled into my small office, wearing my favorite dark blue tie and the scars that the previous two weeks had left. But even as I sat in front of my computer, configuring the numbers on my firm’s largest account, I couldn’t help already feeling the slightest of differences. My life may have settled back into a routine of normalcy, but it was my sight that had changed. Life had lost all color and suddenly, faded to grey.

  “Mase?”

  I clear my throat and rapidly blink my eyes, hearing Sam’s voice fill my ear.

  “Yeah, Sam, I’m still here.”

  “No,” he laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “I asked if you were okay.”

  “Sam.” I narrow my eyes, studying the blue ocean in front of me. I’m not close enough to the water for it to touch me, but the smell still lingers in the air. I take a deep breath, feeling the scent of sea salt and ocean fill my chest. “Do you know why I moved to California?”

  “Of course, I do. Because of what happened with Claire.”

  I can sense the twinge of awkwardness in his voice, bringing up Claire. But Claire doesn’t bother me anymore. She isn’t the reason for the rock still resting in the pit of my stomach.

  “Well, she used to be the major reason I left Ireland, but she wasn’t the only reason.”

  He hesitates. “Mase...”

  “No, wait,” I stop him. Picking up another shell, I toss it in front of me, following it until it lands among the hundreds of other shells and rocks. “I moved here because it was the complete opposite of home, of Ireland. The weather, the people.” A small chuckle rises from my chest. “Shit, it faces a completely different ocean.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Yep.” I’m still studying the ocean lying in front of me when my shoulders sag, and my elbow slides off my knee. I nearly drop my phone, but catch it, quickly pressing it back to my ear. “I’m literally on the other side of the world.”

  “Technically, I don’t think you are,” Sam retorts. “I think Japan or China would be considered the opposite side.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever, Sam.”

  “Listen, Mase. I was calling because I haven’t heard from you much since you left. Charlotte told me her side of things and why she ended it. I’m worried about you.”

  “I don’t know, Sam,” I say, sarcastically. “How would you feel if the woman you love tells you she literally can’t be with you? That she’s better off without you? She made herself pretty clear on how she felt about me. I fucked everything up, Sam. Charlotte needed someone who chose her over everything else in their life. She needs someone who will choose her over and over again—no matter what.”

  “And you don’t think you’re capable of being that man, Mason?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Frustration burns in my gut, knowing I could never be the man she deserves. “Kyle showed up and two seconds later, I was beatin’ the shit out of him. Gobshite knew exactly what he was doing too. He knew he was pushing all the right buttons, knowing exactly what to say to set me off.” I shake my head and scoff, looking back down at the sand. “It’s tough because even though I hate Charlotte’s decision, she’s right to keep me away. I’m no good for her. Besides, I didn’t exactly give her the best version of myself when we first met. I stole her chair for the sake of utilizing the outlet to charge my phone.” I rub my forehead with my fingertips.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty bad, I won’t argue with you on that one. I have to say that is probably one of the shittiest things I’ve ever heard. I mean, who does something like that?”

  “Yeah,” I groan. “I know, I know. I was horrible, and I regret every second of it.”

  “I’m just playing with you, Mase,” Sam laughs, but it does nothing to move the rock still hardened in my belly.

  I sigh, realizing this conversation with Sam isn’t helping. The desire to hang up on him and toss my phone into the ocean rages inside me like nothing ever before. I feel hollow, empty—something I haven’t felt since I decided to leave Claire all those years ago. That feeling is the exact reason I came to California in the first place
to start a new and different life, one completely different from the one I once had.

  But something deep inside continues to beat against the hollow cage surrounding my heart. The feeling pulls and gnaws at the part of me that wanted to leave Ireland in the first place.

  “See, brother,” Sam says. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  I allow myself to fall back onto the sand without a care. My back hits with a dull thud, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m still wearing my sunglasses, but I’m hoping if I close my eyes, I won’t be reminded of where I am, but instead, I find myself imagining Charlotte. I rest my hand on my stomach, my legs still bent, my toes still dipped into the sand.

  “Sam, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I can’t even joke with you anymore, Mase. Well, actually I can, but it’s not the same as it was before. You’re different. Something’s changed.”

  “I’m still the same person,” I disagree. “I’m still Mason McConnell, the Irish accountant who moved to L.A. to become an accountant.” My sarcasm pricks the tip of my tongue, remembering how Charlotte had teased me for the very same thing when we first met. Now, speaking it out loud, it sounds kind of ridiculous.

  “You can be such an eegit sometimes,” Sam says, interrupting my thoughts. “Of course, you’re different. Look, Charlotte obviously saw something in you, something you haven’t allowed anyone else to see in God knows how long.”

  I bite my tongue. His words could be considered offensive, but seeing how Sam is my brother, I understand what he means. So, I let him continue without rebuttal. I remove my sunglasses and set them beside my shoes before draping my arm across my face, covering my eyes.

  “Mason,” Sam continues, “does California even feel like home anymore?”

  “Well, it has been for the past however many years it’s been.”

  “Let me rephrase that. After everything that’s happened since you met Charlotte, does California still feel like home?”