Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  “So, Nash, I heard the most outrageous bunch of poppycock last night…” She throws me a line, and of course being the dutiful nephew I am, I take the bait.

  “Oh, yeah? What was that?”

  “Well, Mary Walters called me up, said her daughter Melanie—” she pauses at this point in the story to give me their background as if I’m not already privy to the shit, “you remember Melanie don’t you? Great girl. I think you may have even dated if I’m not mistaken…”

  “We didn’t.” I give my most morose expression just from that suggestion alone, but she doesn’t seem to be phased.

  “Anyway, Melanie has begun working as a hostess at Gia’s—not sure why seeing as her parents have the money and the means to find her a more appropriate position given her good breeding. Working in restaurants is pitiful and hopeless work that leads you nowhere in life. What’s the purpose?” She shakes her head in disapproval.

  “Well, then again, at least she isn’t working in that diner,” she says the word like it could literally be interchanged with strip club, and like it causes the utmost of disgust just to utter it. Uncle Randall remains silent, pretending to read the paper in front of him. He’s not into the whole drama-talk either.

  “Don’t see what any of this has to do with me…” I gently nudge her back in the right direction, before her rampages on greater society making choices that act as stepping stones—leading you one the same path you’re on—instead of actual steps, leading you up to a higher level. It’s an example I’ve heard time and again.

  “Oh, yes, well…Melanie tried to inform her mother you were seen on a date there last night. And not just any date, but that you were seen with that retched Lyra Knightley girl. I thought the town had forgotten about y’alls childhood fixation with one another. I tried so hard to direct their thoughts elsewhere…to make them forget you two had any type of connection. Years of no one bringing it up and then…this nonsense. Melanie actually tried to say you were dating the girl.” She blots her mouth with her crisp linen napkin, straightening her spine as she eyes me.

  I know she expects a response, but I don’t even know half of what she said. As soon as she called Lyra retched, I zoned the fuck out. Retched? I love my aunt, but is she serious? Lyra is the complete opposite of retched. As far away from it as one can get. Try perfect, beautiful, intelligent, strong, witty, funny, amusing… I can’t even stop listing things out.

  “I told her it had to be a mistake. She hasn’t seen you in a while and confused you with someone else…” she shakes her head again, taking a bite of her breakfast casserole.

  My family doesn’t have to like Lyra. I like her enough to make up for the both of them. I’m crazy about the girl, but if I want to be with her—truly be with her—I need to set the record straight.

  I turn to Ari, who’s been a hog and already eaten several pancakes and all his bacon. “You finished, Buddy?”

  He nods his head, patting his tummy at the same time. “Mmm, yep. All full.”

  “Wanna go watch your cartoons? We’re about to have adult talk here.”

  “Yep.” He’s out of the chair, ready to be gone in a flash, but indecision causes him to hesitate. He turns back at the last moment, walking sheepishly back over to me. I freeze when his little arms wrap around me, squeezing me tight.

  “I love you, Dad.” My words are lodged in my throat, my brain certain I heard wrong. He’s never told me he loves me, never even called me Dad. I’m Nash to him. I clear my throat after the initial shock begins to lose its potency, ruffling his head playfully.

  “I love you too, Son.” He grins at me when he pulls away, then takes off running straight toward the den were his cartoons are already waiting on him since he woke up here this morning. Glee powers through my veins, giving me the courage to get on with what I was about to say at the same time I’m wondering in the back of my mind if my son is far more intuitive than I give him credit for. Maybe he knew I needed to hear it today of all days.

  I immediately turn my attention back to Aunt Marlowe, looking her dead in the eye. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but its inevitable. She’s easily upset and makes a show out of being hurt. There’s no delicate way around what I’m about to say.

  “You made poor ol’ Melanie seem like an idiot who can’t get facts straight—not that she hasn’t been that way in the past.” My thoughts take an off-course detour, and I begin thinking aloud. “Damn. One time she tried to tell everyone we were in an exclusive relationship just ‘cuz we snuck away at a dinner party and…” I pause, taking in my aunt’s reaction as her eyes widen, her mouth settling into a stiff grimace like I’ve personally offended her. “Well…er, anyway. She was right about something this time. I was there with Lyra, and I have every intention of dating her.”

  “Nash,” Aunt Marlowe gasps in horror—whether at my mention of sleeping with Melanie, or about my admitting to being on a date with Lyra, I can’t be sure. Knowing her, probably both.

  “You…you…” she stutters, her face scrunching up, and I notice even Uncle Randall has thrown down his paper, unable to keep up his charade at this point. “Nash, how could you do this to your family?” She sniffles loudly, her chin beginning to wobble.

  “Do what? You’re the one pushing for me to go on a few dates! I went on one with someone I actually wanted to go with. You’re just pissed I didn’t choose from your pre-approved list of suitors. Sorry Aunt Mar, but you ought to know me by now. This isn’t historical English society where you play the matchmaker, throwing the most suitable debutantes in my path. The daughters of your friends are just as snobby and bitchy as their mothers. I’d never date one of them in a million years.”

  Genuine tears roll down Aunt Mar’s cheek, and I hate seeing them, but this has to stop somewhere.

  “What has gotten into you?” Uncle Ran’s voice booms, anger rising over his wife’s growing dismay.

  I glare at him, none too keen on being treated like a rowdy teenager who’s been acting out is needing to be set straight. “I’m a grown-ass man. I can date—or fuck—whoever I want, and whenever I’d like.”

  Uncle Randall stands abruptly, his chair flying back and hitting the floor. He’s a bull ready to charge. “Boy!” His roar ricochets through the room.

  “Oh, my,” Aunt Marlowe’s hands fly to her face as if she’s embarrassed of something, even though its just the three of us. Her hand comes to rest on his, which is gripping the table, knuckles beginning to fade to white. “Settle down now boys. We have company. We’ll settle this matter later on.” She offers a tight-lipped smile to someone over my shoulder, causing me to glance behind me.

  “Godammit,” I mutter under my breath. Amy Swanson, stands there in her Sunday best—a form-fitting, fancy dress similar to the ones my aunt likes to wear to the brunches she’s often invited to, hitting at her knees. Her hair is swooped back in a neat twist, showcasing her jacked-up, oversized pearl studs.

  “Welcome, Amy.” My Aunt stands in welcome, quickly taking on the part of dutiful host.

  “Thank you so much for extending the invitation to Sunday brunch, Mrs. Hudson,” Amy beams at her.

  Aunt Marlowe waves her off. “Oh, nonsense dear. Call me Marlowe. No one here calls me that,” she chuckles nervously. I side-eye the fuck out of Aunt Mar now. Never, does she ever, allow someone to call her by her first name. Not even her friends. She claims it’s improper, and the honor is only reserved for family members.

  Does she not realize no one here calls her Mrs. Hudson, because up until a minute ago, everyone sitting here was family. Which Amy sure as fuck isn’t. I don’t understand why she’s been invited.

  “Nash,” Amy nods her head at me in greeting.

  “Amy,” I respond back somehow, even though my teeth are bared like a rabid beast.

  Apparently, my Big Bad Wolf mask doesn’t phase her, because she takes the seat next to me. My repeating her name back to her wasn’t an invitation, but there’s been enough discord here for one morning, a
nd despite her pissing me off—Aunt Mar worked hard to prepare this breakfast. She never cooks breakfast either. It’s always her cook taking over that task, but for once, I saw her in there humming to herself as she whipped up a big bowl of eggs.

  Damn it. I should have known then something was up.

  I keep my mouth shut the rest of breakfast, not even offering answers when asked a direct question—just a nod here, and a grunt there. Most of the time, I’m glancing down at my phone held low beneath the table, checking to see if Lyra has woke up and noticed I left her while she was still asleep, sometimes glancing at a picture I snapped of her last night when she wasn’t looking. She doesn’t even realize it, but if it weren’t for her, I’d have never made it through breakfast. As soon as everyone has finished, me and Ari are gone, leaving Amy with my family to scheme up whatever plot they’re working on.

  ~XoXo~

  Lyra

  A blaring staccato of continuous beeps draws me out of my sleep, so I roll over in the bed, eyes still pressed shut, my hand fumbling around to locate my phone on the nightstand. I smack something big and metal that I don’t recognize before my palm lands on the loud and vibrating phone.

  I silence it with a growl, pulling the device under the covers with me when I flip them over my head. It’s only then that I realize Nash is already gone. Disappointment slams into me all at once, and I want to kick myself. I shouldn’t even be surprised. He probably only stayed out of guilt knowing I was upset when I finally broke down and told him about Vega.

  There’s no denying I didn’t want to be by myself last night, so maybe I should be more thankful. He texted his Aunt Marlowe to let her know he’d just let Ari stay overnight, holding me while I slept and erasing the nightmare I was sure would be visiting, before it ever even began.

  It was nice, however, no girl wants to wake up alone, even knowing the man they went to bed with has other priorities. A kiss goodbye would have been perfectly acceptable. Maybe he left a note? Or a text at least? I’m too lazy to get out of bed, so I check my phone first.

  “Fuck yes,” I sigh upon seeing his name in my notifications.

  Nash: Stars, I had to go get Ari from my Aunt and Uncle’s and endure some Sunday morning breakfast while there. You were so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll see you later today.

  P.S. There’s a thermos of coffee on your nightstand. Drink up.

  I smile to myself, ripping the covers back to find he’s telling the truth. There is, in fact, a thermos ready and waiting on me. The fact he got up and brewed me coffee, then brought it here for me so I could sleep in, does stupid things to my heart. I mean, its just coffee, but ugh, it was a sweet gesture.

  I pour myself a cup of the strong and steaming blend of French roast, while playing around on my phone. I check my Facebook, which is a rare occurrence nowadays. There aren’t many notifications, except Valley sharing things to my wall that she thinks I might like, or tagging me in photos with Willow.

  When I click out of the page, the Qpid’s Contenders app stands out like a sore thumb, and before I give it much thought, I uninstall it. Life is confusing enough without bringing two guys into the mix, and I’d hate for Nash to think I had feelings for some virtual person I don’t even know the name of—past history aside.

  This is the present. Not the past.

  The present is giving me a new sense of hope. The past only haunts and discourages.

  Since I’m comfy in bed, sipping my coffee, I decide to go ahead and check Instagram, because…why the heck not? I’m on a roll this morning, getting up to date with the rest of society instead of keeping myself closed off like I usually strive to do.

  As I scroll down, I smile at a picture of one of my high-school classmates, Robbie—who actually used to be the one I bought weed and alcohol from when attending parties—and some chick who’s holding up a ring with the customary caption “She said yes!”

  But that smile drops when I see the next picture. I don’t know why I follow Marlowe Hudson on Instagram, maybe because I’m nosy as fuck and always wanted to stay somewhat up-to-date with Nash, without actually being obvious and following him. I mean, Marlowe is the wife of our town mayor, and everyone else in town follows her too. Well, here we have it. I’ve gotten my wish of keeping up with the playboy asshole.

  He sits there at the breakfast table, a plate in front of him as he glances down. He’s probably not even aware of the fact he’s having his picture made, but the part that guts me and sets my veins ablaze with white hot rage, is the fact Amy Swanson is seated right beside him. The caption?

  High-school sweethearts. So glad she’s back around.

  #truelove

  #sweethearts

  #sundayfunday

  #familytime

  #meanttobe

  He left me in bed this morning to go have a family breakfast with Amy as his plus one. Tears prick my eyes.

  “Don’t you fucking do it,” I gripe to myself. “Do not cry over this asshole.”

  What the Hell did I expect anyway? I shake my head, clicking out of Instagram to fire off a response to Nash’s oh-so-sweet morning message.

  Me: Fuck off. Don’t bother coming around, and lose my number.

  I should’ve seen this coming a mile away. You do something so many times without learning from the past experiences, and it makes you an idiot.

  Well, I’m an idiot.

  I would say, I guess I’ll never learn, but this broke me. I’ve finally learned my lesson, and it hurts so fucking bad, I’d say it’ll stay with me forever…

  ~XoXo~

  Not even ten minutes later someone is banging on my door, and I think I know exactly who it is. There’s no way I’m answering it.

  “Go away,” I can’t help but yell through the door anyway.

  “Not until you let me in so you can explain to me what that text was all about,” Nash argues from the other side.

  “As if you don’t already know.”

  “I don’t!” He roars.

  “Well, for starters, how about the fact you just left without saying anything this morning?”

  “I didn’t want to wake you. I told you that already,” he grunts.

  “Or maybe it was just because you felt guilty knowing you were going to have breakfast with your beloved high-school sweetheart, Amy, at your family’s house,” I sneer viciously.

  “Wait, how do you know about that?” His tone is riddled with confusion, even being muffled by the door between us.

  “Your aunt posted a picture of you two sitting all cozy together, on Instagram.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters. “About that…I didn’t even know she was going to be there. I was completely blindsided by her.”

  “Whatever, Nash. Save it. Just get off my doorstep.”

  “Okay,” he agrees, and even though I told him to go, my heart still sinks that he does it so easily. I hear his footsteps as he retreats off of the porch.

  But a minute later a screeching sound comes from the back bedroom, and I run back down the hallway to discover his large form is already halfway through the window.

  “What the Hell?!” I shriek.

  “You told me to get off your doorstep,” he states, as if it’s the perfect explanation for his current course of action.

  “This is breaking and entering. I’m calling the police.”

  “Fine. Just let me talk to you first.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  He glares at me, striding toward me with purpose, so I run from the enclosed space and back into the living room where there’s much more room to meander around and avoid him.

  “Lyra,” he growls after me, following too close behind for comfort. Seconds later, he lunges at me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to him. I react with a kick to the shin—which probably hurts me more than it hurts him considering I’m still barefoot.

  I glare up at him as he scowls down at me, even with deep lines of anger etching his features, he still looks damn fine.

 
; “Unhand me,” I order, though I know it’ll do me no good.

  “I didn’t know she was going to be there, Stars. My Aunt had apparently already heard about our date last night, and I told her it was my intention to continue seeing you.”

  My heart flutters like it’s weightless, floating through the air like the spindles of a dandelion. At least, until my head reminds me of all the shit I’ve endured before just because I allowed myself to dream about foolish notions.

  “Amy was her ace in the hole, I guess. She invited her to stir shit up for me…and you’re falling for it.”

  “Yet you decided to stay, even after you realized she was there. Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just thought if I got through breakfast, I could leave without hurting my Aunt’s feelings anymore than I already had,” he trails off, his gaze falling somewhere behind me.

  “That’s just the problem, Nash. You’re more concerned about what other people will think, about pleasing everyone else except yourself.”

  He trains his eyes back on my face and his adam’s apple bobs.

  “I’m sorry, Stars. It won’t happen again.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t say that,” his voice goes all soft, terrifying me that I might falter from my decision. My mind is already made up, I keep telling myself over and over. Don’t let him sway you with lies and promises that mean nothing.

  “Nash, I don’t know what you expect from me! What else can I say to help you understand? We’re done. This is over,” I say the words slowly, attempting to wrangle in my emotions. “I mean, it never even truly began in the first place.

  He growls, a deeply etched scowl settling over his handsome features.

  “You know what your problem is, Lyra? It’s that you’re terrified. You feel something for me and you’re scared of getting hurt again, which is a natural reaction. But don’t do this…Don’t shut me out just because you’re scared to trust again. Don’t walk away just because you’re questioning every single thing I say in that pretty little head of yours, and overanalyzing it all. You can’t live a happy life if you’re unwilling to put yourself out there.” He shakes his head incredulously. “You know, to be so brave, you’re sure as fuck acting like a coward yourself right now…”