“What?” she snaps. She wipes her glassy eyes.
“Just listen to me,” I plead with her. “It's not as bad as it sounds—”
“Not as bad as it sounds?” she repeats with a laugh. “Jesus, Chase, am I stupid? Is that what you think when you look at me? It’s exactly what it sounds like.” She shakes her head. “You bringing me here in the first place is a joke. You’ve fed me one lie after another, and I’ve just sat there, guzzling them all up, like the fucking dickhead I am.”
“Alana—”
“Don’t. Just please, don’t. I feel like enough of a fool already without you making this worse. Just leave me the hell alone, okay?” she whispers. “Go back to your warped little love triangle in there and leave me the fuck out of it.”
“Not until you let me explain,” I say, standing my ground.
“No,” she shakes her head venomously. “You don’t get to do this to me again, Chase. Even though you blindsided me into this whole mess, I still did my part. I pretended to be your girlfriend. Now, you owe me, so just leave me alone.”
She yanks her hand out of my grasp and runs inside, disappearing into the elevator. I stare after her, torn between giving her time to her calm down and chasing after her. I should've just told her the whole truth in the first place. The most fucked up thing is that what she thinks is the truth isn't even the half of it. Only Casey and I know the full story, but maybe it’s time that changed.
I’ll give her an hour to calm down and then try and talk to her again.
Forcing her to confront me isn’t going to do either of us any good.
With one last look inside, I turn around and walk back over to the wedding. No matter how much I want to just crawl into a ball and drink myself to sleep, I need to plaster a smile on my face and pretend that I give a shit about any of this.
I can’t abandon my brother.
An hour turns into two, and two turns into four, until I find myself creeping into my room at five in the morning. I’m very drunk, but that doesn't stop me from banging the hell out of the interconnecting door, demanding that she open up and listen to me. When she doesn't respond, I force my way through the door and into an empty room.
I stand there, my heart racing as I look around. All of her things are gone. I walk up to the bed and sink down on it. Maybe she’s just gone into another room. But even as I think it, I know it’s unlikely. I shouldn't have let her leave like that. I should've just come out and told her everything, right then and there. I owed her that much. With a groan, I lie back on the bed and close my eyes, the effects of the alcohol making my head spin like crazy.
I’ll figure this out in a minute. I know there’s a way for me to fix this; I just need to close my eyes for a second to work it out.
Pain shoots through my head, taking my breath away. I crack open my eyes. It’s morning. I’m lying on Alana’s bed, with my head crooked in an unnatural angle. Shit. I gasp as I straighten it, then somehow manage to roll over onto my stomach. I awkwardly stand up and rub my neck, trying to massage out the kink. I gasp, not sure if I’m helping it or making it worse. I stumble back into my room and pick up my phone.
Shit. I’m about to miss my plane. I frantically throw my things into my suitcase and zip it shut. I don't even bother changing, because I know I don’t have the time.
After I check out, I flag down a cab to take me to the airport. My only saving grace is that traffic is minimal, so I arrived just as they’re closing off the check-in booth.
“Please,” I say after rushing up to the booth.
I’m out of breath and clearly a mess, so I hope she takes pity on me. When I think I almost have her, I flash her a smile. She almost visibly melts, her cheeks flushing.
“Okay, just this once, Mr. Winston,” she says with a giggle.
Thank fucking God. It’s good to know that even hungover and in desperate need of a shower, I’ve still got it.
I alternate the flight back between sleeping off my hangover and glancing longingly at the empty seat next to me. Where is she right now? She obviously caught an earlier flight—which she would’ve paid with using her own money, considering I had authorization over these two tickets. I think about what that means. I upset her so much that she couldn’t stand being on the same flight as me.
I rub my head, trying to ease the aching. The worst thing is that I have no idea how to fix this mess. I tried calling her while waiting to board the plane, but she wouldn’t answer, so I tried texting. Even if she does listen to me for long enough to hear me out, she’s right. I still lied to her, multiple times. Would I forgive someone who’d lied to me more than they’d told the truth? Probably not.
I’m still hung-over and feeling sorry for myself when the flight lands, so I don’t risk driving home. I call myself a cab and give the driver Alana’s address. I don’t intend on trying to speak to her, I just want to know she’s safe. As we drive past her place, I can just make out the glow of a light inside. It doesn’t make me feel much better, but not much will at this point. The driver looks at me and shrugs.
I guess I’ll go home.
“Take me to four one one Wilson Boulevard instead, please,” I order him gruffly.
I slump down in the seat and stare out the window. I hate not knowing where I stand. Okay, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of where I stand right now, but I hate not knowing if I can fix this. God, I hope I can.
I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, before my eyes dart to my phone again. I sigh when I see no texts or calls from her. I have no idea if she'll even be at work tomorrow. Not that that’s high on my list of problems right now. I roll over and close my eyes, trying to will myself into sleeping, but it’s no use. I can’t get her out of my head. I just keep running over that moment, again and again.
In the end, I throw back the sheets and stalk out to the kitchen and reach for the bottle of scotch I keep on top of the fridge. I twist off the cap and gulp it down, not bothering with a glass.
Breathing hard, I lean against the counter. My hands run slowly over the surface as I remember how it felt to be inside her. Right here on this surface. It feels like so long ago. I hoist myself up and lie back, closing my eyes.
I groan and shield my eyes from the sun that’s pouring through the window. Why the fuck am I out here? I sit up, letting out a growl as my back sticks to the counter, practically ripping off a layer of skin.
Fuck me.
Jumping off the counter, I gingerly take a few steps. I spy the empty bottle of scotch lying beside the sink and sigh as bits of the night come back to me. All I wanted was to go to sleep and get her out of my head. Fuck. Alana. I glance around, looking for my phone. Alcohol and I are not a good mix when I’m depressed, so God only knows what kind of pitiful, desperate texts I sent her while inebriated or how many times I tried to call her.
I find my phone stuffed down the side of the couch. My heart pounds as I check the log first. Five calls. Not as bad as I was expecting. Then I check my text messages. Twenty-Three? Jesus, I’m surprised I got any sleep at all. I frown as I scroll through them.
Me: Please just speak to me. Five minutes.
Me: Alana, please. Just hear me out.
Me: For fucks sake, I just want to talk…
I stop reading, too nervous to see what the rest of them say. My head is pounding, and I think I feel worse than I did last night, if that’s even possible. I sigh and toss my phone on the couch, catching sight of the time in the process.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
It’s nearly one in the afternoon and I should be at work. I have meetings all afternoon, including one with Phillip to discuss the Benson takeover bid that I want him to consider. As shitty as I feel, I refuse to let it affect my clients. I didn’t get where I am today to fuck it all up over some girl.
But she isn’t just some girl, is she?
The knock on the door stops me from entering an internal argument with myself. I walk over and open it, scowling at Josh. He smiles and follows me
back inside, where I slump down on the couch.
“Well, you’re a vision of happiness today,” he comments.
“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.
“You’re also not at work,” he points out.
“Yeah? And how would you know that?” I realize the ridiculousness of my statement the second it leaves my mouth.
He chuckles. “What’s up with you?”
I sigh. “It’s nothing.”
“Does this nothing have anything to do with Alana?” he asks gently.
I shrug. He sighs and sits forward.
“Whatever it is, fix it. She’s good for you,” he says.
“You don’t think I know that?” I say with a snarl.
“Have you tried talking to her? Maybe if—”
“What, Josh?” I growl. “Maybe she’ll forgive me? I can’t even get her to hear me out.” I sigh and rock forward on my feet. “Just stay out of it. I appreciate that you care so much, but you don’t know what your fucking talking about.”
I get to my feet and frown at him.
“Can you see yourself out? I have to get ready for work.”
I stalk into my bedroom and slam the door shut without waiting for him to answer. Stripping out of my boxers, I run the shower in my bathroom, waiting for the water to run hot before I step in. I hear the sound of the front door closing, and I sigh, not feeling the relief that I thought I would. I lean against the tiles, angry at myself, angry at the world. I never should’ve let Casey blame me in the first place.
Why do I always have to fuck everything up?
Chapter Seventeen
Alana
“You’re not going in today either?” Peyton asks. “I get that you’re avoiding him, but why?” she asks. “Talk to me.”
“I didn't call you for a heart-to-heart,” I say with a growl. “Just call in sick for me again. Please,” I add for effect.
“Only if you talk to me,” she replies stubbornly.
“Fine,” I mutter, not caring anymore. “If you want me to talk, then call in sick yourself and come over.”
I hang up on her before she can respond, then I shove my pillow back over my head and attempt to go back to sleep. It works until, twenty minutes later, when someone pounds on my door.
“Let me in, Lanna!” Peyton's muffled voice floats through to my bedroom.
I groan because I didn't expect her to actually come over here. Reluctantly, I force myself out of bed and walk over to the door. I open it and frown at her. She ignores my pissed off expression and hands me a coffee. I take a sip as she guides me over to the couch and sits me down.
I got back late Sunday night after booking myself an earlier flight. I couldn’t stand the thought of being that close to him for three hours, so I paid an obscene amount for a business-class ticket. Monday morning rolled around and the idea of seeing him still made me feel like hurling, so I called Pey. She didn’t ask questions, but she knew something was up.
Today though, she is asking questions. I know I’m not going to get away with not telling her everything. Who knows, maybe talking about it is exactly what I need? Maybe if I get it all out, I’ll feel better and be able to put this behind me and move on.
“Now, tell me what the hell happened,” she says. “Don’t try and tell me it’s a coincidence that Chase didn’t turn up until three in the afternoon yesterday, either.”
I release a big sigh and lie back on the couch, closing my eyes, hating that hearing that makes me feel good. Where do I even begin to try and explain this to her?
“He lied to me,” I say, then I laugh, because that doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Well, really, it was lie after lie after fucking lie. I think I’m pretty understanding, but even I have limits.”
“What did he do?” she asks.
“I told you that the big meeting he needed me there was to see his brother marry his ex-wife,” I begin. She nods and takes my hand. “I found out the reason they split up. Chase cheated on her.” I shake my head, all the anger and emotions feeling as raw as it did yesterday. “I sure know how to pick them, don’t I?”
Peyton shakes her head. “Oh, honey. I can't believe that he’d do something like that. Are you sure it isn’t just someone trying to cause trouble for him?”
“I heard him say the words himself. He was talking to her parents and I overheard.” I twirl my cup around the palm of my hands. “Jesus, Pey. I mean, what's to stop him from doing it again and cheating on me?” I ask with a frown. I blink back tears, because it all feels too real. “I can't go through that again. I promised myself that I’d never let anyone treat me like that again,” I say. I shake my head and laugh as I look at her. “Am I making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be?”
She gets up, stepping over to the couch to where I am. She sits down and wraps her arms around me, kissing me on the cheek.
“No, you’re not. You did the right thing, getting out of this before things went any further. I know it hurts, but it's better finding this out now than after you’ve fallen in love with him,” she adds, wiping away my tears.
“I think it's too late for that,” I mumble as she strokes my hair, soothing me.
“I can stay if you need me to,” she says. “I told them I was running late, but I can say that I won’t be in at all.”
“No.” I frown. “I'm not very good company right now, and it would be just my luck that he’d fire you because of it. If you call in sick, he’ll totally know that you're here with me.”
She nods and kisses me on the cheek.
“I hate leaving you like this.” She frowns. “Call me if you need me, and I’ll stop by on my way home too.”
“Thanks, Pey,” I say, giving her a squeeze.
After I walk her out, I have a shower in an attempt to try and feel at least a little bit human. I feel marginally better, but not enough to actually motivate myself into getting up and doing anything. Instead, I lay in my bed and try to distract myself with a book. The problem is, all I can manage is a few pages before my mind replays what he said to her parents.
God, I'm so angry at him.
All the messages and phone calls in the world won’t make me listen to him right now. He lied right to my face. I bet he doesn’t even feel bad about it. He got what he needed from me, after all. I can’t believe I actually fell for all of the bullshit he fed me. Am I that naïve?
I click out of my Kindle and bring his number up. My finger hovers over his name, my heart pounding. I just want to let him know how I feel, but I can’t do it. Frustrated, I toss the phone across the bed, just as someone knocks on the door.
Peyton. She’ll be impressed that I’m dressed.
I climb off the bed and walk over, peering through the people before I open it. Shit. It’s not Peyton at all. It’s Chase’s brother.
Josh stands there, looking around as he shifts from foot to foot. He looks nervous. Why is he here? Did Chase send him to try and talk to me? I’m tempted to pretend that I’m not home, but my curiosity gets the best of me.
I open the door and frown at him.
“Hey,” he says flushing an embarrassed smile. “Sorry to turn up like this…” He hesitates. “I was hoping that I could talk to you.”
“About what, exactly?” I say, my tone guarded. “And how did you know where I live?”
“I, uh, found it in my brother’s phone while he was in the shower,” he murmurs with a wince. “Look, I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I just wanted you to know that Chase is seriously cut up about whatever went wrong between you two. I haven't seen him this worked up about anyone since…” His voice trails off.
“Since Casey,” I say flatly. He nods. “I appreciate you coming over here, but it was pointless. He cheated on Casey. I know that it wasn’t me, but I’ve been hurt before by someone I thought that I could trust, and I can’t go through that again.”
Why am I even saying all of this? I don’t owe anyone an explanation, least of all him.
�
��Give me five minutes,” he pleads, a look of pain passing through his eyes.
I sigh and nod for him to come in. He points at the couch and motions for me to sit down. I sigh, but I do as he asks and sit, my hands clasped in front of me, waiting for his big piece of news that will change everything.
“He didn't cheat on Casey, Alana.”
I stare at him. “What?” I say, frowning. Now he’s lying too? Maybe it runs in the fucking family.
“It didn't happen like that.” He sighs and sits back in the chair, running both hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, but this is really hard for me to say.”
“Take your time,” I say, not sure what’s going on.
He nods. “Their marriage wasn’t a good one. Chase had one focus: his career. Casey struggled with not being put first in their relationship. He was working a lot and she couldn't handle that. She felt unloved and unwanted. A professor started paying attention to her. She rejected his advances, but after a while, she started to let things happen. That fling ended very badly one night. Naturally, she couldn't speak to Chase about it, so she called me.”
“She cheated first?” I mumble. He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine.
“She was the only one who cheated, Alana.” He rubs his eyes and sighs. “I knew they were having issues, but I had no idea how bad things were. When I picked her up, I knew something major had happened. She panicked and told me that Chase had been cheating on her and that she’d caught him. She didn’t know what to do. She was so upset, and I was so angry at my brother for treating her like that.” He presses his lips together, still torn up over it. “Focusing on his career was one thing, but to turn to other women, when he had an amazing one at home waiting for him every night? That wasn’t right.”
“So, did you confront Chase?” I ask. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “I don’t understand how she could get away with saying it was him. I mean, surely the first thing you would do is confront him?”
“I wanted to, but she begged me not to. She asked me to stay, because she didn’t want to be alone, and…” He stops, looking down at his hands. “I did something I’ll always regret that night. I told myself so many times that it was justified, because he cheated on her, but even if that were true, it would still be wrong.”
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