by Melody Grace
It’s almost enough to make me crumble, but I stand strong.
“What?” I give him my best icy glare, faltering when I see the torment in his eyes.
“I need to talk to you.”
I clench my jaw. “There’s nothing to say.”
“There’s plenty.” Will’s voice is soft and full of regret. My heart aches, but I force myself to turn back to Brody and fix him with a bright smile.
“The bongos, huh?” I manage to say, even as all my attention is focused on the man just inches away from me. “Wow, that sounds, interesting. You’ll have to play for me sometime.”
“Sure thing, babe.” Brody grins, clearly enjoying the scowl on Will’s face. “You want to get out of here now? We could head back to my place for a private performance, if you know what I mean.”
Subtle, he isn’t, but I don’t even have time to react before Will grabs my arm and pulls me towards the exit. “Let me go!” I protest, half-relieved to escape Brody’s proposition. “Will!”
The door swings open, and then we’re outside in the dark of the parking lot, nothing but headlights from the highway in the distance and the crashing sound of the waves against the cliffs across the street.
Will releases me, and I stumble back, thrown. “What the hell?” I demand, recovering. “You don’t get to drag me around like I’m your goddam property. You don’t get to do anything at all!”
“What were you doing with that guy?” Will demands, his eyes blazing. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“No,” I shoot back. “I’m trying to forget you even exist!”
“Just like that?” Will sucks in a breath, his whole body rigid with tension. “You haven’t even let me explain. I was with Helena for two years, but I told you, it’s over. It was over before I even met you!”
I see something in his eyes, just a flash of guilt. I shiver.
“How long before you met me?” I ask, my stomach twisting.
Will exhales. Silence.
“When?” I demand again.
“A week,” he says quietly, and I’m so stunned I can’t even breathe for a moment.
A week. Seven days. A hundred and something hours between him planning to spend the rest of his life with her, and making out with me on a dark, rain-drenched street? “I take longer than that to figure out what color to paint my nails!” I yell suddenly, anger overtaking me. “You were with her for years, and then suddenly you meet me, move down here, and act like I’m all you want in the world?”
“You are,” Will says simply, looking at me the way he always has. Like he’s certain. But how can he be when he turned his life around on a dime? “You have to understand, Dee, I meant it,” he swears. “I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you. Meeting you that night, it was like the light suddenly went on. Everything made sense to me, about why it didn’t work out with Helena, why it could have never worked out, even if she hadn’t cheated on me. You and me, it’s right, in a way that I never felt with her!”
I shake my head, tears stinging in my throat now. “You’re crazy.”
“No, I just know what I want,” Will replies, fervent. “And it’s you. From the start, it’s always been you.”
I turn away, pacing on the damp asphalt. I can’t take it all in, I feel like my chest is being squeezed in a vice-like grip. “So why didn’t you say something?” I ask, my voice twisting. “If I was so right, if this was meant to be, why didn’t you just tell me? ‘By the way, Delilah,’ ” I mimic, scathing, “ ‘before we get too carried away, I should probably say, I have an ex-fiancée and a whole life back home that I just up and left!”
He hangs his head. “I know I should have. And if I could do it all over again, I would, I swear to you.”
But my anger is rising now, and it’s the only thing to save me from the wretched pain. “How can I believe you now? We talked!” I yell, trying to hold back the sobs. “I told you everything, I let you in! And you just lied to me, over and over again.”
“I never lied.” Will tries to reach for me, but I snatch back.
“You didn’t tell me who you really are. You had a whole secret life, and I knew nothing about it!”
Will’s face changes. “No, Dee, this isn’t like your father. I never cheated on you. I would never do that!”
“Stop it!” I cry, shaking with emotion. I’m trying so hard to keep it together, but I can’t, not with him standing there, haloed in the neon lights, looking so good. So sure. Fuck, why does he have to look at me like that? “I can’t do this.” I back away. “Please, just let me go. It’s over, Will.”
“It can’t be!” He grabs my hand. “Tell me what you want. Whatever it takes. I’ll do anything to make this right,” he vows.
“I want never to have met you!” I can’t hold back anymore. All the hurt and betrayal comes flooding out, in wretched hiccupping sobs. “I want not to feel like my heart is breaking. I want never to have fallen in love with you!”
My voice echoes, an anguished plea in the dark of the parking lot.
Will looks like I just slapped him. “Dee—”
“That’s enough for tonight, don’t you think?” A calm voice interrupts us, and then Sawyer is draping my jacket around my shoulders, my purse already dangling from one hand. “I’ll take you home,” he tells me, before shooting Will a look. It seems like Will wants to argue, but after a beat, he nods his head.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he says to me, but I’m already walking away, somehow putting one foot in front of the other while Sawyer murmurs something to him too low for me to hear. Then he catches up to me in a few strides, slipping his arm around my shoulders and steering me back towards town.
I let him guide me, wiping away the tears still streaming down my face. We walk in silence across the square, my storm of emotions quieting by the time we finally reach my front door. Sawyer finds my keys and unlocks, then asks gently, “Are you going to be OK?”
“I have to be, don’t I?” I answer, pained. “Life goes on.”
I glance over. Sawyer looks like he’s thinking. “What?” I ask, then sigh. “This is where you’re going to tell me to forgive him. That he made a mistake, and he’s a good guy, really.”
“Not at all.” Sawyer squeezes my shoulders. “I’m just sorry you’re hurting. I know you cared about him a lot.”
I say goodbye and step into the dark apartment. I close the door and sink back, sliding to the floor, too weary to take another step.
Cared. Past tense. It sounds so neat and final, so why does my chest feel split wide open, every cell in my body aching with heartbreak and regret? There’s nothing neat about the way I feel right now, pulled in a dozen directions with no way to make sense of it all.
He looked so anguished, there in the moonlight. Like his heart was breaking right along with mine, as if he’d do anything to take my pain away.
But how can I ever believe him again?
Nineteen.
I make it through the week on autopilot. After what’s just happened, I wish I could just shut everything down and hide away from everything, but the rest of the world doesn’t seem to get the memo: life goes on, even though it feels like my world has fallen apart. My friends are great, so supportive, but I can see the questions lingering in their eyes, and the delicate way they dance around it. I know what they’re thinking, because I’m asking myself the same thing: Yes, he didn’t tell me the whole story, but he didn’t cheat, or straight-out lie, or betray me in any other way. We all have a past, and maybe he shouldn’t have hidden his from me, but he would have told me eventually.
So what’s the big deal?
I can’t explain how somehow what Will did has cut me right to the core, and pressed all my buttons. Every one of my darkest, most painful fears has been dragged into the bright sun, and I just don’t know what to do.
I broke my own rules for him. He told me over and over that he was a man of his word, and eventually, I believed him. I put my heart on the line, onl
y to find he was hiding everything, keeping secrets about his other life.
Just like my father did.
I drift numbly through my regular routine of client meetings and open house viewings, paperwork at the office, and shiny new deals. Maybe it’s the universe trying to repay this massive karmic debt, but I find myself on a winning streak like nothing else, closing half a dozen pending deals in a single week. I watch the numbers go up and calculate my commissions, but I still can’t feel an ounce of my usual pride. I’m hollow, used up inside.
All I can think about is Will.
The night we met, that first electric press of my lips against his. Splashing in the creek, the heat of our bodies like an inferno, coming together for the first time. Lying curled and sick in his arms, feeling like nothing in the world could hurt me as long as he was there, holding me close. But those memories are too sweet to bear, and they get poisoned by everything else I don’t know: his life with Helena, the plans they made and the sweet nothings they murmured in the heat of the night. I torture myself imagining it all: his hands on her body, those delicious lips telling her all the same pretty words.
He says she wasn’t right for him, and that I’m the only one, but how can I trust that now? I always knew it was reckless and impulsive for him to just show up in Oak Harbor the way he did, but now I know the truth is so much worse: I was the rebound, his revenge on Helena for cheating. He threw himself into a fresh start here with me because he was running so hard from her betrayal.
Somehow, this thought is even worse than what he’s been hiding. It means what he claims he felt was an illusion, that he never really cared. I was a distraction all along, not the real thing at all. I may have fallen head over heels in love with him, but this was always just about Helena, not me.
Was any of it true?
*
By the end of the week, my numb dejection has faded to a heavy grief that’s knotted, just behind my ribcage. I’m doing my best to hide it, especially today: I’m up the coast in Beachwood Bay, where Ash Callahan’s development company is based. Even in this state, I managed to kill my pitch for his new properties in town, and now he’s showing me around a plot he has right by the ocean to discuss the plans to build. I have no idea if I’ve landed the exclusive on his properties yet, but I’m guessing being invited back for a second conversation means I’m close.
“This is a beautiful spot,” I agree, standing at the top of the dunes. It feels good to be out of town for the day, not worried about running into Will. “How much is yours?”
Ash points way in the distance. “From the hill, right up to the fence there. About five acres in all.”
“And what are you planning?” I ask. “You know, a plot like this would be perfect for something commercial, a hotel maybe.”
He chuckles then, his usually-stern expression lightening. “Don’t let my wife hear you say that,” he grins. “She already won the war.”
I must look confused, because he nods to the property next door, a quaint little guesthouse I passed on my way here. “She owns the B&B,” he explains. “Last time I tried to build a fancy hotel here, she turned the whole town against me. It’s how we met,” he grins affectionately, clearly not holding a grudge.
“Ah, got it. So what do you want to do here?” I ask, looking around. The land is pristine right now, which is a little weird – usually developers don’t bring in real estate agents until a project is close to done.
“I’m interested in what you think,” Ash says, looking at me expectantly. “What would you put here?”
Suddenly, I realize: this is the test. It’s one thing to take a look at finished home and pitch the usual open houses, brochures and website, but I’m guessing Callahan wants something more from whoever he works with.
I look around again, trying to see what he does in the empty grassland and dirt trails. The views are incredible, the wide sweep of the bay unfolding in front of us, fringed in pristine sand and the wild Atlantic coast. Aside from the B&B and a cluster of older homes dotted back towards town, there isn’t anything built to ruin the wild, windswept feel of the landscape.
That’s it.
“Well, I’m guessing we’d be working with some pretty strict planning regulations,” I start, and I’m rewarded with a smiling twitch of his lips. Bingo! “That means we want to keep things simple. Sparse. You could try and cram a whole subdivision here, but that doesn’t seem like your style.”
Especially if he gave up on a slick ocean-front hotel for the sake of that rambling old B&B.
“I would say three, maybe four homes, max.” I point, tracing in the air, “Use the natural hills of the landscape to make them feel secluded and tucked away. But none of those modern glass and chrome monsters, use different designs for each of them to keep everything rustic and beachy, like they’ve been here for years. High end, of course,” I add, “but different. Exclusive. Beachwood Bay has such a great old-school feel to it, it’s like stepping back in time, and I know a lot of people would pay top dollar for that down-to-earth feel.”
Rustic. Down to earth. I’m thinking of Will now, but at least I can tell from the smile on Ash’s face, we’re on the same page. “I can’t tell you how many guys I’ve had out here, telling me to put up condos and a waterpark,” he says, wry.
“Sure, you’d made a ton more money that way, but I’m guessing you have enough already.”
He laughs at that. “Come on,” he says, starting to head back towards the B&B. “I’ve got some plans I can show you. I’d love to bring clients in early, people who want to play a part in the design, make it their dream home.”
“Does this mean I get the listings?” I ask, still uncertain.
He gives me a smile. “Yes, you do. Congratulations.”
I shake his hand, and say all the right things about how I’ll deliver just what he needs, but I still feel so detached. I should be on top of the world, chomping at the bit now that I’ve closed this deal and come one step closer to taking over the business, but somehow, all I can think about is how Will is the one who landed me this break: singing my praises to him, supportive to the core.
I follow Ash back to the B&B. Close up, it’s even more charming, with roses growing up the walls, a white picket fence—and something delicious wafting in the air. “Good timing.” Ash rubs his hands together gleefully. “It’s afternoon tea.”
We step inside, and he makes straight for the back patio area.
“Dee!” I hear a familiar voice cry. It’s Lottie, gathered around with a group of other women and their young kids, all about my age. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”
“I just had a meeting—” I gesture to Ash. He’s gone to greet one of the women with a kiss.
“What a great coincidence,” Lottie beams. “Come sit, have some tea. This is my moms’ group.”
One of the women groans. “Don’t say that, it makes me feel like I should chop all my hair off and buy a minivan.”
“What’s wrong with minivans?” another says, laughing. She’s got red hair and a swollen belly, which she strokes protectively. “I keep telling Dex, we’re going to trade in his sports car the minute this little guy comes along.” She turns to me, smiling. “I’m Alicia, and this is Juliet and little Jenny.” A dark-haired woman lifts her baby’s hand in a wave. “And Carina and Sawyer.” The blonde who hates minivans waves, one eye on her toddler, who is playing in a pen with Kit.
“And I’m Noelle.” The last woman looks over from Ash. “I’m just an honorary mom for now, but I have all the best snacks.”
“She does,” Lottie agrees. “Come join us. You have to try these scones.”
The table is laden with delicious pastries and iced tea, and everyone choruses their agreement, but something in me just can’t face it right now. Getting through the meeting was enough, but I can’t pretend to be smiling and happy when my heart hurts like this. They seem like a fun crowd, and Lord knows I don’t want to be the buzzkill moping in the corner, so I ju
st give them a smile. “I wish I could, but I have an appointment back in town. Another time!”
“For sure,” Noelle insists. “Here, let me give you some scones for the road.”
I walk out with Ash—and a bag of scones—and he shakes my hand again. “Here’s to the start of a great partnership,” he says, smiling. “Will was right about you.”
But his words just cut like a knife. I was so wrong about him.
As I drive back to Oak Harbor, I wonder when the pain will ever stop. Maybe this is just what it’s like, going through a hellish breakup. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never cared before like this, but it must happen to everyone, right? They get up, and go to work, and meet their friends, even when they feel nothing but hurt inside. Is everyone just hiding their heartbreak, muddling through as best they can?
God, it was so much easier before I met him. I could flit between guys without thinking twice, and if one of them turned out to be an asshole, well, so what? He didn’t matter, none of it did. I just moved on to the next fun adventure, not skipping a beat. I sure didn’t spend so much time crying I could put Kleenex out of business, or wake up with a heaviness in my heart that won’t shift, no matter how many country songs I play about sticking it to your cheating ex.
Now, I feel like I’m trapped in limbo, stuck with this broken, wretched heart. I can’t move on, but I don’t even want that: I just want to go back to before, when we were together, and I felt like this chapter of my life was just beginning.
With him.
I turn up my street, and then I see Will’s truck, parked outside my place, like I’ve conjured it out of thin air with all my obsessive pining. My heart stops, and I get a rush of panicked adrenaline flooding through my veins. He’s there, bent over unhitching something from the back, a massive tarp covering what’s underneath.
I don’t think I can face him again. That night at Dixie’s is still fresh and brutal in my mind, but I don’t have a choice. It’s either find a way to deal with him, or move out of Oak Harbor for good.