Fake It Baby One More Time: A Fake Romance Collection

by Logan Chance

  Tears sting my eyes, but I keep my head down.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to come here,” Houston says, joining me. He parks himself on an armchair not far from the couch.

  I glance up, taking in the pain in his eyes. Pain I’ve seen in my own in the reflection of a mirror.

  “I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve that,” I start.

  He cuts me off, “Then what are you here for?”

  “To explain.”

  Before I can continue, Houston rises, crossing to the mantle.

  “Did you know he loved Spiderman? So much so, he always wanted to get bitten by them. He wanted superpowers.”

  I half-smile. “Don’t we all.”

  Houston never looks away from the precocious smile, missing teeth. “He would hunt for spiders, hoping they would bite him.” He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.

  I close my eyes. Breathe in. I can do this. Breathe out.

  “I’m so sorry.” That word. I hate it. I’m at a loss. Everything I rehearsed on the cab ride over, gone and forgotten.

  “You should be,” he grits out. “He was a great kid, and I miss him.” He braces his hands on the mantle, hanging his head. The silence is stifling when he returns to his chair. He won’t meet my eyes, and I don’t blame him. I can hear it in his voice, he’s holding back tears just like me, when he finally says, “So, explain.”

  “It was a horrible morning. Dark, dreary. Rainy. Do you remember?”

  “Yeah, we overslept. So, easy to do when it rains,” he muses, tracing his finger on the leather armrest.

  “Yes.” I take another deep breath, removing the rosary from around my neck. “This won't mean much to you, but it was my sister’s rosary. She wore it everywhere. Her name was Harper.”

  Houston nods, glancing at the necklace briefly. “Ok.”

  “She was dating a really bad man.” I can see the confusion in Houston’s eyes, wondering where my story is headed. I keep going, “So bad, one night he beat the hell out of her.” Memories assault me. The swollen lip. The black eye. The bruised cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” Houston offers, and I feel bad for his pity. I don’t want it. Not from him. I don’t deserve it.

  I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, letting the rosary dangle. “I woke up that morning to a text from her. Said she needed me. So, I rushed over, frantic at what I would find.” I stop for a moment, trying to catch my breath.

  “So, you were speeding?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “When I got to her house, she looked pretty bad. Black eye, busted lip. It took everything in my power not to go to his house and strangle him. I was upset. She was my baby sister, and some bastard had manhandled her.”

  Houston’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment I think he can understand my pain.

  “She was drunk. She’d been drinking all night. When I got there, I tried to convince her to go to the cops. I tried to call them,” I glare at the floor. “She cracked a tequila bottle over my forehead.” I point to the scar above my eye.

  “Then what happened?”

  “She grabbed her keys and ran. Hopped in her car. I chased after her, but I couldn’t keep up. I could barely see with all of the blood dripping into my eye.”

  “I don’t understand. So, you chased her with your car and ran that stop sign?”

  I shake my head, the squeal of tires echoing in my head. “No. Before I could even get down to the end of the driveway the accident had already happened. She plowed into that other vehicle. I ran as fast as I could.” I remember the pain in my legs. The ache in my side. Hoping, praying she was ok.

  “Wait,” Houston says, holding his hand up to stop me. “The police report says you were driving,”

  A tear falls onto the rosary. “When I got to the accident, I couldn’t breathe. I flew to her door, ripped it open. She was passed out. I ran to the other car. Oh God.” Another tear falls, sliding down the onyx bead. I can’t go on.

  “Keep going.” His eyes fill with tears as I take a deep breath.

  “I remember seeing your son. Nathan. I didn’t know what to do. I dialed 911. The driver was unconscious. I tried to get her to wake up. I remember shouting at everyone, at anyone who could help me.” I wipe a few tears.

  “Was he alive?”

  “Yeah. He cried for his mommy and daddy. I was afraid to touch him. Afraid I’d only make it worse. I went to him. I lifted him anyways, hoping I wasn’t making things worse. I rocked him in my arms as I sat along the asphalt. Rubbed his forehead, telling him everything would be ok.”

  Houston closes his eyes. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Just that he wanted to go home. That he wanted his mommy. I’m so sorry,” I say.

  Houston rises from the chair. “I need a minute.” He walks away and my hands shake, tears dripping onto the rosary in a silent prayer I find forgiveness.

  I sit in silence; the only sounds are of Houston sobbing against the wall in the hallway.

  His grief is something I understand. It never gets easier, only manageable. The sobs quiet, and he returns.

  “Why did you say you were driving?”

  I glance at him. “When I heard the sirens, I panicked. She was drunk. Her life would be over. A DUI. She was on the Dean’s list at school. Harper needed my protection.”

  “So, you said you were driving?” he asks.

  “I didn’t know your son wouldn’t make it. I didn’t know the outcome. I just knew I had to protect my sister.” My voice breaks, and I pause before I set the lie free. “So, I ran to her car, tossed her into the passenger’s side. The blame was mine. It was my fault she drove away.”

  He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “I can’t believe this. Where is she now?”

  I rub the rosary in my fingers. “She’d always had dark periods. Depressions. When she found out what she’d done, how many lives she ruined, well, she was never the same. And then one day, I went to her house. Found her in the tub. Bloody water. She cut her wrists up so badly,” I sniff as I wipe a few more tears. “She was already dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Regret fills our eyes as they meet. “Believe me, I wish every day I could give my life to change the outcome of that day.”

  “I would have probably done the same for my sister,” he whispers.

  I shut my eyes and all my thoughts rush to Katy. “I love her, Houston.”

  “Fuck,” he breathes out.

  “Listen, I’m on the first flight back to Chicago. I won't ever contact her again, but I need to apologize to her. And, I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, for everything.” I rise from the couch.

  “Thank you for comforting my son and being there for him. I'm sure he was afraid. Hopefully you made it better.”

  I nod and let myself out. Now to come clean to Katy and beg for her forgiveness.

  But, before I see her, there’s one more thing I need to do.

  Chapter 20

  Katy

  Christmas morning is supposed to be filled with happiness and cheer. Joy and peace. But, I’m the complete opposite.

  I light a fire and nestle under a cozy blanket on my couch and watch the lights on my Christmas tree twinkle. I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a few hours.

  My phone rings, and Houston’s name flashes across the screen.

  “Merry Christmas,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “Someone’s a Grinch. I wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

  “Horrible,” I clip out.

  “He came to see me the other day.”

  I sit up in a flash. “Who? Pollux? I mean Ford?”

  “Yeah, I think you should hear him out,” he says.

  I slump back down. “No, thank you.”

  “You love him, right?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I scoff.

  “I think you need to hear what he has to say.”

  “How can you of all peopl
e tell me this?” What the hell? I stand from the couch, pacing my living room.

  “Just think about it.”

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  “That’s his story to tell.”

  Now, I’m more confused. Houston wouldn't tell me to talk to him if he didn't think I should listen. We hang up after I agree to think about it, and I drop my phone on the table and burrow back under my blanket.

  I’m supposed to head out to my parent’s house in Princeton tomorrow, but, I don’t want to see anyone. Especially Houston. He was being weird and cryptic. I hate that. I hate these feelings that won't go away.

  Isn't it crazy, when you want something so badly, you find yourself accepting it so freely? I wanted to fall in love. I wanted someone to want me so much they couldn't breathe. Don't we all dream of that? The perfect love? The one thing worth living and dying for. The one soul yours connects to.

  People fall in love every day. Some take years to let the fire burn slowly, while others it's like a quick match. Either way, the embers ignite. The passion builds.

  I fell fast and hard. I fell quick and deep. My love for him burns true, and I don't lessen that feeling because it was instant.

  It burned so hot. A white-hot heat that we both felt. We both wanted. The spark was real. Now, I want to extinguish the heated coals.

  A shiver runs through me. The New Year is approaching. Time for silly resolutions I'll never keep. I have an entire week off, and I plan to wallow in self-pity every minute.

  After Christmas, it's time to put on the facade and return to work. I go through the motions getting ready—black pencil skirt, powder blue silk shirt, heels, makeup—everything looks the same on the outside, poised and professional. Inside is where the real things are hidden. The important things.

  When I head into the office, no one knows my world has been upended.

  I say hello to Anne and hide away in the confines of my office. Not fifteen minutes later after my arrival, Mr. Kendall calls me to a conference room.

  I ride the elevator up to the executive floor, filled with dread at what will be awaiting me in his office.

  Betsy, his assistant, smiles and waves me inside. My palms sweat when I open the door. The entire board is assembled at the long conference table.

  “Katy, have a seat,” Mr. Kendall says.

  I take a deep breath and sit at the opposite end.

  Frank begins, “We called you here today to discuss your partnership. We’d like to announce it immediately.”

  As he drones on about how I’ve really stepped up this last month, my mind drifts. I gaze out the window at the grand phallic symbol of The Empire State Building.

  Is this really what I want for my life? I got so carried away with proving myself to everyone else, I didn’t stop to think about what I want.

  I want to paint.

  I want to love.

  I want to live.

  “I’m not sure I'm the right person for this anymore. I'm sure you agree, deep down.”

  “We’ve always thought you represented our brand perfectly. Why would you think different?” James asks.

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure. Maybe because of the family first on your logo? Maybe because when I divorced, my advancement stopped?” I glance around the table at all the executives. “Maybe because every woman in this company knows it's a boys club?”

  Mr. Kendall doesn't flinch, but I struck a nerve. I see it in the way they shift in their chairs and the way they avoid my eyes.

  “Our main concern is having someone we feel would continue with our vision,” Mr. Kendall says, ignoring my statement.

  “I assure you, sir, I have no desire to fulfill your vision.”

  I don’t want to work day in and day out to have the reward of knowing I did it all for someone else. I want something I can be proud of. Something I do.

  I want people to see me, not the company I represent. To be another faceless, nameless employee who does the work but doesn’t reap the rewards, isn't something I want.

  I want bigger.

  I want badder.

  I want something that is all mine.

  I smile. Partner. It’s all I ever wanted. I should be ecstatic, but I’m hollow.

  “Thank you for everything.” I stand. “But, I’m going to have to decline your offer, respectfully.”

  “Wait, Katy,” James begins.

  I cut him off. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided it’s best if I put my official resignation in. I'll draft a document and send it to you.”

  They are shell-shocked.

  I leave without another word.

  Exiting the building is freeing. I feel more alive than I ever have.

  It’s exhilarating. And I want to live in this moment for a little while longer.

  Chapter 21

  Ford

  Life happens when you’re busy making other plans, a quote I know all too well. I planned everything for Harper. She was mine to look out for. A kid sister, whom I adored and ultimately failed.

  I can sit here for hours, hell, maybe weeks, months, a lifetime even, and think about all the ways I failed her. All the what ifs.

  All the unanswered questions of a life gone wrong. Why did she do it?

  Was I the reason?

  Did I drive her to slice her wrists open?

  Fifteen is when she went from the sweet, funny kid sister who confided everything in me to a closed off teenager. Her first depression. I didn't know how to help her. It's the first time I felt helpless. The image of her body, floating in the crimson water haunts me. Eyes open. The blood. So much blood. Everywhere.

  My baby sister was dead. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. All I could think about was did it hurt? I didn't want it to hurt. Did she try to stop it?

  I cursed God first. Then I cursed her. Last, I cursed me.

  It was my fault.

  My sister, who loved daisies on a summer day, who drank orange juice with almost every meal, felt her only option was to take her own life. Her place in the world is empty now. And I feel it, every fucking day.

  I wish I would have sensed her despair. Knew she was hurting as badly as she was. I wish I could have shown her life does go on.

  Things do get better.

  Look at Houston. He’s moving on. Living his life after tragedy struck.

  Hell, even me. I found love—a love I never thought I could.

  Yet, I’m in it. And I want to stay in it. Stay tethered to the one person who makes me whole again.

  She makes my pain bearable.

  I return to New York from Chicago, late. I’m exhausted. My body aches.

  Returning to the Plaza only brings back memories of the way her eyes met mine with such distaste and hatred right before the elevator doors closed.

  That was the last time I saw her.

  I crash into bed, having the worst fucking night’s sleep ever. Dreams of Harper dripping scarlet splashes from her wrists onto a canvas. Dreams of Katy smiling and painting, reassuring me it wasn't my fault.

  In the morning, I know what I need to do.

  Win her trust back.

  She really is the one.

  I call her. She doesn’t answer. I email her and get the same response—nothing. I don’t really expect her to want to see me. Maybe a small part of me does.

  Not willing to give up, I text her to meet me at the gallery and pray she agrees.

  I wait for hours.

  But, she never comes.

  Right before I pack up to leave, I catch a glimpse of her standing in front of the frosted glass window. I rush to open the door.

  My breath hitches when she enters. “Hi.”

  She dips her head, unable to meet my eyes, and it stings a little. “Hi,” she whispers.

  It's awkward. Her eyes dart to me and then she moves around the gallery, slowly, taking in the renovations. It wasn't easy, and lots of palms were greased, but in less than a week the shell of a warehouse is now
a full gallery, complete with her paintings.

  “I hope you don’t mind me doing this,” I say, watching her take in all of her art work hanging on the walls. Every single piece.

  “It’s amazing.” Her eyes gleam with unshed tears, and I want more than anything to hold her.

  “It’s all for you. Even if you never do anything with it, I just wanted you to have it.” I dangle the keys out to her, and she takes a second to accept them.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don't have to say anything.”

  Her eyes avoid mine. “Houston said I should hear you out.”

  “Houston’s a smart man.”

  “What do you really do? Why did you come to New York?” she asks with sad eyes.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m a corporate raider.”

  She cuts in, “So, you wanted to buy out Masters? Is that why you were at the charity event the night we met? Is that why you couldn’t give me a real name?”

  I shake my head. “Yes, I gave a fake name, because I knew your board would know who I was. But, I never planned on buying Masters. That wasn’t my goal.”

  “What was your goal? I’m so stupid. To believe you would be my fake fiancé for nothing.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Yes, even in my own mind I treated it like a company I was buying, but that’s not the whole story.”

  “So, what’s the whole story?” She crosses her arms.

  I tell her everything. I open up my heart to her, retelling her the story I told Houston.

  She cries when I mention her nephew, and we cry together over the tragedy of it all.

  “I miss her,” I say. “I didn't know who you were. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe that.”

  And then, Katy does something unexpected—she pulls me into her arms, clinging onto me as tight as she can. She cries into my shirt, and I grab onto her for dear life.

  “It was an awful thing to have happen. I’m sorry for everyone,” she cries.

  I pull back, staring into her tear-stained eyes. “You have no need to be sorry. So much of what happened was my fault. I should have never confronted her.” I shake my head.