by Chloe Walsh
I couldn’t talk to anyone about how I was feeling – not vocally at least. The only productive way I seemed to be able to get my pain out was on paper: letting the words spill out and creep across the blank page. Yeah, the page was my canvas and the words were my art. My pen was my paintbrush, and my pain was my story.
I knew I wasn’t behaving like a normal twenty-five-year-old woman. I got that. But I couldn’t.
Not when I'd had my heart ripped out of my chest at eighteen.
The pain Jordan Porter had put me through had caused a rippling effect on my life. Some days I could barely breathe past it, it hurt so badly. It felt like I'd been knifed through my breastbone and the perpetrator had left the blade inside of my body, forcing me to suffer the agony of breathing in and out with something foreign lodged in my chest.
But I guess that's what love consisted of: having a foreign substance invade your heart.
I missed home, my parents and my siblings, but I couldn’t face returning to The Hill. I didn’t think I ever could.
I had watched Jordan Porter walk away from me and that annihilation of my trust had damaged my heart beyond all repair. The pain almost killed me on a daily basis. The not knowing where his head was at, or if anything we'd been through had truly been real for him. It cut me deeper than anything else in my entire existence had could or would ...
"I don’t love you, Hope. Happy now? You were a fucking mistake and I want out. I. Don’t. Want. You."
"I know you think I shouldn’t still think about him," I whispered. "I know I shouldn’t."
Throwing my head back, I covered my face with my hands and fought back the urge to scream. "It just won't fade, Teegs. He's in my head constantly and I hate it."
"You're preaching to the converted here, Hope," Teagan replied with a heavy sigh and I knew that if anyone in the world knew how I was feeling it was Teagan Connolly. "Just do what I do and remind yourself that you didn't do anything wrong," she told me. "Jordan – like he-who-shall-not-be-named – happens to be a man: and therefore a stupid, heinous, inconsiderate bastard. I'm telling you, Hope, they're all the same …" Her voice trailed off as she looked at the watch on her wrist in despair. "I'm late for work – we'll finish the man-bitching session when I get home, 'kay?" With that, Teagan turned on her heels and disappeared out of sight.
Sighing guiltily, I pulled myself out of my chair and padded over to my bed. Throwing myself down on the mattress, I tugged my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and dialed my mother's number.
Mom answered on the second ring.
"Hope. Oh, thank God you've called, I was getting worried. Did you get the invitation? When I didn’t hear back from you I started to get worried. You know it's tomorrow night, right?"
The obvious relief in my mother's voice made me feel like the world's biggest tool. She didn’t need any more worry in her life.
"Hi, Mom," I choked out. "Sorry I haven’t called lately. Yeah, I got the invite ..."
"Have you been eating? What about your clothes – can you manage the laundry? You know you can come home anytime you want, in fact I could …"
"Mom," I said wearily, cutting her off before she had the chance to over-analyze every damn thing in my life. "Yes, I'm doing my laundry." I sniffed the hem of my old 1D shirt and cringed. "And of course I'm eating." The half-eaten packet of Oreos lying on my bed was proof of that. "Really I'm fine, Mom. How's Dad?" That ought to work.
Bringing my father into conversation was a sure way to distract my mother from her examination. Mom and Dad, who were both in their forties, were sickeningly in love. It was truly depressing to me, their daughter, who'd yet to have a serious relationship, yet alone a loving one. They'd gotten together when Mom was a teenager and twenty-six years later they were still going strong; which was great for them, not so much for their kids who had to witness their bubble of love.
Ugh …
"Wonderful." Mom sighed dreamily, and I wanted to puke. "Working all the hours God gave him as usual. The hotel hasn’t been this busy in years."
"That's great," I said honestly. My dad, Kyle Carter, inherited a whole bunch of hotels from my great-grandpa before I was born, but lost everything before my first birthday.
My earliest memories of my father were of him working in our backyard, building birdhouses, doghouses and garden fences with Uncle Derek for extra cash. We had been dirt poor until my father won back the hotels when I was eleven.
He was my hero.
His strength was something I would always envy and be in awe of.
"So," Mom said in her soft southern drawl. "Are you excited about coming home this weekend?"
"Sure," I lied. Truth was I couldn’t stand the thought of going home. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents deeply, they were loving and supportive, but my family was a little full on.
Our home was usually full of drama and testosterone-fuelled noise.
It was exhausting and I still pinched myself, seven years later, when I woke up in our small apartment in peace and isolated calm.
"How are the boys doing?" I asked, smirking to myself, thinking this was another topic I could use to distract my mother. "Causing hell?" As usual…
"That’s the understatement of the century," she groaned, and I cackled into my pillow. "They're breaking my heart daily," Mom added. "That's why I need my baby girl to come home to me."
Hit me with the mommy card …
"I'm really busy at the moment, Mom." I knew why she wanted me to come home so badly. I knew what was coming up and I knew exactly who would be there. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to come home …"
"Hope Sarah Carter," my mother said in her stern voice. I smiled thinking about my mother being stern. She was about as stern as tissue paper and as aggressive as a goldfish. "You have to come home." She sighed heavily, and I cringed in shame. "It's our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Please, sweetie."
God …
"Is he going to be there?" I asked quietly.
I knew Mom would feel sorry for me, but I didn’t care about that.
I needed to know.
There was no way I was putting myself in that situation again.
"No," Mom replied after a pause. "I suppose he's feeling the same way you are."
I doubt it.
"Fine," I sighed. "I'll book a flight as soon as you hang up." I needed to be done with this conversation. I was not dealing with thoughts of him today. I couldn’t. I would either cry or break my phone. Neither option appealed to me; therefore I was getting off this phone before I lost my choice.
"Hope," Mom said softly, in that tone mothers use when they feel sorry for you, but don't want to come right out and say it. "It has been seven years, sweetheart. Don't you think that it's time you try to move on and forgive him?"
"Could you?" I shot back immediately. "If you were me and he was Dad, could you try and move on? Could you forgive him?"
I knew the answer to that.
Years ago, when my father had been stabbed by some psychotic freak, my mother had sold everything we owned in order to keep him alive on a feeding tube. He'd been given no hope, laid in a coma for more than half a year and still Mom hadn’t given up on him.
According to an old journal of my Aunt Cam's, Dad had treated Mom like shit when they were younger.
Repeatedly.
And she'd forgiven him.
Repeatedly.
Well, I wasn’t my mother, and I wasn't going to be any man's doormat.
"Hope, he was young and confused."
"I don’t care." I did care. I cared too much. That was the whole freaking problem. "I'm done with this conversation, Mom. I need to finish some work. I'll call you later."
"I need you home," Mom said sadly. "Please. Do this for me."
"One night," I whispered. "And then I'm gone."
"Promise me you'll be there, Hopey-bear?" my mother asked and I found myself nodding reluctantly.
"Yes," I said with a sigh. "I promise."
"Goo
d," Mom chuckled before letting out a worrying sigh. "Please don’t blame me for your house guest. That was your father's idea …"
House guest?
"Mom, what the heck are you talking about …" I demanded, but the tone on the other end of the line told me that my mother had hung up on me. Then my phone beeped once, signaling I'd received a text message.
Reluctantly I opened it and groaned ...
* You wouldn’t happen to have a spare bed/couch/bathtub going for your favorite brother? *
"Damn that man," I screamed, shoving off my covers and leaping out of bed, suddenly understanding my mother's plea. I immediately regretted my tantrum when I noticed the few precious remaining Oreos scatter on the floor.
Diving to where one was rolling under my locker I wasn't ashamed to say I rubbed if off with my sleeve and took a vicious bite of it.
I needed it.
With my mouth full of chocolate goodness I stalked through our apartment – which consisted of walking from my bedroom through to my kitchen/lounge – and pressed my finger on the buzzer.
"Well if it isn’t Dad's favorite minion," I snapped. "How much did he pay you to come here?"
"Not nearly enough," I heard Colton chuckle. "Buzz me in. I'm freezing. You can chew me out in person in the warmth."
"Fine," I muttered, buzzing him and opening my apartment door. "It's open."
I went and grabbed a hair tie from our poky bathroom and rearranged my hair into a messy half-bun/half-ponytail before grabbing a carton of orange juice from the fridge.
Teagan and I badly needed to clean the place up, but Colton was a bigger slob than both of us combined so I doubted he would notice my crap.
"Love what you've done with the place," I heard my brother say, and I mentally braced myself before turning around.
"The mold is a fascinating addition," Colt chuckled, signaling to a pile of dirty laundry in my overflowing hamper. "And the smell." He grinned and clicked his tongue. "Very new age, Hopey-bear."
"Don't call me that." I shuddered, glaring at the big ape that was making himself comfortable on my couch. "How long are you here for?"
"Depends," Colt replied, casually folding his arms behind his head. "Board that plane with me in fifteen hours and I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy. Or don't and I stay and annoy you until you give in and come home." He twisted his neck from side to side and grinned at me. "Feel free to stay, I could do with a challenge. I'm getting bored with my life."
"You're getting bored with your life?" I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Colt, you're twenty-three. What could possibly be boring about your life? This is Dad's doing, right?"
Colton shrugged. "Dad wanted a solid guarantee you would be in that hotel tomorrow night." Smirking, he added, "Mom is worried about you. Dad is worried about Mom. Mom wants you at the party, and Dad wants to put a smile on Mom's face. I just happen to be the messenger boy."
With my shoulders slumped, I trudged over to the couch and plopped down, feeling weirdly comforted with having my brother so close after so long apart. "I gather Dad's still a huge control freak," I grumbled. "This sucks."
"I'm going to pretend you didn’t just say that," Colt mused. "Look, Hope, I know Jordan-the-douchebag-Porter did something pretty damn bad to chase you half way across the world, but don’t let him be the cause of breaking Mom's heart."
"I didn’t leave because of him," I shot back defensively, lying through my teeth.
"Maybe so," Colt replied calmly. Sitting up, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him. "But you haven't come home because of him. I have no idea what happened between you two, Hope," he said quietly and in a weirdly serious tone. "Neither does Cam, or Low, but you are our sister, and we've got your back."
"Thank you," I whispered, but I was shaking inside. My nerves were frazzled and the prospect of seeing that man again was causing my anxiety to rise to epic proportions.
"So," Colt said, clearing his throat. "We've got about fifteen hours to waste until our flight. Do wanna go get drunk?"
"Yeah, Colt," I said with a sigh. "I really do."
****
The heat inside Krash nightclub was almost unbearable.
I had only ever been here once before, it was damn close to impossible to gain admission, but my congenial brother had charmed his – and my way – through the shiny black doors to where I was currently occupying a barstool in the exclusive private area of the club.
I wasn’t a fan of nightclubs. I wasn’t a fan of being crushed by sweaty, overbearing men and braless bimbos either. Men prowled the bar looking for alcohol and release, but I was here for one reason and one reason only: to drown my sorrows and forget about my impending doom.
That was it.
Swallowing what had to be my tenth shot of Jameson, I brushed the hand that had landed on my shoulder roughly away and gazed around the room through bleary eyes.
I spotted Colton on the dance floor, surrounded by a group of women, and snorted loudly. One voluptuous blonde was clinging to Colton like he was her chosen mate. Another skinny brunette was grinding against his broad back. Their bodies rubbed against my baby brother, sweat slickened, and I had to swallow some vomit before turning my face away from the sight.
The atmosphere in the private area was energetic – there seemed to be a dynamic buzz in the air. There was a group of girls literally screaming and pointing at the booth furthest away from where I was sitting, and that caught my attention.
When I realized exactly who those girls were pointing at, my stomach fell into my ass.
I watched in drunken horror as an insanely attractive man covered in tattoos stood up and tossed back a shot before moving through the crowd of women towards the bar – towards me.
His gaze locked on my face and instant recognition flared in his brown eyes.
"Hope."
Oh crapola …
Jerking off my stool, I pushed past several people, desperate to get away from my uncle, but he moved faster, shoving people out of his way in his bid to reach me.
"Is she here?" he roared. "Is Teagan with you?"
"Stay away from her, Noah," I slurred, as I stumbled down the staircase towards the exit.
I needed to get home and warn Teagan her worst nightmare was partying in a club ten minutes from our apartment.
Shit.
****
"Hope, I swear to God I am going to tie your key around your bloody…"
Teagan's voice trailed off the moment she opened the door and caught a glimpse of my face.
"What's wrong?"
"He's here, Teagan," I choked out as I barreled into her arms. "In Cork. I saw him – at the club," I added. "He's here."
"Who?" Teagan demanded. "Who's here, Hope?"
"Noah," I hissed, and then quickly clapped my hand over my mouth. "He saw me," I added. "Teagan, he knows you're here."
"What?" Teagan's voice was small and frightened. Her face was pale and her brown eyes wide as saucers. "What did you say?"
Pushing us both into the room, I swung around and slammed the apartment door before bolting it. With my back pressed to the door, I let out a huge sigh of relief. "There," I half-slurred, half-hiccupped. "That'll keep the big douche out."
"A deadbolt?" Shaking her head, Teagan clawed at her hair as she looked around frantically. "You really think a fucking deadbolt is going to keep him out …"
"Hope!"
I heard my name being roared out seconds before the sound of banging infiltrated my eardrums and a hard vibration penetrated my back.
"Face him, Teegs," I told her. "Just get it over and done with."
"Like you faced Jordan?" she shot back, nostrils flaring. "Hmm?"
Okay, fuck it! Live like me. Be a goddamn coward.
"Jesus Christ," Teagan whispered, before rushing over to help me barricade the door with her body.
"Hope, I know you're in there. Open the goddamn door, or I'll kick it in."
"Go away, you big ass," I screeched, st
umbling away from the door.
"Hide," I mouthed to Teagan and she did.
Running like headless chickens through our own pokey apartment, Teagan dove behind the couch and I crouched behind the coffee table just as the door of our apartment was smashed clean off its hinges.
I peeked up from my hiding spot to see Noah Messina standing in the doorway of our apartment, looking more furious than I had ever seen him look.
"Is that any way to speak to your uncle?" Noah's voice was calm, but the way his fists were clenched and trembling at his sides assured me he was anything but. His dark eyes were focused entirely on my roommate as he ran a hand through his thick black hair.
"Thorn."
I opened my mouth to respond, but Teagan spoke before I had a chance.
"How dare you come in here," she screamed before somersaulting over the back of our couch and launching herself at my uncle.
"Hear me out."
"Go to hell."
"I've been there, sweetheart, and it's not fucking pretty."
I felt incredibly lightheaded as I watched my father's kid brother wrestle my brazen best friend into submission. "You're believing a lie, Thorn," Noah snapped, as he pressed Teagan against the wall. "Dammit, stop fucking biting me!"
"I loved you," I heard Teagan whisper, almost begrudgingly, and my heart broke for her. "I loved you, Noah."
But I didn't hear Noah's response, as the alcohol in my veins and the exhaustion in my heart dragged me under …
****
From the age of eighteen I had a plan – leave Colorado and never return.
Up until twenty-four hours ago my plan had been unfolding beautifully. The space I had managed to put between my past mistakes – Jordan – and the person I was now had saved my life and sparked to life a career in writing that I wasn’t sure I would have pursued had I remained in Colorado.
Yet one phone call from my mother had brought me back there, standing in the middle of the airport to be exact, almost choking to death on all my past mistakes. After thirteen long hours of travelling with the hangover from hell, I finally set foot on Colorado soil again, and every memory I'd forced to the back of my mind impaled my heart.