Truce or Dare (Sweet Fortuity Book 1) (3 page)

"Maybe you think I'm cold. Or that I don't care," he began carefully. "But I've had to deal with this for years already. Hell, I'm fucking tired. I had to come to terms that not only did you not want me, but you were gone."

"And you think I didn't have to do that,” I replied pointedly.

His expression gained a hard edge as he said, "I remember what you did. Don't start."

"I've never forgotten it." I've never forgotten what he did either.

What was that bullshit quote about time being the antidote of pain? What a laughingly cruel delusion. Time didn't cure anything; it merely dulled it.

"It was your choice," he said quietly. And the weight of his words was like a punch in the gut.

The hell of it was, it was, it could’ve ended much differently if I had made a different decision back then. "I know."

His grim expression somewhat softened at my admission. Then with a nod, he turned away, and I watched his back, my eyes blurry with what suspiciously felt like tears. I didn’t have time to wipe it away. I blinked them back, refusing to let them see.

Wes came forward.

“He cause this?” his forehead creased in a frown. Then he released a deep sigh. “He means well. He just… He’s confused by all this. You came at a difficult time is all.”

“I’m not blaming him, Wes. But maybe it’s difficult for me too.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I know. Just wanted to say welcome back. You’ve been missed.”

When I glanced back, some heads turned away guiltily, as if the wall sprouted flowers.

I ran back up the stairs without another word.

* * *

I tossed and turned that night. As I tried to sleep, the conversations I’ve had today replayed on my mind in a loop. Compounded with Gem’s loss, it was too much.

I've had to deal with this for months already.

I remember what you did.

I’m fucking tired.

It had been two years, and it all came back, everything I tried to bury.

He was my anchor.

And then he wasn’t.

I couldn’t hold on to anything. I always knew that. I felt like when he ended it, it affirmed everything I’ve always believed about myself.

So I did what any sane person would do– I turned to music. I got up, took my earphones, and hit play, hoping the soft, soothing sound would drown out everything else and pull me into a deep slumber.

Rage dwindled to a dull kind of pain, a sort of emptiness that ate you up. Then I realized somewhere in between consciousness and rest, that I hadn’t been mad at him, but at myself.

I
didn’t pack
much before leaving, so I took the time to buy some essentials. With Haley offering to drive me around before she had to leave for work, I accepted.

I went to get a new haircut and opted for light brown highlights, just enough of a change to make me feel a little better. I’ve never been a fan of shopping for clothes or bags, but I did like shoes, and I loved trying things out with my hair. I purchased a new brush as well as some of the homemade macadamia-scented shampoo.

It was shorter, if a little choppy, but I liked it. It felt different. And I felt like I'd shed a heavy, unspoken weight, like I was coming into my own.

“Getting a little too celebratory?"

I knew the shop owner, Matilda. I came here a lot before I left. Her lips were pinched, her eyes daring me to reply.

The implication shocked me, and I found myself unable to speak. I touched the ends of my hair almost on instinct. They were a beautiful shade. There was a time she would've said as much.

"You turn tail like a coward, people talk, sweetheart. Maybe wonder why you returned."

I was so close to confronting her, risking causing a scene. Telling her that she could shove it.

How could she say that? How could she even think that? If she'd known about me at all, she wouldn't suggest such a thing. Is that what people thought?

But as I stood there, facing the counter of her shop, I found myself unable to return a sarcastic or snippy remark. She was someone that until now, I'd considered a friend, and what she just said cut deeply.

Of course that was what she thought. It was one of the reasons why I left.

The surge of anger rose, and then it mingled with regret. I should’ve stayed with Gem. I thought I’d still have more time with her.

I met her gaze evenly. "I loved Gem," I told her earnestly. "Say what you want about me, speculate about why I left. But don't pretend to know how I feel."

* * *

As I made my way out, I nearly stumbled back when I bumped into a shoulder. I almost dropped my bags when I looked up.

Well, hell. He was the last person I wanted to see right now.

The truth was I dreaded meeting him again. I was still feeling too raw, and he was someone I didn't think I was prepared to deal with right now, especially not after my incident with Matilda.

Disheveled golden brown hair, he looked as if he was out of his element, a little surprised to see me.

“Sherry," he nodded in greeting, and then to my surprise, he reached up, sliding a hand at the ends of my hair. "You’ve done something to your hair.”

I forced a smile, but stepped away, wanting to get away from here. People were watching. It started coming back to me, why I left. The stifling stares of people. "Just got a cut. I'll see you around."

I hurried back, even when I heard footsteps behind me. "Not now, Chase," I said quietly, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, because I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to cry.

"Sherr, what's wrong?"

My steps faltered. He'd called me the same way he did back then. I don't think he realized what he did, concern all over his face. He had a hand on my elbow, until I was forced to stop and look back.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” I told him, sharper this time. Matilda was just one person. She didn't factor in to my life anymore. I had to focus on that. Calm was good. Focus on—

Jaw set, he replied stubbornly, “Fine. Play it that way.”

“I’m not playing at anything!” I snapped.

Shit. What happened to calm?

I turned back around, walking briskly all the way to Haley’s car. I felt a presence behind me even as I made it there. I turned back around. He wasn’t deterred.

All of a sudden, it was too much. Gem, Matilda, Chase. What the hell did he want from me? I was about to have a meltdown in the parking lot. Perfect timing. “You never know when to quit, do you?”

We stood, breathing hard, measuring each other.

“And you never know when to hold on,” he shot back.

Low blow.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I’d been the one to…”

I wasn’t equipped to deal with this right now. He had no right to start hammering accusations at me after everything that happened. But he couldn’t know how much it still affected me. The worst thing I could do now was to wear my heart on my sleeve.

“Forget it. It’s done,” I said with a finality that sank heavy on my heart.

I slammed the door shut, refusing to look back. For some reason, I felt like I was ending something important, yet something I also didn’t fully understand.

“Nice hair,” Haley complimented me. “About that…” she wiggled her fingers in an attempt to describe what happened outside. “What is going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” I answered, but it came quick.

She gave me a look, a brow slightly raised.

“What?”

She took a deep breath and said, “Look, just looking at you two outside… That’s not
nothing
. Looks like you both still care plenty.”

I had the entire drive home to mull over her words.

I didn’t know what was going on between me and him, but I also knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

I sat in the bleak waiting room, tapping a finger lightly on the arm-rest. In the waiting room dozens of magazines were stacked. I opened one and kept flipping, skim-reading the headlines, unable to really focus on the smaller body of text.

I heard the bell, disturbed by the door opening. I looked up, surprised to see Chase who stepped in, distinctly
not
surprised to see me. He nodded at me in acknowledgement, his expression grim. I smiled back faintly.

To my surprise, my aunt came in next, pushing the door with a hand, the other, a Gucci bag hanging over her shoulder. She gave me a tight-lipped smile.

“Sherry,” she said, pressing her cheek cool against mine, but I didn’t miss the haunted look in her eyes. She’d been grieving.

Once upon a time we'd talked a lot. That was long ago, before she’d moved all the way to New York.

“Didn’t know you came back,” she said mildly.

“I didn’t,” I replied.

“God, it’s boring back here, isn’t it?” she laughed.

I didn’t laugh back. She probably could think up a lot of reasons why I left, but none of them would be right. I didn’t dignify it with a response.

She did a half-shrug and went ahead of me.

We were led to an office by a Mr. Broker. It was medium-sized, but furniture was sparse, leaving enough space for the four of us, and then some. We all got seated, and looked at each other, and suddenly I felt anxious to get it all done.

“Gemma wanted to have this read aloud,” Mr. Broker said. “You’ll all get copies of the document too. I know you guys are busy. I’ll keep this brief.”

He flipped through a couple of pages before he cleared his throat.

“To my dearest grand-daughter, Sherry Jasmine Clayton, I leave my house, and all my funds in my savings account.”

I froze. My world tilted on its axis as the words began to sink in.

I leave my house
.

I was planning to leave next week, wasn’t I?

You could sell it
, a small voice said in my mind.

Or I could rent it.

She could’ve left it to anyone. She left it to
me
. It was my home. Still is, in a big way. I couldn’t just hand it over to someone else, could I?

God, what a mess.

“To Chase Davis, I leave you twenty thousand dollars,” he paused to meet his eyes, and continued, “and the lasting hope that you can try to mend things with my grand-daughter. I don’t believe even in my death bed, that that love has vanished.”

I gasped. God.
She
would say that. Even in death, she was on my side. Always.

Chase's eyes flashed with surprise.

“And to my loving sister, Martha Cassidy, I also leave you twenty thousand dollars, my pearls and my jewelry box that I’ve always promised you. I know how you’ve loved them so.”

I heard a sob escape her. I went over and pulled her close, putting my arms around her. Whispering it would be okay in her ear. All the while I felt like my heart was breaking. She left me the house, and now I had no idea what to do. I honestly never even considered it.

Martha had to go back to New York. I wished her well, and I rushed to leave, not wanting to be alone with Chase. I heard him call out my name, but I didn't respond. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I had no desire to be accused again that the sole reason I returned was to get those things from her.

I had to go. The walls were closing in again. I needed time to process everything that just happened. I got in my car and drove away.

* * *

T
he news spread faster
than I anticipated. I’d lined up to get freshly baked bread.

Mr. Porter, who lived close by, was just right behind me, and he looked at me sympathetically. “I heard about the house. You don’t have to stay. You could just sell it.”

Excuse me? “With all due respect Mr. Porter, you don’t make decisions for me.”

He looked bewildered, as if the idea was beyond his comprehension. “You plan to stay?”

Was the idea really so preposterous?

“I don’t know yet,” I said simply. “I just don't know if I can sell it.”

That was what they thought of me? Their expectations so low they thought this was just for money? That the thought of staying was so beyond their comprehension, they dismissed it?

* * *

A warm cup, filled all the way to the brim, was pushed in front of me. I looked up and saw Paula, giving me a kind smile.

It wasn’t coffee– it was black tea, but still, it would help keep me alert. The thoughtfulness made my heart swell.

“Oh! You didn’t have to. Thank you.”

I noticed that she picked up her keys, dressed casually.

“You looked like you were thinking hard," she said with a gentle smile. "Just picking up a couple of things at the chemist. Do you need anything?”

I shook my head.

When she left, I laid my head back on the couch.

The way I saw it, I could either leave now and sell the house, or I could stay. Everyone expected me to leave, but I brought that on myself. The memory of Mr. Porter giving me that pitiful, judging expression really hit me hard. No one considered I would stay, that this place was my home too.

I left this place because it held me prisoner. I was foolish to think that just because I wasn't physically bound here meant I wasn't shackled, at least emotionally. It became the symbol for everything I struggled to hold and yet failed to possess, like fine sand just within my grasp, easily slipping away.

I didn't want to come back. But I couldn't sell the house, which held so many memories for me. It was also more practical for me rather than renting an apartment so far away.

Back then, to me it meant independence, but now it seemed like a huge mistake.

God, seeing him again was so hard. My heart clenched as I thought of how he'd been on that first evening back. His expression was closed and guarded, and our conversation strained. This was
Chase
. We could be strangers to everyone else but not to each other. There was a time I thought it would always be that way. But too much had changed now, and that was just something I had to accept.