Free

Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Charlie

I step out of the grocery store into a crisp March evening, the plastic bags cutting into my fingers as I fumble to pull my coat tighter against the cold. The wind bites at my cheeks, sharp and relentless, and I burrow deeper, my chin disappearing into the collar. The gray skies above press down like a weighted blanket, muting the world around me.

The sense of foreboding that’s been following me all day tightens its grip.

With my head tucked low against the cold, I don’t see him until I’m nearly on top of him.

“Davis.”

The name falls from my lips, flat and lifeless. My ex-fiancé looks… perfect. Disgustingly so. He’s freshly tanned, his peacoat collar flipped up just so, and his hair styled into an effortless wave. His meticulously groomed brows arch as his lips curl into something resembling a smirk.

“I’m glad I ran into you.”

Glad? That wasn’t even on the list of things I expected him to say. After the wedding fiasco, the rage on his face as I left, and the honeymoon he went on without me, I would’ve put money on something more along the lines of a cutting remark or icy silence.

“Really?” I ask, too dumbfounded for niceties.

“Yeah.” Davis scowls so deeply there’s no way he’s glad he ran into me. “Did you take the Rolex Granddad left me?”

“Why would I do that?” I ask, recoiling.

“Why would you do anything you’ve done in the last month?” His tone is all self-righteous indignation, as if the mess we’re in has nothing to do with him.

“Why…?” My jaw drops. “Do you really have to ask that?”

“So you did take it.” Davis nods like he’s just acquired a signed and sealed confession.

“I did not take your cherished family heirloom. I took my clothes, toiletries, and the furniture I brought with me. Everything else is yours and is exactly where you left it.”

“Not my Rolex.”

“Maybe one of your girlfriends has it. Maybe you left it at Brando Resorts. All I know is that I didn’t take it.”

Davis’s eyes rake over me, narrowed and piercing, like I’ve left a sour taste in his mouth, before he shakes his head and steps past me, muttering as he goes into the store. A heaviness settles over me as I drive home. How many more run-ins like that do I have in my future? Or, for that matter, like the one I had with Mrs. Smith?

I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, reusable bags dangling from my forearms. Mom’s peeling carrots at the sink as I tromp through the kitchen. She takes one look at me and her brows furrow. “What happened?”

“I ran into Davis.”

Her nose wrinkles like she’s caught a whiff of something rancid.“Was it bad?”

I plonk the bags down with a sigh. “He accused me of stealing.” I relay the brief conversation while Mom shakes her head in wonderment, her peeling slowing to a stop.

“Why is he doing this, Momma?” I finally ask, the question pulling at something raw in my chest.

Mom sets the peeler down and turns to me, her face soft with sympathy. “Because people like Davis don’t like to be the bad guy. He has to shift the blame to you so he can keep his version of himself intact. If he admitted what he did, how he treated you, he’d have to admit he’s not as wonderful as he thinks.”

Her voice is steady, reassuring, but it doesn’t make the hurt sting any less.

She crosses the room and squeezes my shoulders gently. “If it helps, you’re handling this gracefully. And even though it’s hard, and it sucks, when you get to the other side of this, I promise you’ll see it led you to something better.”

I bite back a sigh. Mom’s relentless optimism has always been both a blessing and a curse. “Sure would be nice to get to that ‘better’ part sooner rather than later.”

She gathers her hair over her shoulder, studying me. “I wonder if you should take Garrett and Angela up on their offer and stay with them for a while. Some distance from Davis might not be a bad thing.”

The suggestion makes my chest tighten. “I don’t know, Mom. If I did that, I’d be just as likely to run into Nick as I am to run into Davis if I stay here. Not sure which is worse.”

“Nick might be exactly what you need in a time like this.”

The surge of joyful agreement in my heart is quickly dampened by the silence between us over the last year, only to be reignited by the memory of being wrapped in his embrace in his truck.

“Nick made it very clear where we stand when I went to see him at the hospital,” I say, choosing reality over hope.

Mom shrugs, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I think he made it very clear where you stand when he came to your rescue at the wedding. I’m not talking about getting involved with him. I’m just saying, you guys have really enjoyed each other’s company in the past.”

“In the past.” I laugh. “Operative words.”

“Fine. Disregard my parental nudges. It’s not like I raised you or understand you or have been a woman in your stage of life ever. What do I know?”

“What stage of life is it when everything blows up and you’re left standing in the rubble, confused and alone?”

“The best stage.” Mom grips my hand. “The one where you get to build everything back stronger, better, and completely on your terms.”

After we put the groceries away, I head upstairs to try and piece my thoughts together. I hate the idea of running away from Wildrose Landing just because Davis is a jerk, but I might hate the thought of running into him again even more. I cringe to think of what he’ll accuse me of next. If it wasn’t for Nick, I wouldn’t hesitate about asking Garrett if his offer still stands. But, with as close as the Hutton family is, Nick and I are sure to run into each other. Would that be any less awkward than what happened today?

His letters to me sit in their box on my vanity. I don’t know why I kept them all this time. They just felt too special to throw away, I guess.

I grab the first one off the stack and open it, smiling sadly as his familiar handwriting greets me. His tone is light and happy. He’d had a good day and couldn’t wait to tell me about it. I open another. Then another. The thoughts in these run deeper. He’s vulnerable. Worried. He tells me I’m the best thing that happened to him. That he looks forward to my calls, my letters, my voice.

If I believe what he told me at the hospital, every word is a lie… a manipulation to keep me on the hook even though he had no intention of following through on a relationship.

I go through letter after letter after letter until I’ve read them all, then sit, my heart pounding, tears in my eyes.

These are so raw, so genuine. There’s no way he was lying.

There was something real between us. I don’t know why he told me differently—and was so cruel in what he said—but I didn’t imagine things. I didn’t care more about him than he did for me.

So what would be worse, running into Davis, who probably never loved me and is willing to spread lies about me to save face? Or Nick, who probably did love me, and is willing to come to my rescue despite that not being true anymore?

Neither situation is easy, but one feels better than the other. I reach for my phone and shoot Garrett a text.

Sooo that offer that never expires? Still good if I claim it?

I explain my conversation with Mrs. Smith and Davis’s accusation that I stole his grandfather’s Rolex. Garrett is appropriately outraged, as is Angela, based on the string of angry emojis she sends.

Garrett

You can hit the road tonight if you need to, sis

Need gas money?

I tell my brother I’m good, thank him, then drop onto my bed and smile at the ceiling. What a blessing to have a family like mine. We’ve been through our share of tough times, but we grew through them together instead of apart, and not everyone can say that. This situation is hard, but I know, without a doubt, I don’t have to go through it alone.

My phone rings and I gasp when I see the caller ID.

Nick?

My heart shimmies and shakes, the phone vibrating in my hand as I stare at his name. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it there, and for a moment, I just let it ring, too stunned to move.

The phone rings again.

I can’t remember the last time he called me.

My breath catches.

I feel his arms around me in his truck. Watch him walking away that day at the pier. Remember all the unanswered messages I left him after his accident. Smell chicken sandwiches and fries and ocean water and hear the gentle concern in his voice as he mimes pulling a pin on a grenade.

The phone rings again and I answer.

“Hey,” I say with an admirable hint of nonchalance. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a long, deafening pause, and for a moment, I think maybe the call dropped.

“I guess that’s what I should be asking you,” Nick finally says, his voice low and uncertain. “Honestly… I don’t even know why I called. The longer I think about it, the less confident I am that it was a good idea.”

His words hit like a blow, and I sit down hard on the edge of the bed. “Why did you, then?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “We’re at Grandma’s weekly bonfire, and I heard Garrett and Angela talking about Davis accusing you of stealing something, that maybe you’ll be staying with them for a while, and next thing I knew… here I am.”

“Ah, the infamous Hutton grapevine,” I say, my laugh thin and brittle.

Nick sighs, the sound heavy with regret. “I don’t even know what to say to you, Charlie. I just… I wanted to check in. Make sure you’re okay.”

The silence between us is thick, heavy with all the things we’re not saying.

“I’m fine,” I say, the words automatic.

“Are you?”

“No.”

The admission slips out before I can stop it, and the raw honesty of it hangs between us.

Nick’s voice softens. “You don’t have to be.”

I said the same damn thing to him at the hospital. You don’t have to be fine, Nick. It’s okay to let your guard down, to lean on me…

Another pause, this one heavier than the last, while I choke on emotion. There’s laughter in the background, voices calling for Nick to rejoin the bonfire.

“I should probably get going,” he says, his voice reluctant.

“Don’t keep them waiting on my account. And, Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling.”

I shake my head and meet my eyes through the mirror hanging on the back of my closet door. How many versions of me have stood here, searching her reflection? A little girl, making goofy faces. An adolescent tugging at unruly curls and a t-shirt that didn’t fit quite right. A teenager, trying on dresses before her first date with the guy down the street. And now a woman, sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes gleaming, smile bright.

What reason do I have to look so happy?