Chapter 4
FOUR
Alex
Beige hills. Jolt. Bump. Screech. Brakes engage, jostling the small aircraft.
The sun is just beginning to crest the beige hills as we touchdown, and the acid in my stomach is in overdrive at the sight.
I’m facing the music this morning. It’ll be the first stop I make.
Telling Britain means she’ll immediately turn around and tell Jess. And then, I’ll spend the rest of my life with this phantom heart banging around inside my chest. Beating for someone who isn’t mine.
“Are you okay?” She always uses the softest voice with me. I noticed that. I noticed she uses an almost harsh voice when talking to Blanks, putting him in his place. It makes me like her a little bit more.
Not that I like her. I don’t know her. I’m not even attracted to her. Sure, she’s pretty, maybe even gorgeous, but it’s not it for me. Emma would never be her. And I was pretty sure that was it for me.
I give a tight-lipped smile and say, “I’m fine. We just need to make one stop first.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says back, and I can feel Blanks watching the interaction from the periphery, sitting by himself in the back of the plane.
Emma had chosen the seat right across from mine.
She even asked to hold my hand during takeoff because, “I’ve never really flown before,” and I did.
And it wasn’t horrible, but I’ll make no plans of repeating it.
If we ever fly together again, I’ll ask one of the crew to do it.
But after bailing on her last night, it felt especially asshole-ish to deny her.
“Where are we?” Emma strains her neck, looking out the window. But there’s no airport, no signage, just 360 degrees of foothills, a landing strip, and a nondescript hangar.
“San Joaquin Valley. Private airfield.” If I tell her Prather, is she gonna know where that’s at? No.
When I started building the house in Spearhead, I purchased the closest airfield I could find.
It would still take us 30 minutes to drive up the mountain, but it was better than going to a public airport and then driving an hour home each time I needed to travel.
It’s even closer to Brit’s house on Robles.
Disembarking the plane, I’m reminded how light Emma is traveling. She probably doesn’t own a single thing warm enough to be in Spearhead. That point is made clear when we stand on the tarmac, and she shivers in the early morning chill.
She’s dressed in jeans, a vintage Van Halen tee, and a thin sweatshirt over top. I’m curious to know what shit storm she weathered that left her in such dire straits, but also, I can’t bring myself to ask. And I probably never would.
The one-woman crew and pilot say goodbye to Emma, and then I lead her toward the hangar where Blanks and I are parked. The keys are still hanging just inside the entrance, and I can hear Caleb groan when he sees I left the Jeep for him.
“Your heat doesn’t even work, man!” he yells at me. And I shrug because I don’t give a fuck.
“Can’t have Emma in the Jeep. Safety thing,” is all I say, and he immediately shuts up, ripping the keys off the hook and briskly walking past Emma and me towards the vintage pile of metal.
That’s all it is. Just a couple pieces of metal forming a box with wheels and a couple seats. There aren’t even seat belts.
Jesus, driving around in a deathtrap had been just another cry for help, but no one seemed to have an issue with it. And so I kept on driving it. People think I’m oddly attached to it like it’s my baby, but it’s not. It’s just another way I’ve tempted fate over the years.
“So, we’ll drive in this car?” Emma asks, pointing towards Blanks’ Maybach.
I nod, and she opens the passenger door to drop her purse.
She starts to walk towards me to help with her duffle, but she’s fucking stupid if she thinks I need help with the lightest, and also saddest, weekend bag I’ve ever seen.
I shake my head at her approach, and she retreats, slipping into the front passenger seat to wait.
I’m doing it. Really fucking doing it.
I stand, staring at the trunk, buying myself a couple more minutes, but Blanks honks his horn, and reality slams back into me.
‘Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t come visit.’
The message is clear.
The message has been received.
Sitting in the front seat, with Emma beside me, looking happy to be here, I pull out onto the highway and think of nothing but long, dark hair, hazel eyes, and her words for the entire drive.
Emma
Alexander retreated. Like he couldn’t get far enough away from me in the small space.
So badly, I want to reach out and soothe him. Somehow. A touch, even a knowing glance. But I don’t. I turn my head in the opposite direction and look out the window at the changing landscape. It affords him some privacy and gives me a glimpse at what this place is like.
He said lake house, but I still didn’t know if that’s where we’re going right now.
I don’t need to know, though. That’s the thing about having nothing to lose; you have the freedom to do crazy, stupid shit because stakes are low. Almost as low as my expectations.
As the altitude rises, the roads turn windy, and we slow down to maneuver the steep curves and narrowing lanes.
Even with the windows rolled up, blocking the December morning chill, I can practically feel the change in the air.
Smell it, too. It’s earthy and damp. Fresh.
Like a Christmas tree lot where all the trees are still alive.
So, I guess it’s like a Christmas tree farm, which is basically just a forest. So the forest smells like a forest. You’re using all your brain cells today, aren’t you, Em?
The landscape is changing, too. The hills’ light brown, dry dirt is being swapped with rich-looking chocolate soil spotted with dried pine needles and moss.
We even pass a few meadows that still have tall green grasses growing even though it’s December.
I wonder what they look like in June when everything here blooms?
Probably beautiful. Probably like actual heaven.
Inhaling deeply, I lean back against the heated leather seat. This is going to be my life. Maybe only for a short time, but still. This is already more than I anticipated. Way more.
I might actually be sad when this ends. Maybe not because of Alexander, but because all this would be gone. Though, with the divorce settlement, I’ll probably be able to afford to live here by myself, and that thought is exhilarating.
Finding a job that allows me the option to work from home, a small cabin nestled in the woods. I’ll start each morning with a coffee on the porch, watching the deer graze through my backyard and —
“I have to go talk to my sister really quick. I’ll be right back.” Alexander interrupts the fantasy but stops before he’s fully out of the car. “Just promise you’ll stay in the car?” I nod.
“Of course,” I say, punctuating it with a smile.
But he doesn’t even look at me, walking briskly towards the large mountain home we’re parked in front of.
This isn’t a lake house. This is a lake mansion.
Lake estate even? I don’t know what I expected, but it hadn’t been this.
I mean, I should have. After we got on a private jet and flew to a private airfield, I should have expected Alexander and his family to live like this, but I didn’t. Because I couldn’t.
My poor-person brain had limits. I couldn’t fathom how actually wealthy people live.
I’ve never seen anything like this before. The large house is modern yet blends with the surrounding mountains. It’s massive, with a separate building for the garage and a guest house over it.
Would I be living in a guest house, too? I haven’t really thought about it. I haven’t thought about where I would sleep…at all.
Movement in front of me draws my eyes up to see a woman padding down the guest house stairs, then faltering when she sees me sitting in the car. Her face flashes with something like anguish, like she stepped on a nail, before she plasters on a tight smile, giving a small yet genuine wave.
I smile and wave back. Alexander’s sister? Maybe? Her hair is pretty dark, and she’s far more tan, but maybe they have different moms or dads. I’m pretty sure the woman he’s talking to at the main house is his sister, though.
That makes more sense. She has long-ish blonde hair, far more petite than Alexander, but with a fair complexion and a similar-looking face shape. I could see that more.
Just as quickly as the woman on the stairs appeared, she disappears, and Alexander is sliding back into his seat beside me.
“So that was your sister?” I ask him softly as he buckles his seat belt.
“Yeah.” His voice sounds…broken? Even more so?
“The one you were talking to? Or the one with short brown hair?” I ask, trying to clarify.
“The one I was talking to. The one with short brown hair is just some random friend that works for my sister.” Hmm…hard to tell, but it sounded like more bitter words have never been spoken.
“Oh, cool,” I say, not meaning it. Because everything about Alexander right now says: Not cool. Not fucking cool. Not even okay. I may never be okay. “Where are we headed now?” I ask, trying to gently draw his attention away from whatever just happened.
“Home,” is all he says. His tone doesn’t improve, but I accept it and don’t ask for more because, clearly, he can’t take much more.
Home, yay! I keep the thought internal because I…I don’t know what to expect, but the guarantee that it’s better than anywhere else I’ve lived before is obvious.
We drive towards the main strip of town before turning to drive up a different mountain road branching north of his sister’s house.
I only get a quick peek at the shops and restaurants that make up the small town, but it definitely doesn’t look overwhelming, or high brow, or somewhere I’ll feel out of place. And for that, I’m immensely grateful.