Chapter 31 – Chrissy
Chapter
Thirty-One
CHRISSY
I woke up with my cheek stuck to the pillow and my eyes raw from crying myself dry.
The apartment was too quiet for me now, after spending time at the hunting lodge.
There was no fire crackling, no low voices of staff members in the halls, no scarred man watching me from across the room with that intense, unreadable stare.
There was only the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic rumbling down Hospital Street and Highway 59.
I sat up slowly and my head throbbed from the movement.
The stack of paid bills on the nightstand looked like trophies from a war I wish II’d never had to fight.
Hospice upgrade. Credit cards zeroed out.
Rent six months ahead. Every single debt I had was cleared, all courtesy of the man who’d shattered me and then handed me the means to rebuild anyway.
I hated that I’d had to handle it with money that felt tainted…
like blood money, money for the way Ben had fucked me, and every other way he’d used me during the Game.
It was heartbreak money, at best, a consolation prize for shattering my heart into a million pieces with his lies and bullshit.
I rubbed my eyes hard enough to see stars. I couldn’t stay in this apartment all day long, breathing in silence and regret. I needed to see the one person who had never once made me feel like I had to earn her love. I needed Granny Irene.
I threw on jeans, a hoodie, and boots, grabbed my keys, and headed for the one place that had never asked me to be anything but exactly who I was.
On the drive from Stonewood to Bayview Hospice, I turned the radio up to a deafening volume and screamed along with an emo anthem that came out when I was in middle school, but felt eerily appropriate for what had happened in my life over the past week.
Bayview Hospice smelled like bleach and lavender lotion, the same as always. Usually the smell was nauseating, but today it felt like a lifeline.
“Morning, Chrissy,” the receptionist said, voice soft. Her eyes flicked over my face and lingered. “You okay, hon?”
“Fine,” I lied. “Just need to see her.”
“She’s having a good morning. The new room seems to be treating her well.”
I managed a nod and headed down the hall, my boots echoing too loud on the polished tile floor.
The private suite was bright and warm. Bright winter sunlight flooded the room from the bay window, spilling across her mauve bedding, and her favorite afghan that I’d crocheted her a couple of Christmases ago folded neatly over the chair.
Photos on the dresser. Everything arranged like someone had taken care with her comfort.
There she was, propped up against pillows, her silver hair brushed smooth, wearing her rosy pink lipstick like armor. She’d been wearing that very same shade for as long as I could remember. I used it, too, because it reminded me of Granny Irene.
Her hazel eyes lit up the second she saw me.
“Well, there’s my Chrissy-girl.” Her voice was thin but strong. “Come here before I get out of this bed and drag you into a bear hug.”
I crossed the room and let her pull me into a hug that was fiercer than her frail arms should’ve allowed. She smelled like vanilla and lavender and every good memory I’d ever had.
She leaned back, studied my face, and frowned.
“Lord, baby. You look like someone wrung you out and hung you up wet.”
I tried to smile, but failed spectacularly.
“It’s just been a really rough week,” I muttered.
She patted the bed.
“Sit. You’re not leaving until you tell me what fool man put that look on your face.”
I arched a brow at her.
“How do you know it was a man that has me in such a mess?”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, even as she gave me a wry smile.
“I’ve been on this earth a lot of years, Chrissy-girl. I know what man trouble looks like when I see it.”
I dropped onto the bed beside her and took her hand like it was the only thing keeping me anchored.
“It’s… complicated, to say the least.”
I fought the urge to blush as memories of my time with Ben bubbled to the surface of my mind.
Honestly, there was no way I could explain this situation to my grandmother without sounding like both a slut and a complete lunatic because part of me had enjoyed the blindfolded punishment and reward sessions with Ben just as much as I’d enjoyed that one special night of lovemaking with ‘Jacob’.
“Men usually are.” She squeezed my fingers. “But judging by that blush on your face, I don’t need to know all the details, so maybe tell me the church-appropriate version, instead.”
A broken laugh escaped me.
“How do you always know everything?”
“Because I’ve lived long enough to recognize heartbreak when it walks in wearing my favorite granddaughter’s face.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Don’t let Alice hear you say that. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
Granny clicked her tongue and patted my hand.
“Alice is a spoiled brat, and she has a whole lot to learn about life, sweetheart. Don’t get me wrong. She’s my granddaughter and I love her, but I call it like I see it.”
“You’re not wrong,” I exhaled shakily.
“Being right is a grandmother’s prerogative. Now, stop stalling and tell me what happened.”
“He lied to me,” I whispered. “About everything. Who he was. Why he wanted me close. He built this whole… elaborate game… just to get me in his orbit. Watched me for years. Pretended to be someone else so I’d let him in. The list goes on.”
Granny didn’t flinch. She just listened, thumb stroking slow circles over my knuckles like she’d done when I was little and afraid of storms.
“Cut straight to the heart of the problem, baby girl. Tell me the part that has you looking like a puffy-eyed train wreck.”
“I fell for the man he pretended to be,” I said. “And I fell for the real him too, even when he scared me… and I think I hate that most of all. He pretended to be two completely different people, played me like a fiddle, and I wanted both of them.”
She was quiet for a long moment.
“Did he hurt you, Chrissy?”
“No.” The word came out fierce. “Not physically, not really. He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do, at the time.
Besides that, he protected me when it mattered.
Risked his life for me, even, but my life wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if it weren’t for him and his stupid Game.
But… his lies and manipulation still broke something inside me. ”
I couldn’t tell her about the barn, the shovel, the blood on the icy concrete floor. Some truths were too ugly for this room, and as strange as it seemed, I didn’t want her to think badly of Ben for killing the men who’d tried to hurt me.
“Have you considered that maybe he wasn’t pretending to be someone else… that maybe he was showing you two different sides of himself, and that’s why you wanted them both?”
“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t matter. I told him I never wanted to see him again, and he let me go,” I said instead. “He gave me the prize money I would have gotten if I’d won his game and told me I was free, like that was supposed to make everything that had happened between us okay.”
Granny’s lips pressed together.
“You’re not really angry that he lied to you or manipulated you, baby girl.”
“Um… I’m pretty sure those things are exactly what I’m mad about, Granny,” I argued.
“No, they’re not. What you’re really mad about is the fact that he didn’t fight for you, or chase you down and try to make it right.
I can read you like an open book, baby girl, and what you’re really stuck on is wondering: if he really wanted me as badly as he claimed, why didn’t he fight to keep me?
You have wounds around feeling unwanted because your parents both worked 24/7 when you were a kiddo and left me to raise you for them, and those wounds have you feeling like if you really meant so much to him, he’d fight for you. Tell me I’m wrong, I dare you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the only thing that came out was an indignant squeak that turned into a half-choked sob.
“I can’t.”
“I know you can’t.” Granny smiled and patted my hand. “Sometimes the only honest thing a scared man knows how to do is step out of the way and stand down.”
“That’s not enough,” I snapped, my anger flaring. “I deserved the truth from the start, and if he couldn’t give me that, he could have at least fought for another chance with me.”
“You did, and you still do,” she agreed without hesitation. “You deserve honesty and safety and someone who chooses you every day, even when it’s hard. But love isn’t always fair, baby. Sometimes it’s both stubborn and blind.”
I looked away, my throat burning with the effort to contain all the conflicting emotions roiling inside me.
“You talk about him like someone you lost,” she said softly. “Not someone you escaped.”
Tears slipped free before I could stop them and I bit the inside of my cheek until I was sure my voice wouldn’t shake when I spoke.
“It feels like both,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“Anger and love share a bed more often than people like to admit.”
I huffed out a tearful laugh.
“That’s certainly one way of putting it.”
“When you talk about the man he pretended to be, your face goes soft,” she went on. “And when you talk about the real him — the one who scared you — your voice still shakes like you’re protecting something precious.”
I stared at our joined hands. The faux emerald and silver ring caught the light… his mother’s ring. I still hadn’t taken it off my ring finger.
“I don’t know if I can trust him,” I said quietly.
“Then don’t trust him yet,” she said simply. “Trust what you felt when the masks were off. Trust your own heart. It’s stronger than you give it credit for.”
Silence settled between us, soft and heavy. She narrowed her eyes at me, then asked the question I’d been running from for the entire conversation.
“If he walked through that door right now,” she said quietly, “would your anger or your heart speak first?”
My breath caught. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out because I knew the answer.
Granny smiled and it was small, sad, and far too knowing.
“That’s what I thought.”
I dropped my head, tears dripping onto the blanket.
“I can’t just forget what he did,” I whispered.
“No one’s asking you to,” she said. “But before you decide this story’s over, ask yourself if you really want it to be, or not.”
I stayed until she dozed off, then kissed her forehead and slipped out.
The drive home was a blur. By the time I let myself into the lobby at my apartment building, the emotional exhaustion had settled into my bones like wet cement.
I turned the corner to my hall and froze.
Alice was sitting on the floor outside my door, arms crossed over her knees, looking pissed off as a wet cat.
“Finally,” she snapped, standing up. “Mrs. Henderson down the hall said you got back yesterday. Where the hell have you been? And don’t give me that ‘work retreat’ bullshit. Mom and Dad are freaking out. Are you coming to Christmas Eve or not?”
I stared at my little sister and momentarily considered slapping her hard enough to spin her head around backwards. The weight of the day — of the week — crashed down on me all at once and I realized I was fresh out of fucks to give about what my parents and sister wanted from me.
“No,” I said flatly.
Alice blinked at me like I was speaking in tongues.
“What?”
“No. I’m not coming.”
She scoffed.
“You can’t just bail on family Christmas because you’re in a shitty mood, Chrissy. Everyone wants to see you.”
“Everyone wants to see me?” I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter.
“No. I’ll tell you what everyone actually wants.
Everyone wants me to show up, smile, and pretend everything’s fine while I pay for Granny’s hospice care all by my goddamn self?
While I work insane hours on my mediation cases because Mom and Dad are cheap pieces of shit, who want her to come home because it costs less, but they don’t want to care for her, and they don’t really care whether or not Granny gets the level of care she deserves?
While I’m the only person in this entire fucking family stepping up for the woman who stepped up and raised their oldest daughter for them? Fuck that.”
Alice’s mouth opened, then closed.
“That’s not—”
“It’s exactly that,” I cut in, my voice shaking with barely contained rage. “I’m done. The only family I’m spending Christmas with is Granny Irene, because she actually treats me like family. Unlike you, Mom, and Dad.”
Alice recoiled like I’d slapped her, then immediately locked into defensive mode.
“You’re being dramatic,” she muttered.
“No,” I said, unlocking the door. “I’m being honest, which is something this family’s never been great at, by the way.”
I stepped inside and shut the door in her stunned face. The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have. I leaned back against the door and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, head in my hands.
The silence wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed. I don’t know how long I sat there before I noticed the plain white envelope someone had slid under the door.
No stamp. No address. Just my name typed in clean font.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
Inside was a single brass key and a small, folded note on heavy Old Stonewood Hunting Lodge stationery.
The message was typed and efficient to the point of being terse.
When you’re ready, check the East wing study. Top drawer, right side.
—H
Henry. My heart slammed against my ribs. I stared at the key like it was a live wire.
“I should throw it away,” I declared to my empty apartment. “I should tear the note up and burn the pieces.”
Instead, I closed my fist around the key until the teeth bit into my palm.
Five days. He had five days left before his stepmother returned to take everything away from him, and Henry — quiet, loyal Henry — was reaching out to me.
I didn’t know what was in that drawer, but for the first time since I walked out, the idea of going back to the lodge didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like the only way to get answers. Maybe even the only way to decide if this story was truly over.
I slipped the key into my pocket.
Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.