Chapter 17
Seventeen
Kingston
I wait until after rush hour to leave for the beach house. I’m driving myself, giving Garth the day off. As I’m about to walk out the door, Ella sends me a text along with an image.
Holy fuck. The picture shows her tits, encased in a pale pink bra. Her face isn’t included, which is the only thing that would make this image better, but I realize that would be whole different level of trust. The fact she’s sending it at all, after what she went through with my son, says a lot.
The text beneath it reads, Good morning, Daddy .
Good morning, baby girl, I write back. I’m leaving in a minute, but you make me want to stay .
Her response is immediate. No, go to the beach house and bring Sebastian home.
I will. Thank you for the sexy picture .
You’re welcome, Daddy. I love you.
I love you, too, little one .
I scroll back up to feast my eyes on her picture. What a perfect little girl. Damn. Now I’m going to be hard the whole way to Mirarosa.
The winding coastal road helps take my mind off of my dick. It’s a work day—it’s not like I’d be fucking Ella right now, anyway. In a perfect world, we’d be getting off work at the same time and relaxing together every evening before falling into bed together at night.
And every weekend, we’d be visiting the beach house and fucking each other until we can’t move.
Finally, the ocean comes into view. I roll down my windows and allow the ocean breeze to move through the car.
I travel north along 101 until I hit the tiny coastal town of Mirarosa.
It boasts some nice restaurants for tourists, although the best place to eat is a tiny, family-owned Mexican restaurant far off the beaten path.
The town also holds the usual artsy gift shops, an upscale toy store, and the kind of saltwater taffy store that seems to be a staple among beach towns.
Just past the busy downtown area, I take a left down a road shaded by large Monterey cypress trees.
There in front of me, past a large gate, is the beach house Bash and I purchased a few years ago.
The idea was we’d always have a place to relax, outside of the demands of San Esteban, but we rarely make it out here.
Sebastian’s black Range Rover is in front of the house—he must have driven himself, too.
I climb out of my car and stretch, looking around the property and imagining Ella seeing it for the first time.
I think she’ll like it here, with the trees at one side of the house, blocking it from neighbors and the town, and then, far beyond a generous deck, the ocean.
The beach isn’t private, but we have a gated path of our own to reach it via a short hike.
I can just imagine her eye-roll if she thought we had a private beach. Little brat.
After letting myself into the house, I don’t have to look far to find Bash. He’s sprawled on one of the sofas in the living room, a black throw pillow over his eyes, probably there to block out the light.
“Kingston,” he says, keeping his face covered.
“Sebastian,” I say.
“Should’ve known you’d track me down eventually.”
“Yep.” I wait. Let him fill the silence. Let him apologize for creating the mess by not telling Ella everything, and then skipping town at the first sign of conflict.
“It’s really fucking hard to spiral with you standing there,” he says, moving the pillow and cracking an eye open to glower at me.
“Good.”
“I fucked up.”
“Many times,” I say.
“I’m not sure how to fix it.”
He sounds so miserable, I’m actually starting to feel sorry for him again. I push away the impulse. I felt sorry for him that night seven years ago, and I’ve felt sorry for him since. But right now, he needs some tough love. “Come back to San Esteban. Ella misses you.”
“She said it wasn’t okay with her. I’m staying put for a while.”
“You idiot. None of it’s okay with her, because…you know what? You can talk to her about it. But it was childish as fuck for you to just take off like that without talking it out.”
“Childish? She couldn’t stand to look at me, King. You were there.”
“No, she’s currently trying to bend over backwards to come up with reasons why you weren’t at fault for this.”
He sits up the rest of the way. “She is?”
“Yeah. She believes in you, and you’re out here hiding like a pouty teenager. I never bothered you about that night because you seemed to want to forget it. But now I think I should have pushed matters more.”
“I’ll think about coming back,” he says. “But what about Schrodinger?”
“Schrodinger?”
“Our new cat.”
I look around. There is no cat. “Is this a joke?”
He points to what I had thought was one of our black throw pillows. “There’s the cat.”
Holy shit. The throw pillow is breathing.
“Since when did you get a cat?” I ask.
He runs his fingers over the cat’s side. The beast turns halfway over, putting its front paws in the air.
“I think the better question,” Bash says, “is since when did the cat get me.”
Then it hits me. “What the fuck are you thinking, naming a cat Schrodinger?”
“There’s some philosophical question about whether the cat’s alive or dead, right? Schrodinger’s cat?”
Shaking my head, I say, “It was a thought experiment. And it’s twisted. Basically, there was a fifty-fifty chance of something happening and then a flask of poisonous gas would be let loose in the steel box—”
“Stop it,” Bash says. “Schrodinger shouldn’t hear the details.”
“The fuck?” He’s gone mad. “You’ve been alone here way too long, friend. Come home. Bring the stupid cat.”
“Dude! Don’t call him stupid.”
“Bring the…cat,” I amend.
“Do you want to come back to San Esteban with me?” Sebastian asks Schrodinger.
The cat starts purring.
“I don’t think I even know you anymore,” I say to Bash.
He just shrugs. “He’ll win you over, too, like he did me. It’s only a matter of time.”
Ignoring that nonsense, I say, “When are you coming back?”
“I need a little more time.” He looks grim, like he’s facing an executioner. “I’ll drive back later today, maybe, or tomorrow.”
“I’m going to tell Ella that you’re coming. You have to swear it.”
“You want me to pinky promise?” His voice is pure snark.
“If Ella were here, you’d do it.”
Looking troubled, he asks, “Why didn’t she come?”
I sigh. “She has work. And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t know whether you were going to be an asshole about talking to me, or not.”
“You were protecting her…from me.”
“Not like that, don’t be so melodramatic. She misses you, okay? She wants to talk to you, and she said, and I quote, that you can’t just disappear whenever a problem comes to the surface. She wants to talk to you when you’re both calm. You never gave her a chance.”
“But she’s gotta hate me.”
“She’s been texting you, you idiot.”
“Probably to break up with me.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Are you really so freaked out about one night in the past that you can’t believe that the people who love and care about you would forgive you?”
He frowns, his gaze darting to the side.
Of course he’s that freaked out. He hasn’t forgiven himself—why would he even imagine anyone else could forgive him?
“Just, come back to San Esteban, okay?” I say.
“Yeah. I will.”
The cat stretches its chin for Sebastian to scratch, and I shake my head. But Bash is coming home, and we’re going to figure everything out. Ella hasn’t dismissed him entirely, so I know there’s a good chance of this working.
If nothing else, the cat will be happy.
Ella
One hour. I have one hour before I need to leave my apartment to go to Bartleby’s.
I fling myself onto my couch, not even bothering to remove my maid uniform. It’s more comfortable than the tight jeans I’ll be wearing to the pub, anyway.
I check my phone. No new message from Kingston. I want to know what happened with Sebastian.
I’m sure he’ll let me know as soon as he can.
In the meantime, I should rest before I go to Bartleby’s.
My heart gives an extra pump of fear at the thought.
All day, I’ve been dreading a return to that part of Bellefleur.
I don’t want to walk past the entrance to that dark alley.
I hate that I’m a little afraid to go there.
The Bellefleur is just as safe around my apartment as it is on Bartleby’s block.
What happened last night could’ve easily happened right outside my building.
But it didn’t.
I’m okay, though. That asshole didn’t hurt me, he just scared me. And I kicked him in the nuts so hard, he’s probably still hurting. At least, I hope he is.
And will I be on my guard from now on when I leave work? You betcha. No texting while I walk, no daydreaming about my boyfriends. My entire focus will be on my own safety.
My phone vibrates with a text and I rush to look at it. But it isn’t Kingston, it’s Tommy.
I want to talk to you, Ella. I’m sorry .
I can’t deal with my brother right now. But I miss him. Dammit, this is the worst.
I’m not ready to talk , I type back. I understand you’re sorry, but I’m just not ready. Please give me some time .
He doesn’t respond, but someone rings the buzzer. No. He didn’t. I push the button for the intercom. Tommy’s voice comes through, scratchy and weak.
“Ella, come on, I really want to talk to you.”
“I’m on my way out,” I say.
No way am I letting him up here—he’ll never leave. I throw on some clothes for the pub. After tugging on my coat because the day is chilly, I grab my bag and head downstairs.
Tommy’s waiting outside. Thank goodness for the landlord fixing the door and getting the buzzer working properly, otherwise Tommy would’ve been waiting in the hall right outside my apartment, and I’d never get him out of my hair.
“Tommy, I literally just said I’m not ready to talk.”
He looks better than the last time I saw him—he’s wearing clean clothes, at least, and his hair looks washed. He doesn’t have that same furtive, scared look about him, like a dog waiting to be kicked.
“I know,” he says, his blue eyes wide and guileless, “but I feel really bad and I want to make up, put it all behind us.”
I glare at him. “I’m the one who was wronged—shouldn’t I get to decide when it’s time to ‘put it all behind us’?”
“But it’s been almost a week,” he says. “Come on, Ella—”
“No, Tommy.” My eyes prick with tears. “I’m still so angry at you, I want to cry.”
He could easily be playing another angle. And I hate—I absolutely loathe—that I could believe that of my own brother. But after everything else he’s done, my suspicion isn’t much of a stretch.
“I have to get to work,” I say, telling a lie of my own. I have another half hour at least before I need to leave for Bartleby’s. But the fact I have work, at least, Tommy will respect.
Probably because me earning money is the only chance he has of ever getting it.
Wow, the snark is strong in my brain today.
“You could quit your job, couldn’t you?” he says. “Because you’re with that rich guy. He’d take care of you—he could afford it. I looked him up.”
“That is none of your business,” I say. “Just because he’s my boyfriend, doesn’t mean I’m going to take his money. You need to learn proper boundaries, Tommy.”
He shrugs. “Just saying, you could ease up a little bit, with his help. Hell, you could probably quit everything and do whatever the hell you want.”
“Go home,” I say. “I’m leaving, and so should you.”
I walk past him, down the steps, and to the bus stop. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me.
Sebastian
I shouldn’t have much to pack because I came here on a whim, but Schrodinger has enough gear for both of us.
The cat tree I had rush-delivered so he’d stop tearing apart the sofas, a twenty-pound bag of cat food, his litter box, the litter, the scooper, and a cat carrier… with Schrodinger inside of it.
I peer in through the mesh panel of the carrier. “Sorry, big guy. But if you stay here, no one will be around to feed you.”
He hisses.
Fair enough.
I can’t wait to see what he does when I take him to his vet appointment later this week.
For some reason, caring for this ungrateful beast has helped take my focus off of my own shitty problems. But even before that, King showing up and telling me that Ella hasn’t completely written me off—well, that gave me more hope than anything else. I can get through anything if Ella’s at my side.
And if she’s okay with it, I’m going to go public with my story.
It’s a cautionary tale not only for people who could be harmed, but for people like me, who get out of control and do the harming.
What if I hadn’t gotten clean? What if my addiction ruled me?
Compared to others in Alcoholics Anonymous, my battle with addiction has been laughably easy.
I see others struggling, and I don’t know how I got so lucky.
I turn on some music while I drive, pointed in the direction of San Esteban. I’m ready to face my past so I can fix my future.
Schrodinger wails the entire way, earsplitting music of his own.