Chapter Twenty-Three Goldie
Chapter Twenty-Three
Goldie
“Golds, do you want to wake up? Mom made some food.”
I open my eyes as Evie sits next to where I’m lying on the couch, making the cushion depress. But I close them again just as fast because they’re immediately flooded with tears. My heart is so broken that being awake hurts.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“Oh, babe,” my sister hushes. She lays herself over me and wraps me in her arms as I cover my face to try and stop the crying.
They say time heals all wounds, but what happens if the cuts are so deep that there could never be enough days or weeks to make it go away?
Noah Adler—or Davis Keller—has shattered me, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.
“It hurts so much,” I eke out as she snuggles in closer, shifting her body to lie with me.
“I know,” she says gently as she just holds me, as if I’m the most fragile object she’s ever touched.
But I suppose I am. This isn’t just heartache. This is grief. Sorrow over a life I once dreamed of lost.
I don’t know how long I cry, but eventually I fall back to sleep, dreaming of the only thing I desperately want to forget—Noah, on one knee, asking me to marry him.
I’m awake. I don’t know if it’s day or night, but I hear hushed voices. This time I don’t risk opening my eyes, because I already know what happens when I do.
“You should call the adoption people, those detectives, and see if they can look into him,” my mom whispers.
“I don’t know if that’s what they do,” my dad responds.
“Stephen, this is your daughter,” she rushes out a little louder. “You saw the apartment.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Camilla. I am just as mad as you are. He’s clearly fucked up and someone none of us truly knew. Jesus, I gave him my damn blessing and he—”
Evie shushes them, and my heart begins to pick up pace. What happened at the apartment?
My chest begins to tremble because as ridiculous as it sounds, I don’t think I want to know any more information. I’m not sure I could handle it.
Still, somewhere back in the recesses of my mind, that headline pulses like a neon light.
But if the universe allows me any kindness, it’ll be to leave me in the goddamn dark and let me believe I loved someone who’d only lied about his name.
And not force me to admit I missed every red flag and fell for someone who . . .
I can’t even think it. I immediately push the thought away before it gets its claws in.
Fuck that article—it’s enough that I know we were a lie.
“Why do we need to find out more information about him?” Evie whispers. “We know enough. He lied about who he is for a year . . . I don’t care if he’s running from the law or wanted in several countries.”
“That’s exactly why we should dig. We’ll keep it between us,” my mom insists. “She could be in danger.”
My dad huffs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He’s probably just a grifter or a con man. I saw a documentary about this kind of stuff.”
“Oh my god, Dad,” Evie groans. “Regardless, I agree with Mom. Let’s keep this between the three of us. We can all agree she’s been through enough. And trust me, Mom, he’s not getting near her. It’ll be over my dead body. Or his.”
“Evie,” our mom admonishes.
“What? She’s destroyed, and that’s on him. So, RIP.”
“Agreed,” my father whispers too loudly again.
The thing I hate most about this conversation is the innate need I feel to defend Noah. Not Noah, Davis.
He lied, yet I still love him. I love him down to the depths of my bones, which makes me hate myself because I’m a traitor to my own self. That’s actually the worst part about his deceit. I’ve been left with nobody to trust, not even my own self.
I roll over and pull the blanket over my face. I gradually hear the conversation die before sleep takes me again.
“If you let me, I’ll spend Saturday afternoons trying to beat you at checkers and rainy days being your human coloring book. I’ll never watch past the last episode of any show we binge. And I’ll make it a point to kiss you silly every day of our lives.”
It’s two in the morning.
The only reason I know is because the first thing I did was check my phone when I woke up. I wish it hadn’t been to see if Noah had texted me or called, but it was. And he didn’t.
I sit up in bed, not remembering how I got here as I swallow hard because my throat’s so dry. My face shifts right to see my sister sleeping beside me, then to my left, where I see a bottle of water on the nightstand.
With a quiet exhale I pick it up. As I turn the cap, the crack feels louder than it is because of the silence, so I stop and try to twist it slower as I look over at Evie.
“I’m not sleeping,” she murmurs next to me.
“Sorry,” I whisper back.
Her eyes open as the blanket rustles. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back, trying to smile but only managing a momentary uptick of my lips.
Her brows lift as she eyes my water. “How about something stronger?”
I take a swig to revitalize my throat before I nod. “Yes, please.”
We both slip off the bed with her arm over my shoulders as we walk side by side, making our way through the bedroom and into the kitchen.
“Mom and Dad?” I ask. She leaves me to turn on the lights.
“Back at the hotel. You’ve been knocked out since we came back Monday.”
I pull a stool out from under her island. “What do you mean Monday? Isn’t that today . . . Or is it Tuesday now?” I almost start to look at my phone, but I left it back in the bedroom.
“Go-Go, we’re two a.m. on a Wednesday.” I stare back as the bottle of vodka clanks as she pulls it from her freezer.
“Fuck,” I breathe out as I realize the self-induced coma I put myself in.
She nods. “Yeah. I told them I’d take the night shifts because I figured when you came back to life, it might get a little messy.”
She pulls two short glasses out of her cabinet and pours two large shots.
I reach out, slide my drink across the granite, and wrap both my hands around it.
Exactly what I’m thinking tumbles out of my mouth because there’s no point in hiding anything from my sister.
She’s the one person who can see me for exactly who I am.
“How did I get here?”
She picks up her glass and takes a sip before saying, “Not because of anything you did.”
I’m staring at the dark swirls in the counter, feeling the ache in my chest that may never leave.
“Do you think he ever really loved me?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation.
I look up at her instantly, staring into her eyes to see if she’s lying. She isn’t.
“I do,” she presses. “I also think he lied because he felt he had to . . . But that doesn’t change the fact that he lied. And that makes him dangerous, Golds.”
I already know where she’s going with this, so I stop the hard sell.
“I heard the conversation earlier . . . between all of you. What happened at the apartment?”
She sips her drink again, looking away from me for a split second as if she doesn’t want to tell me.
“Evie . . .”
She lets out a harsh breath. “It was destroyed, like completely demolished. He broke all the furniture, ruined all your books. Just fucking wrecked it and left.”
I inhale a shaky breath before I bring the drink to my lips, instantly feeling the burn bleed over my chest.
“I’m sorry . . . Are you okay?” she pivots.
I nod and take another drink, clearing my throat. “So that’s why Mom and Dad were so adamant about looking into him . . . Because he lost it.”
“Yeah,” she breathes out. “And I think it’s a good idea . . . I mean, what do we really know about him? All we’re operating on is your revelation from the police, and the apartment . . . I don’t know, I think Mom’s right, he could be—”
I lift a hand to stop her. “Stop. Please. I can’t . . .”
My eyes start to well, which effectively quiets her. I should tell her about the article, but I can’t. I just can’t handle all the questions and the conversations right now.
“I don’t want to know any more about him, Eves.” My voice breaks. “It’s already too much . . . I just . . . not right now.”
Her hand covers mine as our eyes connect. “It’s okay, Golds . . . I got you. It’s on a need to know. I swear.”
I nod before taking a longer swig of my drink. I wish time would pause so I could get my feet under me because I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep standing against all the waves trying to pull me under.
“Listen,” she says, tapping the counter with her nail twice before her lips part. “Mom’s gonna try and convince you to come home with them tomorrow. She told me not to tell you.”
My head draws back as I scowl. “No. Absolutely not. I do not want to go and be treated like some broken child who needs more soup. I’m a grown woman . . .” I stand, making the chair scrape the floor, before I down the rest of the Grey Goose. “Dude, no. Why can’t I stay here with you?”
Her brows raise as her smile gets tight. “So, there’s a tiny problem with that . . . I have that work thing. I leave today—”
“Oh god.” My eyes spring open wider. “The scary sleepaway camp thing, right?”
“Yeah.” She nods, and my stomach turns.
No. I love my mother, but I can’t go through all of this in my old bedroom with posters of the Backstreet Boys on the wall. I can’t do it.
“Wait . . .” I blurt out. “Who cares? I’ll just stay and watch your place. What am I thinking? I can rot and cry alone while you’re gone.”
She shakes her head. “Dad made me promise not to leave you alone . . .”
“Lie. You do it all the time.”
She downs her drink before she looks at me. “Goldie, Noah’s—”
“Davis,” I say, cutting her off with caustic exaction.
She frowns, keeping her voice steady and gentle. “He knows where I live. I’m not leaving you alone here, vulnerable.”
I swallow hard because I get it. What she’s saying is true. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I didn’t ask, I ran. And now I’m left with every possibility. Then again, I’d be left with those anyway because everyone knows once a liar, always a liar.
“You have to choose, Golds. It’s either a blast to the past back at the parentals’ place or come with me to your worst nightmare.”
I groan as I sit back down, then drop my head down against my arms on the counter.
“I hate my life.”
Evie pets my head. “Look at it this way, there’s nothing really scarier than your real life, so my shit should be a walk in the park.”
“Okay,” I mumble, looking up before sliding my glass toward her so she can pour me another. “You realize I was going to be engaged by now, and instead I’m plotting how not to shit my pants for the next week.”
“Well.” She smirks, but it’s kind. “Then it’s already working, because you’re not thinking about him.”
God, I wish that were true.