Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
CHRISTINE
Casey wails and kicks as hard as he can against the back of my seat. “Please don’t make me go. Please .”
My hands ache from how tightly I’m gripping the steering wheel even though we’re parked. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I hope he can’t see them past my sunglasses.
I stare up at the mansion I called home for seven years with a mountain of dread sitting in the pit of my stomach.
“Casey,” I start, my voice gentle, but that just makes him cry harder.
“I want to stay with you!”
A very small, very petty version of myself finds a bit of satisfaction in that, but I shove her down. Especially knowing why Casey isn’t champing at the bit to see his dad the way he used to. According to the nanny, there was an…incident last time. One that resorted in Julian snapping and screaming in Casey’s face—to “shut the hell up” I believe were his exact words—which, of course, left Casey sobbing, inconsolable, and then he hid somewhere no one could find him for over an hour. All because Julian had an oh-so-important work call.
I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out of the car. Even once outside, his screams are plain as day. I suck in a deep breath before opening his door. His face is bright red from all the screaming, and tears cover his chubby little cheeks.
“Casey,” I try again, my voice firmer. “Sweetheart, it’s just for the weekend.”
“No!” He resumes his kicking.
“Your dad even said he’d take you up to a Phillies game?—”
“ I. Don’t. Want. To! ”
I sigh and look around helplessly. The fact of the matter is, I don’t want to leave him here with Julian any more than he wants to go. But the custody agreement is what it is. And the last thing I want to do is piss off Julian enough for him to retaliate and do something crazy—like try to get full custody to spite me.
Justified or not, I know without a doubt he’d succeed. He has every person in this town, and probably even farther than that, in his pocket.
We wouldn’t stand a chance.
My stomach roils at the thought of it.
“He hired Nanny Dina back, remember? She’s fun to play with, isn’t she? And I’m sure she’ll let you call me every day. And the pool is open! Don’t you miss the pool?”
He looks up at me with round, pitiful eyes, and my heart feels like it’s splitting clean down the middle.
But he’s not screaming anymore.
The timing, admittedly, is beneficial with the mold scare. At least this gets Casey out of the house, and since Liam and Gracie are in the city this weekend, they offered to let me take their apartment for the next few days. If the cleanup ends up taking longer than that, I guess we’ll have to ride it out in a hotel again.
Because as tempting as it is to take Fletcher up on his guest room offer…I can’t. I shouldn’t.
This—whatever this is—is so new. Talk about getting too comfortable leaning on him. And that feels like…well, that feels like the type of offer my mother would jump on.
I don’t know if Casey is coming around to the idea or if he’s just worn himself out, but I lean into the car to grab his overnight bag.
When he climbs out of the car, he crosses his arms over his chest and won’t look at me. I offer my hand, but he ignores it and takes off toward the front door.
I pinch my lips together to keep them from wobbling, throw the bag over my shoulder, and follow after him.
My phone buzzes as I climb back into the car.
A picture of Casey’s room appears. I zoom in on the ceiling, but you can’t even tell there had been a hole.
That, at least, is one fewer disaster in my life.
Fletcher: good as new
Christine: Thank you. Really.
Fletcher: Good news on the mold too. Sounds like they’ll be able to wrap it up before the end of the weekend. You guys should be good to come back on Monday!
Fletcher: …how’d the drop-off go with Casey?
My shoulders slump as the tears start up again.
Christine: He hates me for making him go. And his dad’s not even here. I had to leave him with the nanny.
Fletcher: Let me buy you a drink
I frown and tap my fingers against the side of the phone. It’s one thing if people see me sitting at the bar while he’s working…but seeing us together…
Fletcher: And by that I mean let me get a bottle and you can drink it at my place
Considering the alternative is I go to Liam’s place and cry and drink by myself…
Fletcher: I have snacks too
I laugh and shake my head.
Christine: Make it a Riesling.
Fletcher: I know :)
“Okay, so, give me the tour. And I need full commentary.”
Fletcher passes me a glass of wine over the generous kitchen island, which is a beautiful dark quartz. I haven’t been able to stop staring at it since I walked in the door. The entire kitchen, really. The touches are understated, nothing too flashy, but it’s clear everything was meticulously chosen, from the hardware to the cabinets to the light fixtures.
In the Brooks household, I always had the feeling I was in a museum. The kitchen looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant with a full staff—everything bright and shiny and top-of-the-line.
Fletcher’s is…cozy. And warm. Inviting.
“Do you have before and after pictures?” I add.
He smiles as he pours himself a glass. “I do…”
There’s something bashful about the way he slides his phone to me. I pace to the spot the kitchen ends and the living room begins and hold up the phone to see them side by side.
“Oh! You took out this whole wall.”
He nods.
I spin around. The space for the kitchen table is twice as big now and feeds directly into the living space. It also lets in the light from the back windows more.
The kitchen in the before picture is an assaulting, pitiful thing. Pink paint with rooster wallpaper, outdated appliances, and the laundry was right next to the stove. The lights are so warm-toned they cast an ugly yellow tint to everything. I squint from the phone to the room around me again, almost getting hit with a wave of vertigo.
“This can’t be the same house,” I decide.
He laughs and paces to my side. “Did consider keeping the roosters though.”
“ You did all of this?”
He smirks and swipes to the next picture, this one of the living room. “You sound so surprised.”
I turn around to compare. The change here is less drastic—though he did swap out the light fixtures, and the paint and hardwood flooring look new.
“No, I’m…impressed.” That doesn’t even feel like a strong enough word. I’m in awe. I turn to him with a wide smile. “Show me more?”
“These look the most different. Mainly just updated everything else. Though I did knock a few other walls down so I could separate the laundry and make the primary bedroom bigger.” He offers the hand not holding his wine, then guides me toward the sliding glass doors at the back of the kitchen. “The deck is new though. Everything else out here is a work in progress, obviously.”
I actually gasp as we step outside. Gorgeous deep wood curves around the back of the house beneath a pergola. It’s large enough for two chairs, an outdoor sofa, and fire pit to sit on one side, and there’s a dining set and swing on the other.
A few steps lead down to the yard full of half-finished projects.
“I see you’re doing some landscaping.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, my mom’s helping me out with that. It’s kind of her specialty. She’s going a little overboard, but she’s been so excited about it, so I don’t have the heart to rein her in.”
It looks like they’re making a stone walkway from the deck to the opposite side of the yard.
“What’s going to be over there?” I ask, pointing.
“Some kind of water feature, I think. It gets good shade from the trees over there, so probably another sitting area. Then we’ll do some plants along the sides here.”
“I think it’s nice that you and your mom are so close.” I venture to the other side of the deck and test out the couch. Ugh , it’s even more comfortable than it looks.
The houses around here tend to be squished pretty closely together, but the amount of foliage offers a nice sense of privacy. Better than the yard at our house, by far. We have the view of the ocean going for us, but it’s clear the previous owner didn’t put much effort into maintaining it. And sitting out there makes me feel like a bug under a microscope on display for the neighbors. The same feeling I have everywhere I go these days, to be honest.
The kind of feeling that makes me want to hole up in the house and close all the blinds to salvage whatever peace I can get.
Fletcher’s hand brushes my knee, and I blink. I hadn’t realized he followed me over here.
“Where’d you go?” he murmurs.
I force a smile and shake my head. “Just thinking about how much work our yard needs in comparison.”
I can tell by the look in his eye that he doesn’t quite buy it, but he lets it go and turns to the fire pit. “Want this on?”
“ Please .”
I tuck my knees into my chest and make myself comfortable on the sofa as Fletcher kneels and messes around with something on the other side of the fire pit until it ignites.
“Are you as close with your dad as you are with your mom?” I ask.
He bobs his head and slides into the seat next to me. “He’s been busy with one of their flips, so he hasn’t been around as much lately, but yeah. He’s…” A smile rises to his face. “He’s a real softy.”
I try to imagine it, having not one, but two parents you actually liked. Who liked you back. And I just…can’t. My brain goes entirely blank.
Fletcher pulls one of my legs across his lap and leaves his hand on my ankle. “You wanna talk about today?”
I twist my mouth to the side, my nose burning with the threat of tears as I remember the sound of Casey’s cries in the car. Desperate, pleading with me not to leave him. I can’t even blame him if he ends up looking at me like the bad guy in all of this.
Julian can talk a big game all he wants about spending time with his son, but I know what the reality will be. Julian will do what Julian always does—he’ll go about his usual schedule, and Casey will wait around for any scrap of attention he’ll throw him, wondering why he’s not good enough for more than a few seconds of his time.
It was easier to shield Casey from it when I was in the house too, to distract him.
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” I whisper.
Fletcher strokes his thumb along my leg. “It’s new. The divorce, the custody—it’ll take some getting used to for everyone.”
“I just don’t want him to feel let down by the both of us.” I sniff and swipe my hand under my nose. “You know what? Actually, I don’t want to think about this anymore. Talk to me about something else.”
Fletcher’s eyebrows pinch together in concern, but all he says is “Like what?”
“Like…tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
A corner of his mouth kicks up, and he runs his hands up and down my legs. “I feel like you know a lot.”
I shrug and finish off my wine. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
He hums and leans his head back like he’s thinking hard about it. But then he gets this wide, goofy smile on his face. “My mom got a dog. His name’s Charlie. He has a lazy eye and he’s the size of a horse. She just showed up at my house with him one day out of nowhere.”
That was the first thing that popped into his head? He’s trying to lighten the mood , I realize. And it works. I laugh at the sheer randomness of it. “Is she always like that? Impulsive?”
He thinks about it for a second, then chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so. She just does her own thing.”
“She sounds fun.”
“That’s a good word for her. She’s just…happy. Happiest person I think I’ve ever met.” He juts his chin at my empty wineglass. “Another?”
I smile and offer it to him.
He heads inside for the bottle, and I close my eyes, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the gentle roar of the fire.
Once he’s back and both of our glasses are refilled, he says, “Does this mean I get to ask you something now?”
I roll my head to the side to look at him. “I guess fair’s fair.”
He searches my face, as if debating his next words. But then something shifts behind his eyes, like he decided against whatever it was. Instead, he says, “I hear you throw a hell of a party. So when do I get to see you in action?”
I smirk. “Well, I actually am helping Gracie with something for next weekend. Do you want to come?”
“Would that…be okay?”
“I don’t mean with me, obviously,” I say quickly. “It’s for a friend of hers who’s from out of town, and Gracie wants her to get to know some people around here. A lot of people you know will be there—like Liam and Asher, and Gracie’s brother. It’s a pretty open guest list.”
His eyes search mine. “But you’ll be there?”
I nod.
His smile softens. “Then absolutely.”
Hours pass like minutes as we drink and talk and soak in the last moments of the day. The sun sets, and Fletcher has to replace the propane tank to keep the fire going, but still, we don’t go inside. We break out a second bottle of wine, and the later it gets, the closer I inch toward him on the couch without really meaning to. We add a blanket into the mix at some point, and he keeps my legs draped over his lap, his hands never breaking contact with me in one way or another—resting on my knee, stroking the inside of my ankle, or my shoulder, or linking with my own.
And every once in a while, he’ll get this look on his face, like he’s physically holding himself back from saying something, but then he’ll shift the conversation to something equally light—what movies are my and Casey’s favorites, what kind of music I listen to.
Once I’m several glasses of wine in, I say, “Just ask me whatever it is, Fletch.”
He frowns and sips his drink. “Don’t know what you mean.”
I nudge him in the ribs, and he rolls his head toward me, his lips pressed together in a sheepish smile. “You don’t have to answer it.”
I nod.
“I…I guess I just wondered what led you here. I know you left home at sixteen, and you met your ex when you were around my age. So, what happened in between? That’s a good six, seven years. And how the hell did you end up with a guy like that? Because you seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t put up with his shit for even a second, let alone eight years.”
My stomach dips a little, the same way it always does when memories from that time threaten to resurface. I blow out the air in my cheeks. To put it simply: a lot. A lot happened in those years.
And not much of it was good.
“I am now. I didn’t used to be. I didn’t used to be…a good person, Fletcher.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t.
“I know what people around here say about me. That I married him for his money. And they’re not wrong,” I whisper. “They’re not wrong. But that also wasn’t all it was.”
I swallow hard and squint at the fire. The wine has me feeling barely in my body, and it loosens my tongue in a way I’ll probably hate myself for in the morning. Fletcher strokes his thumb along my knee and waits.
“Things were…things were bad growing up. I never had clean clothes. Half of my mom’s boyfriends liked looking at me more than her. Instead of helping me, it made her angry and bitter and jealous. I actually preferred the times we didn’t have a roof over our heads, because at least then I was free of them. I kept thinking if I could just get out of West Virginia, then things would work out somehow. So I left. I didn’t have a car—I didn’t even have a bank account. But I had enough to buy a bus ticket that would get me to Richmond.”
Fletcher shifts a little closer to me, and I startle out of whatever trance I’d been in as he brushes my hair behind my ear. Despite the heavy look in his eyes, it’s not the same judgment and disgust I’ve grown used to seeing these past few months. “So you just went? All by yourself?”
I nod.
“What did you do when you got there?”
I shrug. Everything I owned could fit into a backpack and a duffel bag. The day I stepped off that bus…first, there was a moment of pure, giddy joy. I’d never seen a city that big, never been that far from home. And I’d done it. I’d done it .
But then reality came crashing in. And the icy, heavy fear that flooded my veins. I thought I’d felt fear before. Lived with it day in and day out.
But this chapter of my life was something different entirely. Not knowing where I’d sleep, when I’d eat next—that was nothing new. But doing it alone was.
I clear my throat, but the tightness there remains. “I got lucky. Really lucky. My plan was to find a job, maybe waiting tables. I’d done some of that back home. I didn’t have enough money for a place to stay, but I could afford this cheap gym membership, so at least I had access to their showers. And I could put my things in their locker rooms during the day as long as I went back for them before they closed.
“I ended up finding a job as a maid at a hotel. A lot of the other workers were undocumented, so no one really asked questions. They paid me under the table in cash, and I started sleeping in the storage unit in the basement there behind the shelves, hoping no one would notice me. I figured if I could save up enough money for some cheap car—it wouldn’t even need to run well—then I could go back to sleeping in there. And it worked, for a few weeks.”
Fletcher lets out a deep breath, and a deep line is etched between his eyebrows now, but his gaze never leaves my face. His hand tightens around my knee.
“One of the other maids found me one morning. Her name was Irma. Until then, we’d barely exchanged a few words. She didn’t speak much English. Before I could say anything, she turned around and left. I thought for sure she’d tell someone. I waited all day to hear from our boss, thinking they’d fire me…but then nothing happened. Until I went back there that night, and she was already there waiting.” I smile a little and feel tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “She didn’t say anything. She just offered me her hand. I don’t know why I trusted her, but I did. She didn’t have a car either, so we walked—it must have been at least a few miles—straight through the city until we got to this tiny house that was falling apart. It had two bedrooms and one bathroom, but about eight people were staying there. Nine now, with me.”
I sniffle and clear my throat again. It doesn’t help. Quietly, I add, “I don’t know if I would’ve made it without her.”
“How long did you stay with her?”
The tears I’ve been holding back fall.
“Chris.” Fletcher closes what little distance was left between us and cups the back of my head with his hand.
“She died just a few months later. Heart attack.” I blow out a breath and throw my hands up. “I—I barely knew her. We could barely communicate. I don’t know why I’m?—”
He pulls me against his chest and tucks my head beneath his chin. “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t important to you. She’s someone who showed you kindness when you needed it.”
“I think she’s the reason I realized how bad things with my mom were. Because I only spent a few months with her, and I realized the way she tried to help me, to take care of me…my own mother had never done that.”
Fletcher runs his hand up and down my back.
“Anyway. Staying there, it helped get me on my feet. I took on another job and saved as much as I could. Eventually managed to get my own place with some roommates. And things got uneventful for a while. When Julian came into the picture—I was up in DC. I’d never been and wanted to do some of the touristy sightseeing things. He was there on business.”
I take a long, slow drink of my wine.
“I know how people see him. I know what people say. But I don’t think he’s a bad person. Or…I don’t think he was always a bad person. He really loved his first wife. I knew he hadn’t moved on when we met, and after eight years together, he still hasn’t. I don’t think he ever will. Life took the one person he ever really loved away from him, and I think he let that harden him past the point of no return. And instead of strengthening the relationships he has with their kids, it’s like it was too painful. Maybe he sees too much of her in them.
“My point is, he might not have loved me, at least not like that. But when we met, we were both just…sad. And I think we were both hoping that the other would be the answer to pull us out of it. But , if I’m being honest, I don’t think I would’ve pursued anything with him if not for his money too. And I know exactly how that sounds.”
Fletcher doesn’t say anything for what feels like a very, very long time. I peek up at his face, and the glow of the fire flickers across his profile.
“I don’t think that makes you a bad person, Chris. One of the reasons people want money so much is for security. To feel safe, taken care of, so that they don’t have to worry. You grew up without that. You never felt safe or secure; you never had someone really take care of you. So of course when you got older, you sought that out for yourself in the only way you knew how. That doesn’t make you a bad person. I think…well, I think that makes you a survivor.”
When he meets my eyes, the way he’s looking at me isn’t any different than how he looked at me before. And I realize I can take the comments and the jabs and the judgmental scowls from everyone in this town, but not from him. Not from him .
The knot in my chest loosens, and he cradles the side of my face and presses his thumb beneath my eye, catching a tear before it can fall.
“You should add psychologist to your very long list of job titles,” I whisper.
He cracks a smile, and his eyes soften. “Stay.”
I sigh and start to pull back, but he tightens his hold. “Stay here tonight, Chris. It’s late. We’ve been drinking. I don’t want you driving home.”
“I am perfectly capable of getting myself home.”
“I know you are… But can we also acknowledge that you haven’t had the best luck lately? Do we really want to tempt fate here?”
I snort out a laugh. “I bet you’ve secretly loved it though. All those opportunities to swoop in and save the day.”
“Damn right I have.” We both laugh, and his thumb strokes my cheek. “Universe was throwing me a bone. Knew I needed a way in somehow.”
My gaze drifts to his lips, so close to mine. I’m the one to lean in, but the second my mouth meets his, he pulls me in close and kisses me like I didn’t just drop all of my dirty laundry at his feet. He weaves one hand through my hair, the other wrapping around my back as I climb into his lap and hold his face with both hands.
The way he kisses me has me drunker than the wine. My stomach flips, and I feel like I’m on fire. Like I can’t breathe unless he’s kissing me. I whimper against his mouth, and he pulls me closer, kisses me harder, until we’re both breathless.
But then abruptly, he pulls away.
I stare down at him, and his face pinches together like it’s physically paining him to stop.
“I’m not having sex with you tonight,” he says.
My eyebrows shoot up. “No?”
He looks from my eyes to my lips, and despite the clear longing burning beneath the surface, he says, “No. Because that’s not all this is for me, and I don’t ever want you to think that’s all I want from you. You had a bad day, and I wanted to be here for you. And I want to be very clear that was my only intention inviting you over here.”
My stomach clenches, and that fire in my veins spreads further. “You can’t say things like that and then expect me not to want to sleep with you.”
He chuckles breathlessly and runs his hands over my hair, then leaves them at the nape of my neck. He stares at me, and I can see the internal battle raging behind his eyes, but in the end, he sighs and says, “Come on. I’ll get you something to wear and set you up in the guest room.”
It becomes quickly apparent as I hold his hand and follow him to the second floor that driving home wouldn’t have been an option. I sway a little on my feet and repeatedly have to brace my other hand on the railing.
He leaves me in the second bedroom with a T-shirt and a pair of his boxers on the dresser.
The room is nice, if a little plain. A queen-size bed, two nightstands, a dresser. The bathroom is across the hall, and once I’ve changed, I venture over there. It’s nearly identical to the one of the first floor—sleek, updated, small.
The floor creaks, and Fletcher steps out of the primary bedroom, now wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants.
And this point he’s just taunting me.
I hook my hand around my opposite elbow and lean against the wall in the hallway. “You’re really going to put me in your guest room?”
“Yeah, I am.” He smiles and slowly crosses the distance between us. The amusement in his eyes fades as he stops in front of me, replaced by that same low burning fire I’d seen in them outside. “Chris, I’m more attracted to you than I’ve ever been to anyone in my life. So yeah, it would be easy to fall into bed with you every damn time we’re in the same room. But I don’t want that physical attraction I have for you to overshadow everything else.” His brow furrows, and the intensity in his eyes pins me to the spot. “I want to get to know you. I want to spend time with you. And I need to be able to show you that with more than just my words. So yes, I’m going to put you in my guest room, and I’m going to kiss you on the cheek and say goodnight, and then I’m going to walk away.”
I swallow hard as his words melt through me. Because as much as I want his self-control to slip and for him to take me against the wall here and now… I think I need what he’s saying even more.
“So.” He takes one final step forward and slides his hand along my face until he cups the side of my head. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the scent of him as he leans in and presses his lips to my opposite cheek. “Goodnight,” he murmurs against my skin.
I’m practically vibrating with need as he hesitates for a second, two. A shaky breath passes my lips.
But then, true to his word, he pulls back and meets my eyes one last time before turning away and walking back to his room.