22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thea
I never got my answer before I got up from the table to leave. I’d asked him what it meant, but in all honesty, I know. There’s only one thing it can mean. I just don’t understand why. And it’s the least of my concerns at the moment because he’s fucking engaged. He got down on one knee and asked another woman to spend the rest of her life with him.
Then he came here and fucked me.
Iris… God, of course he’s engaged to her. She’s perfect, I’ve known her for all of six hours, and I get it. Why wouldn’t he ask her to be his wife? The look on her face when she asked if he was the ex I’d told her about will haunt me for the rest of my life. I knew someone would get hurt. I assumed it would be me. Maybe Cary. But never did I think it would be his tall, model-gorgeous, nice-as-hell fiancée he conveniently forgot to mention over the last two and a half weeks.
I’m grateful no one has followed me, I just need some air and to not be in the same room as Cary right now. Ripley is probably distracting both Grant brothers at the moment. He’d promised me before dinner that he’d not only have my back but also make the dinner hell for Cary. Brooks came prepared without me even having to ask.
I push through the double wooden doors that lead out into the crisp November night. The instant the chill hits my face, my heart starts to calm. I’m pacing the front patio with my hand on my forehead squeezing at my temples as the events of the last few hours rush through my mind again.
“Fuck!” I scream, thinking I’m alone out here to drown in my sorrows.
“That about sums it up,” a voice says from the end of the patio. Iris is leaning over the railing on her elbows, covered in darkness.
I clutch a hand to my heart as I jump out of my skin from the surprise. “Shit. I didn’t realize you were out here. I’m sorry. I—I can go back inside.” I turn to grab the handle of the door, but she stops me.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You’re part of the Carrington Grant Broken Hearts Club too. Welcome—hope you brought the wine.” A sarcastic scoff slips out at her own joke.
I take a couple of steps toward her, not wanting to commiserate but also not wanting to have to shout to be heard. “I… I didn’t know, Iris.” I’ve got my hands in front of me, fidgeting with my rings as my anxiety over the situation flares through me.
She looks up at me with a small resigned smile then says, “That much was obvious.”
I don’t know what else to say, if there’s even anything else to be said, so I just nod back.
She turns so she’s leaning her hip against the railing now, her eyes set on me. The silence drags on for some time which only makes me more anxious. I don’t know this woman. I have no idea what she could be thinking right now. What I do know is that she’s just as heartbroken as me, it’s written all over her face.
“Could you do me a favor?” she finally says.
“Of course,” I reply with no hesitation at all. Too quickly probably.
“Can you make sure he stays here for a bit longer? I need to get my things from his room and find somewhere else to stay. Maybe I’ll drive back to Myrtle Beach and find a hotel there.”
I’m not sure what the etiquette is for this type of situation, but I start speaking before I can second guess my own decision. “I… can probably make that happen. And I can make a call to a friend about a hotel room. It’s in Southbury—about thirty minutes east.”
Her eyes widen for half a second, I think she’s taken aback by my offer—which is fair, considering. “Oh. No. You don’t have to do that. Really.” Her voice is tight, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“It’s really no big deal, if you need a place to stay. I know I’m probably the last person you want anything from—”
She cuts me off, “No, Carrington is the last person I want anything from. I’ll find a place. I appreciate your offer though. I just need to not be in this town anymore.”
I nod my head in understanding, seeing the headlights from a car in the parking lot gleam off of her engagement ring as I do. The sight of it makes me nauseous now knowing who gave it to her and knowing I’m part of the reason she’ll probably hate the sight of it.
Without another word, she walks toward the stairs to the sidewalk, and I stand frozen in place. I never expected today to end this way, especially with the way it began. I watch as she walks to her car, gets in, and drives away. I stare off into the distance long after her taillights disappear.
It’s not until I start to shiver from the chill in the air that I remember Iris’ request. I pull my phone from my pocket, feeling the pit in my stomach widen as I scroll past Cary’s name to get to Ripley’s.
Me : Do me a favor and keep Cary occupied for at least another hour?
Ripley : Sure thing. You okay? Do I need to be concerned?
Me : Okay? No. Iris needs time to get her things, and I told her I’d make it happen.
Ripley : Gotcha. You didn’t answer the other question.
Me : Because I don’t have an answer…
Ripley : I’m sorry, babe…
Me : Me too. I’m heading home. Love you, thank you for tonight.
Ripley : Yeah, of course. Love you too.
I’m familiar with the five stages of grief having gone through them a couple times in my life. This time, as I mourn my second chance at a future with Cary, I skipped right over denial since reality was staring me in the face and was really fucking hard to deny. Depression hit first. I’d spent the full hour after seeing Iris at the bar in the distillery with Ripley crying a goddamn river over it all.
I never thought Cary was capable of hurting me in this way. I didn’t think he was capable of being so cruel. It made me wonder if this was karma for breaking his heart eight years ago. If it is—congratulations. It got me fucking good. Ripley had disagreed though. He’d told me since I came home to help with my mom’s care, I was given a free pass. He said it as if he personally knew how these decisions are made, like he has an in with karma herself. The thought made me laugh at the time.
Had it not been for Ripley, there was no way I could have attended that horrid dinner. He’d given me the option to bail. He told me he’d cover for me and say I was sick. He’d even offered to tell everyone his own secret, so I didn’t have to go out there and pretend I wasn’t upset because why would I be when I’m with Ripley? I never would have let him do that though. And it was better with him by my side. I could lean on him, and no one would question it.
Ripley wasn’t one to let anyone get away with hurting someone he loves though. He’d made it his mission to make sure Cary was uncomfortable. By that point, I’d entered into the anger stage of my grief, so I was more than happy to play along. I didn’t hold back my glares, and I didn’t pretend everything was fine. I made sure he felt my wrath from across the table. He’d played me so fucking well. I’m still mad at myself for falling for it.
I turn to leave the patio, but my eyes snag on Iris’ ring sitting on the railing. Picking it up, the facets glimmer, catching the light from the parking lot. I stare at it for a minute before I pocket it and climb down the steps.
The drive home is silent. I don’t put on music, I don’t call my mom or Rip, I just drive with only my thoughts to keep me company. I let them fuel my rage for Carrington Grant. I want to hold onto my anger until I slip into acceptance. Bargaining won’t be a part of my grief for him or the relationship I thought we were re-establishing.
I pull into my driveway, turn off the car, and sit there for a moment. When I left my house this morning, I was excited about my future. I was nervous and anxious, too, but I attributed that to my own issues. Maybe, subconsciously, I knew something was off. I’d tried to convince myself Ripley was wrong, thinking Cary’s note seemed odd. I knew it had seemed too good to be true. That’s why I’d been on edge to begin with. So why was I so surprised when it blew up in my face?
The lights inside my car dim, illuminating the clock on the dash telling me it’s almost ten. I take a deep breath, finally reach over the middle console to grab my purse from the passenger seat, and go inside.
I need acceptance to hurry the fuck up.
Once inside the house, I lock the door behind me and beeline for my bedroom to change into pajamas. As I walk into the kitchen, I remember the ice cream in the freezer. I need some sugar to drown my sorrows in.
As I reach for the cutlery drawer, I spot the leftover pumpkin pie from last night. My heart constricts with the memory of how fucking happy I felt yesterday, how everything felt like it was finally falling back into place.
Without wasting any more thought on what could have been, I shove the pie to the end of the counter and into the trash can.
I grab a spoon, forgoing a bowl because no one is here to judge me—and even if they were, I wouldn’t give a fuck—and grab the cookies and cream from the freezer.
I’ve already determined that sleeping in my bed tonight isn’t an option since it’ll just serve as a reminder. The sheets still smelled of him when I got up this morning. I relished it when I woke up, now I’m seriously considering taking them outside and lighting them on fire. I could watch them burn to ash like our relationship just did.
My favorite blanket waits for me on the couch as I slouch down into it. I turn on New Girl —my all-time-favorite comfort show—and proceed to eat my weight in ice cream.
Around the fourth episode, I must have fallen asleep because I’m awoken by my phone ringing on the end table. I swipe at my eyes and sit up but realize a second too late that the ice cream container was still in my lap. It starts to tumble onto the floor, but I catch it at the last second, just barely avoiding a huge melted ice cream mess that really would have been the cherry on top of my shit sundae of a night.
On the fifth ring, I grab my phone and bring it to my ear without seeing who it is first.
“Hello?” my voice cracks at the end.
“Hey, Thea… uhh, it’s Nat.” My bartender’s voice wakes me up more, I pull the phone away from my ear to see it’s a few minutes after midnight. My heartbeat picks up with panic at hearing the uncertainty in her voice.
“Nat, what is it? Is everything okay?” I’m already getting up from the couch, turning off the TV, and walking toward my room to find some clothes.
“Oh, umm… kind of? I just—I didn’t know who to call…” she trails off at the end which makes me even more nervous.
“You’re scaring me, did something happen at the restaurant? Are you okay?” My mind is going a mile a minute as I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder, freeing my hands to slip on my jeans.
“I’m fine! The restaurant is fine. But… Mr. Grant has been drinking for the last few hours, and when I asked him who I could call, he asked for you…” she pauses for a moment before quickly adding, “I know it’s late, and I’m so sorry for that. I just didn’t know what else to do.”
I take the phone away from my ear to put it on speaker while I finish getting dressed, sliding an old band tee over my head. “No, no, don’t be sorry. Which… Mr. Grant are we talking about?” I ask, knowing with my luck, she doesn’t mean Brooks.
“Oh, right. Cary, not Brooks.”
Fuck. I roll my eyes and take a deep breath.
“You did the right thing. Can he at least walk?” At this point, I don’t know what I did to piss off the universe, but clearly, I did something terrible in a previous life. I don’t let Nat hear the frustration in my voice though, it isn’t her fault that this is happening.
“I think so, yeah,” she replies.
“Alright, good. Just don’t serve him anymore, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I’m fully dressed now, grabbing my keys from the counter and pulling my purse onto my shoulder as I walk out of my house.
“I’ve been giving him watered down soda for the last thirty minutes because he kept asking for more,” she admits.
“Good, good. Thank you, Nat. See you soon.” I hang up the phone as I’m getting into my car. Lucky for me, I’m still in my anger stage hours later.
I slam the door of my car more forcibly than necessary, pissed off I had to drive here past midnight to pick up a drunk Cary. I weighed all my options on the way back to RED. Do I call him an Uber? Do I take him to his hotel? What if Iris is there waiting for him? Maybe she changed her mind. Me showing up with a drunk Cary wouldn’t look good. Then I’d reminded myself I don’t have to walk him to his room, he can find his way his-damn-self. I’ll just drop him at the door. At least then I won’t have to worry about whether he got to his hotel safely. Problem solved.
I stomp up the steps to the front door, fumbling with my keys to unlock it since we closed about half an hour ago. I hear the music playing as I walk into the lobby, locking the door back up behind me.
Cary isn’t one to drink like Brooks, but when he does drink, he gets pretty flirty. I expect to walk in on him flirting with Nat, but instead, I hear him talking about me.
“—really fucked up, Nat. And Thea’s just—she’s just so pretty. Right? You’ve seen her. You know,” he muses, slurring some of his words, as he holds his glass in the air, his elbow on the bar. My cheeks heat, and Nat giggles behind the counter as her eyes find me. He follows her gaze, his eyes lighting up when he sees me.
“There’s my Lemon!” his voice booms through the empty room, excitement evident on his face. Excitement that is not reciprocated on my own, and he must catch on to my mood because his smile quickly falls. “Oh… you’re a mad Lemon…”
I’m glad to see he’s not so drunk he can’t tell I’m pissed. He starts to get up from his seat but stumbles. I pick up my pace to put an arm around him before he falls on his face, looking at Nat as I do. “Thank you, Nat. I appreciate you looking out for him and calling me. Please take anything he said with a grain of salt.”
He turns his head to me then quickly turns back to Nat. “No. No. Everything I said is true. Take it as the fucking truth.”
I roll my eyes and sling his arm over my shoulder to brace him as he walks. “Right. Let’s go,” I say, turning to leave and dragging him with me.
“Where are we going, Lem?” he asks, sounding truly curious like he has no idea where I could be taking him.
I wince as we walk since almost all his weight is leaning on me. “I’m driving you back to your hotel,” I say matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument and never meeting his eyes.
He shakes his head as he says, “I don’t have my room key. Or my wallet.”
I stop us and finally look up at him. “What do you mean you don’t have your wallet? Where’s your wallet?”
He just shrugs and responds, “I ran out to find you and just… forgot, I guess.”
I take a deep breath, going through my options in my head—again. In the off-season, the hotels in town don’t have after-hours services. I’d have to call someone to come in and reprint his key.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I start walking toward the door again, pulling his arm down my shoulder a little more to make it slightly more comfortable. “I guess we’re going back to my house then.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, and I assume it’s just because he’s drunk. Once we’re outside, and we’ve made it down the patio steps, he finally speaks again. “You’re mad at me,” he says quietly, and it comes out more of a statement than a question. I realize then his silence was more introspective than a reflection of how wasted he is.
“I’m more than mad at you, Cary.” I don’t elaborate—I don’t need to. He knows what he did and who he hurt. We walk a bit more, almost to the parking lot before he stops me. He pulls away from my arms and stands in front of me.
“What can I do?” he asks, his voice sounds so sincere it almost breaks my heart all over again. Guilt etched deep in his drunken eyes and defeat written all over his slumped shoulders.
I throw my hands in the air at him. “There’s nothing you can do. You have a fiancée. A very beautiful, very kind fiancée. You put a perfect fucking ring on another woman’s finger, Cary. Why are you even here with me? You should be chasing her down before she leaves.” My voice is louder now, my anger bubbling to the surface again.
He looks over at me then scoffs right before he says, “I don’t want her. That ring isn’t hers. It was always supposed to be yours.”
His words knock the breath out of me, and I feel like the ground beneath me might cave in and swallow me whole. I almost wish it would. “Wh—what?” I stutter out, his gaze still locked on me. “Mine?”
He nods his head, not giving me anymore of an explanation.
“I don’t—how? I don’t understand how a ring you bought for me ended up on another woman’s finger, Carrington.” Even drunk, he winces at my use of his full name.
Once he recovers, he clumsily shrugs his shoulders in response and turns his eyes to the ground instead of mine. “She just… found it. What was I supposed to do?” He looks so defeated and tired.
“So you’ve just been living one giant lie all this time?” I ask knowing this conversation should wait until he’s sober, but I’m not able to hold back the question.
"Yes. Maybe? All I know is I've been living for you my whole life. Even when you left me. God—I went as far as to grow my hair out—and don't worry, you were right, I think it looks better this way too." He drunkenly laughs at himself, but I don’t have it in me to find anything funny right now.
Instead of responding, I start walking to the car. I shouldn’t be having this conversation with him right now, maybe not ever. Nothing he’s saying is making any sense. When I left, we were in a terrible place. We’d been fighting constantly. I was so unhappy, and neither of us were discussing it. I’m not going down the rabbit hole of possibilities when he’s too drunk to explain further.
Once I’m at the car, I look up to see he’s still standing there, just watching me. I open my door to get in, standing there for a moment before saying, “Get in before I leave you here, Cary.”
It takes him a couple minutes, but he stumbles to the car on his own. He fumbles to fasten his seatbelt, but finally secures it. The car ride home is virtually silent aside from the music I put on. Cary is almost asleep by the time I’m pulling back into my driveway. I give his shoulder a shake to let him know we’re here. He’s able to unbuckle and shuffle out of the seat without my help.
Getting him inside is much harder than getting him out of RED was. The liquor seems to really be hitting him. I still don’t want to sleep in my bed that smells like him, and I don’t want to risk my couch having his scent all over it either. I help him walk to my room and dump him on the bed. He can sleep in his clothes, I’m not undressing him or giving him anymore of my energy tonight. I do grab the small trash can from my bathroom and sit it beside the bed in case he wakes up sick, but that’s more for my own benefit than his.
I close the door behind me, hearing him groan from the other side as he shifts around on the bed. Grabbing my blanket, I situate myself back on my couch and lay there staring at the ceiling for another hour before sleep finally finds me.