Chapter 5 Hope
HOPE
Song: Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift (Cover by Dermot Kennedy)
By “reacquainted” do you mean introduce him to the delights of your peach?
Iparked in my space and sat in my car, staring absently at the house.
What the hell did I just agree to?
Somehow, I’d ended up in a relationship with Justice Wild.
Justice freaking Wild.
I traced my fingers over my lips, reliving that slow, sensual kiss.
He still didn’t know I had a crush on him—that much was abundantly clear. He’d have never asked me to do something so intimate as hold this space with him if he knew.
But damn if that didn’t make it somehow worse. I felt like a thief, stealing time and memories that were never meant to be mine.
But what’s the harm? He’ll never know, and you’ll have memories to last you long after he’s gone.
I felt shaky and sweaty, my pulse uneven.
I should tell him. I should just walk over and tell him that I can’t do this. He doesn’t need to know why.
My breath hitched, my chest tight at the idea of abandoning Justice when he needed help.
My phone buzzed then buzzed again. I ignored it, but the buzzing continued, coming faster and faster.
With a sigh, I shook off my heavy thoughts and reached for my phone only to see that there were over three hundred notifications and counting.
“What the….”
A quick scroll showed that news of our lunch broke about five minutes after we’d walked through the paparazzi and Justice had helped me into my car. By the time I’d driven the short eight-minute drive home, the tabloids had already begun publishing images of us online.
I leapt from the car, sprinting up the porch to throw open the door to the house. Sure enough, Gran, bless her soul, was on the phone happily regaling someone with stories about me, my childhood, and the infamous Justice Wild.
“Gran!” I hissed, dancing from foot to foot. “Hang up the phone!”
“But it’s Samantha. You remember her, Gladys’ granddaughter. She works at the newspaper. She wants to know about—”
“Gran!”
She sighed, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Samantha, I’ll have to call you back. Hope needs me. Yes, I’ll be sure to call you back soon. You say hello to Roger for me. Mmhmm, and don’t forget to tell Gladys to bring that jam recipe to the knitting circle. Okay, hun. You too.”
She replaced the phone on the receiver and glared at me.
“What is so important it couldn’t wait?”
The phone began to ring, and Gran automatically moved to pick it up. I thrust myself in front of her, physically blocking her from the devil line.
“Gran, listen to me. There were paparazzi at the diner today. Your number is listed and they’re going to begin calling. Now, here’s the thing, Justice and I—”
Her ancient answering machine clicked on.
“Ms. Higgins, this is Rob from TMZ. I’m calling to ask about the relationship between your granddaughter Hope and Justice Wild. If you could give me a call back on—”
I yanked the power cord from the wall, cutting off the reporter.
Gran crossed her arms over her chest, arching one salty brow.
“I—that is—”
“Hope Maree Hannah Joanna Higgins,” she drawled. “Are you dating that Wild boy?”
“We’re just hanging out,” I hedged, unwilling to outright lie.
“Ain’t no ‘just’ about it,” she said, shaking her head. “This is a yes or no question, baby.”
I winced knowing I’d have to lie to keep up the charade. My grandmother, god bless her, couldn’t keep a secret to save the country.
“I mean, we’ve only had lunch today, but he said—”
“Praise the Lord!” Gran clapped her hands. “It’s about time that boy woke up and realized what was in front of him the whole time.”
I blinked. “What?”
Gran chuckled, patting me on the arm. “He’s been hung up on you since he was sixteen. You’re a gorgeous girl, Hope. And it’s a crying shame life conspired to keep you two apart these many years.”
My mouth opened and closed like a fish, words failing me. Gran had to be wrong. There wasn’t any universe in which I lived where Justice had liked me like that.
“I’ll keep the phone off the hook for the moment, and keep my mouth shut about you and that Wild boy. But they’re going to hunt you, baby. So be ready for whatever secrets they may uncover.”
She glanced at the clock. “Don’t you have a meeting now?”
I caught sight of the time. “Shit!” I scrambled to grab my laptop and rushed upstairs. “Don’t answer the door!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Or if you do, don’t say anything!”
“Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve managed more prickly situations than a few men with cameras.”
An hour later I clicked the little button that ended the meeting and tossed off my headset, fighting tears.
Ciara had finally decided to lodge a formal complaint against me. My boss called it bullshit, but human resources was required to investigate and consider the veracity of the claim. I was stood down on leave with pay until the investigation was concluded.
“About two weeks,” the woman from HR had said. “This will be treated with the utmost confidentiality and privacy. I understand this might be a shock, and counseling is available to you.”
I didn’t want counseling. I wanted to do my job and not have my integrity questioned. Actually, no.
What I really wanted to do was quit my job and write full-time. But that would remain a dream for at least another two years while I squirreled my earnings away in hopes I could afford a salary one day.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to stem the tears that stung my eyes.
“You’re okay,” I whispered. “This is about her, not you. You’ve done everything right. You have the paper trail and the meeting logs. You’re okay, Hope. You’re okay.”
The reassurance didn’t settle the uncomfortable lump that had taken up residence in my gut or settle the anxiety-inducing small voice that whispered in my ear that I was a failure, a horrible person, and that maybe, just maybe, Ciara was correct in her assertions against me.
I sent a few emails advising clients I was taking some unexpected leave, filed a handover note with my boss, and wrapped up an urgent project before turning on my out of office and logging off.
The next two weeks opened up before me like a yearning hole of despair.
“I guess I could write.”
But writing required concentration, and with this cloud of uncertainty and angst hanging over my head, my concentration was shot to pieces.
Besides, reality seemed stranger than fiction right now.
I picked up my cell but hesitated to text Faye and admit the depth of my issues. I wasn’t ashamed of my actions, but I did feel shame over how this had come about and how much it was affecting me.
Giving into a wild impulse, I texted her.
Hope
Do you have Justice’s number?
Faye
That depends. Is this a friendly call to an old friend who is back in town or to follow up with him about THE REASON MY PHONE IS BLOWING UP!!!?????
I winced.
Hope
Sorry about that. It was just lunch.
Faye
I’d say it’s more than that. Have you seen the picture? He KISSED you and is LAUGHING! Also, he texted me to say you’re DATING????? What the fuck, Hope?? Since when do you date men like Justice? Don’t get me wrong, I love him dearly. But the man has issues.
Hope
He seems lonely, and I have time to help him get reacquainted with the town.
Faye
By “reacquainted” do you mean introduce him to the delights of your peach?
Hope
We grow apples.
Faye
I meant your ass, Hope. And this is reason number one why you two shouldn’t be dating. The man has forgotten more about sex that most of us learn.
Hope
A person’s sexual history doesn’t define who they are or the integrity of their relationships.
Faye
True, I shouldn’t slut shame. I’m just worried about you. He’s not the kind of guy you would normally date.
Hope
The kind of guys I normally date have all patted me on the head at the end of the date and rarely call unless it’s to connect me with their mom’s knitting circle.
Faye
That’s happened twice.
Hope
Try four times. But that’s not the point. The point is, maybe I need to do something different. Maybe I need something Justice can give me.
Faye
You mean the D?
Hope
Not quite…
Faye
I’m booking flights to bumfuck nowhere right now.
Hope
Peach Springs isn’t nowhere.
Faye
It is to me. But I’ll note that the bumfuck was in reference to the sex I have planned with Sam.
Hope
TMI…
Faye
Done! We’ll be there later this week.
Hope
I don’t need a keeper.
Faye
I know. But I worry. And not just about you. Justice has issues, Hope. Ask him to be honest with you about them before you get in too deep.
Hope
This isn’t meant to be anything serious. We’re just hanging out.
Faye
Babe…. You don’t do casual.
Hope
I might.
Faye
You were meant to foster that rabid cat for twenty-four hours. What happened?
Hope
Doesn’t count.
Faye
You had him for 6 years! And the bastard scratched you every day!
Hope
He’d been abused! The foster people said he couldn’t be adopted and they’d have to put him down.
Faye
YOU ARE ALLERGIC TO CATS!!!
Hope
And that’s why god created antihistamines.
Faye
My point stands. You don’t do casual. I trust you to know what’s best for you, but please, protect your heart. I don’t want to have to kill the guy who helps keep me in designer clothes.
Hope
Love you.
Faye
Love you too, bitch. Now tell me about the meeting.
Hope
This requires an in-person debrief and alcohol.
My phone immediately rang.
“An Uber driver will be there in twenty minutes with wine. Now talk to me,” Faye demanded.
I let out a long sigh and moved to flop onto my bed.
“I miss you.”
“Miss you too. Now tell me what’s happened.”
And this is why we were best friends. Faye understood me like no one else. Three hours later, I hung up the phone, slightly tipsy but feeling lighter. A second later my phone beeped with a text message from Faye.
Faye
Don’t make me regret this. And drink some water before bed, you don’t need the hangover.
A second text followed with Justice’s number.
Well, hello.