Chapter 25
twenty-five
LYDIA
Lydia: Will… Can we talk?
Lydia: I know whatever this is has to be over, but I just…
Lydia: Ugh. I hate where we left things.
Lydia: Disregard. That was the wine talking.
It’s Sunday night when I leave Autumn’s lake house and drive back to Hawthorne Bay proper.
Her husband is still in New York, but I’m nervous about what I’ll find out when I show up at work tomorrow morning and figure the least I can do is get a full night of sleep. If my mind can stop racing, that is.
I’ve heard nothing from Will since he left my house yesterday—which isn’t unusual, but a part of me still hoped he’d reply to my tipsy texts.
But what’s left to say? I’ve made it very clear how much preserving the library means to me, and he’s made it very clear that he’s going after that project of Ethan Wilde’s—meaning he’s got to suck up to the guy.
There for a couple weeks I’d allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d listen.
That I’d finally be someone’s first choice…
That maybe the gentle way that Will Holloway traced his rough hands across my body had less to do with lust and more to do with the connection I must have only imagined he felt. That I felt.
Well, joke’s on me. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I should’ve known better.
The lights of Hawthorne Bay have all come on as I pull off the highway and turn onto the main thoroughfare.
The full moon is high in the sky, and windows glow faintly in the cool autumn night, their cozy, warm lights shining out across the harbor.
The town is quiet, with everyone snug in their living rooms or sitting down at their dinner tables, gathered around fireplaces or TV screens.
Suddenly, it makes me ache for my childhood, for the kind of home life I only briefly had. I ache for my mother, for the safety of the library, the space where my mother once breathed. I know there’s a glimmer of her soul left inside. I can feel it.
A ding sounds over the speakers of my car as I pull into my driveway, headlights bobbing in the darkness.
I reach absently for my phone, open my email to see what the ding was about.
I don’t recognize the name of the sender, but it’s got a ton of replies to it, so it must be some kind of mass email thread.
I click on it and immediately wish I wouldn’t have.
Ethan Wilde’s name is at the top of the first email.
What the… fuck…?
From: Ethan Wilde
To: Lydia Chandler; Undisclosed recipients
Subject: It’s OFFICIAL!
Hello all,
It’s with great pleasure and tons of pride that I’m able to finally announce…
The ground breaking for the Hawthorne Bay Public Library renovation project will be next Monday, October 30 at 10:00 AM!
Thanks to the diligent efforts of everyone on our board, along with the permit offices here in town, we were able to fast track the project, making it possible to break ground before winter gets going.
Special thanks also go to our architect, Will Holloway, for working tirelessly this weekend to clinch those proposals.
This is a truly wonderful accomplishment that couldn’t have happened without such dedicated help from so many.
As chairman of the library board, I want to extend my personal thanks to everyone who had a hand in bringing this to fruition.
From fundraisers and historical research to long meetings and boring email threads, this was a team effort. THANK YOU ALL!
Please don’t hesitate to contact me with questions. I hope to see you all at the ground breaking.
All the best,
Ethan
By the time I’m finished reading the email, my heart’s racing and my blood’s gone cold, spreading all throughout my body, to my toes, my ears, my fingers. There’s not a single inch of me that doesn’t feel suddenly numb.
Ground breaking? How the hell? I thought we were months away from any actual construction. I must have read the email wrong. There’s no way they could actually have pulled this off. Will didn’t say anything about this.
But I’m not wrong.
I scan the email again, feeling sicker and sicker with each of the congratulatory replies that comes in. It’s clear the others in the thread have been in the know, that I’m the one they left in the dark. Honestly, it seems I’m lucky they deemed me worthy of receiving even the announcement email.
It’s over. The plans are final; the permits are issued. They’re breaking ground a week from tomorrow, ripping apart any last hope I might’ve had—for connecting with my mother, for landmark status. For what I thought I had with Will.
Will.
Amid the despair I feel at knowing what’s going to come of the project, the anger I feel at Will is rising fast and hot inside my chest.
How dare he. How fucking dare he.
It’s not only about the renovation. It’s not just about the computer lab, losing a historical landmark.
It’s not even only about my mother, about preserving the last shred of connection I have to her.
It’s about Will’s betrayal—the fact that he knew all this, helped facilitate this.
While I was sucking his dick in my kitchen, he was planning how to fuck me over.
I’m fucking livid. I turn the key in the ignition like I’m wrenching a screwdriver right into Will’s eyeball, pull right back out of my driveway, and skid off down the street.
I know where Will Holloway lives, and so help me, I will bang all night on his goddamn door until he opens it and I can see his stupid face.
I want him to look me in the eye while he admits to me that he knew about the ground breaking.
I want him to see my face when I tell him he’s nothing to me, and never was.
Not that he’ll care. I obviously meant nothing to him, either.
The light’s on in Will’s house as I pull up in his driveway and stalk to the front door. It’s ten at night, but I ring the doorbell, anyway. I don’t think he’s sleeping since the light’s on, but even if he is, I don’t give two shits. Rise and shine, motherfucker.
The door opens. A tall, lanky guy without a shirt appears and cracks the screen door enough to stick his head out.
He’s got the same blond hair as Will, but his eyes are ice blue instead of Will’s sapphire, and his muscles are longer, leaner.
I’m pretty sure it’s Will’s brother, Zeke, whose shitty resume I fixed up last week.
He leans against the doorframe, holding the screen door open to talk to me.
“You’re the librarian,” he says.
“That’s me. Where’s Will?”
The guy arches an eyebrow. “You seem mad. He do something?”
I blow out my breath. I don’t even know this guy, and I’m losing patience. Until now, I’ve been riding high on adrenaline, stoking the flames of anger in my chest to make sure the reaming out I’m about to give Will is second to none.
“You could say that, yeah,” I snap.
The guy in the doorway looks amused. Suddenly, I hear a voice coming from the room beyond, and my insides seize with rage and something like fear. I push it all down. I’m not afraid of Will. Will should be afraid of me.
“Zeke? Who the hell’s here?”
Zeke turns to smirk at his brother, then shoulder checks him as he slinks away, leaving the screen door to bang shut. He calls over his shoulder, “Good luck, bro.”
Will catches the screen door with a huge hand to the glass. When he sees me standing there, I think I catch a glimpse of something soft in his eyes, but then it’s gone, flickering out like a sputtering candle and replaced with something much more steely. He sets his jaw.
“Lydia, it’s ten o’clock—”
“They’re breaking ground on Monday and you knew,” I snarl. “And apparently, you worked tirelessly on it all fucking weekend.”
Will’s jaw flexes, but he says nothing. He just watches me, waiting for me to get whatever I need to say out. He knows I’m not done.
“This whole time—the last three weeks—you—I…” I can’t even get the words out right. What started as an unfurling of rage has fizzled into a dramatic mess, and I can hear my voice breaking as I grope for the words I need. “You played me. You fucking played me.”
“I didn’t play you.”
“Yeah? Well, I’d like to hear what you call it then, because tricking a woman into thinking she might actually mean something to you, only to turn around and help pull this on her is quite the stunt.”
Will rubs his jaw, like I’ve punched him in the face or something. “You knew from the beginning what I was hired to do, Lydia. And you knew—still know—how much rides on this for me. I never kept any of that from you.”
I scoff. “But you made me believe you hold sway with Ethan. You made it seem like you could change the plans.”
At this, Will doesn’t say anything. But I’m still fuming. I’m not letting him off that easily. I want him to feel what he’s done to me, how he’s messed everything up. I want him to feel what I feel.
“Really, Will,” I say, my voice dripping with disdain. “Your mom’s dead, too. You, of all people, should know what it’s like to want to keep some part of your mother alive. But you couldn’t even give me that—”
“Lydia.” Will’s voice is different now. I can’t tell if it’s pleading or pitying, but there’s something raw beneath the gruffness.
“Stop. Your mom’s not coming back. It doesn’t matter whether you keep every single brick of that stupid library in place or a bomb drops and turns it to charred fucking earth. Your mom is gone. Gone.”
I step back like he’s slapped me. I just stare at him, all the angry words I had lined up like munitions suddenly wiped clear out of my mind.
He softens his tone. “I’m sorry. That was… harsher than I meant it to be. But Lydia, the point still stands. Your mom’s not—”
“Stop. Talking.”
I barely even know I’m speaking until the words are out and Will, obviously knowing what’s best for him, has already shut his damn mouth.
The white-hot anger I felt just seconds ago has been replaced by a flood of aching, dizzying hurt.
Not only has Will just said aloud the very thing I’ve been trying desperately not to believe for so many years, but he’s said it in the meanest way possible, at the worst possible moment.
Suddenly, it is crystal clear that Will Holloway is not who I thought he was.
And then, reaching back to that intimate moment when Will had me in his arms, I take the lowest blow I can think of.
“You’re just like your dad, Will,” I spit.
“I should’ve known better than to trust that you meant a single word you said.
You strung me along, made me think I might actually mean something to you—but in reality you had other plans.
That’s right, isn’t it? You’re as selfish as he was, and you fucking know it. ”
He stares at me. Something slackens in his mouth.
I can’t read what’s behind his expression, but I don’t bother.
I’m spent, and I can feel tears pricking my eyes and a lump rising in my throat.
I turn on my heel and storm down the sidewalk, knowing that if I spare so much as a glance back at Will, who’s still standing in the doorway, I’ll absolutely lose it.
When I get into my car and start the engine, I risk a look back at the house. But Will’s no longer there. The front door is shut, solid and unmoving. He’s gone back in the house. He doesn’t care.
The hurt’s too deep. It’s over. The landmark project is over. My connection with Mom is over. And, the thing I’m scared to admit might hurt most of all, Will and I are over. I only make it half a block before the tears come and I break down into a mess of shuddering sobs.