The Fortunate Ones
Page 44
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
I’m more angry with the situation now than I was before. I wanted to apologize and then tuck James into a clean little box, but he isn’t making it that easy. Now, I have two weeks left until I move to Spain, and I still feel like he and I have unfinished business—starting with the bike he gifted me.
I plan to return it later that night because I can’t stand the idea of hanging on to it any longer. Sure, public transportation will take longer to get around on, but I’d rather sit on a thousand urine-soaked bus seats than spend one more minute on that sunflower-yellow reminder. I wonder if he’s purchased anything to consummate his relationship with Lacy yet. Maybe he’s gotten her a bike as well and had a local artist paint it shit brown to match her soul.
After a lonely dinner back at the co-op, I pedal as hard as I can toward Mount Bonnell Road, sticky with sweat by the time I pull up in front of his neighborhood’s private gate. I forgot about this part. I don’t know the code, and I’m not about to call James and ask for it. Part of me wants to just sling the bike up and over the gate and let him deal with the aftermath, but I won’t. Instead, I lurk in the bushes like a creepo until a car pulls up and the heavy iron bars swing open. I wait a few seconds so they can pass and turn down a side street and then I race through the gate before it squashes me like a bug.
I have a hard time finding James’ house once I’m inside the neighborhood. It didn’t seem all that complicated the last time I was here, but then again, I was frazzled from our crash and didn’t really pay much attention. I do find it eventually, but not until I’m coated in a new, second layer of sweat and more annoyed than ever. I want to drop the bike at the curb and bolt, but better judgment warns me against it. So, I take a deep breath and head for the front entrance of his property. Fortunately, the pedestrian gate is unlocked, and I start to walk up his front path. His Porsche is in the driveway and there are lights on inside, but I don’t see any movement behind the floor-to-ceiling windows along the front of the house. I pick up the pace and hustle, scurrying up before he walks by and sees me in all my sweaty glory.
I leave the bike just outside his front door with a note I painstakingly drafted before I left the co-op. There were half a dozen different iterations, but this one is the most simple.
Thank you for the bike, but I won’t be needing it in Spain.
All the best,
Brooke
I think it sounds mature. Ellie thought it sounded slightly bratty when I texted a photo of it to her. Obviously, I ignore her advice and leave it anyway, angling it so it sits centered on the bike seat. That way, there’s no way he’ll miss it.
“Brooke?”
“JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH!” I scream and slap my hand to my chest like I’m trying to stop myself from having a heart attack. When I spin on my heel, I find James standing a few yards down his driveway, and I think maybe I will have that heart attack after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Can’t a girl break into a neighborhood, sneak onto someone’s property, and leave a gift without being noticed? Isn’t that Santa’s entire MO?
“Brooke?” James asks again, clearly confused as to why I’m currently frozen in place on his front porch, sweaty and wide-eyed.
The note I left on the bike seat goes sailing toward the ground before I can speak. We both glance down at it and I reach for it quickly, snatching it up before he can. When I straighten, he’s only a few feet away, dressed in a black t-shirt, shorts, and Nike sneakers, as if he’s just returning from an evening run. He’s sweaty (almost as much as I am) and breathing hard, and I could be imagining it, but his tall frame seems more imposing than usual. It’s probably just because he caught me off guard.
“Oh, hey. I was just returning this,” I say, pointing back at where the bike rests on its kickstand. I took the time to clean it before I rode over, and it looks every bit as new as it did the first day he had it delivered. My heart aches at having to give it back; I probably won’t ever get another one like it.
“It wasn’t on loan,” he points out with a biting tone. “It was a gift.”
“I shouldn’t have ever accepted it, but I don’t need it anymore.”
He looks stricken. “Did you get a new one?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I’ll wait and get one in Spain.”
His rears back and frowns darkly. “Spain?”
My mouth drops open. I’m confused. I thought he knew, but now that I think about it, how would he have?
“I’m moving.” When recognition doesn’t dawn in his eyes, I continue, “I found an au pair position. Didn’t you know?”
He steps forward and snatches the note out of my hand, the note I now agree sounds slightly bratty. He reads it and then shakes his head. With a sad laugh, he moves around me and unlocks his front door.
“No, I didn’t know.”
I turn over my shoulder. “Earlier at the club, it seemed like—” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I finally found a new tutoring position with a family that’s moving to Spain, and they’ve offered to bring me along.”
“Congratulations. It’s what you’ve been searching for.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s congratulating me. In fact, he doesn’t even glance up as he takes the bike and wheels it into the front foyer of his house.
“You really should be happy for me!” I call out after him. “Especially after what happened in the dining room the other day!”
He laughs like I’ve just proposed something absolutely ludicrous. Then, finally, he glances up and meets my eyes with enough emotion and anger that it feels like a direct punch to the chest.
“I guess you should be happy for me that I’ve found someone like Lacy. Is that how this works? We’re just supposed to be happy for each other?”
“Yes. That’s the mature thing.”
“Please don’t lecture me on maturity,” he snaps back.
We’re both sweaty, our hearts racing from physical exertion and the heat of this encounter. He’s provoking me into a fight, and after my annoying bike ride and my 30-minute trek through this stupid rich neighborhood, I don’t have the patience to take the high road. So, instead, I go in head first. BRING IT ON.
“You know what?!” I say, stepping past his doorstep. “If we’re being honest, I think Lacy sucks! You saw how she treated me the other day—how do you think a person like that is going to treat those kids you want so badly?”
He turns and marches off down the hallway. If I want a fight, I’ll have to follow him. That’s fine by me, because I’m just getting started.
He walks straight into his kitchen and yanks open his refrigerator, withdrawing a single bottle of water for himself without bothering to offer me one even though I’m clearly a panting mess. I stare at him over the kitchen island with simmering rage as he slowly lifts it to his mouth and takes a long sip. His gaze is locked with mine. We’re cursing each other to hell without words, and then finally, after he’s drained nearly half the bottle, he sighs and drops it down onto the island. His thirst is quenched, and mine just got 10 times worse.
“I thought I had gotten to know the real you, but if you’re actually choosing to be with someone like Lacy, I don’t know what to believe.”
He leans forward so there’s no chance I miss his next words. “You know what I don’t believe? I don’t believe you want to go to Spain half as badly as you say you do.”
“Are you really with her?”
“Are you really moving to Spain? The thing is, I don’t think this is about Lacy or Spain. I think you came here looking for a fight.” Then he goes one step further. “I think you like it.”
“I don’t need you playing shrink,” I groan, turning away and breaking eye contact. It feels good to regain some composure, though it doesn’t last long.
“You’re the one who came to my house,” he points out with a haughty tone.
“To drop off the bike!”
“Yeah, that’s done,” he tells me with a knowing gleam in his eyes. It’s like he sees right through my motives, which is infuriating considering I can hardly see them for myself. “So why are you still standing here?”
I plan to return it later that night because I can’t stand the idea of hanging on to it any longer. Sure, public transportation will take longer to get around on, but I’d rather sit on a thousand urine-soaked bus seats than spend one more minute on that sunflower-yellow reminder. I wonder if he’s purchased anything to consummate his relationship with Lacy yet. Maybe he’s gotten her a bike as well and had a local artist paint it shit brown to match her soul.
After a lonely dinner back at the co-op, I pedal as hard as I can toward Mount Bonnell Road, sticky with sweat by the time I pull up in front of his neighborhood’s private gate. I forgot about this part. I don’t know the code, and I’m not about to call James and ask for it. Part of me wants to just sling the bike up and over the gate and let him deal with the aftermath, but I won’t. Instead, I lurk in the bushes like a creepo until a car pulls up and the heavy iron bars swing open. I wait a few seconds so they can pass and turn down a side street and then I race through the gate before it squashes me like a bug.
I have a hard time finding James’ house once I’m inside the neighborhood. It didn’t seem all that complicated the last time I was here, but then again, I was frazzled from our crash and didn’t really pay much attention. I do find it eventually, but not until I’m coated in a new, second layer of sweat and more annoyed than ever. I want to drop the bike at the curb and bolt, but better judgment warns me against it. So, I take a deep breath and head for the front entrance of his property. Fortunately, the pedestrian gate is unlocked, and I start to walk up his front path. His Porsche is in the driveway and there are lights on inside, but I don’t see any movement behind the floor-to-ceiling windows along the front of the house. I pick up the pace and hustle, scurrying up before he walks by and sees me in all my sweaty glory.
I leave the bike just outside his front door with a note I painstakingly drafted before I left the co-op. There were half a dozen different iterations, but this one is the most simple.
Thank you for the bike, but I won’t be needing it in Spain.
All the best,
Brooke
I think it sounds mature. Ellie thought it sounded slightly bratty when I texted a photo of it to her. Obviously, I ignore her advice and leave it anyway, angling it so it sits centered on the bike seat. That way, there’s no way he’ll miss it.
“Brooke?”
“JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH!” I scream and slap my hand to my chest like I’m trying to stop myself from having a heart attack. When I spin on my heel, I find James standing a few yards down his driveway, and I think maybe I will have that heart attack after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Can’t a girl break into a neighborhood, sneak onto someone’s property, and leave a gift without being noticed? Isn’t that Santa’s entire MO?
“Brooke?” James asks again, clearly confused as to why I’m currently frozen in place on his front porch, sweaty and wide-eyed.
The note I left on the bike seat goes sailing toward the ground before I can speak. We both glance down at it and I reach for it quickly, snatching it up before he can. When I straighten, he’s only a few feet away, dressed in a black t-shirt, shorts, and Nike sneakers, as if he’s just returning from an evening run. He’s sweaty (almost as much as I am) and breathing hard, and I could be imagining it, but his tall frame seems more imposing than usual. It’s probably just because he caught me off guard.
“Oh, hey. I was just returning this,” I say, pointing back at where the bike rests on its kickstand. I took the time to clean it before I rode over, and it looks every bit as new as it did the first day he had it delivered. My heart aches at having to give it back; I probably won’t ever get another one like it.
“It wasn’t on loan,” he points out with a biting tone. “It was a gift.”
“I shouldn’t have ever accepted it, but I don’t need it anymore.”
He looks stricken. “Did you get a new one?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I’ll wait and get one in Spain.”
His rears back and frowns darkly. “Spain?”
My mouth drops open. I’m confused. I thought he knew, but now that I think about it, how would he have?
“I’m moving.” When recognition doesn’t dawn in his eyes, I continue, “I found an au pair position. Didn’t you know?”
He steps forward and snatches the note out of my hand, the note I now agree sounds slightly bratty. He reads it and then shakes his head. With a sad laugh, he moves around me and unlocks his front door.
“No, I didn’t know.”
I turn over my shoulder. “Earlier at the club, it seemed like—” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I finally found a new tutoring position with a family that’s moving to Spain, and they’ve offered to bring me along.”
“Congratulations. It’s what you’ve been searching for.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s congratulating me. In fact, he doesn’t even glance up as he takes the bike and wheels it into the front foyer of his house.
“You really should be happy for me!” I call out after him. “Especially after what happened in the dining room the other day!”
He laughs like I’ve just proposed something absolutely ludicrous. Then, finally, he glances up and meets my eyes with enough emotion and anger that it feels like a direct punch to the chest.
“I guess you should be happy for me that I’ve found someone like Lacy. Is that how this works? We’re just supposed to be happy for each other?”
“Yes. That’s the mature thing.”
“Please don’t lecture me on maturity,” he snaps back.
We’re both sweaty, our hearts racing from physical exertion and the heat of this encounter. He’s provoking me into a fight, and after my annoying bike ride and my 30-minute trek through this stupid rich neighborhood, I don’t have the patience to take the high road. So, instead, I go in head first. BRING IT ON.
“You know what?!” I say, stepping past his doorstep. “If we’re being honest, I think Lacy sucks! You saw how she treated me the other day—how do you think a person like that is going to treat those kids you want so badly?”
He turns and marches off down the hallway. If I want a fight, I’ll have to follow him. That’s fine by me, because I’m just getting started.
He walks straight into his kitchen and yanks open his refrigerator, withdrawing a single bottle of water for himself without bothering to offer me one even though I’m clearly a panting mess. I stare at him over the kitchen island with simmering rage as he slowly lifts it to his mouth and takes a long sip. His gaze is locked with mine. We’re cursing each other to hell without words, and then finally, after he’s drained nearly half the bottle, he sighs and drops it down onto the island. His thirst is quenched, and mine just got 10 times worse.
“I thought I had gotten to know the real you, but if you’re actually choosing to be with someone like Lacy, I don’t know what to believe.”
He leans forward so there’s no chance I miss his next words. “You know what I don’t believe? I don’t believe you want to go to Spain half as badly as you say you do.”
“Are you really with her?”
“Are you really moving to Spain? The thing is, I don’t think this is about Lacy or Spain. I think you came here looking for a fight.” Then he goes one step further. “I think you like it.”
“I don’t need you playing shrink,” I groan, turning away and breaking eye contact. It feels good to regain some composure, though it doesn’t last long.
“You’re the one who came to my house,” he points out with a haughty tone.
“To drop off the bike!”
“Yeah, that’s done,” he tells me with a knowing gleam in his eyes. It’s like he sees right through my motives, which is infuriating considering I can hardly see them for myself. “So why are you still standing here?”
