Page 1 of Worth the Wait

THE FIVE-YEAR COUNTDOWN

PATRICK

Istood in my dimly lit cellar, staring at the massive wall of wine I’d collected and bought over the last six months. I didn’t even drink the stuff, but my ex-girlfriend, Addison, loved to cook with it and then explain how all the different kinds of grapes flavored the foodin subtle but spectacular ways. Those were her words, not mine. Addi was the whole reason I’d built this damn thing in the first place.

It was for her.

Every part of this house was for her, and calling her my ex-girlfriend, if only to myself, made me want to throw up.

Addi and I had always been the serious ones. Our relationship was neveroff and onor dramatic, like some of our friends. We’d always been stable. We rarely, if ever, fought. And I remembered thinking that nothing could ever break us up or rip our future plans in half.

And then her mom called one night from her ritzy condo in New York City. Apparently, she’d pulled some strings and gotten Addison into a school only a handful of chefs could ever dream of attending. She’d been so happy when she found out the news, until it sank in—what accepting the offer truly meant. That she’d have to leave Sugar Mountain…and me.

I’d understood, of course. If it had come down to a fight of sorts, I would have insisted that she go. Forced her if I had to. But in the end, Addi didn’t take much coercing. The worst part was the way we’d ended things. I wanted to stay together, but she said she didn’t know how long she’d be gone. The program required a two-year commitment, followed by an externship, which could last at least another year.

Even though I’d been extremely busy at my own job at my family’s resort, I figured we could at least try to date long-distance. But Addi insisted that it wouldn’t be fair; to either of us. That we should take the time apart to focus on our careers and whatever else she’d said that followed. Honestly, I blacked out at some point, my whole world spinning out of control at the thought of losing my best friend.

I was tempted to argue with her, but my pride stopped me. So, I let her go because I wasn’t an asshole and it was the right thing to do. I just never thought that she’d stay gone for so long.

It was one thing to leave Sugar Mountain. It was another to never come back again.

In the beginning though, we both insisted that we’d stay in touch, even if it was just through social media channels. But eventually with the time difference and her course load, talking grew infrequent and every social media post of hers felt like a stab in the fucking heart. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stopped following her and she never even asked why.

I’d been tempted to burn this fucking house and everything in it to the ground more than once since I’d completed it. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I’d done it all with my mother’s blood money.

I had been sixteen when she died in a car accident, sending our family into a spiral of heartache that spanned so deep that it became a part of our DNA. All that was left of the O’Gradys were a bunch of heartbroken boys who could barely keep their heads above water.

There was some life insurance money that my brothers and I had each gotten a share of once we turned twenty-five. My older brother, Thomas, had bought the house he currently lived in with his daughter, Clarabel, and his girlfriend, Brooklyn, with part of his share. I’d bought this ridiculous plot of land. Far more than I ever needed, but Addi had always loved it. And my younger brother, Matthew, had probably tossed the share he’d just inherited into his already-oversize bank account, thanks to his years of playing professional hockey.

Of the three of us, he needed the money the least. Not that any of us did really. Aside from having well-paying jobs at the Sugar Mountain Resort, we were all also part owners of it. It had been in our family for generations, only getting more popular with each passing season, which was fucking insane to even think about.

But I knew that we’d all give the money back in a heartbeat if it meant that we could spend more time with our mom. I missed her. I missed my Addi. I thought I’d gotten used to the pain, but it always seemed to flare up a little during this time of year. Christmas seemed to hurt the worst.

So, I stood there, staring at the stupid fucking cellar and grabbing two bottles of red, like my brother’s girlfriend and my dad had requested on my way down here. It all tasted like shit, in my opinion, but what did I know? My tastes aligned more with Matthew’s, and we preferred beer.

Plain and simple.

I wondered if Addi was a full-fledged New Yorker now, all big city, bright lights, and craft cocktails. It never sat right with me whenever I thought about her changing like that, but maybe it was true. Maybe I was too small town for her now. Maybe that was why she’d never come back, not even once to visit her dad…or me.

Taking the basement steps two at a time, I rounded the hallway and noticed Thomas’s girlfriend studying something on the wall. I almost dropped the damn bottles when I realized what she was looking at.

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to snoop,” Brooklyn said, as if I’d caught her red-handed peeping in my underwear drawer or something. “What kind of calendar is this? A building one?” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out what the countdown on the wall meant.

“Sure,” I said, hoping she’d drop it, but I knew better.

Brooklyn was a woman. They liked to figure things out and ask a ridiculous number of questions until they found what they were looking for.

“Really, what is it? What is it counting down? The wedding barn?” She turned to study it once more. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

That calendar on the wall was a countdown for my future.

My silent torturer.

I’d read somewhere online that people tried something new for up to five years. They either gave up within that time frame or kept at it.Five years.Addi would either come back home or she never would. It was creeping up on four years without her. And I was running out of time.

I fidgeted, gripping the bottles tight in each hand. “It’s not the barn, Brooklyn. Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid,” I said, hoping again that she’d let it go.

“Patrick.” Her voice sounded so sad, and I hated it.

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