Page 24 of What are the Chances

Mason

WHAT’S THAT SAYING? YOU always want what you can’t have?

Yeah, I think that’s the one.

I didn’t care Charlotte wasn’t mine when I agreed to help her find her family. I didn’t care she wasn’t mine when I snagged us a ride in Harold’s flower truck, forcing her to sit on my lap. I’d thrown out all effort at keeping her away the moment I woke up this morning, knowing she had slept next to me all night. There’s one thing I’m certain of and that was how much I felt her absence when I woke up to find her side of the bed empty. I want Charlotte more than I realized and have only known her for two days. Knowing she is Kyle’s did nothing to stop me from keeping her close. So, no, I don’t care she isn’t mine.

Despite all the other circumstances, I sure as fuck didn’t care Charlotte wasn’t mine right before dinner when Sam texted me a screenshot of a picture Kyle posted on his Instagram. My blood is still boiling on the cab ride back home to my parents’ house in Roslevan.

Charlotte’s sitting beside me in the backseat, her head resting against my shoulder. She let go of my hand, keeping her fingers laced in her lap. Her breaths are short and quiet, leading me to believe the whiskey made her a bit drowsy.

Her head slowly bobs against my shoulder, causing me to lean back in the seat a bit farther, attempting to steady her sleeping body. Her head gently tilts back against the black leather seat, but she stays resting against me. I smile when I look down to find her eyes closed and her lips parted a fraction, allowing a small passage of air.

My chest swells and my head pounds, thinking of all the ways Kyle is wrong for her. She’s beautiful and intelligent. She’s strong and determined. Everything Kyle doesn’t deserve.

Reassured she’s still asleep, I slide my phone out of my pocket and open my thread of texts with Sam. Just before we had entered the pub for dinner, I had opened something I wish I could have immediately unseen.

Staring at me in full color was a picture of Kyle taking a selfie, his arm wrapped around a woman who wasn’t Charlotte. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail, red rimmed sunglasses perched on top of her head. Behind them were rows and rows of what looked like grape fields. The part of the picture that had my stomach twisting into knots was the kiss Kyle was planting on this woman’s cheek in a more than friendly way.

The fucker. The asshole.

I couldn’t understand what Sam was texting me or even why he had sent it to me when his screenshot was followed by one simple message.

Sam: I’ll call you as soon as I can. Please don’t tell Charlotte.

I couldn’t stop looking at the damn picture. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. It was like watching a train wreck—you can’t seem to break your eyes away from it. Not only couldn’t I break my eyes away from Sam’s message, I couldn’t respond. How do you respond to something like that?

I hadn’t noticed how long I had been looking at my phone at the pub until Charlotte asked what was wrong. When I looked up and her eyes met mine, my throat seized up. I was now the keeper of a secret I didn’t wish to keep. Dammit, Sam.

Forcing myself to break away from his text, I shut my phone off and slide it back into my pocket. I don’t know if I can keep this a secret from Charlotte as Sam asked me to, but when my head throbs once again, I decide not to worry about it for now. I push it into some dark, deep recess of my brain, willing it to disappear—hoping and praying it will.

After Charlotte told me a bit of her history with Kyle, she confirmed my suspicions that Kyle hasn’t changed since University. He plays women and doesn’t care who he hurts, only caring about himself.

As the cab driver turns onto my parents’ street, I turn my head just enough to rest my cheek against the top of Charlotte’s head. Her hair is soft against my skin as I breathe in the scent of flowers. She smells like my mother’s garden.

With every house that passes, I think of Charlotte’s eyes. I think of her mouth and how it would feel to press mine to hers. I think of her skin and how it feels brushing against mine.

A few minutes later, we pull alongside the curb, finally making it home. I quietly and carefully hand the driver his money before turning to Charlotte.

“Char, wake up,” I whisper. “We’re home, álainn.”

She turns her face farther into my shoulder, her eyes still closed. “Mason?” she whispers in the still dark cab.

Reaching over, I swipe my fingers along her cheek, tucking stray hair behind her ear. I crack open the passenger door, preparing to step out.

“We’re home,” I repeat.

Slowly, she lifts her head. She narrows her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the small amount of light overhead. Finally, her eyes open wide, and I hesitate, unwilling to move. Her eyes are hypnotic under the small golden light, the flecks buried deep in her eyes, shining. I can sense her hesitation. I can’t tell exactly what it is, but I can see a small battle hidden within her.

Silence fills the car with us simply staring at one another. Then my stomach twists when she smiles. The corners of her eyes curve, lifting with the corners of her mouth.

“I had a great day.”

I swallow, my chest growing warm with her words.

“Me too.” It’s all I can manage to say. Unrelenting, my mind wanders once again to the picture of Kyle. “We should get inside.”

Her smile falters, the corners of her mouth quickly fading. She nods once before I turn around to step out of the car. I hold my hand out for her, but she doesn’t take it. Instead, she steps out of the car and walks past me. By the time I’ve shut the car door, she’s already halfway up the walkway.

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