Page 56 of What are the Chances

“Wait a minute. Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”

“Overreacting?”

“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, thinking back to everything Charlotte told me about her relationship with Kyle. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry. You told me Kyle had cheated on you before. You even had proof. What difference would it have made if I told ye about the picture? You said yourself, you were long done with Kyle.”

“The difference, Mason—lies are bad, secrets are worse.” Her voice wavers, and a deep buried pain twists in my chest. Her voice is literally crushing me from the inside out. “Now, I want to know how long you’ve known about that picture.”

“Charlotte,” I plead. “Come on.”

“No. You owe me that much.”

I pause, thinking back. “The night I took you to the pub. Sam sent me a text with the picture. He told me not to show it to you, so I didn’t.” Every word falls on a sigh.

Charlotte turns to Sam, it’s and as if she’s giving me just enough slack to squeeze in one breath. I still feel her heat, her anger, but I can’t help feeling this is partially his fault as well.

“And you.” Charlotte crosses her arms, focusing solely on Sam.

“Listen, Char.” Sam wipes the crumbs from his chin and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of finding it. I knew you would need someone with you who you trusted and who cared for you. I didn’t know you and Mason had...” He trails off, apparently deciding now to choose his words wisely. “I didn’t know you and Mason had become cordial.”

I roll my eyes, and so does Charlotte. I fight back the urge to chuckle, knowing it wouldn’t help my case to get back on Char’s good side. So, I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting to see how this plays out.

“I guess...” Charlotte sighs, wincing. “I guess I could see what you were trying to do, but it doesn’t change the fact you didn’t tell me. I’m not a child, Sam.”

“I know you aren’t a child, Char.”

“Really?” Charlotte arches her eyebrows and halfway turns to me. She waves her finger between the both of us. “Because ever since I’ve been around the two of you, you seem to think you know what’s best for me.”

“That’s not what we’re doing.”

“But it is, Mason. I can make my own decisions. I spent way too many years doing what I thought I needed to. I lived a half-life, worked a job I only half-liked. I was in a relationship with a man I only half-loved. It’s not about the picture or what Kyle did. It’s the fact you and your brother felt the need to keep it from me.”

Standing here, in my mother’s house with Sam on the couch eating an entire bag of crisps, and Charlotte looking at me like she did the first day we met, I realize I’m more like Kyle than I care to admit to. I may not be a cheater, but I kept a secret just the same. I assumed I knew what was best for Charlotte. Even if Sam was the one who told me to keep it, I should have told her. I should have told her.

“Char, I’m sorry.” Sam stands up and takes a step toward Charlotte.

She recoils, then slowly walks backward toward the hallway leading to the front door.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. Her jaw is set tight, her teeth clenched. I can tell she’s fighting to keep herself together, to keep her emotions at bay, “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses.” She pauses, quickly grabbing her purse off the end table in the hallway. “I don’t think I can be around either of you right now.”

Then, before I’m able to comprehend what’s happening, she’s down the hallway and walking out the front door. The heavy wooden door shuts, the bellowing sound of it closing pulses through the hallway and into the living room where Sam and I are still standing.

“Mason, I’ll go talk to her,” Sam starts.

“I think you’ve done enough as it is, brother,” I cut him off, feeling my frustrations grow and my fear of losing Charlotte before I ever even truly had the chance to be with her. I leave Sam in the living room and jog my way down the hallway. Charlotte couldn’t have gone too far.

When I swing open the front door, I find her at the edge of the lawn, in front of the sidewalk, her purse slung over her shoulder, and her arms are crossed over her middle. The mid-day sun is shining down on her, the red strands of her hair glowing like a raging fire. It looks like she’s waiting for something or someone.

I cross the lawn without a word, relieved she’s still here, giving me a chance to talk to her, stop her from leaving. But I can’t help feeling no matter what I say won’t change the way she feels about me now. She’s angry and has every right to be.

I stand beside her on the edge of the lawn, tempted to reach out and wrap my arm around her, to grab her hand. How is it, just a few hours ago, she was lying with me in my childhood bed?

“I called an Uber. They’re on their way.”

“Char...”

“No, Mason,” she yells. “I don’t think you fucking get it.”

“I do,” I plead with her. I’m desperate, I know I’m losing her. I was already uncertain of what lay ahead of us after our final days here in Ireland. We were headed back to the United States, back to California, back to our regular everyday lives. I can’t lose her now.

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