Page 102 of House of Payne

Whatever inconvenient feelings she’s stirred up within me will end.

I won’t let this go any other way.

“Don’t take too long,” I warn, my eyes narrowing. “I don’t think I need to remind you not to try anything.”

“You’ve made that clear.”

She slams the door behind her, and I return to circling the house.

It’s not personal, and the sooner you both come to terms with that, the better it’ll be for everyone involved.

***

London

“You’re so stupid,” I mutter through my tears. “How could you let this happen, huh? Why would you do this to yourself, London?”

I pause as if I’m expecting an answer.

I take another look around my childhood room, at the chipped purple paint, the faded old wallpapers, and the same dresser I’ve had since I was a teenager, and something in my stomach hardens.

It’s one thing to know my father risked all of this for the diner.

It’s another thing to realize that, in my haste to save my father’s diner, I hadn’t thought to cement the deal for the house, too.

You don’t know that Mason would’ve let you barter for both properties. I’m sure they cost a lot more than your service.

Still, knowing that I squandered the opportunity doesn’t sit well with me.

How can it?

I’ve only been able to stomach all this by reminding myself that I’m saving my father’s legacy and a cherished part of our history.

How could I have let my childhood home slip through the cracks?

And what will Mason do with it?

I’m torn between wanting to march back downstairs and demand answers and knowing that having them won’t make a difference.

Mason doesn’t owe me anything.

It’s my fault for letting myself get sidetracked by the pull between us.

You have no one to blame but yourself. You’re the one who brokered a deal, remember? You could’ve let Noah take care of things. You could’ve turned a blind eye to all of this.

Except I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.

Noah wouldn’t have been able to pay Mason back in time, and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

More tears fall as I drag a suitcase from under my bed and fill it with things.

I stuff a few of my clothes, some books, and an old box of trinkets from my childhood hidden in the back of my closet. Then, I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands. It takes a few deep, shuddering breaths for me to push the tears away. My head is heavy, and my chest is tight when I look up, and my eyes land on the picture on my desk.

It’s a picture of me at senior prom, standing in a blue dress between my beaming parents.

It’s the last time I remember being happy, and one of the last times we were together as a family.

I had no way of knowing it was the beginning of the end, and that the cracks they’d tried so hard to hide were starting to show.