Page 4 of The Other Side of Paradise (Story of Paradise #2)

Allison

I knew we had trouble when Brooklyn messaged me asking hey, can we call real quick?

Brooklyn wasn’t one for phone calls—she was all text if you need me, come see me in person if you really need me, and call me if somebody’s dying.

The last time she’d asked to call had been when her bartending coworker Laura had thrown up in Brooklyn’s car and she’d had to ask me to pick up the person she’d been going to drive somewhere while hauling Laura to a bathroom. I kinda hoped this wasn’t that.

“All good?” Gavin said, and I looked up from the phone, waving him off.

“Yeah—well, probably no. BB’s got trouble. Gonna call her.”

Gavin raised his eyebrows high. He’d finished his shift at the same time I had—we usually finished at the same time, which was how we’d ended up friends outside of work too, grabbing another overworked and tired front desk staffer or housekeeper to hang out at one of the cafes close to the resort or schedule an activity somewhere.

Today had been tile painting, something I’d done a million times and had even volunteered a couple times helping run sessions at.

The demonstration component had ended a minute ago, leaving us all around the long table under a blaring AC and long windows blocked out with palm leaves, when I’d gotten the text from BB, and Gavin set down his paintbrush. “Calling her? Is she dying?”

“Dunno, man. Hope not. Who’s gonna make me pizza if she does?” I stood up. “I’ll step out to call. Watch my spot?”

“Will do.” He gave me a dazzling smile. “If you don’t come back, I’ll steal your drink.”

“Okay, I’d complain if I hadn’t taken your chips while you were off flirting on Saturday.

Thanks, G.” I slung my bag over my shoulder, pushing out through the door—the organizer, an old white lady named Sherry who wore a bandana in her hair so regularly I thought it might have been part of her skull, looked concerned my way but didn’t stop me, clearly trusting me more than she trusted the smattering of tipsy tourists laughing loudly as they painted.

I got to the back terrace and leaned up against the wall, covering my ear against the noise of the busy bar across from the workshop as I put the phone to my other ear. Brooklyn picked up in no time.

“Hey,” she said, her voice tight. “Sorry to interrupt you. Are you all still at the workshop?”

“Danica already got tired and went home, but G and I are still here. It’s wrapping up soon, but I can bounce if you need something…?”

“Just a little… er… assist would be nice?” She let out a frustrated sigh. “That girl you mentioned was nice to you at front desk earlier, Ryan Bell. You said she was in suite 36, right?”

I scowled. “BB, you’re calling me to come help you flirt with a girl?”

“Ha. If only I were, Allison. No, I actually almost got lucky with a guy tonight. Tall, dark, handsome, and turns out, trying to take me back to suite 36 for a night together while the Bells were all at the beach.”

“Oh, shit.” I squeezed the phone tighter, a cold feeling down my spine. “Ryan’s boyfriend tried to cheat with you?”

“Seems like it.” Her voice was bitter, tart.

Beating herself up. She’d been around the block—Brooklyn was all about the casual fling with a sexy guest and had slept with about a million hot tourists, and it wasn’t her first time finding out someone was cheating with her, but I knew all too well how much it sucked.

Jesus, of all the timing. I grimaced. “So… what do you want me to do?”

“Could you swing by suite 36 and get Ryan? I need to tell her about it… but as far as I can tell, she and the boyfriend are in there together, and I don’t think he’s going to love me showing up for a private word with her.

You’d already talked to her before, so you’re more likely to get her out of there without raising his suspicions. ”

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “Just to be sure, this isn’t, like, an open relationship kind of thing?”

“Nah. Waited until he invited me inside, just in case maybe she was in on it and I was about to have a threesome.”

“I’m… not surprised, actually.” I slumped back against the wall, a heavy knot tying tighter in my gut.

The fact that this little kick in the gut had to happen—and to the sister of the last person I needed to see right now—I just desperately hoped Stella wouldn’t be hanging out around there.

I’d lose my mind if I had to see her right now.

“It’s not like they’re going anywhere fast, so if you need a minute to wrap up at the workshop, that’s fine. I’ll be at the resort bar.”

“Nah, it’s, ugh… this kind of thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I couldn’t sit there painting right now. I’ll be there in ten, okay?”

“Thanks, Allison. Honestly, I appreciate it. See you in a sec.”

I groaned heavily when I put the phone away, leaning back against the wall and thumping the back of my head on it. I’d been doing well putting it all away, the tangle of guilt, but it snarled back up and hurt anew, like a wound coming back open.

“Fuck me, I’ll process these things later,” I groaned, turning and pushing into the workshop.

∞∞∞

And later, apparently, was at Brooklyn’s house, about an hour after the phone call, where I’d been on my way back to my place but had known full well Brooklyn was going to spiral right now, and I’d walked along the quiet street lined with palm trees and rich with ocean breeze to get to the traditional cabana-style house at the end, Brooklyn’s car parked in front, and I’d knocked at the door.

Brooklyn hadn’t even said anything when she opened the door to see me there, just stepping back to let me in.

She was a tall woman with an athletic build, sculpted from all her rock-climbing and her time at the gym, with a sleek dark bob cut and sleeve tattoos, and like usual, she was dressed to show off a little bit, a loose tank top that showed the musculature on her arms. I guess I could see why people thought she was hot, but…

sculpted girls were so not my type. Too intimidating.

“Hey,” I said, stepping inside. “Are you doing okay?”

“Psh.” She gave me a wry smile. “Am I ever. Come in. Sit down. I was just sitting staring into the middle distance.”

“Uh-huh…” I watched as she dropped into the seat at the table under the window, her phone in hand, staring at that in lieu of the middle distance. “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not the one who might not be okay right now.”

I rolled my eyes, dropping down into the seat across from her. She was being difficult, and she knew it—brushing off the subject whether with deflection or dry humor. “You obviously feel like this whole thing is your responsibility,” I said, “and you’re worried about her.”

She sighed, setting the phone down, and she gave me a tired look. “I’ve got a big heart,” she said, right back to sarcasm as a coping mechanism. “Can’t help caring too much about everyone around me… I’m sure you can find it in your heart to forgive me for that.”

“Hm.” I didn’t think I was supposed to push her right now. Still, she relaxed for me, a tired ghost of a smile on her face.

“I just hope she’ll be all right,” she said, looking away, not quite there. “Hard to look someone in the eye going through that kind of thing and not worry… she had a fully internalized meltdown while staying perfectly polite on the outside.”

I scrunched up my face at her. “I’m pretty sure it’s just because you blame yourself.”

“I’ve dealt with enough people to know who to be mad at,” she said, hands up defensively. “Shane’s the one who’s been cheating on her.”

Ugh. Right. Because it was that easy. When someone’s partner cheated with you, it was as simple as waving a hand and saying oh, it’s not my fault, and then you were absolved of all guilt. I looked away. “If you say so.”

She got a smile I didn’t like, leaning in towards me, and she folded her arms on the table. “So… something you want to share with the class?”

Ah, shit, she was onto me. I bristled. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone cheated on you over the last year, or what’s the baggage about?”

I huffed, feeling my face flush, and I folded my arms protectively. “Oh my god, BB, I don’t have baggage.”

She gave me a look like she knew I had baggage, and suddenly, she stood up. “Well, if that’s true, then I guess we’re all good here. Let me guess, you want food?”

That wasn’t why I was here. But… I wasn’t saying no to food. Especially if she might offer me pizza. “I’m famished,” I said.

“Pizza?”

Score. “You’re the best friend in the world,” I said, which honestly, it was kind of true, but I couldn’t possibly admit it without the sarcasm as a shield.

But I could only hide from it for so long, and I could tell BB knew I was sitting on something, so by the time we were out in the patio behind her house, with the brick-fired pizza oven crackling bright in the night and a mug full of ginger beer, I hunched into the corner of the ultra-soft patio couch she had, and I mumbled—apropos of nothing—“I kind of did the same thing.”

She glanced over at me from the chair to my left, her feet kicked up on the table. “Cheated on someone?”

I shot her a look. “What do you take me for? No. I, uh… someone cheated with me.” I withered, looking down. “I didn’t know she had a girlfriend…”

She stared at me for a second, her gaze scoping me out, before she softened, setting her drink down. “It’s hard as hell to stop blaming yourself for it. Promise it’s not your fault, though. How long ago was it?”