Chapter 23

Lucy

I pause outside Ginny's house, my heart hammering against my ribs. Chance is silhouetted in the upstairs window on the gauzy curtains. I need him now more than ever, to unravel the knots of my inheritance and the truth about my father—or rather, the man who isn't biologically my father.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I slip into Chance's apartment downstairs. The back stairs creak under my weight as I ascend into Ginny's abode and knock.

"Lucy?" Ginny's voice is soft through the tension that crackles in the air as I emerge from the stairway. She reaches for my hand, her touch grounding, but my eyes are already drawn past her, to where Chance stands, jaw set, hands gesturing with contained vehemence.

"Chance—" I begin, but the words stall in my throat when I see her. A tall woman, dark hair cascading around her like midnight waves, locks horns with Chance in a rapid-fire exchange of French. Their words dart too quickly for my language skills to capture every word.

My grip tightens around Ginny's hand. Even without full understanding, I know. This is his past come to stake its claim. Her posture, the tilt of her head, the way she invades his space; it's all a dance of possession, and I'm an unwanted spectator.

"Merde, Céline!" Chance throws his hands up in exasperation. Her name registers, a bitter pill dissolving on my tongue. Céline . The one I hoped he'd never hear from again.

As their argument crescendos, I stand overwhelmed, a silent plea caught in my throat. I came here to expose my vulnerability, to seek solace in Chance's embrace. Instead, suddenly, even more things feel unstable. Chance has his own battle to fight at the moment, and I have nowhere to turn. Plus, what if I'm looking at the possibility of my heart being shredded into a million tiny pieces?

Céline's gaze cuts across the room to me. Her eyes narrow, darkening with contempt. "Why is she here?" She spits the words, her English clipped and venomous. "What is she doing here?"

"Lucy—she's—" Chance starts, but Céline barrels over him, her voice rising to a crescendo.

"Ah, the little home wrecker!" she exclaims. She continues in French, and I'm lost. The sting of her words feels like a slap.

"Enough, Céline!" Chance's command booms as he steps between us. He fixes her with a steel-edged stare. "Stop right now," he growls. "This is not about her. It's about us."

His defense should offer comfort, but it serves as a stark reminder of the complexities of our relationship. A knot tightens in my chest, constricting breath and heart all at once. I can't bear another second. Nothing in my life is what I thought it was.

Chance hasn't fully let Céline go. It's not just her who isn't finished fighting this battle. I see it in the way his body leans toward her even as he wards her off. It's in the tension that lines his jaw, the fire behind his eyes.

"Excuse me," I murmur. I turn, retreating down the back stairs.

With each step, the weight of the truth grows heavier. Nothing feels solid right now. The secrets I carry with me will remain locked within. I'm halfway down the stairs when Chance's footsteps thunder after me. I don't stop, don't turn, but his voice, strained with urgency, slices through the air.

"Lucy, wait!" he calls from the top of the staircase. "She showed up uninvited, I swear to you."

I pause, one foot hovering over the next step.

"She won't be staying long," he insists, his voice descending as he takes the steps two at a time, trying to bridge the distance my hurt has carved out.

But before I can muster a response, Céline's voice cuts through the tension. "Je ne vais nulle part!" Her declaration rings with challenge, each syllable sharp and clear. " I'm not going anywhere."

That much I understand perfectly.

The tears press behind my eyelids, a dam strained to its limit. I can't manage this right now. With a blink, I force them back, unwilling to show the cracks in my armor. "I understand," I whisper, the words catching in my throat.

Chance is before me now, his eyes searching mine for something—understanding, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that I won't disappear from his life as quickly as I entered it. But all I see is the storm of emotions warring within him, and through my own turmoil, I don't know what I can offer him.

"You said you were still getting over her. I see that now. You have nothing to apologize for. Do what you need to do."

His jaw clenches, and he doesn't answer immediately. In that silence, I feel the chasm widen.

"Lucy, I—" He starts but falters, the right words eluding him.

He doesn't know what to do with this situation either. And I'm only a distraction, adding fuel to her fire. I need to go. He's not available to me right now. And I don't have any way to help him.

I turn away, walking out Chance's front door to my car.

"You can do this," I say over my shoulder, trying for a smile. And I'm sure he can. I just don't know what he's going to decide to do.

The drive over Lion's Gate Bridge is a blur of city lights and tears. Vancouver sprawls before me, indifferent to the heartache unfolding in individual lives. I feel completely untethered, as if all the things I knew about myself and my life have been called into question at once.

By the time I reach my place, the tears have dried into salty tracks on my face. The quiet of my apartment amplifies the hollow feeling inside me.

I text Janelle and Tiffany.

Me: Today is a lousy day that went to hell in a handbasket. I'm eating ice cream. Please come save me.

Janelle responds immediately.

Janelle: Walk away from the ice cream. You can do it! I'm at the pub until 2 a.m. I'll call you when I get home. ((Hugs!))

It takes time for Tiffany to respond.

Tiffany: We're at dinner. I'll call when I get home. And Janelle's right. Back carefully away from the ice cream.

But I'm not as strong as they seem to think, and there's no one available for me to talk to, so I do find solace in the cold comfort of ice cream—three pints, to be exact. They form a trio of frosty consolers as I sink onto the couch, the Barbie movie playing mindlessly before me. It's just noise in the background while I wait for Janelle to get home from Barney's and Tiffany to finish her date so we can talk.

"Get it together," I mutter to myself. But the tears return anyway, unbidden, spilling over as I spoon mouthfuls of sweet, creamy escape. The laughter and chatter from the screen seem so distant, so disconnected from the heaviness in my chest.

Sometime later, I press the spoon against the rim of the pint, scraping up the last of the mint chocolate chip. The Barbie characters dance across the screen, their solutions wrapped in a neat bow by the time the credits roll. If only life were scripted like a movie. "You're strong. You can handle this," I tell myself. I just need time to sort through all of this, to let it play out. But I fear where I'll end up after all is revealed.

I'm upset with myself for being upset, though it should be understandable. As of today, my father is not my father, and the relationship I'd convinced myself I was building with Chance now looks shaky all over again. What if he chooses Céline? I take a deep breath. I just need my friends, need a reminder that here are some things that remain solid in my life.