Hope Over Fear (Over #1) (2 page)

“I’m proposing to her this weekend. Please understand I’m not trying to hurt you, Sara. I’d rather you hear this from me. I feel like I owe you that,” Mason admits calmly.

I can’t quiet the humming in my ears. I can’t still the shaking in my gut. I can’t rid myself of the nausea that is threatening to engulf me. Is he still talking? As I digest his declaration, I’m not even aware of his presence.

You’ve got to get it together. This is what you want for him. This is what he deserves.

“How long have you been dating her?” I ask, attempting to hide my hurt and stunned expression.

Mason looks over at me with a goofy, lovesick smile on his face. “About six months. Her name is Natalie, and she works with me at the investment firm. We’ve been casual friends for a while now, but things just kind of progressed, and—”

“You’ve only been dating her for six months, Mase? Don’t you think that’s a little soon to be talking about marriage?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mason is wearing an incredulous expression, and realization settles in my stomach. Who the fuck do I think I am to ask him those questions?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It was totally out of line. You don’t owe me any explanation. I’m so sorry …” I can’t seem to stop with the stammering.

“You’re right, I don’t owe you an explanation. But I’ll give you one anyway, just to alleviate any and all confusion,” Mason explains with a kind, but firm, expression on his face. “No, it’s not too soon. I knew within the first month of being with Natalie where we were headed. I didn’t have to
convince
her to love me. She just did. Do you know how fucking refreshing that was? To know that there’s someone in this world that adores me, to know that her day is better just because I’m part of it? Come to think of it, I guess you do know that feeling, don’t you, Sara?”

“This is happening. I don’t want to waste another minute of my life not being her husband to appease other people’s ideas on appropriate timelines. I hope that clears up the confusion and ends that line of questioning.”

Yep, I think I would like to take that firing squad right about now. His words cut right through me, because so much truth lies in them.

“You’re right, Mason. I didn’t mean to question your decisions. I’m so happy for you. You deserve great things … you deserve
everything
. You love with your whole heart, and I hope she knows how lucky she is,” I say, quickly correcting my error in judgment. “So how are you going to propose? Wait, no, please don’t tell me. That’s not something I need or want to hear.”

Mason gives me a sympathetic smile. He reaches over and gently squeezes my hand that is grasping my knee so tightly my knuckles are white.

“Thanks, Sara. When it comes to Nat, I have to admit that I’m the lucky one.” Mason begins to shift uncomfortably. “Look, I really need to get going. She’s meeting me for dinner downtown …”

“Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to keep you …”

I look into Mason’s now gentle brown eyes, and he smiles at me, standing to leave. “No worries … you know you deserve great things, too, right?”

The tears I have been fighting back are threatening to spill over, and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I nod and quietly walk Mason to the door, fighting for composure the entire way. I try my hardest to give Mason a winning smile. “Take care, Mason, and congratulations again …”

“You, too, Sara,” Mason says as he crosses the threshold. He hesitates for a brief moment, then turns to face me, “And by the way, we were gonna play Hangman.”

“Huh?”

“That’s how I planned to propose to you … you know, before. Games and puzzles were kind of our thing.” Mason smirks, completely oblivious to the pain I feel at that statement.

“You know, no matter where we are or what we’re doing, you’ll always be my girl, Sara Marie Preston. You may not have turned out to be my forever, but you’re my girl just the same. Nothing changes that, okay?”

“Mason,” I whisper, completely lost for words.

Oh. My. God.

And with those parting words, he turns and walks to his car. He walks out of my life. I slowly, gently, close my front door. I lock the chain. I lock the deadbolt. I lock the doorknob. Then I slide down the wall, into a heap and allow the tears to overtake me. I allow myself to drown.

“New Day” by Green River Ordinance

“Shake It Out” by Florence & the Machine

Present Day

I’VE DREADED AND anticipated this day in equal measure since the day I heard the news. I dread it because it definitely means it’s over. I anticipate it because it definitely means it’s over. The feeling is reminiscent of childhood when my mom would ominously say, “Go to your room, and I’ll come get you when I’m ready.” I knew what was coming. With every minute that passed as I sat on my bed waiting for my punishment, the tension would become greater. I wanted to scream, “Just do it already! I can’t take it anymore!” Yeah, that about sums up this fucking dichotomy of a day.

I put on my workout clothes and pull my wavy, dark hair back into a tight ponytail. After slipping on my running shoes and grabbing my MP3 player, I walk out the door and breathe in the cold, crisp February air. Cold weather can be hard to come by in Louisiana, so I make it a point to enjoy it whenever I can. The suffocating summer heat and humidity will arrive soon enough—making you feel as if you’re trying to breathe underwater.

My Saturday morning runs are about seven miles, and after a good stretch, I get started. I’ve lived most of my life with the, “I’m only running if someone is chasing me” mantra. I’m not entirely sure what initially motivated me to start. Maybe it was to feel like I was running away from the problems in my life. Or maybe it was a way to punish my body for the hurt that I’ve caused. However it began, over time it has become a release for me. Therapy comes in all different forms, right? The pounding of my feet on the pavement and the burning of my muscles is cathartic. I feel the tension that permanently resides in my muscles slowly leave my body as I tack on the miles. What started out as a punishing pace has become effortless and enjoyable. My distances have increased gradually over time, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.

I’ve tried to take on running partners, but it never seems to work out. My best friend, Alex, calls me an antisocial runner. I don’t talk, I sure as hell don’t listen, and I’m definitely not waiting for anyone’s ass to catch up. Exercising shouldn’t be a popularity contest, but she claims I’m a heathen who needs to learn some runners’ etiquette. We agree to disagree.

I have to run outside, the need to take in the scenery too great. Also, I have a strong aversion to feeling like a gerbil on a wheel. I purposefully take a slightly different route today, avoiding the downtown area. Downtown Providence is my favorite place to run; I love the cobblestone streets, the quaint bed and breakfasts, and the strolling tourists. But today, I detour to Northern Louisiana University’s campus. Mason and Natalie’s wedding and reception are being held downtown later this afternoon, and I know that early wedding preparations have probably started. Even I have my limits to the amount of punishment I’ll allow myself to endure.

The farther I run, the freer I feel, and I relish in my good mood. I feel the weight of my decisions lifting; the guilt that plagues me slowly seeps out of my pores and leaves my body. By mile four, my head is held high, and my mouth is slowly turning upward—a near smile. Mason forgave me six months ago, but my feelings today aren’t about him. This is about me and how I’m finally ready to move forward. Mason is getting the happily ever after that he rightly deserves. And I’m getting the forgiveness from myself that I so desperately need.

And, in this moment, I know that I’m going to be okay.

As I turn into my driveway, I see my friend, Marlo, lounging on the steps of my front porch. Marlo lives three houses down from me in West Elm Subdivision, one of the oldest parts of town. Our neighborhood is mostly small, older craftsman style homes that have been recently renovated. That means our houses have beautiful wooden floors, a whole lot of character, and pretty steep rent. The steep rent discourages the college kids, and the home sizes discourage large families. So our neighborhood has become the hotbed for the young professionals in Providence, Louisiana.

“And in first place, with a commanding lead, is Sara Preston, folks. In addition to her Olympic gold medal, she’ll also go into the Guinness Book of World Records for being the sweatiest bitch I know on this cold ass February morning. Let’s all give her a hand,” Marlo quips as she raises her hands for a golf clap.

I’ve known Marlo since nursing school, and she is, without a doubt, the reigning queen of sarcasm and wit. Her chestnut curly hair and piercing green eyes fit her personality perfectly.

“Why thank you, thank you very much. You know, you could always throw on some tennis shoes and come with me. Who knows, you may just steal that gold medal right out from under my nose …”

“Girl, please. You may have given up the mantra, but I haven’t, and I don’t see anyone chasing my ass. I woke up a little early this morning, and I decided to walk over and see if you wanted to visit. Maybe drink some coffee, shoot the breeze … you know, whatever …” Marlo suggests, shrugging her shoulders and acting more than a little bit concerned and a whole lot suspicious.

“Transparent much, Marlo? Seriously, I really appreciate the sentiment, but I’m fine. I’m good actually, and I’m going to be great very soon. I can just feel it, ya know?” I sit next to her on the steps and nudge her shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m glad to hear it, Sara, but I just want you to know that it’s okay … if you’re not doing great, I mean. I’m here for you in whatever capacity you need. Voodoo dolls and needles? I’m your girl. Angry chick music and whiskey? Sign me up. A bonfire and old love letters? I’ve got the matches in my pocket. Now, if you’re planning on storming the church with ugly girl tears and demanding Natalie hand over your man, you’re on your own. That shit is just bad karma,” Marlo says as she leans back on her elbows.

I can’t help but crack up at my crazy friend. Where does she come up with this stuff? “Thanks Marlo, but I think you can save the matches for another time. I’m happy for them … and hopeful for me. I’ve been beating myself up for way too long, and I’m done with it. Mason gets his new beginning today, and so do I. You can call off the crazy watch, I promise.”

“I’m glad to hear it, my friend. I’m about to crash for the rest of the day, but feel free to wake me up if your good cheer starts wavering. Hey, are you on ‘hoo-hoo duty’ with me tonight?” Marlo asks as she rises up and starts walking down the sidewalk.

“Gross! Stop it with the nasty ass names!” Marlo and I not only live next to each other, we also work nights together at Providence General Hospital’s labor and delivery unit. I may give her shit about her foul mouth, but her antics have kept me awake on more night shifts than I can count.

“Please accept my heartfelt apology. I didn’t mean to offend your sensitive ears, m’lady,” Marlo retorts in her best British accent. “Now, are you part of the “vagina squad” or not?”

I shake my head, giving silent thanks for the wonderful friends in my life. After Mason and I imploded, I shut myself off from everyone I loved. They didn’t understand my actions, and I didn’t feel the need to explain. For a short period of time, Alex and Marlo granted me the space I so desperately needed. About a month into my self-imposed exile, they stormed my house and gave me the tough love I needed to start the healing process.

“Sorry, babe, you’ll have to carry on without me. I don’t work again until Monday night.”

“Why don’t you stop by and goof around with us tonight? I don’t want you at home alone—that’s a definite recipe for wallowing, and I know how you can be, girl.”

“Thanks, but I’m covered,” I tell Marlo, “Alex and I are taking a little road trip to her parents’ house in Cedar Ridge. She’s been kind of secretive about the trip, so I’m not sure what she has planned. I’m game for whatever, though, as long as I can spend a little time out of town. No matter how well I’m taking all of this, I think it’s a good idea to create a little distance for the weekend. We’ll probably be back in Providence tomorrow afternoon.”

“Cool, I’m glad Alex has you covered. Well, it’s siesta time for me, so I’ll catch ya later. Glad to see you’re doing okay, Sara. Now, please go shower. I can smell your nasty ass from all the way over here.” Marlo winks over her shoulder and makes her way back to her house.

Yeah, a shower is definitely in order …