“What?” I screeched. “How?”
“I really would workhardand do whatever was required,Mr. Dane.” He teased, sarcastic judgement in every single syllable.
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “I may as well have attached some nudes. Why am I like this?” I asked, utterly perplexed at how I was so socially inept yet maintained a Distinction average across every assessment.
“You’re a Mathema-queen. We’re all socially inept.”
“You aren’t,” I maintained. “You’re the life of every party.”
“True,” he replied with no hint of sarcasm to be seen. Xavier was my antithesis. An extrovert to my introvert and the most confident person I knew – or so it seemed. We both knew it was a charade for whatever skeletons he had hanging in his closet, but it was an unspoken agreement we didn’t emotionally support each other unless life was dire.
It was our totally unhealthy friendship code, and it worked for us.
“I’ll let you know if he replies. Going to make something sweet and minty.”
“Whenhe replies,” he farewelled before ending the call without so much as a goodbye. Smiling, I plugged my phone in to charge and headed down to join Mum in the kitchen.
CHAPTER 5
Cooper
The gates opened before I even had a chance to ease off the throttle, a sure sign Mum was standing at the window waiting for my arrival. My intrusive thoughts begging me to swing the bike around and head back the way I came were strong today and I reluctantly persevered despite the inevitable shit storm I was about to walk into. I was approaching a metaphorical firing squad every time I rode down this drive and while I enjoyed a good sparring, I much preferred some physical combat rather than the brow beating my father would no doubt have prepared.
I raised my hand in greeting as I passed Robert perfecting the hedges. Most of the staff were transient but Bert had been with us since I was a kid and he was more of a constant than my parents, who gallantly spent their time doinganythingexcept raising me. He tipped his hat, ever the gentleman, bopping his head from side to side to whatever was playing from the radio in the cart next to him. Likely the same portable, battery-operated device he’d maintained was just as sturdy as it was when he bought it forty years ago.
Before I left home, I gave him a set of Bluetooth headphones and a more current player already connected to Spotify, but he refused to accept any of it saying he wouldn’t use acomputeranddidn’t care to learn. We compromised and while he never did use it, he regifted them to his granddaughter who he reported was ecstatic.
Peeling off my gloves I rolled my eyes at my still swollen knuckles knowing it would be a homing beacon for both of my parents the second I entered the front door. I couldn’t come to regret the reason behind them though, especially when those fuckers clearly felt no remorse putting their hands on a woman who said no.
Seb was my brother, which meant his sister Evangeline and his mother Judy were also family and I would do whatever I needed to protect them. Even if the decision at the time wasn’t a conscious one and a version I did my best to control had taken over for longer than I would have liked.
Eva’s earlier email flashed through my mind followed by the way my gut clenched at the sound of her voice when I’d called her. Seb’s idea to have her work for me made sense for her and for me. Not to mention she was someone I trusted despite barely seeing her since we were kids, but there was something causing me to think twice.
She’d always been a weakness.
Someone I felt compelled to protect at all costs. Someone who I knew saw deeper than I ever wanted anyone to see.
In a strange turn, the phone call had been surprisingly simple. Conversation was easy and it felt like no time had passed. She’d also graciously accepted my apology for what I called anover-reactionat the club the other night. Although not something I regretted even remotely. I didn’t ask her if she got my message or why she never replied, wondering why I’d sent it in the first place. But I did enjoy the way she had a series of questions at the helm - what exactly was I expecting, what hours would she work, was there a vending machine (that one made me laugh and seriously consider buying one for her based on her disappointed sigh) and how many people per day would try to talk to her - just to name a few. Often shooting her next one before I’deven finished answering the one prior and it was as familiar as it was disarming how much I enjoyed the impromptu questionnaire.
A phone call was one thing though and after seeing her at the Grey Petal opening and then again, the other night, it was going to be precarious at best to be in the same place with her for six whole weeks. Emotions were never something I knew how to talk about. It was always easier to lock them down, shove them into the background where they couldn’t be used against me. Unpacking them - none of that ever helped. Especially not growing up. My parents weren’t around to ask, and they wouldn’t have cared anyway.
But her?
She always had a way of making me talk, even before I realised I was. And that was the scariest part now, because we weren’t kids anymore. The feelings were heavier. Messier. And they mattered.
Placing my helmet on the bike, I ran a hand through my hair and headed up the stairs to the front door. There was no denying my childhood house was impressive. It was on a decent stretch of land, and everything was always immaculately maintained. But money didn’t buy love, and it didn’t buy a home and while there were plenty of people who would give a lot to live here, I wasn’t one of them.
Through the double glass doors I saw Mum, her fake smile fixed, hair and makeup perfect as they always were, even on days when she didn’t leave the house.
“Son. I’m so happy to see you.” I wrapped an arm around her for a quick embrace, careful not to squeeze too tight or risk a reprimand for creasing her linen shirt or some other shit hugging her son might cause.
“Hey, Ma.”
“You need a haircut. Delilah is coming out this afternoon, she can cut it for you.” She stated, walking away before I could respond.
Keeping my protest behind my teeth, I followed her into the kitchen. Not even thirty seconds after arriving and she was already starting with the criticisms.
Oblivious, as usual, she continued her monologue. “Did I tell you Maxine’s daughter was asking after you? You remember Samantha, don’t you? I was going to invite her over today, but I wasn’t sure if you’d come. You never visit anymore.” When she turned toward me, her face was a carefully orchestrated mask, designed to inflict the maximum amount of guilt. But I knew her better than she realised, and I’d long since learned how to play the role of dutiful son. I’d already limited my visit to a strict sixty minutes and arranged for one of my team to call with an ‘emergency’ at the distillery that required myurgentattention.
