If only Jade, Red and Brodie were here, then everything would be perfect.
Monty gives my shoulder a discreet nudge. I look up into his blue eyes and we share a smile. Things might not be utterly perfect, but you know what? This is damn well close enough.
Chapter twenty-four
Monty
Ican’t stop staring at my phone. It is as if some part of me believes that if I stare at the email long enough, the words will rearrange. The message retract.
Dimly, I am aware of the beaker bubbling over on the worktable beside me. It’s nothing caustic, so I can’t muster the motivation to shake myself out of this stupor and take it off the heat.
The door to the campervan opens. I hear Pink step inside. He hurries over to the worktable and turns the burner off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him throw a rag onto the spillage that has pooled on the wooden surface of the table.
“Monty?” he asks, his voice full of concern.
My tongue appears to be stuck to the roof of my mouth, and all my muscles are frozen. I can’t reply.
He gently takes my phone from my lax fingers and places it on the side, without looking at what is on the screen.
His warm hand slips into mine and his other hand runs softly through my hair, temporarily smoothing it down.
“Monty, sweetheart, what’s happened?”
My lungs restrict painfully. “My father has died.”
Pink gasps. A short, sharp sound of pain. His hands move and he pulls me close. Cradling my face against his stomach and holding me here. He strokes my hair softly. My hands rise up and wrap around his waist.
Tears are gathering in my eyes, and a sob is catching in my throat. Why am I feeling this way? My father has been dying for years. I thought I had made my peace with it. I was looking forward to it, not out of malice, but for his sake. And Laurie’s.
Falling apart like this makes no sense at all. But then again, emotions are rarely logical.
“I need to leave for a few days,” I croak. “To sort everything out.”
Pink makes a soft noise of surprise.
Oh, damn. I blurted that out without thinking. Clearly, I’m too befuddled to think straight because now I have gone and put my foot in it.
An exile, one who was disowned, would have no duties upon their father’s death. The only thing to do would be to mourn. Both the loss and the could-have-beens.
“I…I’m not disowned,” I stammer weakly, as well as needlessly. I guess I am giving voice to my confession.
“It’s okay,” shushes Pink as he pulls me even closer. Two simple words, one gesture. Benediction for all my lies and deception.
His kindness, his tenderness, his forgiveness, all surround me like a hug of their own. It is far more than I deserve. My shoulders heave and my sobs break free.
Pink stands strong and holds me.
“I’m coming with you,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument.
And pathetically, I don’t even want to try to change his mind. I want Pink by my side. In all things. Always.
My knee is jiggling. In a few minutes, my ancestral home is going to come into view. James, our driver, smoothly increases the speed of the car. As if he is looking forward to reaching the journey’s end.
Beside me, in the back of the car, Pink places his hand on my knee and gives me a soft, encouraging smile. He looks dashing in his dark suit. I didn’t even know he owned any formal clothes. I didn’t ask him to put a suit on, he just did. Because he was raised in the same world that I was.
The world we are rapidly driving towards. A world of rules and obligations. Stiff formalities. Duty. Expectations. And no freedom at all.
Pink didn’t need to come back to it. But he chose to. He chose to brave it all in order to support me.
