“What’s up? Don’t tell me you haven’t done the deed,” he asks.
“Oh, I did the deed all right. Just the wrong fucking one.” I’m an idiot.
“You fucked her.” This is not a question. Max can read me like a book.
“Yeah, and no lectures. No one feels more guilty than me. Look, maybe I should meet you in Braebeach. It wouldn’t be cool to drop a bombshell and take off.”
“You can’t stay. We’ve got to get home for Ash and the family. They’ve got a funeral to organise, remember?”
“We don’t even have a date yet,” I argue. “It could be weeks away.”
“But what if it’s not? Don’t chance it, Tommy. You don’t need the regret of missing this flight on top of everything else.”
I know Max is right, but if I hadn’t complicated this breakup by thinking with my dick, this wouldn’t be a problem. I’m wracked with guilt. “What else can I do? I can’t just—” I stop in case Chelsea isn't sleeping at all.
“Is she with you?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Dude, one-night stands were never a problem before you met her, so just think of this in the same way. Get it done. The guys at home need us. Don’t flake out.”
“I know. I’ve got it.” My fingers comb through my hair. The line is silent apart from my teeth grating together.
“Do the decent thing, Tommy.”
“I heard you.”
“I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run my fingers through my hair. If only I’d been straight the minute I got back to New York, I wouldn’t be dreading the conversation I know I have to have.
The shower is ice cold and my skin tightens as the waterrains down. This is just the way I like it and the best way to shake myself up.
After I brush my teeth and wrap a towel around my waist, I glance in the mirror. Jesus, where did the black rings around my eyes come from? I run my hand down my face and over my beard, which could also do with a trim. I’ve got no time or energy for messing around with razors and shit. I guess I’d better get this over with.
I drop down on the bed, hoping to wake her up. The bed moves and the warmth of Chelsea’s fingertips as they dust over my shoulders and against my chest tells me she was already waiting. Fuck, this was a bad idea.
She growls into my ear, “Hey, you.” I guess she didn’t catch too much of my conversation with Max. Either that or she’s a glutton for punishment.
I break away from her embrace, guilt running through me.
“What's going on?” she questions.
“Nothing. I didn’t realise the time and I have to get dressed.”
Avoiding her stare, I pick up my jeans from the bedroom floor and put them on. She silently watches me pull a clean white t-shirt over my head as if she wants to eat me alive, but I’ve bided my time long enough. There is nothing else to do now but brace myself for the shit storm that’s about to happen. This won’t be a straightforward conversation, but I don’t doubt what I’m about to say either. There’s so much going on in my life. I can’t give her what she wants; that isn’t fair to either of us. The truth is, returning to Braebeach isn’t just about attending Scott’s funeral.
I tried to support Angie as best as I could, but she’s so deep inside her grief that it’s going to take a lot longer than a few weeks to see her through this. My heart fucking breakswatching her fall apart day after day, unable to process or accept Scott is gone.
Ash and Calla are doing their best too, but Angie refuses to deal with anything legal. It wasn’t until the coroner’s office called Calla directly that she found out the autopsy report on Scott’s body was complete and the family were able to arrange the funeral. Angie was ignoring their calls, so Ash and Calla took over. I don’t know where they are with the arrangements, and I don’t want to ask, but I do want to be there for them and help where I can.
“Where are you going?” Chelsea asks, sitting up in bed.
I put my thoughts to one side. “To the airport.”
“The airport? What the—what for? You just got here.”
“You knew this was a flying visit,” I say while grabbing various clothes from my drawers.
