The tow-headed tot ignores him completely, trying to pull free from his mother’s hand. That’s right, Freddie, you ignore your daddy because you can tell what a twat he is already. I do the right thing—make the right noises about their family. Smile, even if it doesn’t reach my eyes.
‘Isobel, oh, how sweet. What a gem.’Two children, a marriage, and a receding hairline.‘And Freddie, such a lovely name ... how old is he?’
‘One and a half,’ his mother says, smiling down at him as he picks his nose. A habit he has in common with his father, then.
I do the math in my head. Eighteen months plus nine months, plus at least six months for a whirlwind romance.Thirty-three months. Less than three years. What have I done in three years?
I blink, my throat suddenly tight. I’ve made a home, started a business, and those are important things—achievements—things to be proud of. But nothing quite like bringing new life into the world. My heart suddenly aches for what could have been, for whatwas,even if for a short time. Not that the lack of physical presence ever really took the ache away.
Less than four years ago, I lost a little piece of me. A surprise, you might say, though welcome all the same. I housed her in my body for a little while and almost as soon as she arrived, she was gone. I sayher, but that’s just a feeling I had.And this man in front of me? The man so full of his own blessings? He held my hand as I was wheeled into surgery. He promised me I’d be okay. That we’d have other children.
Well, at least one of us has.
Surgery left me with more than just physical scars.
I built a business. Made a home. Adopted new friends. And never really got over my loss. And in the face of his golden love, I want to slit his throat and dance in his guts.
Does that make me evil?
Good, because evil is better than tears.
Chapter 22
FLYNN
I text her. No answer. I call her again and again. Nothing.
We were meant to meet at a sushi joint for an early dinner—she doesn’t like the bike and insists it’s madness for me to pick her up.London Traffic—then we’d made plans to see a movie. One we couldn’t decide on. Chasity isn’t a fan of action movies, and I don’t fancy watching subtitles and films in black and white, which I assumed were more her wheelhouse. It turns out she’s a fan of chick click and romantic comedies. But it’s all good, and our disagreements are just verbal foreplay.
I would’ve been happy staying in, but when you’re in a relationship, you’ve got to switch it up. A dinner, a show, an actual picnic with grass and shit, which isn’t quite as good as staying in bed, feeding her figs, champagne, and my cock. But a relationship isn’t solely based on bedrooms and fucking. Or bathrooms and fucking. Or kitchens and... well, you get the picture. You’ve got to get out once in a while is what I’m saying.
When she’s ten minutes late, I’m not worried. Twenty and I’ll admit my feelings ramp up to concerned, intermingled with a little irritation. Thirty and a couple of unanswered phone calls and my thoughts are running to frantic.
Calm down, I censure myself.Don’t go hunting her down like she owes you money.
There must be a reason. Some kind of work emergency maybe? Family? Something to excuse a lack of preoccupation with her phone. I hope, whatever it is, runs to the former and is coupled with something as simple as a flat battery on her phone.
Like a loser, I vacate the table and grab a couple of take-out boxes and some Asahi Japanese beer, changing my mind at the last minute and swapping it out for a decent sized bottle of sake. Something tells me I might need it. A half hour later, and I’m pulling up at her door.
I knock. Ring the bell. Stand back from the door and look up at her bedroom window to where the shutters are slid shut. I pull out my phone again and just as the call connects, the front door slides open a couple of inches.
‘I’m sorry.’ Words almost bubble from her mouth. Her eyes are rimmed red, mascara having tracked down her face at some point before being smeared across her cheeks.
‘What happened?’ I ask, stepping closer to find her body blocking the entrance. She’s not gonna let me in?
‘I fell asleep. I’m sorry—I should’ve called.’ She sniffs, and I nod, weighing up my options. I’m not sure what they are but accepting this bullshit sure as shit isn’t one of them.
‘Fuck this,’ I grunt, catching her midriff with my shoulder, lifting her into the air as I stand.
‘Flynn, please, I don’t have the energy.’
And this is patently true, lucky for me, hey? Or else I might now be recovering from a knee to my face. The bottle of sake in the bag wrapped around my wrist bashes against the door frame as I push my way in. I wonder distractedly if the sushi will be in any state to eat after that.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you,’ she whimpers upside down as I pause in the hallway. ‘I promise. But just not tonight.’
‘Shush, babe.’ If there was ever a sign that Chastity needs me, it would be that tone right there—and words following my actions that don’t resemblego fuck yourself.
Hallway. Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom. Where to put her down? I go for neutral, depositing her on the couch.
