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.
‘I’m sorry.’ Something twists in my gut as she folds herself forward, her hands in her lap, her face covering them.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’ I chuck my jacket on the opposite chair and drop to my knee in front of her to rub a few circles of reassurance across her back. The gears in my mind beginning to turn and clank, coming up blank. ‘What is it, babe?’ Under my hand, her body stiffens, and she rapidly shakes her head. But I’m not accepting that shit, either.
I take a seat next to her, pulling her barely resistant form onto my lap. My body cradles hers, her legs bent, feet planted on the sofa cushion to the side as I band my arms around her. I keep up with the circles, though lighter this time, the way I know she likes.
I don’t speak, and I don’t make demands. I just listen to her small, shuddering breaths, her face pressed into my shirt as I accept the cooling effects of her tears breaching my shirt to touch my skin.
Eventually, her breathing evens out. I think maybe she’s gone to sleep—worn herself out. I don’t doubt that’s part of why she didn’t turn up earlier. Exhaustion from tears? But what the fuck has happened and how can I help? How can I fix this? As though privy to my thoughts, she speaks.
‘I saw my ex today. Miles is his name.’
Oh, shit.My heart fucking sinks to the depths of my boots. Anything that causes this much hurt hasn’t been dealt with—the emotion and the pain hasn’t burned itself out. But I still don’t speak. I don’t know what to say, but I feel the implications, the thoughts of her slipping away making me sick.
‘I-I haven’t seen him since we broke up. He said I was u-unstable.’ Her breath catches on the final word, her chest beginning to stutter again.
‘We say a lot of things we don’t mean when we’re hurting. And you already know men are arseholes, right?’
Her laughter is just a consonant sound that breaks free, surprising us both.
‘Thing is, he was right.’
