Chapter 24
FLYNN
Chastity kept me at arm’s length for the rest of the week, making me promise to give her space. If you ask me, space is exactly the last thing she needs, especially after what I’d seen sticking out of her purse the morning I’d left her in a hurry, late for work. Boots in my hand at the hallway, I’d dropped them to the floor to shunt my feet into them when my eyes had slid to her purse on the floor. A big slouchy purse, the contents hanging half in and half out; mail and a brightly coloured A4 brochure thing. I know better than to pry, and I sure as shit wasn’t snooping, but the wordFertilityhad jumped out at me. So like an arsehole, I’d pulled the brochure out of her bag.
A fertility clinic in London.
I get why—more than ever after seeing her so devastated. I just don’t gethow. Not that it’ll come to it. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it because this last week, Chastity has been the only thing on my mind. Turns out, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Absence makes you realise you are in love.
Call me stupid, but if she’s having a kid with anyone, she’ll have it with me.
But how do I go about it? Not the technicalities. I think we’ve got that down. How do I get her to trust me enough to let me be the one?
Hey, duchess. I wanna put a baby in you and not just for the practice.
Nah. That’ll just get me a kick in the balls.
Babe, I know you don’t believe me because you think half of what I say is shit and the other half ridiculous, but I want to be there for you. Give you a baby. Because I love you.
Love. How’d I get to this place, anyhow? It’s like falling into an uncovered manhole. One minute, I’m happy, minding my own business, just plodding along, stoked that a girl as classy as Chastity would have anything to do with me. And the next thing? Boom! Down the fucking hole I go. I’m falling and struggling in the dark. And when I do finally hit the bottom, it all makes sense. I’m in love. Only, I’m alone and naked, and shivering, worrying how long I’ll be in the hole alone.
Far out, I’ve turned into a maudlin fucker. It doesn’t help that I haven’t had more than a few minutes alone with her since I’d arrived tonight. A quick birthday kiss and a few words, and eyes that said a million things, though none of them concrete, before she’s called away to greet someone else. But not before making a promise that we’d talk later.
Talk.
‘Cheer up, pal. It might never happen.’
Keir passes me a tumbler of something amber. I bring it to my nose and pull a face. Music plays in the background, people milling around the open plan space, most dressed in black as the invitation suggested. It’s not like the house parties I usually get invited to, but then, Chastity is a girl with taste. That must be why she likes me. And because she likes me and because I want to get into her undies, I mean good books, I’ve toed the line in my dress tonight. Chastity was right the day I’d ambushed her at the studio; I do like a bit of Tom Ford. Tonight, this suit is jet black and teamed with a tailored shirt and black tie.
Keir had mentioned I look like a penguin, but he’s just jealous, I reckon.
‘Get it down you,’ he instructs. His expression is amused as he points at my glass. ‘What whisky cannot cure, there is no cure for. Or in other words, it’ll cheer your face up.’
I don’t normally drink this stuff, but then again, I’m not normally such an introspective sap. ‘I accept your magical piss water,’ I say, raising the glass. ‘And if it doesn’t make me feel better, may the chunder be on your shoes tonight.’
Keir’s gaze flicks down. ‘You’d better not vomit on these. They’re custom-made.’
With a tip of my head, I chuck the drink down my throat. ‘Fuck! How do you drink that stuff?’
Keir laughs. ‘It’s not so bad. Then again, it’s not Macallan, either.’ He studies the amber liquid in his glass.
‘What the fuck am I gonna do?’
I hadn’t meant to speak because if I had, the words wouldn’t have sounded nearly so plaintive or have the effect they’re having on Keir right now. His expression is frozen in a look resembling horror. See, blokes don’t talk about this shit. In fact, his current look reminds me of a rabbit sensing a fox. Only, the rabbit has realised the fox isn’t hungry. He just wants to talk about his emotions and shit. And the rabbit? He’d rather have his flesh torn from the bone and die a nasty painful death than speak of love.
‘Fuck off, would you?’ I sort of grunt. ‘Go hang out with your girl.’
‘I would, but she’s hell-bent on interfering with the catering under the guise ofhelp-ing.’ He makes those poncy air quotation marks with his fingers, which is difficult, given the glass he has in his hand.
‘Fucking catering.’
‘It’s not like you to have something bad to say about free food.’
‘It’s not the food.’ The food, in fact, is very decent. ‘And fuck you very much about the freebie thing,’ I add with a glare. ‘You’re just jealous that I can eat what I like and maintain my six pack, meanwhile you’ve got to watch your weight like a girl.’
‘I’ll watch your weight in a minute,’ he bounces back at me. ‘We’ll see how far I can kick your arse across the lawn. What the fuck is wrong with the catering?’ he asks when I don’t bite.
‘Him. The prick who brought the stuff.’
