Page 46 of Painted Truths

Caden slaps his thigh in an ah-ha moment. “See? Told ya, idiot.”

I level him with dead eyes. “Well, that was his story before the Gala on Saturday, but then he blew that to shit when he all but said they were friends… with benefits.”

The two boys grimace as I go on.

“Not to mention the way he looks at her. It’s like he’ll kill me if I so much as glance in her goddamn direction.” Then, inhaling deeply while I shake my head, I blow it out before murmuring quietly, “And it fucking kills me because I really felt like we were making inroads, he and I, but it’s like… Peaches comes into the equation, and all bets are firmly off the table.”

Two sets of eyes watch intently as I scrub my hands down my face, blowing out a heavy breath. “And after the last conversation that we had, well… I can safely say, she now sees me for the prick I am."

I screw my eyes up at the memory of hurting her yet again, even as I tell myself it’s for the best.

“Look, man”—Cade leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, concern dripping from every feature, all hints of his usual joker self gone—“maybe now is the time for you to ask her what she wants because from where we’re sitting, you’ve never moved on from whatever the fuck happened two years ago. You’ve been stuck in a cycle of fuck, rinse, repeat your whole sodding life, Henry, and she’s the closest we’ve seen you ever get to letting anyone in.”

Throwing his hands up in the air, he adds, “Least if you ask, you’ll get some answers. Hell, maybe she’ll tell you to sling your hook, but at least you’ll know!”

Nate and I are as still as statues by the time he has finished, unable to look away.

“What? What did I say?” He looks sincerely baffled as both of us begin to piss ourselves laughing.

“Caden North, the lady-killer to end all lady-killers, has been well and truly fucking henpecked.”

Reclining in his seat, arms unfurled across the back of the sofa, legs braced apart, he can’t help but nod slowly in self-satisfaction as the biggest shit-eating grin spreads across his smug face.

We spend the remainder of the week shooting the shit and catching up on all the current baby mama drama from an over-eager North, who has become a walking encyclopaedia for all things pregnancy and baby-related almost overnight. Still, the image of navy-blue eyes doesn’t leave my mind once in all those days.

As my jet touches down in London on the evening of the Misdirection concert, I am heavily contemplating throwing caution to the wind by doing as Cade said and just turning up at her apartment and laying it all on the line.

I try and fail to think of the Alex I’d known as a child. The one who had loved me unfailingly right through my worst years to when my whole world had spun on its axis.

Physically shaking my head to stop my wandering thoughts, I climb into the waiting town car with an even more sombre than usual Nate in tow.

However, trapped in my own melancholy, I just stare out the window, not a word passing between us as the traffic whizzes by on this rainy, dull London evening.

It’s not long before we’ve reached the O2 arena, where the band have already started their performance.

The suite for family and friends of Misdirection is jam-packed, and Layla, who is now “glowing” in her second trimester, according to one pussy-whipped, ex-bad-boy of rock, is holding court, front and centre.

Oh, goodie. I can hardly contain my delight.

Exchanging a grimace with a less than enthused Nate, we stand at the back of the crowded space, taking it all in.

Looking out on the packed O2 arena as Caden sings the song he’d penned for me, Nate, and his twin brother, Archer, who’d died when we were fifteen, I become lost in remembrance of simpler times. So lost that I almost miss that unforgettable flash of blonde hair passing by the wide-open door to our overcrowded suite.

It feels like fate. It’s like a divine intervention of some kind. And so, I jog from the suite, on her heels, finding her with her head down, long tresses shielding her face from view, but I can tell that she is distraught from the frenetic movements of her body, trying to gulp in air as though she can’t fill her lungs quickly enough.

My initial thought is that maybe now we can put this thing to rest between us. But I need to get a hold of myself, and she needs to stop being so fucking divine it blows my mind.

Hmm. Sounds doable. Ish.

Holding my hand out tentatively, I wait for her to spurn me again. After all, I’ve been a right cunt to her, and the hot and cold act I’ve got going on is even giving me whiplash.

However, I’m beyond surprised when she reaches out her petite hand and places it in my vastly larger one. My mind flashes back to two years ago when she first trusted me enough to hold my hand.

I’m almost floored by the surge of possessiveness that flows through my veins. The level of protectiveness that assaults me fills up my empty chest and makes me want to turn the world to ash for whatever has made her sad.

Turning her tear-streaked face up to mine, I can almost see her walls lower, and the similar long-standing fortress I’ve erected around my blackened heart shifts in its foundations.

She takes a hesitant step toward me before I close my fingers around her hand and draw her closer. Closer still until we are standing toe to toe.