I had consumed a surfeit of drugs with regretful superabundance. Cocaine is procedural to function when enervated or under pressure, but acute intoxication by the component of lysergic acid diethylamide is an acknowledged mistake on my part.
Powerful hallucinogens are not a laughing matter. It is downright terrifying. If you see imaginary people, hear disembodied voices, feel the cold touch of the dead and experience sensory distortion, or worse, collide with the pain-filled flashbacks of your past, then it is time for a long, hard look in the mirror and some censorious self-reflection.
Muscle weakness and impermanent paralysis ensued whilst I slept. I cracked one eye open, evaluating the current situation. I am on someone's double bed, with arms and legs outstretched, spread-eagled, stark naked and temporarily disorientated.
My head pounded.
My limbs ached.
It felt like I had been hit by a bus.
I recognised the leopard print shell-backed chair in the corner.
"Christ." My face burrowed into the pillow. "Why do I do this to myself?"
I am a glutton for punishment.
Animal print inspired the decor. Teal-coloured sofas and gold pouffes matched the bed. Potted trees sat on the acrylic tables, and brightly coloured cushions littered the mustard sheepskin rug on the hardwood floor. The maximalist design stretched throughout. Even the bathroom had pink neon heart lights on gilded shelves. Everything, from the walls to the ornaments, is vibrant, quirky and edged with chaos, just like the owner's personality.
It would seem that I paid an exploratory visit to Cherry's apartment, which came as no surprise because the melange of wild grotesqueries is the home away from home recently.
"Hey, you," Cherry said with a hint of accismus as her arrowhead fingernails drew patterns on my back. "How are you feeling?"
My face turned.
Cherry, who has been at Club 11 since its inception, is sprawled out on the bed next to me, her bright red hair fanned across the pillow, her naked body twisted in satin sheets.
"I know that look." Her face was clear of makeup. "Confusion."
Self-chastisement is more apt.
"Well?" Her blue eyes were softer and prettier without false eyelashes and layers of mascara. "Jesus, Brad. You are scaring me."
I glanced at the curtained window, where the faintest flicker of light shone into the dark bedroom. "What time is it?"
"Six a.m.," she confirmed the worst, and I forced myself to sit up. "Hey, where are you going? I thought you wanted to sleep for an eternity?"
I checked the time and date on my phone. "Shit."
"What?" Holding the sheet to her chest, she propped up onto one elbow. "Did something happen?"
"I have slept for over sixteen hours." Reaching for the watch on the bedside dresser, I strapped it to my wrist. "And my head is no better."
"Technically, you slept for thirteen hours," she said with a flirtatious undertone. "Unadulterated fucking occupied three hours." Her eyebrow curved. "Or were you too coked-up to remember?"
"I remember." My shoulders had sore fingernail dents to prove it. "You left a key under the mat for me." I drove here straight after the casino's closed-door conclave, raided her cupboards, took a shower and nose-dived on the bed in extreme tiredness. "And I forgot to pick you up."
"You also helped yourself to the casserole in the fridge." Her finger outlined deep scratch marks on my back. "I must say, coming home to find you asleep in my bed was a really nice surprise." The egregious creature drew what very much resembled a love heart on the nape of my neck. "You are my favourite bedmate."
Right, because she preferred to have a private audience with the boss's second-in-command over the rapaciousness of other syndicate men. "Let's not pretend that I am special."
"I reserve preferential treatment for you," she said as I stood to pick up discarded clothes on the floor. "You know it is true. I am hardly available to the others. For you, I drop everything to accommodate."
"I know." My backside landed on the nearest chair. "I appreciate it."
"You appreciate it. That's it?" She searched my eyes for an elusive answer. "You could at least pretend to be grateful."
I rolled on a pair of socks. "Did I not express gratitude merely three seconds ago?"
Throwing the sheet off her naked body, she climbed out of bed and walked confidently across the room to grab lace underwear in the drawer. "You can't even look at me."
I wish people would stop saying that. "I am looking at you."
"You stare at the floor to avoid me," she said, and my eyes lifted to argue to the contrary. "What did I do to upset you this time?"
"Nothing," I answered honestly. "You have done nothing wrong."
"Then, why do you look disgusted by me?" Her back leaned against the acrylic chest of drawers. "Brad, if you do not start communicating with me, I am going to rip your dick off."
"Yeah, right." My body relaxed in the chair. "You love this big cock too much to put it out of business."
"Conduct yourself," she said, cool and calm. "You are not that big."
"I will take your word for it," I replied dismissively, and her covetous stare fell to my flaccid cock. "The novelty of being carnal attraction decreased a long time ago."
Her eyes rolled.
"You can roll your eyes all you want." I glared at her, decidedly miffed. "Having a problematically large cock is becoming a real fucking issue for me."
"Since when?" Her stare sharpened. "I have never complained. In fact, I love feeling sore after we fuck. The pain is a constant reminder of you."
I eyed the red marks on her throat and chest, the bruises on her hips and the teeth indents on her shoulders. "It's not supposed to hurt, Cher."
"What?" Her whole face scrunched up. "Are you still high? Do I need to call Nate?"
"Did I ask you to call Nate?" I snapped, and she cringed. "No, I did not. I am trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you are not taking me seriously."
"Okay." With the sudden nervousness of a delicate wallflower, she sat on the coffee table in front of me and, interlacing our fingers, placed our joint hands on her bruised thighs. "I do not want to make a habit of bickering. We have never struggled to talk." She peered at me from underneath choppy bangs. "I am your friend first. Let me try and help as I have always done."
I decided to be brutally honest. "There is no emotional component to sex."
"For you, perhaps." Her eyes twinkled in discomfort. "However, for me, I do feel an emotional connection with you during sex. But you know that already. I have never been shy about what I want."
My thumb swept over her knuckles. "I want to do things differently."
"What do you mean?" Her hands twitched restlessly. "Is this about him?" She nodded at my manhood. "Or, is this about our arrangement? I am not sure that I follow."
"Both, I guess." My body was painfully tense, as were the words that I spoke. "Look, I cannot do anything about the size of an erection. It is what it is. I want to be more mindful about how I use it in the future, though."
She chewed the inside of her cheek.
"I am getting older, Cher," I whispered, and she listened intently. "I know there is more to sex than hardcore fucking and sexual affairs with numerous women for the prevalence of self-gratification. What type of example am I setting for those who look up to me? I have a son to consider."
"Dominic." Her face flushed. "Will I meet him someday?"
No, I will never invite this woman into my son's life.
Cherry let go of my hands as if the closeness between us suddenly sickened her. "What the fuck is going on?"
"I have started therapy," I told her, and her lips twisted. "I am addressing issues once and for all. I asked the therapist to help me to achieve certain goals in life. And Cher, I make progress...and then I fall into old habits with you."
"Excuse me?" She rose to her feet with a glare of contempt. "Is that all I am to you? An old habit?"
"Do not act like I have never been direct and honest with you. You have always known where I have stood in this situation. I never lied," I spat, and she scoffed. "Why are you upset?"
"Who is she?" she asked, and I masked uneasiness. "Who is the other woman?"
I had no intention of hurting this woman. "There is no one else."
"You are a bold-faced liar," she snarled, and I bit back annoyance. "I knew something was wrong. I could feel the disconnect when you fucked me last night. You didn't want to be here..." Her eyes filled with tears as the realisation dawned on her. "You bastard."
I looked away.
"You dare to sit there and open up to me with the intent of pleasing someone else," she said angrily, throwing a sequined cushion at me. "What's next, huh? You want me to get into bed with you and demonstrate how to make a woman feel good inside? How to make her feel loved and special!"
My jaw clenched.
"That's all I have ever been to you, isn't it?" She shoved me around the bedroom as I attempted to get dressed. "An unappreciated fucking sex coach for the grown-ass man with mummy issues!"
"Fuck you." Too angry to withdraw, I hurled her kicking, screaming body onto the bed. "And people have the nerve to say that I am a heartless cunt." The crazy bitch was on the attack. "Fuck you, Cher. Fuck. You."
"No, fuck you!" Shrieking profanities for every damn neighbour within the apartment complex to overhear, she lashed out, the heels of her feet clipping my shins. " I hate you, Brad Jones!" Her face was iron-hot red. "I fucking hate you!"
"Stop." In an attempt to calm her down, I wrestled for space between her thighs and crawled on top of her. "Bianca," I growled, pinning her arms above her head, and she stiffened beneath me, ramrod and unblinking. "End this madness."
"Brad," she croaked, and, unable to meet her longing gaze, I studied the constellation of beauty spots on her cheek. "Please don't do this to me."
Releasing her wrists, I listened to the hitch of her shallow breathing.
"I love you." Her anger broke into guttural cries. "It has always been you."
Feeling like a complete and utter prick, I lowered my forehead to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," I rasped in her ear. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Her hands struck my back in vexation, once, twice, three times before her fingernails dug into my skin, clinging to me as raw, throaty sobs wracked through her body.
I let her hurt me, hold me. It was the only thing I could do to be sympathetic and understanding.
Her tears soaked my cheek.
Her pain pierced my ear.
With one hand pressed to the mattress above her head, I slid an arm under her back, keeping her locked in my embrace tightly, for as long as she needed, for the pain I had caused.
"Why?" Her soft hand smoothed along my arm. "Why can't it be me? I have stood by you since the very beginning."
"And, for that, I will forever hold you in high regard." My lips touched the shell of her ear. "But I can't pretend to be happy, Cher. Not when I am so fucking miserable."
"I can make you happy." Fingernail drawing shapes on my back, she snivelled quietly. "If you will allow it."
Happiness is not with her. "I really don't want to hurt you."
"I need you to be straight with me." Breathing in deeply, she braced herself for the truth. "Have you met someone?"
My Adam's apple shifted.
"You have, haven't you?" Hot tears streamed down her blotchy cheeks. "What makes her so special, huh? Why does she get to reap the rewards of all my hard work?"
I ignored the barrage of questions.
Then, without warning, her palm struck my cheek, short and sharp.
My head whipped to the side on impact. Yes, it hurt, but I will give her that one. If she does it again, I won't be held accountable for my actions.
"Get off me," she said furiously, and I did so with pleasure. "You are not welcome here anymore. Do you hear me?" She could not see beyond incandescent rage. "My door is closed to you. I don't want to speak to you ever again."
I finished getting dressed, head down, cheek sore.
"Even at the club!" Her one-way argument was futile because I had no intention of prolonging the inevitability of our separation. "If I am on shift, you better walk in the opposite direction. In fact, I would prefer it if you never came to Club 11 ever again."
"This is a pointless conversation." Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I laced the leather shoes onto my socked feet. "You know I cannot walk away from the club. I work for Warren."
Dressed haphazardly to drive home, I grabbed my phone, keys and wallet from the bedside table and headed for the front door.
Cherry's footsteps crashed against the floor behind me. "Wait," she sobbed, her arms wrapping around my middle section, her hands reaching up to splay across my chest. "How many times will you break my heart?"
I stared at the wall-mounted canvas in the hallway.
"Why did you sleep with me?" Her face buried into my back. "I have never felt so used, dirty and unwanted."
"I told you. I am susceptible to old habits." Instead of driving home and sleeping until the drugs wore off, I came here, where I felt safe and invulnerable. "Do not make this harder than it already is. For the first time since I met you, I am trying to do right by you. You will thank me someday. Now that I have walked away and told you where I stand, you can prioritise yourself, as you should. You can put whatever we had behind you and find a man that will treat you better than I ever have because you will meet someone, and he will be the best thing that's ever happened to you."
Her head shook vehemently.
Prying her hands down, I turned to face her and cupped her cheeks, whispering a gentle kiss on the frown between her brows. "Bianca," I said, and her glassy eyes brightened. "You like it when I say your real name."
"Yes." She rubbed tears from her eyes. "It's the only part of my old life that you and Warren refuse to let me forget." Her raspy laughter is short-lived. "The boss says it when he is angry at me, though. You have only ever said it to pacify me when I am not feeling like myself."
"If I ever come back, it will be for the wrong reasons." My thumbs wiped tears on her cheeks. "Do yourself a favour. Slam the door in my face and tell me to fuck off. You must not be a doormat for me any longer. Got it?"
She expelled a shaky breath. "Okay."
***
Dominic was beside himself when I waltzed into the playroom this afternoon. He abandoned Mabel and the array of interactive toys on the floor to rush into my arms.
Damn, if I never got to my knees to catch him. I might have held him for the longest of hugs whilst he babbled and tugged on my ear. I had missed him, and that moment of embracement was what I needed after a long couple of days juggling work and personal issues.
My phone had multiple notifications, missed calls and text messages, but I responded to no one. It was father and son time in the cinema room, with duvets, pillows, snacks and Monsters Inc on the big screen.
Mabel decided to join us about twenty minutes ago. She is reclined on the other sofa, fast asleep and snoring like a wild boar.
Dominic enjoyed the movie in intervals. His attention did not stretch for the entire viewing because using his father as a climbing frame was far more fun.
"You are impossible," I groaned, his bare feet bouncing on my hip. "I did not stretch out and relax for you to snap bones. Go and climb on Mabel instead."
"Mum!" Snatching a handful of my hair, he chomped on his fist. "Babba-mum."
I heaved a deep breath.
Mike called Boo a killing machine on the screen.
"Boo!" Dominic's hands clapped, the blue dummy in his mouth plummeting to the bed of duvets beneath us. "Boo, boo, boo, boo." Then, as if the sharp stomps to the side of my body were not funny enough, he struck the middle of my forehead with the underside of his hand. "Boo!"
"Ah," I complained, whacking the evil kid's hand away. "You little shit. That hurt."
Dominic blew raspberries.
"Hit me again, I dare you," I warned, and he giggled into the groove of my neck."I am not joking. The violence has to stop. I still have bruises on my leg from the last time you booted the shit out of me."
He sprawled across my chest, his arms and legs dangling, his ear listening to my regular heartbeat.
"Dominic." I poked him in the back, and his eyes, the same colour hues as his father, peered up at me. "I love you, son."
"Babba," he babbled, his fingers playing with the end of my hair.
My cheek rested on the top of his head.
I could stay like this forever.
Father and son.
Just the two of us against the world.
His unconditional love is more than enough.
"Dadda," he said, and an overwhelming sense of pride came to me as I kissed the side of his head. "Babba-dad."
"I told you." Mabel's thick, croaky voice cracked with boastful triumph. "He is always calling you. It's just that you work so much. You don't get to see him often."
I could have sworn the crazy old bint fell asleep. "I am trying." My hand tapped the baby's back alongside the movie's gentle beat in the background. "I will continue to try until I am better for everyone."
A guard, coy and apologetic, appeared by the door.
"This better be important," I said in a harsh tone of decisiveness. "I am spending quality time with my son."
"Yes." His worried gaze briefly settled on Dominic. "Only, there is an ex-employee at the gate demanding to see you. Apparently, it cannot wait."
"I do not see the importance of an ex-employee." I scowled disapprovingly. "Send his arse packing."
"She," he enunciated. "I believe she once held the position of Dominic's full-time nanny."
Alice Montgomery.
Mabel looked concerned.
"Do not worry yourself." With one final kiss on Dominic's forehead, I carried him to the old mare. "Your position is not jeopardised."
Dominic started to cry when he saw his father leave the room.
Shutting the door behind me, I followed the guard upstairs and told him to unlock the main gates for the unexpected visitor.
Then, whilst I waited for her to arrive, I went to the office, prepared myself a stiff drink and sat behind the uncluttered desk.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Perhaps the little blonde got lost on her travels.
I almost stood to call the guard when the svelte female in question materialised in the doorway. Only, she did not look like the woman I remembered. I had to do a double take. Her silken red hair sat just above her shoulders. Her crystal blue eyes, framed with thick black eyelashes, matched the colour of her jumper dress. She had contoured her face with warm shades to accentuate her profile.
"Miss Montgomery." I gestured to the chair opposite my desk. "Sit."
"Alice is fine," she said, soft and oddly rehearsed. "It is good to see you."
"I wish I could say the same about you." My eyes marked her every movement. "I thought I told you to get off my estate."
"I did." Her body eased into the chair with elegant grace. "I listened. I walked away and never looked back."
"Yet, here you are, poking the bear." My fingers strummed along the whiskey glass. "I almost killed you. You were lucky to leave freely. You probably should have left it that way. Now, I am tempted to finish what I started and send you out of the estate in a body bag."
Her face scorched red. "I am sorry for coming between you and Emma."
I felt a twinge in my chest.
"I had no business answering your phone that night. It was completely unacceptable. I take full responsibility." Her hands folded on her lap. "I do hope that you both found a way around it. I imagine everything is well between the two of you now that I have left the estate."
Grunting into the glass, I sipped whisky to slake the dryness in my throat. "What do you want, Alice?"
Her tense shoulders rolled until she relaxed. "You look well."
I gave her an impatient look.
"How is Dominic?" She smiled to hide her downheartedness. "I have missed him very much."
I scowled with unrestrained seriousness. "My son is not your concern."
"I still care about him," she said in a gentle voice. "I think about him often."
I remained straight-faced.
"Very well." Unzipping the leather handbag, she uprooted an envelope and placed it on the desk between us. "I come bearing gifts."
"What is it?" I asked, and she simply watched me with mute indifference. "Let me guess. You wish to sue an ex-employer for being a naughty boss."
"Not at all." She gazed at me with soft, unblinking eyes. "It is good news, I hope."
Okay, that last comment unsettled me.
Reaching for the envelope, I tore the seam and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Photographic paper, to be exact. An ultrasound image. I studied it long and hard, reading the date, the hospital's reference number and the mother's name.
"I am pregnant," she confirmed, and I glimpsed at the small—almost unnoticeable—bump of her middle section with soaring dread. "And it is yours."
I laughed, low and gravelly. "You are a liar."
"I can assure you that I am not." Her strong, fierce demeanour struck every bone in my body. "Trust me, Mr Jones. I wish I could say that someone else fathered my child. You are not exactly the perfect candidate to raise children, not in the dangerous world you choose to live in. But that would be a bare-faced lie. You were the only man I slept with during the time I conceived."
"That kid could belong to anyone," I said with uncontrollable indignation. "We were not in a relationship. I do not know where you travelled or who you bedded. You could have fucked your way to Shantytown and back for all I know."
"You can attest to the fact I never left the estate whilst I worked here." She circled her palm with a manicured fingernail. "If I did leave, it was on the rarest of occasions, and I always returned before dark. Unless you are accusing one of your men of impregnating me, who else, except you, could be responsible for the baby growing inside my stomach?"
I felt the warm blood in my body freeze over. "I can't be the child's father."
"Can't or won't?" she challenged, and I swallowed the taste of acidic bile in my throat. "If you are so anxious, do a paternity test once the baby is born. I have nothing to hide."
Her smug-faced confidence had my heart racing at a dangerous speed.
"Alice, I have only just bonded with my son after the last baby mother screwed me over," I said whispery. "Do not be another reason for me to suffer." Not when I am closer than I have ever been to a life of love and normalcy. "I fear that I will break if faced with any more pain or hardship."
"Am I supposed to care?" Her chin raised in defiance. "Who are you to talk about pain and hardship after all the suffering you have inflicted on others? You wrapped your hands around my throat and tried to kill me," she whisper-shouted, her face pink and furious. "Yet, here I am, with the courage of a moral citizen, giving you the chance to be in the baby's life. I trust you will do right by him, irrespective of our differences."
I could not breathe.
"Dominic's mother robbed you of all his firsts," she reminded me, cold and impassive. "You probably deserve the same treatment from me. However, I am willing to give you a shot at redemption if you can keep death threats to the bare minimum."
Downing a shot of whiskey, I uncapped the bottle and refilled the glass. "I do not like you."
"That is something we can agree on."
I gave her a pointed look. "I regret the night I fucked you."
"Again," she clipped, "I am in complete agreement."
My temples hurt. "I wore a condom."
"The condom split," she said, and I had nothing to respond. I don't even remember much from that night. It is mostly sporadic. "You complained about it while flushing it down the toilet."
"I flopped." My eyes sliced in suspicion. "I never even finished."
She scratched the tip of her nose. "Do I need to school you on how pre-ejaculation works?"
I have never liked this woman or her sarcasm. "I am not uneducated."
Alice glared, straight-backed and risibly snobbish.
"Look me in the eye," I instructed, and she did, without so much as a crack in her self-assured expression. "Tell me the child is mine." My stare dared her to walk the road of deception. "Say it, Alice."
"You are the baby's father," she said with an air of assertiveness. "Positively."
My heart thumped erratic beats in my ears. I was one the verge of throwing up, emptying the contents of this afternoon's snack time all over the bastard floor.
"Why do you look so distraught?" The corner of her red-painted lips curled up. "It's not like I am asking for you to marry me. I am simply offering you the chance to be in the baby's life."
Infuriated with myself for even throwing her down on the bed and fucking her in the first place, I thumbed a bead of sweat from my brow.
"Right," she said tightly, reclaiming the ultrasound image and tucking it into her purse. "Well, I apologise for the inconvenience. I suppose I better be on my way. I don't want to hold you up more than I have."
Alice stood.
"Where do you live?" I wondered aloud, and she chose not to answer. "If—and this is a big fucking if—that baby is mine, I need to know where his mother is staying. A healthy pregnancy is important to me."
"Oh." Her spine straightened. "I have been sleeping at a hotel since I left the estate. It was easier than looking for a place at such short notice."
"Are you working?" I asked, and she shook her head. "Then, how can you afford five-star accommodation?"
"A three-star hotel," she tweaked, and I openly disapproved. "What? Not everyone can afford a life of luxury, Mr Jones. I have to live within my means in order to survive. Plus, I have to save every penny for when the baby arrives. You understand the cost of raising a child."
Yes, I have spent a fortune on Dominic.
"I am sorry for unsettling you." She sounded genuine, but her eyes expressed great delight. "If you want nothing to do with him, I will understand. I do not want to force or pressurise you into being involved in his life."
"Will you stop speaking on my behalf?" My hands flattened on the desk as I pushed to my feet. "I am not capable of making logical decisions right now. It's not as though you have given me time to come to terms or mentally process the news. In case you haven't noticed, I am stunned, speechless. The last thing I expected today was a visit from my son's former nanny, telling me that she is with child. I need to think, so let me fucking think."
A long pause stretched between us.
"I'm sorry, Mr Jones." Her round, horrified eyes watered. "I should go."
I watched as she hurried toward the door. "Wait," I called, and her footsteps faltered. "I am not comfortable with you leaving when upset. Can you take a seat whilst I figure this out?"
"I do not want to be here." She snivelled into the palm of her hand. "I am always scared in your presence. You frighten me like something chronic. Not to mention that you are unapologetically hurtful," she cried, and I scrubbed a hand down my face. I seem to be breaking hearts everywhere today. "All I have ever done is try to help you and little Dominic. Yes, I made one bad decision and paid the ultimate price, but must you so cruelly berate me? Have I not shown respect and remorse for past behaviours? Why must you continuously hold me in contempt?"
I thought for a nanosecond. "I apologise for upsetting you." A thousand concerns went through my mind as I considered my next step. "Are you impoverished? Do you have plans for dinner this evening?"
"I am a little destitute, but that is not why I came here." Her hand clung to the strap of the leather handbag. "No, I do not have dinner plans. I hope to catch breakfast in the morning."
"You can stay," I offered, and she made a disgusted face. "Why be disrespectful? You sleep in a seedy three-star hotel and scrounge for free food. I am willing to provide free accommodation in a luxurious estate and twenty-four-hour access to the kitchen. You should be thanking me."
"Why?" She walked toward me with slow, wary footsteps. "I am not your responsibility."
I am not convinced the baby is mine. However, I had enough regrets to contend with. I missed the most important stages of Chloe's pregnancy, the labour and the initial steps of my son's development and progression because she thought I was unapproachable and unworthy of fathering her son.
History will not repeat itself.
I have the chance to rewrite past mistakes.
If Alice is true to her word, I will be true to mine. I will be there for her and the baby. But I refuse to form a bond until I have the paternity test results in my hand.
"I might be the father of your child," I enunciated one particular word. "It is within my best interest to ensure he is safe and healthy. Therefore, I am offering you an opportunity to live at the estate. If you accept, I will have one of the men drive you to the hotel. You can collect your belongings and return for a comfortable night's rest. We can discuss ground rules and boundaries in the morning."
Alice nibbled her lower lip. "I don't want to impose."
Waiting for the right response, I sat on the ledge of the desk.
"If I stay, will you do your utmost not to shout at me?" Her meekness was unsurprising, given the circumstance. "I have been sensitive lately."
I gave her a curt nod.
"Okay," she agreed to stay here for the baby's sake. "Shall I inform the guard at the door? He will not drive me anywhere without your permission."
Unlocking my phone, I sent the guard a short message to authorise her chauffeured transportation. "Sorted."
"Right." She walked to the door with eager strides. "I guess I will see you later this evening."
Alice slipped out of the office.
Thrusting a hand through my hair, I dragged myself to the sofa and collapsed on the cold leather. I did not want to share the estate with Alice again. I barely stomached her when she lived here. Now, I had to tolerate her and pretend to like her, all for the interest of a baby that might not even belong to me.
My phone vibrated.
Emma: Can you talk?
I almost deleted the message.
Me: There is nothing left to say.
Message read.
Emma: I deserve your coldness.
I disagreed.
Emma: Look, you have every right to be angry, hurt and upset. You have tried so hard to be there for me, and I have repeatedly slammed the door in your face.
That's an understatement.
Emma: I stand by what I said.
Then, why is she texting me?
Emma: I cannot get over the pain in your eyes when you told me about the past. Yes, I had wondered if someone had hurt you because of the leaflet (the one you threw in the alleyway before). Yet, I was still unprepared for the truth when you spoke of it. I did not handle it with care or thought. My motherly instincts kicked in. I had the urge to wrap you in my arms and tell you everything would be okay.
I chewed on the end of a toothpick.
Emma: But that's not what you wanted or needed. You looked for understanding. And Big Guy, I understand more than most because I am a victim of rape and sexual assault. I know what you are going through and how lonely it feels to be in that dark place by yourself.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Emma: I want to make it right.
Me: You needn't worry. I am stronger than I look.
I sent a wink emoji.
Emma: You are not mad?
Me: Mad at you? Never.
Emma: I think I just breathed for the first time since you left.
Me: I have that effect on people, especially women.
I inserted an aubergine emoji.
Emma: You have a talent for survival.
Me: How so?
Emma: I am stunned that a woman hasn't killed you yet.
Me: LOL!
Me: My boss loves that abbreviation.
Message read.
Emma: So, can we be friends again?
The question felt like a knife to the throat.
Me: I am not normally friends with women I want to bed.
Licking the toothpick to the corner of my lips, I typed another message.
Me: Well, I am at the behest of this friendship until you fall in love with me.
Emma: Your confidence is staggering.
Me: My confidence has never failed me.
Emma: I have to get back to work.
My chest tightened.
Emma: I can make time for you either way.
Her indecisiveness sent my emotions into a riot.
Me: What do you want from me, Emma? I came to you. I fought for you. You told me, under no circumstance, that you had the mental strength to deal with me. So, why did you reach out? You don't have to stay in contact. I am not a petulant teenager that needs an ego stroke. I might not like it, but I can handle rejection. And you have rejected me time and time again.
Me: If this is an act of pity, I will re-break your other wrist. No joke.
Message read.
Emma: I reached out because I can't stop thinking about you. Last night, when I lay alone in bed, I only wanted to crawl to your side and snuggle into your chest. I fell asleep missing you. I woke up missing you.
Emma: And I know how awful I sound. My son is missing, and here I am, fighting for another chance to see you again. But Brad, I don't want to feel this emptiness anymore. I want to smile again if you are willing.
I studied the message thread with bated breath. Emma is not selfish for leaning on people for support, for needing someone in her hour if need. I appreciate that she is without the love of her son, but she did not deserve to be lonely and punished unmercifully. Even when times are hard, painful and grief-stricken, she is allowed to smile and be surrounded by the people who care about her, if only she'd lower those damn defensive walls.
Me: I asked you a simple question.
Emma: I answered.
Me: No, Emma.
Me: What do you want?
Emma: You.
Me: I am already yours. I made that quite clear.
Emma: Fine.
Me: Fine.
Emma: Would you like to go on a date with me?
A smile danced on my lips.
Me: I will have to check my diary.
Emma: You have a diary?
Me: No.
Emma: Brad!
Me: How does tomorrow sound?
Emma: Can I make one small request?
Me: Yes.
Emma: Can we go somewhere quiet?
Me: Why? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?
Emma: Of course not.
Me: Then, what's the problem?
Emma: I am not ready for hectic, that is all.
Fair enough.
Me: Allow me to take care of you.
Emma: I trust you.
Locking the phone, I chucked it on the coffee table and shoved my face into the leather display cushion.
I had to tell Emma about Alice.
Just not yet.
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I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
I have a lot going on in my personal life right now, so I really struggled with this chapter. It's like I forgot how to write. I hope it's not too noticeable, lol.
—Brad?
—Cherry?
—Mabel?
—Dominic?
—Alice/Bleu?
—Emma?
—anyone I missed?
What's everyone's plans for the weekend? I hope it's more eventual that what I have planned. 😂
You can thank _Dark_Romantic for this update. If it weren't for her, I'd have never finished on time. ❤️
Thanks for reading. ❤️
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️