AFTER TWO NIGHTS of rough sleep, I spent my Monday morning in bed, watching the city of London slowly come to life below me. Early morning joggers, pedestrians hailing cabs, and the unmistakable sound of emergency sirens (which had been a constant since arriving) played a small part in my new morning routine.
When I grew bored, I pulled back the covers and grabbed myself a shower in the en-suite attached to my room.
Walker had been absent yesterday, leaving me alone to acquaint myself with his home. There wasn’t much to find in the penthouse. Besides the office and the few empty rooms I’d stumbled across my first night here, I’d discovered a set of stairs that led to a luxurious bathroom, a home gym, and an outdoor balcony. There was nothing to indicate who Nate Walker was as a person unless the colour black was anything to go by. And after a quick Google search on my phone, because the dick had no social media that I could find under the name Nate Walker, the only thing I learned was that the colour black was associated with a list of things. The first on that list was ‘mystery,’ and given that I didn’t know much of him at all, I guess it seemed to fit him quite well. There wasn’t a better word to describe him unless I went by looks alone. And although I was just seventeen, I was yet to meet a man who was as handsome on the inside as he was on the out.
After my shower, I fixed my hair into loose waves and painted my face with make-up, all with forty minutes to spare before my first day at Duke. Boots on and fully dressed, I lazed casually on the king-sized bed for the second time that morning, composing a text to Ebony that consisted of a complete rundown of my last few days. I hit send, and then I began writing a less kind text to my father. I’d been avoiding his calls between yesterday and today. I couldn’t decide if I was more upset that he’d changed my plans or that he’d changed them without discussing them with me first. But that was my father, always treating me like an act, despite my trauma being my circus.
Midway through texting, I heard Walker’s raised voice carrying through the penthouse. After finishing the text and hitting send, I pushed my phone into my skirt pocket and tip-toed to the bedroom door, pressing my cheek to the hardwood as I attempted to hear what was being said on the other side.
It was a bad habit–something I’d picked up through the years. I hated being a child walking into a room full of adults, only for them to stop talking mid-sentence. Everyone seemed to be afraid of damaging the damaged girl further. Worried their words would cause more trauma to my already traumatised life. Well, what they knew of it. The worst was when our maids would speak about my father, as if I were oblivious to how many of them had been in his bed or how many of them quit because they’d felt disgusted knowing his daughter hid behind a door further down the hallway.
I’d googled that in the past too. My internet search history would show me questioning why my father was so keen to sleep around instead of replacing my mother. But I always came up empty. Which, as always, brought me back to the only thing that made sense.
My father liked control.
It was… psychological.
And it’s all I’d known for a long time.
Though Walker’s conversation seemed one-sided, I could only assume he was on the phone. He wasn’t arguing with a maid or a one-night stand or about to fire someone for accidentally falling in love with him like my father had done plenty of times. And though I considered he was talking to my father and regretting taking me into his home, it wasn’t that either.
“I told you, I’m not coming back. I don’t know what you expected–” he said before pausing. “Am I happy?” He scoffed. “Are you?”
And then…
Nothing.
Not long after, I heard the opening of a cupboard, followed by the faint sound of a blender. I assumed either he or whoever was on the other end of the line had hung up the phone. Given his parting words, I believed it was him.
How much had I missed?
Why did I even care?
Slowly, I opened the bedroom door and softly stepped into the hallway that led into the open layout of the penthouse, pausing at my view. Walker was shirtless. His ass perched against the kitchen island, a protein shake to his lips.
“Trouble in paradise?” I asked, my hand pulling the bedroom door closed behind me with a click.
My voice carried the length of the hall, and Walker’s upper body shifted to face mine. His eyes narrowed, his gaze lowering down my legs in my school skirt before coming back up to meet my eyes.
“No paradise, no trouble,” he replied dryly.
I ignored his blatant perusal of my bare legs and held his stare. “Attachment issues,” I murmured to myself, feeling the material of my school skirt bouncing over my thighs as I walked towards him. Maybe he liked control as much as my father did.
He pulled his eyes away from mine, darting between his protein shake and my legs, but I was no better, my own eyes absorbing every exquisite inch of him as I broke the distance between us. A sheen of sweat covered his abs, down to the muscles that formed a V into his black workout shorts. There was no denying it; Nate Walker oozed sex appeal with little effort. It was a shame he ruined that with his personality.
Without answering, he swallowed back the last of his shake and walked to throw the plastic container in the sink.
“It’s cold out,” he expressed. “Do you have to wear that?”
I rolled my eyes. The answer was no, but the school trousers were disgusting, and I didn’t like the constraint of too many clothes against my skin, knowing my anxiety could cause a hot flush at any time. It was so much better to be prepared than it was to be overcompensated. It was a pity I didn’t think the same way about my father’s little setup.
“I like the cold,” I said instead. “What does it matter?”
He shook his head as I circled the kitchen island, perhaps thinking of me as a nuisance.
“Do you have flavoured water?” I asked, hoping I’d missed it yesterday in my search.
He shook his head again and murmured, “Just tap.” So I made my way over to the kitchen sink.
My stomach clenched with uncertainty when I realised how close we stood. The heat from his torso radiated onto my pebbled skin, coating me in a warmth far from the anxious kind. The scowl on his face didn’t help. To top it off, I wasn’t sure if it was me or his phone call that put it there.
“Early workout, huh?” I found myself asking. I opened the cupboard above me for a glass, only for my fingers to graze a half-empty bottle of Bourbon that I was almost certain wasn’t there the day before.
“Wrong cupboard.”
My fingers lingered on the bottle while my eyebrows dipped into a frown. Then he reached up and closed the cupboard for me, forcing my arm to drop.
“Sets me up for the day.”
My frown didn’t waver. “What?”
“A workout,” he said slowly. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He sighed. “What sets you up for the day?”
“No one has ever asked me that before.” I looked down at myself. “Guess I can’t answer that.”
Silence settled between us as he boxed me against the counter and reached into the cupboard on the opposite side to retrieve a glass. I swallowed hard at our close proximity, and then, chancing a look at him over my shoulder, I asked, “Where… were you yesterday?” It was none of my business, but I couldn’t deny my curiosity.
He was frowning deeply, or maybe that was just his face.
“At the club. I tried to tell you the night you got here, but you were too busy being a brat.” Then, without giving me a chance to reply, he placed the glass into my waiting hand and changed the subject. “Have you got everything you need for your first day at Duke?” He turned on the water flow over my shoulder and directed my hand under the tap when I didn’t move to do it myself.
What the hell?
I inhaled a subtle breath when I felt his weight against my back. Was he serious? The dude was giving me whiplash with the swift change in his personality.
What was it he said? Something about the club…
“Blue Lagoon?”
“If there’s anything you need, I can have Finley take you to the store on the way.”
I tried desperately to keep up. “Finley’s your driver?”
With him nestled behind me, I felt the warmth of his skin through my school shirt. And then I felt him nod against my temple.
“And you work at my father’s club?”
He sighed. “It’s not just your father’s club. I own a share.”
Once he’d helped fill my glass, he turned the tap off, and I turned to look at him again. I took a sip of my water as our eyes met and attempted to have their own conversation.
One of us had to speak, so I broke the tension, dropping my glass onto the counter and saying the first tangible thought that came to mind. “Still, having your boss’s daughter living in your home must feel weird, right?”
That frown hadn’t left his face. “It’s not a situation I believed I’d ever find myself in,” he agreed. And because he was still hovering over me, his warm chest against my back, I felt the need to keep talking. “So why did you agree to house me? It’s hardly practical for a newly single man like you to be putting someone like me up in your home. What if you want to bring women back here? Do you expect me to stay out of sight?”
His jaw ticked, though it was subtle. “Newly single?”
I raised a brow, mimicking, “No paradise, no trouble.”
He was silent for a beat, so I turned my whole body to face him. I expected him to move his arms from beside me and back away, but he didn’t. He kept me boxed in, his fists clenched against the edge of the kitchen counter, as he angled his hips away from me. “Let me get one thing straight,” he began. “I might value your father’s work ethics, consider him a great mentor even, but further than that, me and your father are nothing alike–that goes for the way he treats women like they’re no more than accessories.”
I felt an inkling of jealousy before it disappeared in exchange for my sass.
“Really?” I questioned, dropping my head to the side like it would make me hear him better. I plastered on a fake smile. “Sorry, but it’ll take more than pretty words to convince me.”
The tick in his jaw seemed to intensify, but he didn’t retaliate. After a moment, he stepped back and sank his hands inside the pockets of his shorts. I didn’t miss the movement of his hands through the material as he re-arranged himself. As if to take my attention away from what he was doing, he grit, “He wouldn’t have asked me to care for you if he didn’t trust me, kid.”
Kid.
“I’m not a kid,” I snapped. And by the way his body had responded from being so close to mine, I think he knew as much.
My cheeks heated, but my eyebrows drew into a frown that matched his. I took my phone from my pocket, ignoring his lingering stare and feeling the need to retreat. “It’s eight-thirty. Registration’s at nine.”
“And?”
This guy. I fought to not roll my eyes. “How far away is Duke from here?”
I peered up to see him looking down at the time on my phone screen. I had less than thirty minutes, and I had no idea how far away it was, only that I had to collect my schedule from the office administrator and find my way around. It didn’t feel like much time at all, yet I’d been awake for hours.
“Finley’s been waiting on you for over an hour,” he spoke matter-of-factly.
I dared another glance at him, hoping the blush on my cheeks wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. “He has?” Why didn’t he tell me this already?
He nodded, pulling one hand from his pocket to palm his jaw.
“Um, will you take me instead? And can I sit with you.. in the front?” I asked, clearing my throat.
He studied me closely and then huffed an almost silent “Jesus” under his breath. I didn’t have enough time to read into what it might mean before he walked from the kitchen and towards one of the empty bedrooms. “Grab what you need while I throw on a T-shirt. I’ll meet you out front. I’ll take you this once, but I really, really don’t have time for this shit.”
WALKER
I RODE the elevator down to the underground parking lot and hopped into my G-Wagon, resigned to the fact I wouldn’t have time to shower before work. Then I drove around the front of the complex to collect Blue, who stood shivering outside the lobby doors. Her school skirt was too fucking short. Her white shirt too fucking thin. Yet, for someone who said she liked the cold, she clutched a large Prada tote bag against her chest like a hot water bottle.
I lowered the passenger window, knowing I wasn’t visible through the black tint. She spotted me and then began walking towards my vehicle. Like a pervert, I watched her hips sway from left to right through the open window as she all but strutted her way across the pavement. When she reached me, she opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, placing her tote bag at her feet with an exasperated roll of her eyes. As if it was my fault she was running late when she was the one batting her eyelashes in the kitchen.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked at the same time the built-in sat-nav said, “Make a U-turn.”
I muted the robotic voice, closed her window with a button on my steering wheel, and then manoeuvred the car with a three-point turn.
The sat-nav answered for me, but I still tipped my chin in a subtle nod and mumbled a “Yeah” to clarify it for her.
Once we were en route and the engine had warmed up, I cranked up the heat in the car, though not by much. I knew if I made it too warm, she’d feel the cold further when she stepped out. This wasn’t Florida. The weather was at least ten degrees below what she was used to. Her “liking the cold” was bullshit. No doubt, “cold” was a metaphor for attention. And I’m sure she got enough of that without using miniskirts as an excuse.
After another five minutes of travelling in quiet, this time, it was me who broke our silence. “Why didn’t you say something at the airport?”
She crossed one leg over the other, and I couldn’t help but notice how her skirt hiked further up her thighs with the movement.
“What do you mean?”
I glanced at her face before shifting gears, and then my eyes were back on the road. “You were tense as fuck in the car ride from the airport. You asked to sit in the front today. It’s obvious you–”
“I get carsick,” she mumbled before I could finish my sentence.
But she wasn’t fooling me.
I’d observed her same body language in the car two nights ago, her hands virtually turning blue as she wrung them together on her lap. She’d given me enough pieces to puzzle her together.
“Does your father know you don’t like riding in the backseat?”
“Of course he does,” she was quick to reply. “He just doesn’t understand it. Me. He doesn’t understand me,” she clarified. “He’s always trying to fix me.”
“Has he used those specific words–has he told you he wants to fix you–because that doesn’t sound like something your father would say.”
“No, but…” She inhaled a deep breath. “I’m broken. And if he hasn’t told you that, then let me tell you myself… I have issues, okay?”
My stomach dipped, and I caught myself glancing at her again before switching lanes. I’d figured it out already, but hearing it was different. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her she wasn’t broken. That calling herself broken was not only an insult to her but to anyone else with the same disorder. But that’s not what came out.
“The car accident,” I muttered. She didn’t need to tell me why when I already knew the cause. I’d spent the last two nights thinking about it myself. I didn’t understand why James hadn’t mentioned his daughter’s PTSD, given the circumstances and our new living arrangement. However major or minor it was.
I sometimes swore that when I was between dreaming and reality, I still felt her tiny fists beating against my chest. Her broken voice screaming for her mummy. And fuck, if that was my trauma, I couldn’t begin to imagine how it would feel to re-live hers.
“Do you remember it?”
She turned to look at me, and my paranoia made me feel like she was trying to place me to memory. I frowned, growing impatient when she didn’t answer me as quickly as expected.
“Sometimes,” she murmured. “In bits.”
In bits?
I don’t know what my face conveyed, but she felt the need to explain. “I take medication and stay away from potential triggers if I can help it. Like sitting in the backseat of a moving vehicle. Hanging upside down.” And then she went on to mumble, “Thunder. Fire.”
My shoulders tensed at her words, but as I settled onto the new road and switched into a higher gear, something possessed me to reach out and take her hand, the same way I had on the plane. I didn’t have words, and she didn’t say anything else. But this time, she hadn’t fought me. She linked her fingers through mine and held on. Surprisingly, her skin was soft to touch and not as cold as I expected. I wondered if she was heating up because we were talking about it and that just talking about it was a trigger too.
Still, by the way she squeezed my hand back, I was under the impression she’d never received a response like it before.
We stayed like that until I was forced to use my hand again to change gears, and after that, I resumed their rightful position on the steering wheel. My fingers tightened around the rich leather with the urge to reach out to her again as I drove her the remainder of the way to the university. I’d never wondered until now why it was that James never told her who’d saved her. Was it because she’d never asked? Or was he waiting until she was old enough to understand it better? Though now, just being with her, I realised it was probably in her best interest that she never knew. Maybe this was why.
We reached the gates of the university at ten to nine. I parked in the parking bay beside an empty Bentley and stifled the engine’s growl, but Blue made no attempt to open her door. On almost every occasion, I’d been a cunt one way or another. So when she remained seated, I was half expecting her to lash out at me like Sophia would. Only she didn’t.
“You good?”
She gnawed on her bottom lip, her features showing more of her nerves than they did her excitement.
“Do you want the truth or a lie?”
“Either works.”
“I’m good.”
I relaxed back in my seat, contemplating if that was her truth. She didn’t look like she wanted to be here any more than I did.
And that there was my lie, which was why I found myself second-guessing her answer.
A small part of me enjoyed her company, even if it wasn’t my usual kind. Even though it somehow felt wrong.
Still, I held out my palm. “Give me your phone.”
Her forehead creased, and instead of reaching into her pocket to get her phone like before in the kitchen, she leant down to the footwell to fetch her bag. She took her phone out, typed in the four-digit passcode, then handed it over.
I looked from her phone to the Victorian building in front of us. “You know where you’re going?” I asked while inputting my number into her contacts and texting myself so I had her number too.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Look at me,” I said, handing back her phone and not letting go when she tried to take it from my hands.
Slowly, she raised her head to meet mine; her eyes–more green than blue in the morning’s dim sunlight–looked into my own in question. I didn’t know what the right thing to say was or if I were on track with the things she’d just told me, but I said, “There’s nowt wrong with you.”
“There’s a lot wrong with me.”
“Says who?”
Her expression was unamused. She couldn’t answer me because the only person to think of her as broken was herself.
I sighed.
The more time I spent talking with her, the reality of everything she’d been through began to hit me. Slowly, but brick by fucking brick. The night James’s wife died had somehow shaped this girl’s entire life. And it wasn’t fair or kind. It was fucking tragic. I couldn’t help but feel responsible for the part I had to play in it.
The look in her gaze wavered, and for a brief second, she allowed herself to drop her guard. In a split second of vulnerability, I saw the frightened little girl who heard her mother’s cries grow distant as I ran us away from the heat of the flames. And she didn’t even know that I knew.
Fuck, I knew.
Perhaps I was the closest person who could understand just a semblance of what it was she felt.
I cleared away the lump of emotion that had lodged itself into my throat and shook my head of the memory. “I’ll text you to check in. But if at any point you need me, text me first.”
Did I mean that? I wasn’t sure. But she nodded anyway.
I could just make out her blush under her make-up as she took her phone from me and placed it securely back into her bag. It was the second smile she’d graced me with today. And it made me feel all torn up, dislodging things from inside me I hadn’t known were even there.
“Shit, one more thing,” I said as I watched her place her hand on the door handle. I reached into the car’s backseat and pulled out a hoodie from my gym bag. I probably needed it, considering it was baltic outside. But she needed it more. “It’s cold out.” I repeated what I’d told her earlier.
She held back another smile by pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. I could tell she didn’t want to take my hoodie from me, but she shoved it into her bag anyway.
“Finley will pick you up,” I said, as she climbed from the car. “This was a one time thing,” I reiterated. “I work late.”
When she got to her feet, she settled her bag on her inner elbow. Then, lifting her chin with false confidence, she said, “And it’s fine to sit with him in the front?”
Involuntarily, the one corner of my mouth tipped up. “If that’s what you want.”
“Maybe you’re not as bad as I first thought, Nate Walker. As obvious as you make it that you don’t want me around.” She looked at the ground and then back to me with a raised eyebrow.
And then the door slammed closed.
I refrained from opening the window and correcting her. My name. And what she thought she knew.
My eyes lingered on her as she raised her shoulders and chin, taking a few deep breaths. And then she stepped awkwardly over the dewy morning grass, steadying herself onto the pavement that led to the large Victorian building in front of us. She stopped mid-stride, and just when I thought she might look back, she raised her arms and brushed her fingers through her long hair. Only then did she carry on walking towards the building. The further she moved away from me, the harder I mulled. I wondered if she knew anyone here or if she was about to be on her own. It wasn’t in my interest to care for trivial things such as who’d she eat lunch with or sit beside in her lectures. But I couldn’t deny the feeling that took root in my chest. I felt an urge–a desirous need–to learn everything there was to know about Blue Sterling while she was in my life.
Before I could digest any further what that might mean, my phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth. Sophia’s name lit up the screen. I sighed audibly and ran a hand back through my already dishevelled hair. After already speaking with her on the phone this morning, I wasn’t ready for another round. She had the nerve to ask me to make more of an effort in our marriage. To go back so we could work on it as if we hadn’t already tried to fucking love each other like a normal couple.
We tried.
We failed.
How could we repair something that had never been whole?
And what was there to repair? Almost everything in our life had been built on false ground. If we didn’t fall for each other in the years we’d already been together; chances were it would take another lifetime to discover anything real.
Despite Blue not being able to contact me, I decided to turn off my phone so that Sophia would take a hint on the basis that the next time she called, she’d reach my voicemail. Then, shutting down every thought but work, I threw the car in reverse and began my drive to The Lagoon. I had too much to do before considering adding more shit to my plate.
I ARRIVED at The Lagoon to find Noah in my office, overlooking the nightclub below through the one-way windows. I wasn’t surprised, considering I was late. He often wanted to discuss business first thing before something else demanded his attention. Besides Sophia and James, he was the only one I trusted with a keycard and access to my office. Though I’d have to get Sophia’s back. Fuck, the last thing I wanted was her cornering me at the club.
Noah turned away from the window and glared at me as I stepped further into the room. “You’re lookin’ grumpy as shit and unapologetically casual today,” he remarked. His jade green eyes glinted with mischief as they ran down the length of me in my lack of business attire.
“Fuck me for breaking the rules. Unlike you, I didn’t have time to curl my hair.”
If you asked me, the boy cared too much for his appearance. But it made sense. When some people grew up with nothing, they tended to appreciate the things money could buy.
He winced. “I got some bad news. You ready for it?”
“No.”
“Tough shit. I’m just gonna lay it all out.”
I rounded my desk and sat myself down on my office chair. Then I kicked my feet onto the desktop, giving him the go-ahead. Not that I wanted to hear it, but when it came to my job, I didn’t pussyfoot around.
He took a breath and slid his hands into his pockets. The move was something I did myself when I was on edge, which immediately had me glowering.
“Hudson has an MCL grade two injury. There’s a possibility he’ll have to drop out of his title fight.”
I blew out a heavy breath and allowed my mind to process this information, ticking off a mental checklist of what I knew versus what could change. There wasn’t a ton of time to handle this, but there was still a chance it could be worse.
“He’s torn his ligament?”
Hudson Barnes was our number one ranked middleweight fighter of The Lagoon, which meant the situation would only put us in a predicament if he couldn’t fight. He’d worked hard for this, and we’d spent the best part of two months organising the next big event. Every spare moment we had was spent conversing with inspectors, having our licences regulated, getting bouts approved, and ensuring all the paperwork was correct and up to date for every regulation. It was one big fucking ball ache.
“Well, it’s too late to cancel the main event. If that happens, the gym and the organisation will lose a shit ton of money.”
In a perfect world, money wouldn’t have been my first concern. But the world I lived in, the world our fighters fought for and into, was cutthroat. It went without saying that James and The Lagoon’s organisation had such an important role in the industry, and a lot of it was held together by bank. Our bank.
“What about Wez? Where is that blonde-haired tattooed fuck?” I asked.
Wezley Bright was our standby fighter, but the last time I’d had a conversation with his coach, he’d mentioned how he seemed distracted. His head wasn’t in it. When he stepped into the Octagon, he was throwing sloppy punches and not moving his feet. A sitting duck, which for a twenty-four-year-old on a six-fight win streak and one of the promotion’s hottest prospects, was baffling. There was the possibility he would do more harm to himself than he would to his opponent. It would be the wrong call, perhaps one we’d have no choice but to make.
“Wez isn’t up to par either, so it’s not looking good.”
“Wez hasn’t been ‘up to par’ for at least twelve fucking months now. There’ll be repercussions if we have both fighters withdraw. Hudson needs to get a feel, see what he can do with his injury.” I looked off to the side. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Make sure the press doesn’t get wind of it. We’ve only just recovered from their last story.”
“It’s cool,” he said. “I’ll speak to him. We’ll figure it out.”
I dropped my legs from the desk and rolled my chair forward.
Resting my elbow on the hardwood, I dragged my hand back and forth over my forehead. “Shit.”
With my inner turmoil not only etched into the planes on my face but out in the open, Noah took a few steps towards me. “If you need to take a step back, I can handle it.”
He was too fucking good to me.
“I can manage.”
Besides, both he and the club were the only things in my life worth a shit.
He seemed to accept it. “How is Sophia handling having James’s daughter living with the two of you? Is she her usual bitch self?”
Although I could hide my emotions from most people, I couldn’t hide them entirely from Noah. When I’d married Sophia and was finally granted custody of him, he’d not long turned fourteen. It was inevitable that he’d come to learn Sophia was the bigger picture behind my irrational mood swings through the years. He knew of my failing marriage. He just didn’t realise that it was essential for me to marry her to save him from another two years in foster care. I’d have gotten him out sooner if I could, but the courts wouldn’t allow it no matter what I offered. We didn’t have the same father, yet I was his brother, and that complicated things. I didn’t have the kind of money then that I had now, so bribing the courts wasn’t an option. If it were, I’d have done it.
Besides asking him to handle the club while I flew to Miami, I hadn’t found time to fill him in on everything prior.
“She’s not. Me and Sophia are through.” I dared a look at him and cleared my throat, embarrassed at having to explain myself to my kid brother. “I’ve leased a penthouse in Kensington while I figure things out.”
“Divorce?”
I nodded. “I couldn’t have predicted this shit when I married her.”
“Does anyone?” He cocked his head and studied me. “Did you ever love her?”
I looked up at him. “That obvious, huh?”
He clucked his tongue. “Anytime she asked for more–for kids–you shut her down.”
“I had you to think about. I had this place.”
He sighed, removing a hand from his pocket to scratch his jaw. “Come on, bro. I’m not stupid.”
No, but maybe I was stupid to think he hadn’t cottoned on to the reasons behind my marriage to a woman I despised more than I relished the company of. But if he were to ask outright, I’d never admit it.
Maybe it was one lie I’d grow comfortable taking to my grave. He didn’t need to carry the guilt of my choices. When it came to my marriage, I’d chosen his life over my happiness. It really was that simple.
And I’d do it again if I had to.
I’d do it twenty times over.
He looked through me then as if he’d had some kind of brotherly intuition. “You can run from the truth, but you can’t hide from a lie, brother.”
His words made me think back to Blue, who offered me her own truth or a lie less than an hour ago. It made me think of how I hadn’t told James the entire truth and led him to believe Blue was staying with both me and my bitch of a wife.
“You should have left her the night she admitted she fucked around on you,” he said, still on the subject of Sophia. Because why wouldn’t he be? It was my mind that was wandering into bluer territory.
Still, his words filled my lungs with relief, thankful we weren’t about to dive further into the past than I first thought. The past was already set in stone. While a lot happened between now and then, there wasn’t much I would change.
“Hindsight is fifty-fifty,” I muttered.
“Twenty-twenty.”
“Whatever you say,” I responded, pretending to be interested in something on my computer screen.
With that, he didn’t seem to be focused on our earnest conversation any longer. His hand dived back into his pocket to pull out his phone, and then his fingers were brushing over the screen. “I best crack on then. Sort out the lads before fight night becomes a shitshow.”
I wasn’t in the right mindset to figure it out, so I was glad he was already on the case. The two of us could put all our personal shit to the back of our minds, away from any more torment.
This time, when I re-focused on my computer screen, I got to work, loading up my emails and last week’s financial report. “Keep me updated. Oh, and tell whoever’s on duty downstairs that we have some new bar stools being delivered before we open. They’ll need to let them in through the warehouse and help reload the ones they sent last week.”
“What was the matter with them?”
“Wrong shade of blue.” And just like that, at the mention of her name, my mind wavered. Again.
And then, an email from James drew my attention. “They were the wrong colour,” I clarified.
“Alright…” he said slowly.
For some reason, I’d replied “Yeah,” as if it were a question.
His back was to me as he made his way to the door. The moment he opened it, he stopped. “Nate?”
I looked up, feeling the torment come back to the forefront of my mind at the way his eyebrows drew together.
“What?”
He debated his next words. “I was a shit in the past. A real shit–sneakin’ out late and disappearing without a word. I’m sorry if the arguments between you and Sophia back then were my fault. Maybe if I wasn’t so difficult, if I tried to get on with her better, if I was a better kid, you mighta wanted one of your own–”
“I knew where you were,” I interrupted. “You think I didn’t?”
“You never said anything.”
“Because I knew you were safe.”
“How?”
“Does it matter?”
“Guess not.”
“Well, then.” I nodded, returning my eyes to the email in front of me. He didn’t move from his spot. Assuming he was still expecting me to answer him, I chose my following words carefully. “Nothing me and Sophia argued about had anything to do with you. It’s just the way we are. Were.”
He waited a beat, then ran a hand back through his short curly hair. “You deserve to be happy, man.”
He coughed as I looked up. But before I could tell him to piss off, he’d already let himself out and was in the process of closing the door behind him.
