Girl Abroad: Part 6 – Chapter 42

I FEEL SICK.

Weak.

The last time I felt this winded, it was after I got tackled by that behemoth Ruth Caskill during a game of field hockey junior year of high school. Only this isn’t a game. This is the implosion, the ultimate betrayal, of two relationships that meant the world to me.

My father paid Jack to “look out for me.”

He fucking paid him.

Actual money.

“That’s totally unnecessary, kid. I’m the one who reached out to you in the first place. You don’t need to return a cent— ”

I burst into Jack’s room, shoving the open door with such force it slams against the wall with a deafening bang.

Both men jerk in shock.

“Abbs?” Dad looks at me in confusion.

But Jack…Jack knows I heard every word. His face pales the moment he sees mine, broad shoulders dropping.

I stare at them both, my breathing so shallow I start to feel light-headed.

Somehow, I muster a semicalm tone and not a shriek of outrage. “What money is he talking about, Dad?”

My father briefly closes his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” I push. “You two know each other?”

When Dad’s eyelids flick open, I glimpse the unmistakable hue of guilt.

“Not quite,” he answers in a strained voice. “I didn’t know Jack here was a man.”

“But you had contact with him before I left for London?”

“Not before.” There’s a pause. “I emailed him the day after you left.”

My bottom lip starts trembling. I’m so angry I’m about to cry. I suck in a breath, my gaze shifting between them. They exchange a quick, frantic look as if waiting for the other to jump in with an explanation for me, but neither of them speak.

I release the breath, my entire body quavering. “One of you’d better fucking start talking.”

“Language,” Dad chides.

“No. Fuck that.” Another bolt of fury sizzles up my throat and clamps around so tight, my next words exit in a strangled growl. “You’ve both been lying to me for months?”

Jack finally speaks. “That’s not how it was.” He scrubs a hand over his forehead, gaze averted. “I got an email from your dad on your second day here.”

“Just an introduction,” Dad takes over, hurrying to explain.

“Where did you even get Jack’s email?” I ask suspiciously.

“It was on the housing listing. You emailed me the details, remember? I saved all the contact info.”

I nod, remembering that the house-share ad did list Jack’s email on the contact line. I’d emailed that address first, receiving a one-line response saying Lee was handling the details and giving me a number to text instead. Looks like Dad just kept on chatting with “Jackie.”

“It’s not a big deal,” my father says, trying to downplay it. “I told him it was your first time traveling alone and living abroad. Asked him to watch out for you. Keep you out of trouble.”

“And offered to pay him for his babysitting services?” My sarcasm can’t be controlled.

“Abbey.” Dad looks wounded. “It wasn’t babysitting. I only wanted to make sure you were being looked after.”

“He paid you,” I say to Jack, seeking confirmation.

After a beat, Jack nods.

“How much?”

He mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Paid my rent for the year,” Jack repeats. He looks as sick as I feel.

My stomach churns. I gulp down the bile coating my throat.

I nod a couple times before turning back to my father. “What, you didn’t feel like offering to pay everyone’s rent? Just Jackie’s?” I say the name mockingly.

“He offered,” Jack says quietly. “I told him Lee and Jamie would never accept any payment. They’re both loaded.”

“But you, oh, you were happy to take my father’s money.”

He bites his lip. “I didn’t know you, Abbey. Seemed like an easy gig. All I had to do was make sure you were staying out of trouble.”

My eyes burn. No. No, I will not cry. So what if I thought Jack was spending time with me because he liked me and just found out it was because my dad was paying him?

I. Will. Not. Cry.

I swallow repeatedly. My throat is tight with tears I refuse to cry. “I see. So our friendship was a ‘gig.’”

“No, of course not,” he says quickly.

“Stop talking, Jack,” I whisper. “Just stop.”

I draw another breath. My lungs hurt from the oxygen I’m trying to force into them.

I coldly address my father. “You are such a hypocrite. You sat there in my dining room tonight telling me how conniving I was! I groveled and apologized while you chastised me about lying to you, and turns out you’re a liar too! An even bigger one. You made me believe I was free.”

“Abbey.” He blanches. “You’re not my prisoner.”

I ignore the denial. “You couldn’t even let me make my own mistakes. You have so little trust and faith in me, you had to insinuate yourself into my story, my adventure. My”—my voice catches— “friendships. You…”

It happens.

The tears start to fall.

Which means I’m not only gutted and enraged, I’m also mortified. I swipe at my wet cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater.

“Okay.” I take another breath. Give my face another aggressive wipe. “I can’t talk to either one of you right now. It’s late and I’m exhausted, and if we do this now, I’m going to say a lot of things I’ll regret. So please.” I can’t even look at my father as I say, “Just go to your hotel.”

“Kiddo— ”

“Go, Dad. Please. We can deal with this in the morning.”

I can’t look at Jack either. It hurts too much. So I turn on my heel and stiffly exit his bedroom. I find Lee in the hall, wearing his silk pajama pants, and a shirtless Jamie standing at his open doorway. Their faces are stricken. I don’t know how much they heard, but I wasn’t trying to be quiet about it, so I assume they got the gist of it.

“I’m going to bed,” I say flatly, then walk into my bedroom.

Whispers sound from the hallway. The soft thud of footsteps near my room. I scowl at the closed door. Swear to God, if Jack or my dad are out there… But then the voices fade and footsteps echo on the stairs.

I hear the front door close. I hear the lock engage.

Then footsteps again, and this time, they do stop outside my door.

“Abbs,” Jack says softly. “Can I come in? Please.”

I wanted to wait until morning, but I realize there’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight. Not with so many unanswered questions gnawing at my brain.

I open the door and am nearly knocked off my feet by the wave of raw emotion rippling in Jack’s blue eyes.

He enters without a word. I stand at the foot of my bed. He leans against the door.

The silence is excruciating. Bitterness rising in my throat, I stare at him, this guy I believed to be my friend.

No, much more than a friend.

I was falling for him.

Jack drags a hand through his blond hair before his arm drops to his side. “I’m sorry,” he says simply.

“Show me the emails.”

My request startles him. He furrows his brow. “What?”

“Show me the fucking emails, Jack.”

He flinches at my sharp tone. My harsh expletive.

“If you stand any chance of me understanding this, then I need to see the emails.”

“Okay. Okay.” He lets out a ragged breath and pulls his phone from his pocket.

As he hurriedly swipes a finger over the screen, silence once again fills the room. Even Hugh has decided not to intrude. There’s not a meow to be heard from our aggressively vocal feline. The cat lies in the center of my bed, giving Jack the shifty eyes.

Finally, Jack passes me the phone.

I swallow my nausea and read the first email in the thread.

It’s from [email protected], my dad’s throwaway account, the one he gives acquaintances or uses to sign up for online newsletters. He introduces himself as “Abbey’s father” and, proving he wasn’t lying to me before, informs “Jackie” that this is the first time his daughter is traveling alone, and gee, it would really ease his mind if “you guys could watch out for my daughter.” Stick close to her for the first little while.

Then comes the embarrassing part. He says he “totally gets” how it might cramp their style or feel like a “chore,” so he’s happy to pay them for this arduous task. He’ll cover all their rent for the year, how does that sound? “Easy gig, right?”

Again, I’m a gig.

A fucking gig.

He signs it Mr. Bly. I don’t blame him for that. Fame isn’t always something one wants to advertise.

Particularly when you’re trying to hire a covert nanny for your hapless daughter.

But who’s bitter?

“Abbs,” Jack starts.

I silence him with a withering glare, then continue to scroll.

In his reply, [email protected] is quick to assure my father that it’s no problem, of course Jackie will look out for Mr. Bly’s little girl.

Someone kill me now, please.

I exhale slowly and force myself to keep reading. Jack jokes that Lee and Jamie don’t need the extra cash; they’ve already paid their rent in full for the year. Trust him, Dad’s money is wasted on those two.

Dad responds that he’d still like to show his gratitude for Jackie’s kind assistance. What’s Jackie’s PayPal address? He’s going to cover Jackie’s rent for the year. “Not taking no for an answer!”

Jackie, my kind, amazing roommate, doesn’t put up a fight. “Mr. Bly, this is beyond generous.”

In that same email, Jack tells Dad he has a rugby match that night and won’t be able to respond to any emails until the following day.

Dad’s response is so absurd that hysteria-laced laughter bubbles out of my mouth.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter to Jack before reading aloud. “‘Wow, it’s so impressive you play rugby! Such a rough sport. And female rugby players? They’re an especially tough breed.’” I stare at Jack in disbelief. “And in your reply, you just agree that female rugby players are hard-core!”

“I thought he meant in general. I didn’t realize he thought I was the female rugby player,” Jack sighs.

Oh my God. These two dumbasses.

It would almost be funny if not for the fact that they were corresponding behind my back. Treating me like a child who needed help tying her shoelaces. Like a sheltered little girl who couldn’t be trusted to live her own life.

Anger ricochets through me as I remember Jack’s behavior in those early weeks. All those times I thought he was being sweet and protective. Worrying when I was out for hours in Surrey. Taking me driving because he didn’t trust Jamie to do it. Protecting me from his friend Sam and Nate and Ben Tulley.

He didn’t care about me. He only cared about giving my father his money’s worth.

The burn of betrayal sears my throat, throbbing with the lump of emotion already jammed in there.

“I can’t believe you took his money,” I choke out, and now I’m crying again, my cheeks soaked with tears. I am a child. A fucking fool.

“I didn’t know you,” he says, a desperate note creeping into his voice. “And I don’t come from wealth like the rest of you. I wasn’t kidding about Lee and Jamie paying their rent in full for the year. Meanwhile I’m taking my mother’s money when she can barely afford her own mortgage. I saw an easy opportunity and I took it.”

I blink rapidly, trying to control my overflowing emotions. “I don’t even blame you for that, Jack. You’re right—I come from a place of privilege. I don’t know what it’s like to barely make ends meet. What I blame you for is keeping it a secret from me. You could have told me.”

He hangs his head in shame. “I didn’t know how to. I knew you’d be livid.”

“No shit.”

“At the beginning, it didn’t feel like a big deal. I just kept an eye on you. Made sure you didn’t get too sloshed at the pub, you weren’t partying too hard, that sort of stuff.”

“So a babysitter.”

“No. Yes. Maybe at the beginning. But it didn’t take long to realize how bloody amazing you are. I liked you right away— ”

“Not as much as you liked my dad’s money,” I cut in bitterly.

“—and I justified it by reminding myself it’s what I’d do for any other mate. Just happened I was getting paid for it this time. But the more I got to know you, the more wrong it felt accepting money from your father.” Swallowing, he gestures to his phone. “Read the last email.”

“No. I’m done reading.”

He implores me with his eyes. “Please. It’s one email. I sent it after we went driving. The second time we kissed.”

I set my jaw. “Yes. I remember. You kissed me back and then pulled away, pretending you wanted to preserve our friendship— ”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“—when it turns out you just felt guilty for accepting blood money from my father. Right? Isn’t that why you kept running away every time we kissed?”

“Please,” he says. “Just read it.”

After a moment of reluctance, I force myself to look at the screen.

Dad’s response is typical. He tells him in no uncertain terms he won’t accept any money Jack tries to pay back.

“Abbey,” Jack pleads.

I lift my gaze from his phone.

“Doesn’t that count for something?”

A sharp laugh slips out. I toss the phone back. “You want me to congratulate you for finding your conscience?”

He rubs his forehead, visibly tired. Anguished. “No. I…” He trails off.

I drop down on the edge of my bed as I think back to the past five, nearly six months. I didn’t suspect for one second that Jack had been in contact with my father.

It’s so humiliating.

No, it’s…

“It’s infantilizing,” I mumble. “Do you realize how shitty this makes me feel? I knew my father didn’t consider me an adult, but you… I thought you saw me as…” My throat tightens to the point of pain. “As a woman.” I make a strangled noise. “But I was just a little kid you had to babysit.”

“No,” he insists. “That’s not true at all.”

More pieces start falling into place. “It all makes sense now. This is why you were keeping a distance at the start. Why you’re still keeping a distance.”

“There’s no distance. I feel closer to you than nearly anyone else in my life,” Jack says in a soft voice.

I go on as if he hasn’t spoken. Because I don’t believe him. I don’t believe anything anymore.

“That’s why you haven’t asked me to stop seeing Nate. Why you haven’t brought up the what-are-we subject. It’s your way of keeping me at arm’s length.” I shake my head at my own foolishness. “I see that now. You told me you weren’t the commitment type, but I didn’t listen. That’s on me.”

“Please,” he says, scrambling. “Let me fix this, Abbs.”

“There’s no need. This arrangement, the one with my father and now the one with me, has run its course.”

“It hasn’t. I can fix it.”

He reaches for me, but I jump off the bed.

“I want to go to bed now, Jack. Just leave.”

“Please— ”

“No.” With a trembling hand, I hold open my bedroom door. “We’re done here.”

He’s reluctant to move, searching my expression for resolve. When he sees no room for further argument, he steps toward the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “I never, ever meant to hurt you.”

The lump obstructing my throat makes it difficult to speak. “We were bound to end up here. Better now than later, right?”

At that, I shut the door and sink into my bed. A moment later, Hugh leaps on top of me and does a few laps before curling at my feet. Feeling utterly numb, I watch the branches outside my window shudder in the wind for a while, replaying the careening avalanche of a night that has just fallen on my head.

The devastation is spectacular.