Part 113 (1/2)

”I'm not staying to listen to this. Where's Will?” I ask.

”With Fleur. You should take some tips from your brother about how to treat women,” replies Tegan.

”You know what, Tegan? Shut your mouth before I say something I'll regret.”

”Tegan. Calm down,” says Jax.

”She's my friend.”

”Not exactly your best friend, so why the big deal?” I snap.

”Well, I like her.”

”And so do I, or didn't you notice? So I made a mistake not being able to read her f.u.c.king mind, but how does that make me a jerk?” I jab a finger at her. ”You might be okay talking to Jax like this, but don't throw this s.h.i.+t at me and expect me to take it.”

”Whoa. Okay, you two.” Jax steps between us, jaw tight. ”Back off, Nate.”

”Tell her to back off!”

With one last sour look, Tegan stalks away. I watch her haughty figure and shake my head. ”No wonder you two fight all the time, she's as big a princess as you.”

”f.u.c.k you, Nate.” Jax heads after his wife.

”Why am I the bad guy?” I call after him. ”Jesus, you're all so full of c.r.a.p these days.”

I push my way through the room and sit on the hard, wooden stairs in the hallway opposite the front doors. One more word from Tegan and the next words from my mouth would reward me with a smack from Jax. Why the f.u.c.k did Tegan need to interfere?

Yeah, I'm a jerk sending Riley away like that; but after years as a selfish a.s.shole, my intuition around anybody's feelings is poor. Especially women. How am I supposed to interpret Riley saying no to me, actually meant yes? Taking her home crossed my mind, but Riley's not exactly the kind of girl who would want me fussing. Is she? I'm f.u.c.king confused here.

Plus there was the ”I want to talk to you” line Riley threw at me when she arrived, which set my hackles up. Okay, we've admitted to others and each other this is more than s.e.x, but I'm not ready for the full on give-everything-we-have relations.h.i.+p. No way. Talking about s.h.i.+t? Minimal and only when necessary.

I've a lot to learn and the biggest issue here is am I prepared to take the lessons?

I pick the silver foil from the bottle neck, roll it into a ball, and throw it onto the floor. Fine. I'll go see Riley first thing tomorrow. Take her flowers or some s.h.i.+t. I dunno.

Tegan's ranting p.r.i.c.ks my conscience, and I worry I've upset Riley. Surely Riley doesn't expect me to be Mr. Sensitive? Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake. I pull out my phone and when Riley doesn't answer my call, I send a text instead.

Or attempt to.

<hey riley=”” i'm=”” sorry=”” about=”” earlier.=”” i=”” should've=”” taken=”” you=”” home=”” instead=”” of=”” calling=”” a=”” taxi.=”” i=”” didn't=”” think.=””> No. I delete and try again <hey riley.=”” how=”” are=”” you?=”” sorry=”” i=”” didn't=”” look=”” after=”” you=””> Ugh. No way.

<riley, just=”” letting=”” you=”” know=”” i'm=”” thinking=”” of=”” you.=”” hope=”” you're=”” okay=””> Hmm. Nope.

I type what I intend as a final message. Then re-read the words, decide it sounds pathetic, then erase and start a new one.

f.u.c.k it. My head hurts. I don't know what I'm trying to say anymore.

I hit send.

29.

RILEY.

All I can manage for breakfast is a slice of toast and strong coffee. I managed to hold everything in until I arrived home, then spent half the night on the bathroom floor. Thank G.o.d Josh wasn't home to see his mum in that mess. Interspersed with the vomiting was the regret at the missed chance to talk to Nate.

As soon as I'm up to calling Nate, this is a done deed.

Then back to work on Monday and another layer of deceit will be unwrapped. 'Hey, did you know Riley has a kid? And she's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Nate Campbell?' Then they'll do the maths... is this the reason we hated each other? I give a small laugh. Me, Nate Campbell, and our five-year-old love child. One photo of us together and the rumours will fly. Never mind we didn't know each other five years ago.

The truth? A guy from school who sweet-talked me into s.e.x, filled my head with bulls.h.i.+t about love and commitment, then couldn't get away fast enough when I told him I was pregnant. Worse than that, he denied the baby was his.

The fallout over my pregnancy at home wasn't a shock to me; Mum's insistence I have the baby and she'll help was. I don't have any siblings, and later Mum told me her and Dad had wanted more children and she never fell pregnant again. Vague childhood memories of whispered conversations and hospital visits returned, and Mum told me about IVF attempts. They always hid things from me and it p.i.s.sed me off I wasn't told. At one point, I thought Mum had mental health issues because her moods were so erratic. Now I understand it was the hormones, and grief at each failed attempt or early miscarriage.

Hiding truths from me never changed. When Dad received his cancer diagnosis, they said nothing until my suspicions led to me asking. I think this is why I told them about the baby and as early as I did. I refused to hide secrets the way they did.

You'd think an only child would be lavished with attention but there was always a distance, especially with Dad. I looked for male attention elsewhere and look where it got me.

Mum helped a lot when Josh was a baby. As soon as he was born, I applied for jobs, determined to provide for him and refusing to take benefits. The summer before the pregnancy disaster, I'd talked my way into work experience with a PR firm. My tenacity could be termed stubbornness, or sometimes obstinacy, but my personality sure as h.e.l.l worked for me.

When Josh was a few months old, I took a job at SMC as a PA and clawed my way up from there, throwing my whole self into progressing as fast as I could. Extra hours, exhausting days. Secrets.

As Josh grew older, and my regret over my poor parenting took over, I attempted to balance my life more. This balance meant no life for me outside of work and Josh, and each year that pa.s.sed, the harder I found it to tell people and face their judgement. One person knows, Tina, and I never told her until Josh was almost two. She was shocked but non-committal; told me to keep up my work and she wouldn't care.

I'm prepared for the news to send Nate running and I accept this. In our snow-covered world, we were two people disconnected from life but always knew reality would be unkind. Was I stupid enough to think we'd fall in love and have a happy ever after if we grew closer first? I should visit somebody about my delusional thoughts.

I shake my head to shake in sense. The chances of Nate, Josh, and me taking a happy family stroll rank less than zero.

I manage to combat my hangover with painkillers and a lot of water, dozing on the sofa until close to lunch. The pounding in my head retreats and I curl up beneath a blanket, reading. Somebody knocks on the door and I wince at the sound. Did I order something? Maybe Mum forgot her key. I look down at my pyjamas and run fingers through my tangled hair, debating whether to answer.

I open the door and my breath hitches.

Nate.

Well, a man on my doorstep holding a bunch of flowers who looks a lot like the rock star who has my heart in a vice. This man freaks me out more every day because each time I think I understand him something else comes from left field. I flail around for words but can't get past the panicked need for him to leave.

”Nate? What are you doing here?”

”h.e.l.lo is the usual greeting.”

”How do you know where I live?”

He gives me an odd look. ”You asked me to order the taxi for you last night. Remember?”

”Oh. No.” I stare at the bouquet. Yellow roses. Whoa. ”Are they for me?”

”Yeah.” He thrusts them at me. ”Sorry about last night.”