Regret (Twisted Hearts Duet Book 2)

by Max Henry

  It’s a low blow, but there it is—the truth, laid out bare.

  I shut the door and storm off toward the workshop, pissed not only at her mother for trying to emotionally blackmail me into changing my whole fucking life for a woman that I met less than a week ago, but also at myself for wanting to.

  If there are two things I can’t deny about Cam, it’s that women like her aren’t a dime a dozen, and the fact that she makes my heart race, my chest tight whenever she’s near … I feel something more than a passing interest.

  “Duke,” Archie calls as I enter the work bay. “Good to see you.”

  Although I get the impression it’s not because he likes me, more as if he’s glad it means he gets rid of the HQ and me.

  “Did it behave on the test drive?” I walk around the vehicle, impressed he’s gone so far as to give it a quick wash.

  “Like a dream.” He steps over to a pegboard and removes the keys. “Came in on budget, more or less. Extra thirty-five over, but I’ll let it pass.”

  “Nah, mate. I’ll square you up.” I take the offered keys.

  “I owe Cammie for all the things she buys the kids when she babysits, anyway.” He drills his gaze into mine. “Besides, I’m sure you’re eager to get on your way.” I get the clear message this conversation is about more than just a car and a mechanical bill. Seems like everyone in this town has my number.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  He nods, folding his arms over his chest. “Looks like you’ve got no reason to stick around anymore; time to go home.”

  “Apparently.” I move the keys between my hands, unsure if the guy plans to take me down or simply let me go with a few underhanded comments.

  “Heard what you did to Jared.”

  Fuck it. “That so?” I tuck my bottom lip up and frown. “News travels fast, then.”

  “Small town, mate.” He grimaces on the last word. “Better make sure you don’t come across her cousin again on your way out.”

  Nope—totally not feeling ganged up on I open the door to the HQ, stepping a leg inside as I brace myself with a hand on the roof. “We all done here, then?”

  Archie nods, stepping back. “Safe travels, Duke.”

  I drop into the seat and close the door on his bullshit, starting the V8 with a roar. He watches me go, unmoving in my rear-view as I pull out of the workshop and take to the road.

  “Fuck it!” I slam the heel of my hand into the steering wheel.

  How did I let things get so complicated? All I had to do was stay a few days in some stranger’s house and be done with it. Could have kept my dick to myself and thought things through with the useful brain in my head, but no, I had to go and jump in feet first.

  I don’t know what’s worse—the fact I did this to Cam, or the look she’ll no doubt give me when I break the news that it’s time for me to go. Although the car in the driveway should do a good job of that.

  My thoughts play on repeat the whole drive back to her place, and yet, after fifteen minutes of the same loop, I’m no better off than I was when I left the workshop.

  Taking a seat in the sun on the front porch, I pull my phone out and dial Cody. He’ll be glad that the car’s fixed. At least I can keep one person happy. Shit.

  “Hey, bro,” he greets as he picks up the call.

  “Slow day at work then, if you’re answering your phone. Thought I’d have to leave you a voicemail.”

  “Boss is away,” he says with nothing short of mischief in his voice. “IT took the blocks off the net, too, so we’re all fucking around.”

  The work ethic of this one … honestly. “Car’s running.”

  “Sweet. I’ll start paying you back next month.”

  “Like fuck, you little turd. You’ll transfer the first hundred the minute I get—”

  “Relax,” he says, laughing. “I was winding you up, man. Shit. What’s crawled up your arse?”

  Curvy little woman by the name of Cam, that’s what.

  “Nothing. Ask Mum if she wants me to pick anything up from town on my way home.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get her to message you. When you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow.” My gaze falls on the scuffmarks in the gravel where I restrained Jared last night. Hopefully Cam will be okay.

  “Sweet. See you then, bro.”

  “Yeah. Catch you then.” I end the call and crush the phone in my hand, the pain of the case as it digs into my palm a welcome anchor in what’s been my first anxious moment in days.

  She’s a grown woman—she can hold her own.

  But she shouldn’t have to. That’s just it. A woman like her deserves to have a strong man by her side to defend her when jackasses like her ex show up. Just because a woman can fight her own battles doesn’t mean she should have to. Especially when she’s the kind of woman who merits the sort of love that precedes sacrifice.

  I spend the next hour and a bit before Cammie’s due home taking a shower and packing the HQ with my things—not that there’s much. I leave my new phone charger out to unplug and take with me when I go.

  When I go.

  I’m still stuck on that thought when the nose of Cam’s car comes into view down the driveway. I stay where I’m seated, back on the porch, wanting to see her reaction when she spots the HQ.

  It’s not pretty.

  Her car switches off, parked so that I can’t see her inside it, but the fact she doesn’t get out straight away is unsettling. A solid ten minutes pass before she opens the door and storms across the yard, straight past me and into the house.

  Shit.

  Guess I should go find out how bad it is, then.

  “Cam?” I call as I shut the front door behind me. “Can we talk?”

  She flies out of her bedroom at the far end of the hall, on the warpath. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow.” I tuck my hands in my pockets for fear if I leave them free, I might end up with her against the wall again.

  “Fuck you.” She screws her face up, shaking her head at me … and then storms back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

  Okay then …

  Went well, considering.

  I take my time walking up the hall to her bedroom, and stop outside the closed door. I can’t pick up any sounds from beyond it. I suppose that’s a good thing because it means she can’t be crying.

  I rap my knuckles on her door. “Cam?”

  “Go away!”

  Not yet. I open the door to find her cross-legged on her bed, her face a storm. “I get that you’re angry—”

  “I’m hurt.”

  And then the tears begin.

  “I’m hurt because you’re fucking leaving still,” she whines, fat tears leaking over her face. “And I’m mostly pissed off because I knew you would, but I’m still surprised by it. Urgh!” She hurls a pillow across the room, its soft landing against the wall not seeming to satisfy her when she picks up her phone and prepares to throw that, too.

  “Put it down.” I lunge and grab her wrist, forcing her to drop the damn thing before she has to fork out a grand to replace it.

  “Why?” she cries, her face utter betrayal.

  “Am I going?” I ask, knowing she’s not asking why I told her to put the phone down. “You know why, babe. I’ve got counselling, a job to sort out …”

  “No.” She shakes her head vehemently, ripping her arm from my hold. “Why am I not enough?”

  Crap. She is enough. It’s me who isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. “You’re everything,” I tell her. “Too much.”

  Her nostrils flare, the light catching her bullring as it moves. “Too much,” she murmurs angrily. “That’s bullshit, Duke.” Her small hands shunt me hard in the chest, yet I don’t move. I sit on the bed with her instead. The more she pushes me away, the closer I want to be.

  “The space to breathe will do you good.”

  She frowns, leaning in close to utter with so much hate it makes me hurt, “I’ll drown.”

 
; Fuck—she will. But as much as it pains me to let her go, she needs to learn to swim on her own.

  I rise from the bed, taking two steps toward the door. “Maybe I should just go now. It might be easier.”

  She doesn’t answer me, turning her head to stare at the darkening sky outside.

  It’s the loudest silence.

  The hardest truth.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Cammie

  He left me that night. Pushed my sofas back to how they used to be and walked out the door. I’m still sinking.

  “Spot two.” Mary’s terse call breaks me from my daze.

  Shoot. The light’s nowhere near my frustrated leading lady.

  “Sorry.”

  “Come see me after. LX35, ready … and go.”

  The lights change, the scene picking up pace as my gut sinks. I’ve been in a funk since Duke went home. I realised too late that I don’t even know his number to call—never thinking to get it since I could always reach him at the house—and now I don’t have the kahunas to ask Archie what it is. He literally left my life without a trace, other than an overgrown lawn that still looks pretty in stripes.

  I buckle down and manage to get through the rest of the Saturday night show without losing focus again, keeping my arm too close to the light in places so that the burn keeps me alert.

  The crowd filters out as Susie crosses over from her platform, the frown on her face telling me she’s concerned before she even opens her mouth. “What’s going on, love?”

  “Nothing.” I flick my hair out of the way, stashing my half-empty water bottle in my bag, knowing when I get home that I’ll stack it with the others just so I feel like Duke is still around.

  “You can’t bullshit a bullshit artist.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile.

  I slump down on the edge of my platform, my bag slung between my legs. “That guy who stayed with me?”

  “Duke?”

  “You remember his name?” I frown. She didn’t even talk to him when he came the other night.

  “I think everyone in town knows his name,” she deadpans. “Nobody’s seen you that happy in years.”

  Urgh. “He left.”

  “Well, no duh.” She screws her top lip up. “He had to take the car home, right?”

  I narrow my gaze on her. “Just how much did everyone talk about us?”

  Susie rubs a nervous hand over the back of her neck. “A little.”

  “Great.” I push to my feet abruptly enough that she takes a hasty step backward. “I better go see Mary.”

  I get my arse handed to me on a platter. Mary’s the type that takes no shit, and if you’ve got issues outside the theatre she doesn’t care, which suits me fine. I need somebody to slap me back into line. I don’t want to be babied over a pathetic broken heart. I shouldn’t be letting Duke’s departure hurt me this much—he was only here for six days.

  And yet it felt like a lifetime.

  I manage to get as far as my car before my carefully stacked tower of confidence slips and topples. A part of me is thankful for the lack of streetlights near the parking lot as I rest my head on the steering wheel and burst into tears, but the remainder of me is torn apart as I sit in the very thing that reminds me of Duke the most: the darkness.

  “Get it together, Cam,” I whisper to myself. I can’t let myself fall to pieces—not yet, anyway. I have to stay strong considering Jared is coming over with the new contract tomorrow. It seems Duke did one good thing before he left: he scared my ex enough to ensure I have the agent I want for the sale.

  Ridiculous. I would have signed with Terry if it meant keeping Duke here longer. If only I had one more day.

  I damn near jump out of my skin as a solid knock sounds on my window. “Holy, shit!” Clicking the key around one, I drop the window and frown at Bevan. “I almost died of a heart attack.”

  “Better than dying because you wallowed in your heartache,” he counters.

  “Touché.” I look over his shoulder at Susie standing a little way back, having a smoke. “What do you two want?”

  “You.” Bevan reaches out and opens my door. “We’re heading to the pub. I’d ask if you want to come, but it’s not up for negotiation.”

  “I’m not dressed for it,” I protest weakly, touched that they want to include me.

  “Shut up,” Susie teases, stamping her smoke out. “It’s Burbank. You’d fit right in wearing stubbies and gumboots.”

  “I said to leave you alone,” Bevan explains, “but Susie here was adamant we can’t stand by and watch you self-destruct.” He rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I realise we’re just theatre buddies and all that, but you know—”

  “We thought you might like company,” Susie finishes for him.

  I do—not theirs, is all. “Fine. A drink can’t hurt.”

  “Fine,” Bevan echoes, putting my window up. “We’re getting an Uber.” He reaches in and snags my keys. “Grab your bag, princess.”

  I spend the ride to the pub wondering how in the hell I was so blind that I didn’t notice a burgeoning romance between these two. Oh, that’s right—I had a moody soldier keeping me distracted. Susie does her best to fend Bevan off, probably aware how the sight of them cosying up might affect me, but I can see it. They’re smitten with each other. I want to punch them each in the face, and then dance on their happiness.

  The local rugby team pour in fresh on the heels of another victory as I nurse my vodka at the bar. Sweat and testosterone envelops me as the burly guys crowd into the only available spots to order their drinks.

  Susie squeezes in between what appears to be a prop and me. “Plenty of talent for you tonight.”

  Talent, aka fuckable men.

  “I’m not interested.” Not when the thought of getting naked with anyone but Duke makes me feel physically ill. So ruined.

  “Come on.” She nudges me as Bevan hands her a new drink. “Have a dance at least. If I wanted you to sit around feeling sorry for yourself, I would have let you go home.”

  One look at her sorrowful face and I know I should. They’ve done me good, making sure I come out tonight. The least I can do is try to have fun.

  The troublesome duo spends the next two hours plying me with drinks until I’m literally one of the last left on the small dance floor, shaking my arse to some song I’ve never heard before. It’s not pretty, but thanks to the numbing effects of the vodka sloshing around in my empty stomach, I don’t care.

  I’m still sober enough, though, that the attention my uncoordinated dancing gets doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “You need to slow down,” Mr Tall-and-Jacked-Rugby-Player says as he slides in behind me, his hands to my hips.

  I move out of his reach, not wanting him to touch me, but not minding the distraction his conversation provides. “I’m fine,” I slur, slicing my hand through the air.

  He chuckles, steadying me on my feet. The guy’s quite handsome: blond hair, chiselled jaw, thick neck. In another time, maybe … “How about you sit down and I’ll get you a water?”

  I shrug. Sitting isn’t a bad idea; my feet hurt. “Okay.”

  I look around for Susie and Bevan as he steers me toward an empty table tucked around the side of the bar, but whether it’s my blurred vision, or the dim lights in here, I don’t know—I can’t see them.

  My arse hits the seat, and by the time the rugby guy comes back with an iced water, I’m almost asleep with my head on the table.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, reaching for the glass and managing to avoid spilling it in the nick of time.

  “Cammie, right?”

  “How do you know?” I point what I hope is an angry finger his way, my head still on the table, but given his smile I’d say I don’t quite pull it off.

  “You went to school with my big sister.”

  Of course I did. Wait. Did he say big sister?

  “How old are you?” I ask sceptically.

  “Twenty-five. Why?”

  Pfft. Baby. “No re
ason.”

  I manage to get the glass to my lips and sip the tasteless water. Ugh.

  “What brings you out tonight?” Rugby Boy asks. “You’re not usually here on a Saturday.”

  “Usually too busy,” I answer. Sitting at home, wallowing in my misery.

  Fuck drunk tears. I swipe at my face, trying to stop the flow.

  “You okay?” he asks. “Should we step outside and find you somewhere quiet, more private?”

  Because somewhere quieter where the echo of Duke’s words will fill my head like angry thunder is exactly what I need. “No. I’m fine.” I use my sleeve to wipe the last of the tears away. “Do I look okay?” I ask hopefully, aware I probably resemble a road kill racoon about now.

  He smirks, handing me a paper napkin. “You might want to go to the ladies to use the mirror.”

  “Right.” God, I’m such a mess.

  I push to my feet using the table as ballast, and head in the general direction of the toilets. I only need to correct my wayward path a couple of times, which, given how many vodkas I’ve consumed tonight, is quite the achievement.

  I push through the swing door to find exactly where Susie and Bevan went.

  “You realise I can see your reflection in the mirror,” I announce. “You really should check you shut the stall door properly.”

  “Oh my God,” Susie exclaims slamming the door shut.

  Frantic whispers ensue before she appears, looking rather sheepish, Bevan in tow. “Sorry, Cam.”

  “It’s okay.” I wave my hand dismissively at them … and then promptly vomit into a hand basin.

  “Oh, shit,” Bevan cries, doing the typical male thing by backing away from the mess in such a rush that he collides with the wall.

  “Fuck, Cam.” Susie, on the other hand, rushes to my side to scoop my hair out of the way. “Time to go home, huh?”

  “I don’t want to ruin your night,” I mumble into the basin as I turn the tap on.

  She exchanges a look with Bevan in the mirror and sighs. “It’s okay, honey. Your welfare comes first.”