A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1)

by Amy Daws

  He reaches his hand out to help me to my feet.

  “Let’s go back downstairs where there’s booze and other things to look at besides your gorgeous red lips,” he smiles adorably at me and kisses my cheek.

  I half smile at him.

  “I can’t make you any promises, Finley. It seems like space is what you need right now, but I’m only human.”

  I look back at him, slightly perplexed.

  “Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean I won’t flirt.”

  I shake my head at him.

  “And kiss you,” he adds. “Maybe consider us…friendly friends.” He tweaks his eyebrows at me and leads me by my hand out of my bedroom.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Liam and I spend the rest of the night dancing and flirting shamelessly. It’s fun and feels a lot more carefree and less intense than the feelings earlier in the night. I appreciate that about him because my mind is on overload and I can’t handle any more thoughts right now. He even seems to back off the possessive attitude toward Ethan, and Ethan takes full advantage of it as he twirls me on the dance floor.

  When I walk Liam to the door and step outside to see him off, I’m surprised when he grabs me and pulls me into the little patio area.

  He presses me up against the ivy-covered side of the house and whispers into my ear, “Don’t expect me to run off because you have baggage, Finley. My head wants to be a good friend but my heart has other ideas.” When he captures my mouth with his lips, instant zingers shoot from my head all the way down to my feet.

  Just when I press into him wanting more, he breaks the kiss and steps back with an incredibly sexy and naughty smile.

  “Dream about me,” he says, and walks away.

  I’m left shaking my head at his tease when Frank comes bounding out of the house.

  “Finley!” he shouts.

  I compose myself and step out from the patio area.

  “Yes, Frank and Beans?”

  “Ah, Fin-Bin. My pet. We’re having a roommate dance off on the coffee table. Join us you sexy leggy brunette, you!”

  He grabs my hand and hauls me inside and I laugh at his exuberance.

  ***

  Waking up the next day, I stir restlessly in bed thinking about Liam and Brody. What a mess I’ve put myself smack dab in the middle of. Here is Liam, right in front of me, all sexy, British, and perfect, but I can’t stop aching for Brody and the comfort of a man who gets me so perfectly. I’ve decided to close the door on the idea of Brody and me together because I can’t give him everything he deserves, so why am I struggling to dive in with Liam?

  Regardless, I really need to stop moping around about boys and start being productive again. I have a stack of press releases Val is waiting on, and my deadline is fast approaching.

  I stretch and check the time, shaking my head to see it’s already noon. My internal clock is so screwed up here. I used to consider myself a morning person back in the states, but here I can’t ever seem to get an early start on the day.

  I head into the bathroom to shower. Thankfully, I’m not feeling too hung over. Once Liam and I went back downstairs last night, I quit drinking and chose to just dance my ass off. It felt good. It was probably the most exercise I’ve had since moving out here.

  I look at myself in the mirror and am grateful Leslie helped me take off all my makeup before bed. It was a thick pain in the ass, but we had fun and laughed through the process anyway. My dress is in a rumpled heap on the floor and I make a mental note to ask Frank if I can keep it. I don’t know if I’ll ever wear it again because it’s way too short, but it’s also too beautiful to just toss aside.

  I take a scalding hot shower, chastising myself as thoughts of Liam and Brody keep creeping in my head. I know I need to do something about my predicament, but good Lord, can my brain just shut up long enough for me to take a shower? I dress in my comfy yoga pants and another college hoodie and head downstairs to get some coffee so I can get a few hours of work done.

  Julie is sitting in the kitchen nook as I come walking by.

  “Damn, we should have cleaned up last night while we were drunk,” I say, taking in the disaster of cups, sticky liquid, snacks, and beer cans all over. It looks so much worse in the light of day.

  “Frank has a cleaning crew coming in an hour. Don’t worry about it,” she says with a rasp in her voice. Julie looks hung over.

  “Where does Frank get all his money?” I ask, surprised I’ve never wondered this before. He’s always buying drinks and food for the house and never accepts my offers of compensation.

  “His parents are loaded. He’s practically a socialite, except he doesn’t hang out with anybody popular so the paps don’t give a toss about him. He says he prefers to hang with peasants like us,” she lifts her mug to me and takes another sip, her head resting on her propped hand.

  That makes sense why Frank has never told me what he does for a living. I’ve asked him a couple times now and both times he always just replies with, “A little of this. A little of that.” One time he said sexual favors but I knew him well enough by then to know he was joking. I get the sense Frank doesn’t have all of us as roommates because he needs to. I’m sure his parents cover all of the expenses of the house. It’s probably even paid off. So we’re definitely not around for the extra cash. I smile as I think back to the five tapered red candles he set out last night on the dining room table for all of us.

  “What are you up to today?” I ask Julie once I’ve made two coffees.

  “Work. I feel knackered so I’m positively dreading it.”

  I nod kindly, thankful I’m not a waitress like Julie. That would be a hard job to do with a hangover. I make my way past her and back out into the foyer.

  “Hey,” she calls before I hit the steps.

  “Nobody ever explained Mitch’s toast to me last night. I’m gutted because I still don’t get it.”

  I laugh back at her and head up the stairs leaving her to continue pondering.

  I stop on the second floor and knock softly on Leslie’s bedroom door.

  “Come in!” she replies, brightly.

  “Hey,” I say, walking in and curling up on her antique-style daybed. She’s at her large black desk that has two huge computer screens on top. She appears to be working on some type of design. Whatever she has up on the screen, I can’t make any sense of.

  “What are you working on?” I ask.

  “A freaking strap. It’s a strap and I can’t get it how I want it. Hey! Is that for me?” she asks, eyeing my second cup of coffee.

  I nod and smile, reaching over to hand it to her.

  “Finny, you know me so well,” she says, looking down and seeing her extremely light coffee. Leslie basically drinks milk with a splash of coffee. I don’t understand why she even bothers. I’ve always preferred mine black because that’s how my dad drank his and I figured if he could do it, so could I.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  “Pretty good. Not hung over at all. I’m glad we quit drinking early last night.”

  “Me too,” she says, taking a sip.

  “So, whatever happened with Theo?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what happened with Theo?’”

  “Did you do anything with him?” I ask, blowing on my steamy cup of coffee.

  “No! God! I can’t even believe I had to be in the same room as him all night last night!” she replies, adjusting her denim vest that she fashionably paired with a humongous pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

  “Did he try to talk to you again?”

  “Yes, but I told him to get lost. One time, he was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom!”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He got all up in my face and said I had some nerve for leaving him stranded on the dance floor after what we shared. God! I’m turning red just thinking about it!”

  I laugh as her cheeks turn crimson, matching her auburn hair.

  “He sai
d he searched for me for hours!” she starts giggling.

  “You’re terrible! Why are you laughing at the poor guy?”

  “Because I saw him coming by our table once and I ducked and pretended to be messing with my shoe until the coast was clear!” she laughs hard, spinning in her desk chair.

  I laugh with her all the while shaking my head and silently chastising her.

  “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed. You never get embarrassed. It’s so unlike you.”

  She shakes her head like she’s having a thought but then appears to think better of it and smiles brightly at me again.

  “How are you feeling about everything else?” she asks, eyeing me curiously.

  I take a tentative sip of my coffee, mindful not to drink too much and completely scald my tongue.

  “I feel like I need to have a conversation,” I say, getting really serious.

  She nods her head, equally serious, “A conversation.”

  “A conversation,” I reply.

  “A conversation with…,” she waits for me to fill in the blank.

  “Brody,” I say, exhaling heavily.

  “Woah,” she replies, “I’m shocked. After seeing you with Liam last night, I thought Brody might be fading into the background.”

  I nod my head, “Well, we just…we didn’t end things well the last time we spoke and I don’t know. I guess I think I need better closure than that.” I cringe on that word. Closure. I hate that word. It sounds like a word that belongs in a self-help book, but I’ll be damned if that isn’t what I need right now.

  “Ick. Closure. Sounds terrible,” Leslie replies.

  “Thanks for the encouragement, Lez,” I say back, flatly.

  She takes a drink from her mug, “Are you sure your closure doesn’t have more to do with Ol’ Saggy Tits Oli’ than it does Brody?”

  “Fair question,” I reply. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious how the hell those two found each other and what goes through his mind when he’s with her. But overall, the real reason is to hear his voice again. I need to hear it without all that hate and anger.”

  Leslie gets up from her desk chair and crawls onto the daybed and sits with her legs crossed facing me.

  “You need to tell him everything then, Finley,” she says, seriously.

  I shake my head, “No way. Absolutely not. I can’t. I won’t.”

  “Then what are you going to say to him that’s any different from the last time you spoke to him?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I guess I thought maybe I’d at least tell him where I’m living, what I’m doing. Maybe that will help him not be so angry with me anymore. It’s a little piece of his puzzle that probably feels really incomplete. If he knows I’m here and I’m okay, then maybe we can both move on and I can quit caring about who he’s sleeping with…ugh, nope. I’m lying. I will always being grossed out by the idea of him with Olivia. It will bother me forever.”

  Leslie’s face screws up in disgust, “Yeah, she’s a nasty granny.”

  I smile at her, fondly.

  “I have to talk to him. I have to hear his voice.”

  “Well, good luck to you,” she clinks her coffee mug with mine.

  “I can hear your voices in there.” Frank’s voice muffles from the other side of Leslie’s door.

  “What the hell are you doing, Frank?” Leslie replies.

  “I can hear your voices and it sounds like you’re having a cuddle.”

  Leslie and I look at each other, biting our lips, desperately trying to contain our giggles.

  “Why are you sitting outside my door eavesdropping like a creeper?” Leslie asks with a disgusted but happy look on her face.

  Silence.

  “Get in here Carrot Top!” I shout. Leslie bursts into laughter and Frank swings the door wide open.

  “Carrot Top?” he replies, his jaw dropped. “Oh God, I think that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me, Finley!”

  “Get on this bed right now, Frank!” Leslie demands.

  Frank hangs his head and makes his way over to the bed and squeezes tightly in between us.

  “Seriously guys…do I look like Carrot Top?”

  Leslie and I giggle and hug him affectionately.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It takes a couple of days for me to muster up the courage to call Brody. I have a ton of work to get done for Val and I need the freelance money. I’ve been in London three weeks now and only have a week of paid vacation time left, so I’m taking all the work I can get to bank a little safety net for when the paychecks stop. I hesitate to look for another job because I haven’t even begun to apply for an official work visa. Val has a ton of work for me though, and the freelance money is actually better than what I made as a salary worker under her.

  I tell myself I’ll deal with Brody when I finish my list of projects. Liam continues to text me several times a day. Nothing too serious, mostly it’s just funny stuff he sees around town. He likes to insert his face into random things he comes across. Like today, he sent me a picture of himself looking confused; behind him was a man with an incredibly long mullet. It makes me smile and I appreciate his friendship. He keeps hinting at seeing me again but I tell him I’m busy with work, which is mostly true.

  As I close my laptop, I decide to stop putting it off and call Brody already. I need to get this off my chest. I’ll feel better afterward. I hope. I look out my rounded windows and see a slew of skateboarders all over the skate ramps. There must be some kind of event there today because this is a way bigger crowd than normal.

  My fingers are trembling as I press Send on Brody’s contact number. It rings five times and I begin to feel depressed that he’s not going to pick up.

  “Hello?” his deep voice answers.

  “Hey, um, hi, uh, Brody,” I bite my lip to stop myself from continuing on the same inane path. I take a deep breath and say, “How are you?” Real smooth, Finley.

  “Um, I’m fine. How are you?” he asks, with an edge of caution in his voice.

  “I’m doing well, I was just calling to see how things were going and everything.”

  “Are we doing that now?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I thought we could but I guess that’s up to you,” I reply.

  “So what, you think you can just call now and we’ll chat like old friends?”

  I sigh into the phone, “Alright, fine Brody. Don’t let me beat around the bush or anything.”

  “Well what do you expect, Finley?”

  Oh! Just the way he says my name brings back hundreds of wonderful memories. Happy memories, intimate memories, carefree memories, emotional memories. How can I ask him to just say my name again over and over and over so I can bathe in the beauty of his voice and memories of simpler times?

  I clear my throat, “I didn’t like where we ended things last time we spoke. I feel…remorseful. I regret how I handled things.”

  “You think?” he barks, slightly.

  “I feel like I need to be more honest with you and then maybe we can both get a bit more closure after we air everything out.”

  “Closure? That doesn’t sound like the Finley I was in love with for over five years. The Finley I knew would have never used the word closure.”

  I roll my eyes even though I know he can’t see me.

  “I know its cliché, Brody. I’m just trying to be honest here,” I say.

  “Okay, then. Let’s hear it.”

  “I’m in London,” I say, quickly, before I lose my nerve.

  “Like, England?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “For what?” he questions.

  That’s a fair question.

  “I’m living with Leslie. She lives in a house out here in South London. I’m doing freelance for Val while I’m here.”

  “How long are you staying there?” he asks.

  “Indefinitely,” I reply.

  “What does that mean?” he asks.

  “It
means I have no plans to go back to Kansas or Missouri or anywhere near the Midwest again.”

  Silence falls between us.

  “Brody?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he replies.

  “I just felt like it was time I tell you where I was because I know that was a big reason why you were so angry with me when we broke up…all the secrecy about where I was going. I know that’s why you went to see Cadence and George that night. You were angry; you had a right to be. At the time, I thought it was for the best, it would give us a cleaner break, but now I feel like I at least owe it to you to tell you where I’m at.”

  “A cleaner break,” he repeats my words back to me. “And why are you telling me now, exactly?”

  “I…” I stumble on what I want to say next, “I guess I just thought you’d want to know.”

  “I think you thought wrong, Finley,” he says, with a definitive huff in his tone.

  “I just thought…” I start, but he interrupts.

  “You just thought you would call me and tell me you’re living in London, another freaking country, thousands of miles away from me, and I would feel, what? Relief?” he asks.

  “I guess I…” I don’t get to finish.

  “You thought I would feel relieved to hear you had to move to another continent to get away from me? You think that makes me feel like anything more than the piranha scum you can’t get off the bottom of your shoe?”

  “Brody! No.”

  “Do you think I’ll feel closure knowing I am the reason you no longer live driving distance away from your family? Your nieces? Your friends?”

  “It’s not your fault, Brody. You’re not the cause,” I start, but I don’t know how to finish.

  “How is it possible you think you can call me and tell me you’re in London, England and I’m just going to say thank you and end this phone call on a happy note?” he seethes.

  I’m tired of him acting all wounded like he cares.

  “I thought perhaps you were ready for some closure since it appears you’ve already moved on!” I snap at him.

  “What do you mean, Finley?” he says his words slowly, with emphasis.