‘He does love you, Chloe. And you know you love him, too, just not like … like that, not like us. And if you’d just stop and think, stop and think, Chloe, just for a minute, you’d see that nothing’s changed.’
I stopped struggling and stared up at him as my mind did a little boggle. ‘You’re defending him now?’
‘He can’t help this, Chloe. He shouldn’t have to help it. It’s just the way it is. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never wanted that.’
‘Yep, defending him. Funny, you weren’t defending him when I told you he called me and told me he loved me.’
‘He wasn’t supposed to call you before we left. He wasn’t supposed to confuse you, ever. He wasn’t supposed to call you tonight either. But he got an attack of conscience because he’s met someone and he wants to explore it and he wanted to make sure you had time to come to terms with it before he does. I told him to leave it to me. I told him we were going public, that I’d handle it after that. But you were late getting here, and so he called before I could …’ He stopped, looked at me, and closed his eyes. Opened them. Swallowed. ‘And I’m not putting this right, am I?’
‘Oh you’re putting it right, Nick. It’s all making perfect sense.’ Something was starting to sputter to life inside me – replacing maudlin self-pity with icy fury. I’d been played, well and truly. I was Ruby, passed on, traded to the next player, no big deal. Interchangeable. ‘Now how about I stop struggling and you just let me go?’ I said coldly. ‘Let me go right now.’
And I must have sounded like I meant business, because his arms dropped from around me.
I stepped back, smoothed my hair into place. ‘Remember what you said, Nick? Sometimes we have to give up, even when we want something so badly it’s like a dark ache? That’s how I wanted you, Nick. Like a dark, a very dark, ache. All twisted around with guilt, because of what I’d done to Marcus, and fear, because you brought out the old me, the savage me, the explosive me, the black swan, the me I don’t like. But now …’ I stopped to take a calming breath. ‘Well, now, because I really don’t like that black swan, and I really don’t like you, I’m giving up, that way we sometimes have to do.’
It was as though the blood drained right out his face. ‘You can’t do that.’
I raised one eyebrow. ‘I already have.’
But Nick was shaking his head. ‘What’s it going to take?’ he asked, and I could hear the panic in his voice now, feel it as he punched a fist against his chest. ‘Come on, do it. Hands, fists, feet. Slap me, punch me, kick me. Whatever it takes to get it out of your system, I don’t care. Just don’t look at me like that.’
‘Goddesses don’t hit,’ I said unemotionally. ‘You’re not a goddess, Chloe. You’re a girl. My girl. And my girl can do anything the hell she wants.’
‘Except kiss another man, right?’ I said. ‘The one thing that you won’t forgive.’ And when he flinched, I knew with certainty that it was exactly what I was going to do. It would hurt him, the way he’d hurt me. And it would set me free, free of the dark ache that was just too painful to keep. ‘Why not, right? I mean, all it’s going to take is a hotter girl and you’ll ditch me the way you ditched Ruby.’
‘Remember what I said, Chloe. I don’t share my toys.’
‘Seems to me you and Marcus – Marcus, for the love of Christ – have done a bit of toy sharing, so don’t be a hypocrite. If you were okay about a kiss ending my last relationship, surely it’s appropriate that a kiss end this one too.’
‘I won’t forgive you,’ he said – but he wasn’t reaching for me. He just stood there. Letting me go. He wasn’t going to tell me he loved me, that he would fight to keep me, that we were mating for life and I’d damned well better accept it and stay with him. Eagles, wolves, swans – black and white.
And my heart … broke. It broke.
So I pasted on a smile and strode indoors, refusing to check if Nick was following me, making for our table, where everyone was still laughing and drinking.
One, two, three – that’s how many shots I downed, one after the other. And still nobody paid me the slightest heed.
Come and get me, Nick. Come and get me, claim me, tell me you love me, say you’re keeping me.
I waited, reaching for a fourth shot. No hand landed on my shoulder. No arms dragged me back. Fourth shot downed, I looked around me, spotted Bryce, and headed straight for him.
Bryce looked startled as I stopped in front of him. And then startled became fearful as he looked past me – the Nick Savage effect. Nick was watching.
Good! Because I was about to go public.
I put my arms around Bryce’s neck, pulled his head down almost violently, and kissed him. I counted out the kiss, feeling nothing but rage and hurt and wrong. Six seconds. That’s how long it took for Bryce to overcome the shock that kept him immobile and push me away.
Six seconds. And it was done.
I turned to see what Nick was going to do. He was coming towards the table, but not looking at me. Bryce raced over to him, started to speak, but Nick stopped him, hugged him. A headshake, a tight smile, and then Nick handed over a wad of cash to Bryce, turned his back on all of us, and headed for the exit.
The noise in the bar faded to nothing as I watched him leave. There was a dull ringing in my ears. It was a comfort, almost, because it meant I only had to concentrate on that, not on Nick leaving, or on Bryce heading back towards me looking ready to tear me limb from limb, or on the rest of the team, Derek too, staring at me. And then Bryce was grabbing my elbow, dragging me out onto the deck, whirling me to face him, and I stiffened my backbone.
‘That’s your version of going public, is it?’ Bryce spat at me.
‘Did he tell you that’s what we were –’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘I didn’t give him permission to talk to you about me.’
‘I don’t give a shit,’ Bryce said. ‘I’m his brother.’ As though that were enough of an explanation.
‘He’ll find a new girlfriend within two days,’ I said, and tried to walk past him.
Bryce grabbed my arm, held on. ‘Really? Is that what you think?’ His lip curled, melodrama style. ‘Then maybe it’s just as well it’s all off.’
All off. All … off. And along came the first inkling that I’d just made a huge mistake. ‘Why wouldn’t I think it?’
‘Well, Chloe, you see, Nick has never had a girlfriend. You are – sorry, were – his first.’
I spluttered out a disbelieving laugh. ‘That’s not true, he has –’
‘Sex?’ he finished for me. ‘He has sex? Of course he does. He’s twenty-five years old and has a dozen women a night throwing themselves at him. Did you think he was going to let it shrivel and fall off waiting for you?’
‘I – I – No. I –’
‘Jesus, he probably would have let it shrivel off waiting if he thought he ever stood a chance. But he never thought he did.’
‘H–He trades girls in, fast. Maybe you just don’t realise what’s he’s like. That he doesn’t care about any of us.’
Bryce snorted. ‘I know him like the back of my own hand. He couldn’t even bear to trade in Dad’s rust bucket car. Dad had a friend who was keeping it for us – specifically for me. But when I didn’t want it, Nick took it. He’s still driving it. That’s how loyal he is. And it’s no vintage Porsche, let me tell you.’
‘Or a Jaguar,’ I said, as what I’d done hit me full force. ‘It’s not a Jaguar.’ Stricken, I looked into Bryce’s unsympathetic eyes. ‘What have I done?’
‘Well, Chloe, if I were a betting man …? I’d say you’ve lost him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I’d lost him.
It took four hours to accept that. Because first I had to rush back to the hotel to see if he came knocking on my door, the way he usually did.
(He didn’t.)
Then I had to ask at the front desk if he’d even come in.
(Yes – and then checked straight out.)
Next, I had to call him, and text him, and call and text, and do it again; the same message every time: Please, Nick, let me explain.
(No response.)
And after that, I had to sit on the edge of the bed, hugging Nick’s pillow, trying to work out exactly how I’d ‘explain’ things, on the off chance he did decide to call me back.
Payback – betrayal for betrayal, for conspiring with Marcus behind my back.
Rage – at being made to feel like a gullible fool, thinking I was actually good enough for someone to want to keep.
Pride – because having a guy tell you he’d waited for you for a year despite your committed relationship with another man lost some of its wow factor when you discovered your ex-boyfriend was re-gifting you to his friend.
Fear – that the life I’d built for myself, the image I’d crafted, the very person I’d become … those things were nothing but lies.
Need – to know that he would accept me, even at my worst, and forgive me whether I was perfect or not, well behaved or not, black swan or white.
Defensible, all of it. And maybe Nick would have understood. Except that, one – he wasn’t giving me a chance to say all that; and two – the guy I’d chosen to kiss was his brother. The same brother who’d been chosen over him as a child. The brother who’d got those pilot lessons that Nick had missed out on.
One thing was for sure. We were two broken souls, Nick and I. Damaged. Tough on the outside, fragile on the inside. Flawed to the bone marrow. It was no real surprise our break-up was a hot, chaotic mess – so different from my bloodless break-up with Marcus, which I’d calmly talked over with Evie and Drew over cocktails.
Drew had said if I’d really been starry-eyed over Marcus, I wouldn’t have been sitting there in ice goddess mode, calmly debating our relative shades of red hair, but punching, screaming, clawing to get him back, because that was my true nature. I’d never considered myself starry-eyed over Nick – and God knows he’d been at pains to make that an impossibility by pointing out his flaws to me – but the whole punch, scream, claw thing felt about right. I would have done anything.
Nothing mattered but Nick. So when Larry called me in the sleepless hours of the morning to tell me the storm warning had been upgraded and I’d be staying on in Manila, it wasn’t the reporting opportunity of my life that I thought about. Instead, I was consumed by images of Nick, on one of the last flights out of Manila, being attended to in the business class toilet by flight attendants with glow-in-the-dark teeth and perky breasts.
‘Goddesses rise above jealousy,’ I said to my scratchy-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror.
But given that I could visualise knocking out at least one of Leila’s perfect teeth, I knew that either that was bullshit … or I was no fucking goddess.
Doing news updates outdoors during increasingly crazy weather was not exactly a picnic over the next twenty-four hours, but the wildness suited my mood.
The only thing that really bothered me about the job was Larry’s constant reminders to ‘colour’ my reports more vividly with horrifying statistics. Typhoon Haiyan – more than six thousand deaths. Typhoon Bopha – more than six hundred. Tropical Storm Washi – more than a thousand. Typhoon Fengshen – more than five hundred deaths, and more than ninety thousand affected.
That was Larry, not happy unless someone else’s misery was bringing him ratings, and all out thrilled when the storm was officially upgraded to #4, which meant a typhoon would hit Manila in twelve hours. And okay, I understood how the media worked, but it was hard to be objective when you were talking about a crisis that directly threatened people you cared about – in this case, the children and staff at the Sunshine Children’s Home, which was at an elevation that made it prone to flooding, in addition to very likely having its trees uprooted and buildings torn apart.
Every time Larry called me (which was often!) and every time I got a timing update (also a lot), I called Joan to make sure she was ready to evacuate the moment it was called for. I knew I was driving poor Joan nuts, but I just couldn’t help myself.
Eventually, outdoor reporting became impossible. The air was hazy with cloud and rain and winds were at racing speed. So of course, I called Joan. And at last, she lost it.
‘Chloe, we know!’ she said. ‘We are prepared. The storm shutters are on the windows, our utilities are turned off, the trees are trimmed, the gutter cleaned. We are evacuating as soon as I hang up. So please, let’s all save our phone batteries for important things. I promise you, Nick has it all under control.’
Blink. Rewind. ‘But … Nick’s in Sydney.’
There was a slight pause at the other end. ‘I have to go.’
‘No! Don’t hang up! Just tell me. Is he … Is he evacuating with you?’
Joan sighed. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think no.’
‘He’s at the playground, seeing if there’s anything left that he can secure or dismantle.’
Heart in throat. ‘And then?’
‘Then he’s staying to keep an eye on things.’
I signed off, and started looking for a vehicle.
I ended up with an ancient truck, which I had to drive on my own. And I’m not ashamed to say I was terrified. The truck had a bench seat and loose seatbelts, and gusting winds made controlling it, as I bounced and slid along the seat, quite a feat. I was cursing and praying and cursing some more, promising myself that if Nick suffered some injury just to save a playground, I would kill him, and if he wasn’t injured …? Well, I’d kill him anyway just for making me think he might be.
By the time I reached the orphanage, my heart was in my throat and pounding there. I nevertheless threw myself out into the storm and headed for the playground. Five water-logged, wind-buffeted steps in, I knew this was a very bad idea. How long did it take to secure a playground? Nowhere near as long as it had taken me to drive there, I had a shrewd notion, which meant Nick had probably finished and gone elsewhere. He might have opted to escort the others to safety. Or he may have barricaded himself inside the building with no idea I was out here. And even if he saw me, by some miracle, he would likely –. ‘Aaaaaarrrrggghhhhh.’
Yep, that was a scream, coming from me. I defy anyone not to scream when they’re grabbed from behind in a ty-fucking-phoon, with the wind yowling like a werewolf and making it’s impossible to hear someone sneaking up on you.
But one jerk backwards, a collision with a rock-hard chest and I relaxed, because I knew it was Nick.
‘What are you doing here?’ was shouted in my ear.
I twisted to look at him, and briefly considered screaming again – he looked terrified enough to freak me right out. But I had to tell him that it was my turn, now. So, ‘Coming to you for a change,’ I shouted back.
Something fierce flashed across his face, and then he grabbed my hand and ran with me, back to the truck. He yanked the passenger door open and all but threw my sodden self inside before striding around to the other side.
‘Buckle the fuck up,’ he ordered, jumping into the other seat and dashing the rain from his eyes.
‘But I –’
‘And shut the fuck up while you’re at it.’ He yelled that – unnecessarily, because the noise of the wind and pelting rain was muted inside the truck and there was no reason not to speak in an almost-normal voice.
Jaw clenched, he started the truck and spun the wheels, turning it to exit the orphanage gates.
My nerves were donning their riot gear as the minutes ticked by, preparing for a fight. Nick was looking stormier than the weather. This was not going to be a Hallmark card moment of loving forgiveness, I was fairly certain.
I’m blaming nerves for the fact that I went with, ‘Nice weather we’re having,’ as a conversation starter, complete with sickly smile.
For my trouble, Nick shot me a look that could only be described as incendiary.
So I decided to try something more direct. Attack being the best form of defence, et cetera.
‘You didn’t call me back.’
Another incendiary look, with a snort of disbelief thrown in for good measure.
‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘Why didn’t you call me back? I would have expl–’
‘Shut up, Chloe, or I will open your door and throw you out.’
Okay, we were getting somewhere. ‘Now you see, I don’t believe you’d really do that.’
Incendiary look number three came my way, with a barely restrained growl.
‘It’s the Discovery Channel in you,’ I added bravely. ‘Your instinct to save the zebras from the hyenas.’
‘Discovery Channel lets the zebras get eaten, Chloe. That’s the natural order of things.’
‘Well I don’t like the natural order of things.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You have to control the natural order so that everything is perfect. No basic instincts allowed.’
That wasn’t sounding too hopeful, and a lesser woman might have been daunted by the scorn in his voice. But figuring that at least he wasn’t telling me to shut up, I was ready to persist. ‘You know, Nick, I’m not so good with ultimatums.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You said I had to shut up or you’d throw me out of the truck. That’s an ultimatum.’
‘Thanks for reminding me. Now, shut up.’
‘One of my foster mothers once served me the same plate of sliced tomatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, three days straight,’ I said, not shutting up. ‘She knew I hated tomatoes, but she’d served them up for dinner anyway, and when I left them on my plate she was furious over the waste of food. So she said I wouldn’t be eating again until I’d swallowed them.’
I saw Nick’s eyes close, just for a couple of seconds. Sympathy? I wasn’t above using it to my advantage. This was not a Saints Anonymous meeting.
Escaping Mr Right Page 20