by Amy Daws
“Tonight isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s supposed to be about you, and you’re treading into day three material here.” I squint at her speculatively.
She laughs and her smile lights up her eyes. “It’s a give and take, Hayden. It’s called conversation for a reason. This isn’t an interview. Go on then, we’ll get to day three eventually anyway.”
She turns back to her box and swipes her cloth over the excess stain, her tongue flicking out as she applies more effort to a particular seam.
“Day three was a rather painful experience that Theo and I discussed in great detail during my stint in rehab. Theo has a tendency to blame himself for everything, from Marisa’s death, to my attempt, and all the darkness in the cracks. Perhaps it’s an older brother thing. Regardless, it took a great deal of opening up for him to relieve himself of that lot.”
“Why would he blame himself for your attempt?”
“A few days before the charity gala last year, he and I…Well, we exchanged some very painful words right here in this shop. I was completely pissed out of my mind and had caught wind that he was bringing Leslie to the event. It just set me off.”
“Why is that?” she asks, her brow quizzical.
“I felt he didn’t have the right to be happy because no one else in our family was. It had been three years since Marisa’s death and I was in no way moving on from my guilt. So Theo bringing a date to the gala felt like a slap in the face. Like he didn’t care. About Marisa. About our family. About me. I took it all wrong, which I know now was ludicrous.”
Vi frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t think any feelings you had back then were ludicrous. You guys were all living in the wake of a very tragic accident. There’s no way to know how long it takes you to get over something like that. I’m sure everyone processes at their own pace.”
I half smile at her comment. “You sound like Doc, my therapist. I was so rat-arsed that I shoved Theo into one of his works in progress and it busted all to pieces. He exploded on me, telling me what a royal fuck-up I was and that I was going to end up dead in a ditch…He even took a swing at me with a two-by-four. It was bloody awful.”
“God, were you hurt?”
Shaking my head, I answer, “No. I don’t think he was really trying to hit me. I think he was just trying to snap me out of my stupor. But I was too pissed and too depressed. No one could get through to me. After that I just spiraled further downward.
“I showed up to the charity gala two days later for the sole purpose of fucking with him and the life he was starting with Leslie. Based on the couple of times I had spoken to Leslie, I knew he hadn’t told her about Marisa. I even flat out asked her when I was really pissed one night. The secretiveness of it all struck a nerve with me. Like what I did was some horrid, dark secret. I felt so incredibly insignificant to my family, it was in that moment I decided everyone would be better off without me.
“It’s crazy to think about now…because Leslie ended up being the one who saved my life. She’s the one who found me and called the paramedics. After all of my horridness toward Theo…toward her…she was the one to walk in and pull me up from rock bottom.” I pause as my eyes tear up over the affection I feel for Leslie. “I have an intense connection with Leslie because of all of that. It’s something I think only her and I fully understand. But it’s special. It’s…meaningful.”
Vi closes her mouth and nods in agreement. “I can’t even imagine. Leslie’s never mentioned a word of any of that.”
“She won’t. She’s loyal and loving in ways that I never knew before I met her. She will always be an important part of my life, which is why I’m so grateful she’s marrying my brother. Calling her family will put a nice label on what I feel for her.” I pause and laugh quietly to myself. “My affection for her is only a fraction of what Theo feels for her. It’s why he’s rushed her into getting married so fast after they had Marisa.”
“They are pretty disgusting to watch, aren’t they?” Vi giggles, but her face drops just as quickly. “I’m glad she was there, Hayden.”
I nod and frown, attempting to blink away my impending emotions. Then I turn back to the box I’m working on. “He’s found his happy ending and I’m grateful I get to be here to witness it. It took a lot of therapy with Theo to make him believe that I had made up my mind about killing myself prior to our row. But we’ve overcome our differences. Now he’s like a proper mate.”
She huffs out a laugh and I turn to catch her smiling. “What?” I ask, curious where her mind just drifted off to.
“I think Booker is my best mate. He’s my youngest brother and…I don’t know…He’s the only one I can talk to openly without pause, ya know?”
I nod because I do understand, but I am curious. “You don’t have any close girlfriends?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. The few I had in school were only interested in my brothers. Plus I always felt uncomfortable around other girls. Except Leslie, surprisingly. I’ve always got on with her.”
“Leslie’s not the typical girlie girl,” I confirm.
“No…She’s the opposite of a bubbly blonde,” she laughs awkwardly, peeling off her gloves and brushing back the few blonde wisps cascading around her face.
I stop what I’m doing and turn more fully to face her. “All right, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned that…What’s going on?”
She frowns and reaches over for a new box. “You tell me.” Her brow arches at me in challenge.
“What do you mean?” I’m honestly completely in the dark, having no idea what she’s going on about.
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s how you described me on Sunday when we were walking back to my flat. It kind of stuck with me I suppose.”
Frowning, I attempt to recall what I said.
“‘A blonde, bubbly distraction’ were your exact words, I believe,” she provides for me.
My features turn grave as realisation dawns on me. “I think you’re missing a couple words.”
She shakes her head and for the first time, I see a look of distress on her face. This bothers me immensely because my characterisation of her was simply a defense mechanism. At that point in time I was trying to get her out of my mind.
Fuck me, I’m a bloody prat.
Her stiff posture causes an ache in my chest. Without thinking, I stand up, strip my gloves off, and stride right over to her. She doesn’t turn to look at me, so I wrench her stool around to face me. When her eyes remain cast downward, I tilt her chin up in an attempt to make her see my sincerity. “I believe I said bright and beautiful if I’m not mistaken.”
She rolls her eyes and purses her lips, still refusing to make eye contact with me. I hate how she’s shutting down because of something daft I said in the moment. I clasp her face, forcing her blues to meet my greys.
“Vi—” I start, attempting to find the perfect words to relay how completely breathtaking she is in so many ways. The wounded vulnerability in her gaze knocks all sense out of my head. When words refuse to come, I lean down and kiss her, willing my lips to do the apologising for me. She groans into my mouth in protest at first. But then she grabs me, holding me tightly against her. Her fingers bite into my tight forearms as her mouth opens, permitting my tongue access to hers.
Actions always did speak louder than words.
Her legs spread and I tuck into the warmth of her, hunching over further to deepen our kiss. My thumbs push back the stray strands of her hair and relish in the suppleness of her round cheeks beneath my touch. Christ, everything about her is so soft. Her lips are smooth and responsive. Plump, pliable, and welcoming me to take every ounce of control I want in this moment. Her submission only excites me more. I press into her knowing that if I wanted to, I could take her…right here, right now. I could yank the straps of her tank down and feast my eyes on the bare beauty of Vi before letting my mouth do the devouring.
But that’s not what this kiss is about. That’s not
what she is to me. Vi Harris is so much more than just a potentially soul-altering shag.
Pulling away, I rest my forehead against hers. “Please know, there aren’t enough words for me to describe how utterly intriguing I find you.”
I watch her chest heave at my raw and exposing words. With a sigh, a sweet giggle escapes her moist lips. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Amused, I drop one final gentle kiss on her lips and then pinch her nose, smirking at how she’s got such an uncanny ability to make my smile grow. I release her and position myself back on my stool. Once I turn away from her, we manage to get back to our task at hand with a charged, heavy silence. My beguilement fades as I realise my grave error. I was so blindly concerned about hurting Vi’s feelings and fixing her misinterpretation that I let my body do the talking instead of my head. She attempts to fill the quietness with mindless chatter, but the entire time, all I can do is chew on my lip and curse myself for being everything I promised I wouldn’t be. When I delivered that speech at the gala, I did it to prove one thing. One universal truth that I wanted to put on public record.
I’m not weak.
I am strong.
Vi Harris has somehow managed to rattle that truth.
Fear seeps into my soul again. If I’m weak with her, what else can get me? Can the darkness swallow me whole again without warning? Can I fall down the tunnel that is my depression? Can I be sucked back into that place I swore I would never return to?
As I walk Vi back to her flat, I feel distracted and distant. I’m not being a complete arse like I was the night of the gala, but I’m definitely different. She looks at me curiously as she stands facing me in the darkened alley. Her eyes are wide and probing…inviting. She wants me to kiss her again and, Christ, do I want to do nothing more. This would be the perfect time to make up for the last kiss I gave her in this very spot, when I left her abruptly with nothing more than a sodding thank you.
But I refrain. I withhold. I find some pittance of restraint and I move back. By the time she steps into the lift, my body is roaring for the bloody doors to close before I crash through them and capture her with my entire body.
Just as she disappears behind the steel, I glance down at my watch and catch it ticking over to 11:11. I exhale a shaky breath and turn to lean against the brick wall. Slamming my eyes shut, I clench my jaw and wish the same wish that I wish I knew how to stop wishing.
DEAR JOHN
The next day at work, I’m shocked when I receive a text from Hayden. I kind of assumed after his rather sudden brush-off last night at my doorstep that he’d go silent on me again. But in fact, he says that he’s wondering if we can get together tonight to continue his countdown. I suggest a coffee shop, but he explained that he’d prefer somewhere more private for what we’ll be discussing.
We settle on meeting at my flat. Wondering what day two of his countdown entails leaves me feeling anxious the entire day at work. He’s obviously keen to get it all out and I’m quite amazed at his tenacity. To re-live, in great detail, the days leading up to an attempted suicide has to be intense for even the most healed survivors. But one thing I’ve learned about Hayden: He doesn’t back down from a challenge.
I would have assumed that learning all of this about him would have tempered my attraction. A cold dose of reality is a sure-fire way to snuff out any sparks. But truth be told, it’s all only adding to the magnetic pull he’s got on me. He’s rich and deep and complicated. So many mysterious layers reside within Hayden Clarke and I’m desperate to reach the centre.
But after he dropped me off at my flat last night, his demeanour shifted back to that ice-cold way again. It was the same way he acted toward me when we were dealing with drunken Benji. He’s sharing so much with me, but I can’t help but feel like he’s still full of secrets. The fear of rejection is beginning to consume me. There always seems to be something about me that just doesn’t make men climb mountains for me. I remember Leslie sharing a story with me about Finley and Brody’s love story. He flew over a bloody ocean to chase her down after she crushed his heart with no clear explanation. Why can’t I find even a fraction of that type of devotion?
Regardless, I must be glutton for punishment when it comes to Hayden because I rush home early to tidy up my flat. Not that it needs it much. I definitely have a minimalist style, so there’s not much tidying to be done. But my bedroom is an entirely different story than the rest of my flat. It is the one room where I let my personality play. Leslie calls the décor gothic glamour. It’s basically like the Addam’s Family meets Beverly Hills glamour. When I moved in, I covered the wall adjacent to my bed with a lilac and dark purple damask print wallpaper, adding to the drama of the room. My bed itself is a large king with a striking black baroque-carved headboard. The duvet is a decadent dark plum, crushed velvet fabric that Leslie found for me at some quaint fabric store in Brixton. Toss in the millions of upscale plush throw pillows and you have yourself a bed fit for a queen.
The room feels like a tribute to my upbringing, really. I fell in love with this style as a child when our dad took us on these incredible haunted house tours around London. The Jack the Ripper Ghost Tours inside old Victorian mansions sucked me in. I was hooked. I knew that when I grew up, I was going to have a room that looked just like those places. And with Leslie’s help, I more than achieved it.
Hayden said he’ll stop by after tea, so I take Bruce out for a nice long walk to tire him out so he’s not a total sod to Hayden when he arrives. When I return, I take a quick shower and dress in a pair of soft black skinny jeans with holes in the knees and a white button-down blouse. I leave my hair loose and straight, and try not to put too much effort in my makeup.
Just after eight, he buzzes and I type in the code, allowing him access to the eleventh floor. When the doors open, I’m awkwardly tugging at the buttons of my shirt, feeling like a kid on a platform at a tailor shop. Thankfully, Bruce pounces and distracts him enough for me to gain control of my fluttering heart. After paying Bruce proper attention, Hayden comes striding toward me in a pair of sexily faded jeans that are snug around his muscled thighs. He’s wearing a dark green fitted T-shirt that’s tucked into the front of his jeans, revealing a masculine brown belt that matches the sexy leather cuffs on his wrists.
“Hiya,” I say, swallowing nervously as I take note of his glowing grey eyes.
He nods. “How are you?” His gaze is wide and thoughtful, like he knows he’s asking a lot from me by doing this and he appreciates it.
“I’m well. Are you thirsty? Shall I put the kettle on?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” He clears his throat.
“I thought we could pop up to my garden to talk. It’s really pretty up there this time of night with the sun setting. Does that work for you?” God, why does this feel so bloody formal? Oh, maybe because he snogged you senseless and then looked at you like you grew two heads.
He nods and sucks the sides of his cheeks into his teeth, chewing anxiously. I head to the kitchen to grab Bruce a new meaty chew and set it on his large pillow in the corner of the living room.
“Consolation prize?” Hayden asks, smiling at Bruce.
I nod. “Yeah, there’s no way to bring him up, so I always give him something special before I go.”
Hayden follows me through the glass patio door. I flip on the light switch for the roof. Then, I grab hold of the ladder and climb. Feeling his eyes on me the entire time, I do my best to make it up without stumbling. I turn to watch his reaction when he reaches the top and takes in the area that brings me the most joy in my home. The sun is just beginning to disappear and a romantic orange dusk casts a hazy glow on everything, making the greens look even greener. A large, slatted, four-poster overhang resides right in the centre of the small roof, and hanging from that are climbing flowers and Chinese lanterns. Below the lanterns, an enormous, round, wicker sunbed rests on the fake moss flooring. A mess of colourful throw cushions match the various bushes and pots spread out all ar
ound the lush vegetation.
“Vincent wasn’t exaggerating,” Hayden says, strolling around and inspecting the climbing ivy and roses alongside a small wrought iron archway.
“I don’t know what most of them are,” I admit. “I think those are azaleas, but they could be dandelions for all I know.”
He huffs a laugh. “More than I know.”
“I love it up here, but I can’t even call gardening a proper hobby if all I do is sit back and enjoy it.”
“A garden enthusiast, perhaps?” The corner of his mouth goes up and the set of his sexy, whiskered jaw sends a pulsing through my body.
“I’ll accept that generous label.” Laughing, I flip on my small Bluetooth speaker, grab my phone, and lie down on my belly on the sunbed, kicking my legs up behind me. Scrolling through the music on my phone, I ask, “What kind of music do you like, Hayden?”
“Oh, this sounds like dangerous territory.” He strides over and lies down beside me on his side, glowering at me through hooded lashes. I close my eyes briefly, drinking in the heady musk of sawdust and soap that smells like his own perfect brand of cologne.
Suddenly, he snatches my phone from my hands.
“Hey!” I exclaim and reach over to grab it back. He holds it just out of reach and I clamber over him to grab it. “Give it back!”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “Vi, this will be so much easier if we get this over with quickly.”
“Get what over quickly?” I ask, looking down at him and realising with a burst of excitement that my chest is pressed snugly against his.
He looks down as if recognising the same thing. Rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, his eyes twinkle with mirth as he returns his gaze to mine. “I’m going to go through your playlist, Vi.” His voice is husky and ominous. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
I arch one challenging brow at him. “Which way means you don’t get to go through my playlist?” I ask, propping my cheek on my hand and resting my elbow on his chest in mock indignation.