I should have swallowed my pride and picked her up from work as planned and allowed her to explain. But my fear of her looking at me like a charity case was too much to bear. I told myself that nothing had changed, but it didn’t matter.
All these questions spun around in my head. How much did that all cost? Where did she get that kind of money from? How the hell am I going to pay her back?
But none of them were important enough to get me moving.
The time for her to finish work came and went, and I still sat down on the beach in an angry daze.
When I did move, it was only because the tide was coming in and I had little choice.
I stopped at a store on the way back to my flat and found myself a bottle of whisky—no Macallan, there’s no way I could stomach that—and I spent the rest of the night drinking myself into oblivion.
Aside from turning up to the shop still smelling of the previous night’s alcohol, that’s pretty much how I spend the next four days: losing myself in work or whisky. I’m not sure what else to do to numb the pain of walking away from her. When I told her that being with her makes me feel free in a way I’d never experienced before, I don’t think I had totally appreciated just how true that was. But without her, I’m drowning.
My alcohol-induced nightmares are worse than ever, and each time I wake from one, my chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, she’s the first thing I look for. But all that stares back at me is an empty bed.
I spend the week almost like I’m back in England and fighting to get through each day. I thought I’d left this feeling of loneliness and desperation behind; turns out it was just in wait, ready to knock me back down to Earth once again.
I guess that’s what happens when you try to outrun your demons. They find you eventually.
By Friday, I’m exhausted. My sleep is almost as bad as it’s ever been, and my hangovers are starting to roll into one giant one. I’ve no idea where one day ends and another begins.
Work is the only time the voices in my head lessen. I need to go to her. We need to talk. But I’m no good to anyone like this.
I’m a fucking mess, and I won’t allow her to try to bring me back to life. I need to figure out a way to do that for myself. I refuse to be that dependent on her, or anyone.
It’s almost the end of the day and I’m already dreading having to go home and be alone and for the walls to close in on me once again. A commotion out in the studio reception has me pausing as I tidy everything away for the night, but I don’t bother to go and look. It’s probably just Oz and JJ causing a scene once again.
I’m not expecting a knock at my door, but when it comes, I call out for whomever it is to enter.
Assuming it’s one of the guys who knows better than to just storm in with the mood I’ve been in this week, I continue with what I’m doing. Only, when a throat clears behind me, I’m forced to look over my shoulder to see who’s there.
“C-Colton? How’s it going?” I guess that explains the excitement on the other side of the door.
“I’m good, man.”
“I thought you’d want Sledge if you were after some more ink.”
“I’m not. I’m here for you.”
“Okay, well get up on the chair then,” I say, halting my tidying up if he needs me to do something.
“Nah, not like that, man. We need to talk.”
“Ah,” I say, realisation hitting me. “Rylee sent you?”
He shrugs and looks a little guilty. “Yes and no. There’s a bar down the street. Shall we?”
“Sure.” Abandoning my studio as it is, I follow him out.
He says his goodbyes to Sledge and JJ, who looks up at him as if she’s imagining climbing him like a tree, and we head across the street.
“So to what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask when he places two glasses and a bottle of scotch in the center of the table we’ve taken over.
“How are you doing?”
“I didn’t really have you down as the heart-to-heart kind.”
“Trust me, I’m not.” He blows out a breath as he swirls his glass and watches the amber liquid race around. “Harlow’s aunt died.”
My heart drops, and sadness washes through me. Losing another family member is the last thing she needs.
“This isn’t really my place to be telling you this, but… Rylee can be persuasive when she wants to be. Harlow isn’t in a good place, man. I think she might need you.”
“She barely knows me,” I mutter, downing my drink in one.
“She knows you enough to help you out when you need it. I get why you’re angry. I really do. But you might need to put your pride aside for this one.”
“Is that what you’d do?” I know it’s not a fair question to ask; he has no idea what has led up to all of this, for either of us. Although something tells me he knows more about Harlow than I gave him credit for.
“Corey, I handed my balls over to Rylee quite some time ago. She needs me, then I’m there in a fucking heartbeat, man.”
The TV behind my head changes, and it has Colton looking up. I glance over my shoulder to see what’s got his attention and find a news report on the upcoming season.
“You all ready for it?”
“Ready as I can be. You planning on coming out this year?”
“Yeah, if I can.” I was at one of his races when I was here last year, Austin got me VIP tickets, thanks to Rylee. It was the first time I met Colton, although I’m sure he barely remembers it after the high of the win he was floating around on. Safe to say, I was pretty starstruck. I’d followed his career for years, never thinking I’d end up that close to him. Or that I’d be in a bar drinking with him right now.
His face flashes on the screen and he sinks down in his chair a little, pulling his hat lower in the hope that no one notices him.
“You can go if you like, you don’t need to babysit me.”
“What? Don’t be stupid. I’m not passing up a night of freedom. Actually…” He pulls his phone out and taps away for a few seconds. “Reinforcements will be here momentarily.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Yep, and he’s even better with advice than I am… or so he thinks.”
Not ten minutes later does Colton’s best mate and right-hand man, Becks, come strolling into the bar as if he’s been here a million times before. His eyes land on us and he makes his way over.
“Becks, my man. You know Corey, right?”
“Sure do.” He nods at me before falling into a chair.
“He’s got voodoo pussy issues.”
“Ah, say no more. I’ve got you covered.” He takes the drink Colton offers him and knocks it back before leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Hit me with it and I’ll tell you exactly what to do. Ain’t that right, Wood?” He slaps Colton in the chest.
“Yeah, regular fucking Dear Abby, this one,” he grumbles with an amused smile on his lips.
Harlow aside, the night turns out to be one of the best I’ve had since moving here. I’ve hung out occasionally with the guys from the studio or Austin when he’s not working or with his missus, but spending time with Colton and Becks is just easy, relaxed. We shoot the shit, give each other shit, and just… hang.
By the time I’m back in my flat later that night with my head spinning once again, I feel lighter for the first time since walking out of that letting agent office at the beginning of the week.
Once I’m in bed, I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up an app that allows me to send her flowers. When the app prompts me to upload my own message for the card, I scramble out of bed to find a pen and piece of paper. The second I write her name, I know what to add.
Need for her pulls at my muscles as I redraw a part of the tattoo she allowed me to ink on her.
Fuck. I need her.
I’m still angry that she went ahead and bailed me out like she did, but I’m not angry enough to ignore the fact that she’s going through a hard time. Plus, the gesture wi
ll make me feel that little bit better about the fact that I should probably do as Colton suggested and push my pride aside and go and see her myself.
I tell myself that I will, but then I end up convincing myself that she’s probably surrounded by family right now who are supporting her through this. The last thing she needs is me after the way I treated her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Harlow
“You should call him,” Bailey says as we continue staring down at the card.
“N-No, I can’t. He clearly knows what’s going on,” I wave the card in front of her as evidence. “Yet he decided to send these instead of himself.” I fight to keep my voice strong, but the sympathy in Bailey’s eyes tells me that I didn’t do a very good job.
“He doesn’t know everything, though. Does he?”
“B, he couldn’t cope with me giving him a few thousand dollars. You really think he’s going to take well to me following that up with a baby?”
“He’s got a right to know.”
“I know, I’m aware. I just… I just need to get my head around it before I attempt to figure out how I’m going to tell him.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Do what feels right. I’ll support you all the way.”
“Thank you,” I mutter into her shoulder when she pulls me in for a hug.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to or not, but I called the funeral directors when you were asleep just to get things moving.” I nod, thankful that she’s made that first step for me, because it was one of the things I was dreading the most. “Did you know your aunt had already planned and paid for her funeral?”
“What?”
“Apparently it’s all done. You just need to confirm a date. The rest has been taken care of.”
I stare at her, totally taken aback, but then this is my aunt we’re talking about. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised.
“I should have seen this coming,” I mutter, falling down onto the couch and pulling my knees up so I can wrap my arms around them.
“I guess so. She just wanted to make all of this as easy on you as possible.”
“Did they give you a date?”
“They said they could do Wednesday. I’ve held it for you, but you need to ring and confirm.”
A sob rips up my throat.
“Shit, what’s wrong? It doesn’t have to be Wednesday if you don’t want.”
“It’s-it’s not that. I just…” I suck in a shaky breath. “I have no idea if I’m relieved or disappointed that she’s done all this.”
“Why would you be disappointed?”
“It would have given me something to think about,” I admit.
“I think you’ve got enough on your plate right now, don’t you? Be grateful.”
“But what am I meant to do between now and then?”
“Sleep. Book a doctor’s appointment, maybe. Talk to Corey,” she suggests, making my stomach somersault.
How the hell am I meant to even broach the subject of my pregnancy with him?
“Everything will be fine,” Bailey says with a smile on her face and an optimism that I don’t feel.
Our chinese arrives, and I eat some of it before I make my excuses and head up to bed.
I love Bailey, I know she’s just trying to make all of this easier right now, but I need to be alone.
It’s late, or at least I think it is, seeing as my room is in darkness, when the doorbell rings again.
Praying it’s just another flower delivery, I roll over and curl myself up in a ball.
Their voices filter up to me. I know who it is immediately. I’d recognize his deep rumble anywhere, but I make no effort to move.
I’m mentally drained and physically exhausted. I don’t have it in me to deal with what he’ll want to talk about… what I need to tell him.
Light footsteps climb the stairs, and I breathe a sigh of relief that Bailey’s not just sent him up.
She cracks my door open. It squeaks slightly like it usually does, but I don’t move. I don’t so much as flinch as I attempt to make it look like I’m sleeping.
After a few seconds, she backs out of the room and descends the stairs once again. Knowing she’s explaining to him that I’m sleeping guts me. Tears burn my eyes and my body trembles with my sobs.
This is too much. It’s all just too much.
Other than having no choice but to speak to the funeral directors and the venue for the wake, the next three days all just blur into one. I sleep, I cry, I throw up, I eat, and mostly I throw up again. Every day the doorbell rings, and every day I hide in my room. Whether it be Corey’s daily visit that Bailey insists on telling me about the second she’s closed the door behind him, or her parents or Rylee, I refuse to talk to any of them.
I just want to be in my own little bubble where I can imagine that things are all still normal, all the while knowing that they’re not.
The funeral is this afternoon, so whether I like it or not, I’m going to have to leave this room and face the world so I can say goodbye to someone else who shouldn’t have left me so soon.
“Good morning,” Bailey sings, storming into my room and dragging the curtains open. They haven’t been like that in a while, and the sun from the outside world burns my eyes.
“Hey, stop that,” I complain.
“Harlow,” she sighs. “I’ve let you hide and wallow. Today it stops. Today you reenter the world again. People want to see you. They need to see with their own eyes that you’re okay.”
Guilt twists my insides that I’m making people worry about me.
“Do you think he’s going to be there?” Having to face him while trying to deal with the service is my biggest fear right now. I’m not sure I need my two disastrous worlds blending together into one. Each alone is hard enough to deal with, I don’t need them joining forces.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“He didn’t say? B, he’s been here every day, how has that not come up?”
She shrugs. “We just didn’t talk about that.”
“So what did you talk about?” I know not all of his visits have been quick ones where he’s stayed on the other side of the door. I know she’s invited him in, in the hope I’d come down and face up to my issues.
“You,” she admits, hesitantly. “He’s worried about you. So am I. So is everyone. I know this is hard right now, and the added stress of…” She nods toward my stomach like I need the reminder. “But you really should talk to him. Hear him out.”
“One thing at a time. Did I smell toast?”
“You did. Here.” She passes me the tray she’d abandoned on the dresser.
Sitting myself up, I accept it and immediately shove a piece of toast in my mouth in the hope that it’ll help keep any sickness at bay.
Bailey watches me for a beat, before turning to my closet.
“Have you already chosen what you’re wearing today?”
“Nope. Probably the first thing I find.”
“Don’t be like that. Your aunt specifically said she wanted everyone in bright colors. I know it’s hard, but she wants you to celebrate her today. And to be honest, she was kinda epic, so I think she deserves you to pull out all the stops.”
I roll my eyes. My aunt planning the entire funeral for me might have been a surprise, but her desire to ditch the black for today had been in the plans for a long time.
“What about this?”
I risk a glance up. “No.”
“What? Why? It’s so pretty.”
I sigh. “Just no.”
She huffs and puts it back in before rummaging around again.
“B, it’s okay. I can find something.”
“Okay,” she says holding her hands up and backing away from my closet.
“You’ve got two hours until the cars will be here. If you need anything, call me.”
“I will,” I promise before watching her back out of the room.
I’m not ready for today. Not that I
think I ever could be.
I move on autopilot as I get myself in the shower and begin getting ready. I try to keep my imagination in check to stop it wandering to my parents’ and sister’s funeral all those years ago. I prayed that day that I’d never have to say goodbye to anyone ever again. But here we are, what feels like only days later despite the fact it’s been years, and I’m doing it all over again.
Why me? Why does everyone who is supposed to be here to support and love me have to leave?
I blow-dry my hair, leaving it curly as I know my aunt liked it, and apply some light makeup. In reality, I’m going to wash it all away with tears in the coming hours.
Standing at my closet like Bailey did not so long ago, I run my eyes over everything, trying to find the right dress. Nothing feels quite right. Add that to the fact that I feel totally bloated and sick right now, and nothing really appeals.
In the end, I pull out a long, flowing floral maxi dress that’s covered in big bright flowers and team it with a pink cardigan.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, a small smile turns up the corner of my lips. She’d approve of this. I turn to the side and run my hand over my stomach. Despite the fact that I feel more bloated than I ever have in my life, it’s not at all noticeable.
Sucking in one huge breath, I head out of my sanctuary in search of Bailey.
The smell of her coffee filling the kitchen makes my stomach turn over, but thankfully, I manage to keep the toast down for now.
She turns to me, her eyes softening as she takes in my outfit. “You look lovely.”
“You too.”
“There’s a stack of unopened cards on the coffee table if you’d like to look at them.”
“Uh… no, I think today is already going to be hard enough.”
She nods. “You need anything before we go? More food? Drink?”
“I’m good, thanks. I just need… I just need to do this—say goodbye—and then I can focus on the future.” My hand presses against my stomach, a move that Bailey doesn’t miss.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off, already knowing what she’s going to say.
Inked: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Page 22