Slow Burn (Boston Beauties #2)

by Dawn Edwards

  At least she wasn’t here to see that I was essentially destroying something that I had been looking forward to rebuilding for her, for us. The parallel between renovating the house and my relationship with Jessa was a bitter blow. I was no better than Matt was in these moments.

  Now she was gone. Matt fucking took her from all of us, and I finally understood that there was nothing I could do to change a damn thing.

  On one of my lowest nights, I’d been drinking while I cleaned up after an especially bad day of demolition fueled by my anger. I lashed out at Steve when I got home, who was sitting in the downstairs TV room alone, watching The Amazing Race and going over some contracts he had next to him on the sofa.

  ‘You did this,’ I slurred. ‘You let her go away, and you didn’t stop her.’ He had sat there, looking completely devastated, and the moment I said the words, I knew I couldn’t take them back, and he never tried to defend himself.

  ‘You could have asked her to stay.’

  ‘I did,’ I screamed. ‘I fucking begged her, but she wanted to save your reputation,’ I said before I went to my room.

  It wasn't his fault, but at that moment, I needed someone to blame, and he was the closest thing.

  They say you lash out to the ones closest to you, the ones you don’t need to ask forgiveness from, because you know they love you enough that the words don’t need to be spoken. Steve was it for me.

  It wasn’t until November that my depression really started to sink in. Colleen and Steve moved back to the city and closed up the summerhouse for the winter. After I refused to stay in the huge house alone I moved into the reno house. I was living in the space that I had wanted to share with Jessa.

  It wasn’t a good thing that I was alone. I noticed this and even hired a guy named Joe, who was an independent contractor but was reliable, skilled and kept my mind occupied during the day.

  I’d been texting and talking a bit to Zoe and visiting Boston when the Cape got a bit too much for me. Just like I was, she was having a really hard time with Jessa’s death. Apparently, she’d already lost a best friend to cancer when she was a teenager, and this was opening up new wounds all over again for her and she wasn’t taking it well. Just like I was channeling my anger into labor, she was pushing herself hard with her training for the next Olympics. Maybe too hard as I knew she had a pulled muscle at the moment. When she was stressed, she made mistakes—we all did.

  Boston was a great distraction and Breton always made sure I was entertained and my mind diverted as much as possible from Jessa. But, there was only so much running I could do. Jessa always caught up with me.

  While I was still angry at Matt, at the situation, at not getting my happy ending with Jessa, I felt myself slip further into depression when the talk of the trial started. It made it all too real for me. The gloom had been building for a while but took over towards the end of November when Abby first mentioned I would be summoned to testify, and I couldn't deal with it all. I had to get away from Boston, from Cape Cod, from all the memories of Jessa that were tormenting me.

  But for the short-term, I turned to my new vice and only coping mechanism. Good ol’ alcohol, like I did most nights at the bar.

  Lisa, a bartender I met this past summer through Breton and spending a good amount of time hanging out there, was happy to indulge my sulking. She kept me fed and my glass filled. On more than one occasion, she had to drive me back to the reno house.

  As had become our routine over the past few weeks, when I was in a particularly foul mood and stayed for more than two drinks, she asked me to hand over my keys as she gave me my third drink, and I knew she’d be driving me back to the reno house later. Then Joe would haul my hungover ass to get my car in the morning. But tonight was different, Lisa’s car was in the shop, and she asked if she could drive me home in mine.

  ‘It’s not mine, but seeing as the owner’s dead, she’s not really going to object,’ I stated, nursing the water she had served me as she closed down the bar for the night. She stopped in her tracks and looked up to me.

  It didn’t escape my notice either, this was the first time I’d ever spoken about Jessa. I think it was the first time I’d said aloud that she was dead. It was a blow, and if I wasn't already drunk, I’d have taken a bottle to bed with me. Lisa went back to closing, I went back to my ice water and brooding.

  I was sitting in the passenger seat of Jessa’s Audi as Lisa drove me home. ‘I’ll drop your car off tomorrow,’ Lisa informed me.

  I looked over to her; she was cute in a plain, overworked, underfed, kind of way. ‘Or you could just come in, save a trip.’ I looked at her, eyebrow raised suggestively.

  ‘I’m not going in there,’ she replied, ‘it’s a construction site.’ She paused and looked at me. ‘Where do you sleep anyways?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on sleeping,’ I was frank. ‘But I’ve spent most of the time renovating the first floor, so I have it all roughed in now. It’s livable, or at least most of the downstairs is. There’s no full kitchen yet, but there’s a bedroom and a new bathroom.’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ she stated bluntly. Fuck, it had been over a year since I’d been laid, not since my ex-girlfriend Heather back in London. I was apparently desperate for a distraction, for a release, for an escape from the thoughts in my mind. I was clearly out of my mind seeing as I was willing to fuck Lisa in Jessa’s house at that.

  ‘That won’t affect my performance,’ I assured her, taking her hand and placing it on my already-hardening cock, giving it a squeeze via her hand. I didn’t really want to fuck Lisa. I mean, I did, but even I knew in my drunken state that I’d regret it in the morning.

  She took a deep breath and gave me another light squeeze. ‘While it’s hard to resist such a romantic proposal,’ she told me sarcastically, ‘I’m not a booty call.’

  ‘I know,’ I assured her, holding her hand in place over my cock. And it was true, she was more than a booty call, she was a friend of sorts, which was why I let her dismiss it, and I didn’t pursue it any further.

  She slid her hand away, looking at me and shaking her head, not looking impressed. ‘You’re drunk, not going to happen.’

  I was pretty sure she’d been wanting me for a while, long before Jessa’s disappearance, and that if I’d come to her sober, she’d have jumped on the opportunity, literally. Even in my foul-arsed mood lately, I saw the way she looked at me, the way she tried with me.

  She undid my seatbelt, reached over me, opened my door and unceremoniously pushed me out to stumble into the construction site—as she had put it—that I called home.

  The next day I awoke with another hangover. It was becoming the norm for me recently. However, when the fog cleared, I hung my head in shame from my actions of the night before, not even able to look at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I wasn’t much to look at these days. I couldn’t remember the last time I shaved and was at least a few months overdue for a haircut.

  I needed to apologize to Lisa, but when I saw the car in the driveway, I knew she’d already been here and clearly didn’t want to speak to me if she hadn’t knocked to drop the keys off.

  As if it couldn't get any worse, the day turned out to be the one my breaking point came. I got a text from Abby confirming that I would be called to the stand during the trial as a witness—which she had already told me, even though I had objected every time it was brought up. I didn’t want my affair of sorts with Jessa out in the open. But today she was texting to let me know she had just been contacted by Matt’s attorney for a deposition. That’s when I was well and truly done.

  I called my best friend Ali after reading Abby’s text. The weight of my grief was too heavy to bear alone. It was getting harder to get out of bed. I’d been drinking more to deal with my feelings, or rather numb them so I didn't have to deal with them at all. It wasn’t something I wanted to continue. While I didn’t really remember my father, my mother had said he was a drunk. She wasn’t much better, and if this wa
s hereditary, I needed to stop the cycle. I’d been talking to Ali a bit more recently; he knew I was off and was really trying to help me.

  ‘I’m flying into Manchester in the morning,’ I told him when he answered his phone; I didn’t wait for a greeting. ‘Can I stay with you?’

  ‘Yeah, mate, of course,’ he responded immediately. He still lived on his own in Manchester, not far from his family and where we went to university. I had been counting on this answer as he’d told me many times I was welcome to stay in his spare room.

  He had recommended a few weeks ago that we go on a vacation, just us and maybe another one or two guys we knew from university. Our closest friend Ned, who also lived in Manchester, was still single and ready to take off work to blow off some steam. While our other friend Nigel lived in London and was engaged, like Ali, both of their partners were cool—they liked me.

  ‘Ok, good, I’ll book my flight and head to the airport,’ I responded, wanting to end the call.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Not really, just need to get out of here,’ I told him truthfully.

  I packed a bag, not knowing if I should just pack up everything and call it quits on America, on the Cahills, or just a bag for a trip to see my friends.

  In the end, I packed a medium-sized case and left most of my things behind in the reno. I still had contracts to fulfill in the spring, and I needed to finish this fucking beach house for the Cahills, I owed it to them. I owed them a lot more than I was giving them at the moment, that's for damn sure.

  I turned everything off, cleaned out the fridge of the few contents left, and put the trash to the curb. Luckily, it was trash day tomorrow. I shut all the power off, as I didn’t know when I’d be back. I drove to the Cahill Global headquarters to let Steve know I needed to get away and to leave the Audi there. No parent should ever have to go through the hurt they have once, let alone twice in the matter of a few years. Josh and Jessa were both young, they hadn’t even lived their lives yet. Sometimes fate was cruel.

  I hadn’t seen Steve or Colleen in almost two weeks. It didn’t escape me or him that by leaving right now, I was essentially flaking on Thanksgiving. It was nothing to me, I’d never celebrated, as it didn’t exist back home, but based on all the chatter about it over the past week or so, it appeared to be as big or as important as Christmas or Easter was where I was from.

  I was being selfish, but I told myself I was allowed. It was a bad week, and I needed to be alone.

  Steve offered to drive me to the airport, to charter me a flight, to do anything to make my pain go away. If there had been anything that I could do or buy to even ease his own, I’d go to the ends of the earth and use every favor I could call in and my last cent to do that for this man.

  His eyes looked less haunted then they had before, but time wasn’t making things easier on me as it was with him. It killed me a bit more every time I saw him and spoke to him, as all I saw was Jessa. They had the same eyes, and I saw how much he missed her, and I remembered our good times and just how devastated her loss has been on me.

  I took an Uber to the airport, booked my economy ticket even though I could afford first class now. Aside from being a friend and a father figure to me, Steve Cahill was my boss who paid me extremely well. When my van finally died, he bought a company truck and gave it to me to use, and I also had Jessa’s Audi to drive, when the truck wasn’t the best choice. I lived rent-free and had many jobs and contacts thanks to him. My bank account is the only thing that’s come out of this unscathed. Steve paid me well above what I was worth, well above what anyone else ever had, more than even I thought I was worth. When I brought it up, letting him know that some weeks I wasn’t working on his projects and that he was paying me without being invoiced, he told me I was on payroll as a salaried employee, that I had benefits with the company and to look at it as retainer fee for when he needed me.

  I paid for me and my friends to spend ten days in Mauritius, our airfare, hotel, and our excursions. It was a great time, and the distraction I needed. To be far away and disconnected from social media did a great thing for me. I still wasn’t myself, I still had trouble sleeping, still had difficulty accepting that I’d never see Jessa again, talk to her for hours or hold her in my arms. And when I thought about this, I still cried, and my chest physically hurt.

  I stayed for a week in London. First with Nigel and his fiancée for a few days after we returned to England. It was seeing them together, their love that affected me the most; knowing how close Jessa and I were to sharing a life together, to having what Nigel and his fiancée Scarlett shared.

  Next I went to stay with my sister Nicole and her kids. The one time I called around to see my mum, she had rounded up all my siblings, their kids and significant others of the day and told them I was treating them all to dinner at one of the local high-end Indian restaurants. It was a nice place, and of course, they all expected me to pay. They knew I was working in America, and if I had the money to come home, then I must be able to afford to feed ten adults and half a dozen kids.

  I just had to shake my head at them, especially since each of them, other than Nicole, had tried to hit me up for money. ‘I don’t have it,’ I lied to them, not disclosing the fact that I’d just paid for an all-inclusive first-class vacation for me and my friends and still had plenty of cash in the bank. Cash I hardly ever used, other than for food, drinks, gas, internet, and my cell phone bill. I’d purchased very few clothing and household items. I didn’t know what I needed it all for, but giving it freely to my family to squander wasn’t going to happen.

  The truth was, they weren’t asking for much, and I could more than afford all of their requests, all at once. I just didn’t want to give it to them. Without having been asked, I did give my sister Nicole some money and stocked up her kitchen, which, while not bare, could do with some padding.

  She was a bit embarrassed but thanked me for it. At least with her, I knew she appreciated me and how hard I worked for it because she worked just as hard—harder, when you considered she was also a mum.

  A week in London was more than enough for me, and I didn't want to overstay my welcome at either Nigel’s place or with my sister, especially as it was almost Christmas. They both had lives and families, and having a brooding asshole lounging about wasn’t the best for anyone. Nicole wanted me to stay for Christmas, but at the risk of my mood bringing everyone down, I took a train back to Manchester, where Ali didn’t mind my broodiness and wasn’t shy about giving me slack, listening to me and advising me. He also didn’t celebrate Christmas, so there was that also.

  ~

  Ali and I spent the Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s at Old Trafford Arena, supporting his home team, Manchester United, beat an easy opponent. I was surprised to find Breton and Steve waiting in the lobby of Ali’s condo building when we returned. Seeing them there really kicked me in the gut and reinforced how I’d been a selfish prick recently. I’d been ignoring most of the emails and text messages over the past month from Breton and Zoe, and would only occasionally respond to Steve. I called each of them to wish them all a Merry Christmas, but that was the only time I’d spoken to any of them in the 6 weeks since I’d left.

  ‘What are you guys doing here?’ I asked, looking to Ali, who shrugged his shoulders, knowing in that instant that he was in on this.

  ‘We’ve come to take you home, son,’ Steve told me, standing to greet me, embracing me in a hug, and then Breton gave me his standard one-armed bro hug.

  I turned to Ali. ‘This is my boss, Mr. Steven Cahill,’ I introduced them. ‘But I’m assuming you already know that.’ I had told Ali pretty much everything about my time with them, who they were, what they did and how great they were to me.

  He smiled, ‘I may know a thing or two.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ I looked to Breton, who wore a smirk. That guy could find any information that was to be had. Including how to get in contact with my best friend and where he lived, apparently.
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br />   ‘Nice to finally meet you, sir.’ Ali stepped forward and shook Steve’s hand, ‘Drew speaks very highly of you. My parents are very happy to know he’s so well taken care of over there.’ Ali was polite, well-spoken and honest, and I felt pride with him being my friend.

  ‘And this is his nephew, and my pain in the ass friend, Breton Cahill.’ Breton extended his hand to shake Ali’s.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Ali looked towards the elevators. ‘Can I invite you up for a drink or a cup of tea?’

  ‘Please,’ Steve said and followed Ali towards the elevators.

  I looked to Breton, ‘An intervention?’ I questioned.

  ‘My uncle thought you’ve sulked long enough,’ Breton smirked. ‘Besides, we were in London looking at apartments.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, if you’d responded to my many text messages or emails, I could have told you I finally finished school, was offered a job, and am moving next month to live and work in London. My position is based out of London, but it will have me traveling a lot,’ he told me as we all got into the elevator.

  I smiled and slapped him on the back, ‘So, Steve finally pulled the tuition rug out from under you.’

  This caused us all to laugh. ‘I think the more important thing here is that I managed to get someone to hire me.’

  ‘Clearly, my country has lowered their standards since I left, hey Ali?’

  Ali put his hands up. ‘I’m not getting involved in this.’

  Over tea, Breton told us all about his job, or at least what he was able to tell us, as it was classified. Then after we had ordered food and finished eating, Steve told me it was time to come home.

  Home.

  He called America my home, and he was right, it was. As much as I was British, it hadn’t been the same in the weeks I’d been back. I thought perhaps it was because I wasn’t settled, didn’t have my own place, a job, or a purpose here. But that wasn’t it. I’d outgrown it, and my life was now in Boston. The Cahills were my family, and I had a social life there, however small it was. Ali would always be family to me; he and my sister Nicole were the only two main ties I had to England now.