She startles, coming over all flustered. “Yes, fine.” She sniffs and looks around with obvious disdain. Hannah didn’t look at my haven like that. She loves it here. And I loved having her here. Darcy, however, I can’t wait to get rid of.
She treads her way back to her shiny Jaguar carefully on her heels, the disgust never leaving her. “Alexandra is in the beauty pageant at the town fete a week from Sunday.” She opens her door and looks back at me. “I’ll want her back that Saturday evening to prepare her.”
Prepare her? For fuck’s sake. She makes our daughter sound like a turkey that needs stuffing. The fucking pageant. Every damn year my daughter is put in some frilly crap, has makeup plastered all over her face and a tiara set on a pile of huge curls. I hate it. And come to think of it…“She hates it, Darcy. Why d’you make her do it?”
“I don’t make her,” she retorts indignantly. “She holds the town record, has won every year she’s entered.”
“Nothing to do with the fact that she’s Lord and Lady Hampton’s granddaughter,” I mutter.
“Are you saying the only reason my daughter wins is because of her lineage?” Darcy balks at me. “Some supportive father you are.”
“Don’t push me, Darcy.” Typical of this woman, taking my words and twisting them. “She’d win if she’d rolled out of bed and turned up in her pajamas.” My girl’s a stunner. She certainly doesn’t win the pageant each and every year because of her fucking clown outfits. “And she’s our fucking daughter.” I throw the broken sticks down with force, my anger palpable. God, does this woman love pushing my buttons.
Without another word, Darcy slips into her car and pulls away, and I snarl as her sparkling Jag disappears. “Urghhh.” I stamp my way back into the cabin and go straight to the fridge but slam it shut again when I register the time. Too early for a beer. “Fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Alex says from the sink. “What’s got you all weird this morning?” Her little head tilts, and I’m unable to stop myself from scowling at her. What’s got me all weird? My morning was perfect. I was happily lost in Hannah. Then your mother showed up and doused my good mood in a healthy helping of Darcy Fucking Hampton. “Nothing,” I grunt, going to the sink to wash my hands, nudging her out of my way with my hip. “What the hell have you got on? You look like you’ve been attacked by a crazed glitter fairy.”
Alex chuckles as she passes me a hand towel, and I accept, drying my hands as she watches.
“I need you to explain something,” she says, all too casually for my liking.
“What?”
Pulling open the dishwasher door, she points inside. “Why are there two dirty plates and two sets of used cutleries?”
Fuck.
My mind shuts down on me completely. “Well…” I clear my throat, shifting from bare foot to bare foot. “There was a…” Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What?” she presses, pouting in that way she does when she knows she has my number.
“I forgot you weren’t here,” I blurt, my bullshit coming from nowhere. “So I made you breakfast.”
“Our favorite?”
“Of course.”
“And you threw it away?”
I shrug.
“What a waste, Dad.” She marches to the bin and stamps on the pedal, making the lid flip up. She’s searching for the evidence. The rascal. I laugh like a fool, and she looks back at me.
“Actually, I ate it.” Fucking hell, she’s like a super sleuth. I pat my stomach on a ridiculous grin. “Go get changed, Cabbage. We have a bridge to finish.” I turn away from her and start faffing with nothing on the counter, moving shit here and there, anything to avoid the suspicious eyes that are now nailed to my back. It feels like a lifetime, but I eventually hear her bedroom door shut, and I look over my shoulder to see the coast is clear. I sag against the counter, exhausted.
And then I think. Hard. When do I tell Alex about Hannah? What will she say? How will she react? I look out the window, falling into deeper thought. When Hannah and I are going steady? Is that what you call it these days? Shit, I’m so out of touch with the protocols of relationships. Have I ever been in touch? Am I in a relationship? I frown to myself. Surely I must be…right? I quickly replay every detail from last night, from the moment I stepped into the ladies’ room at the pub. I work my way through every word we said to each other and every kiss, every moan, every smile. Fuck, yes, I think I am in a relationship. Should I clarify that with Hannah?
Hannah.
“Fucking hell,” I curse, running outside to my truck to check on her. But I come to a screaming stop when I find no Hannah. The keys, however, are on the hood. She didn’t want to wait?
I return to the cabin and grab my phone to call her and make sure she got home okay. And maybe ask my dumb question. Yeah, I should do that. Hi, Hannah, it’s the guy who took you to bed last night. Should I call you my girlfriend? I drop my phone and take my hands to my face, dragging them down slowly. I’m all nervous. Nerves never get me. Ever. I don’t know how to tell Alex, I don’t know how to clarify with Hannah exactly what we are, and, come to think of it, I have not the faintest idea how to be a…boyfriend? I laugh. I’m thirty-nine years old. A boyfriend? A girlfriend? “No,” I say to myself. Partner? No, Jake’s my partner. Lover? I nod to myself. Then frown. No, she’s more than that. “Oh fuck.”
Bracing my hands against the edge of the counter, I breathe through my growing panic and wait until I’ve gathered myself before I retrieve my mobile again to make the call. Maybe I won’t ask Hannah over the phone what my relationship status is, but I do need to check she got home okay. “Shit.” I don’t have her number. How can I be in a relationship with a woman and not even have her number?
I need to rectify that pronto. So I might not have Hannah’s number yet, but I do have someone’s. I scroll down and dial, walking out onto the veranda to make sure I’m out of earshot from Alex.
Jake’s voice is familiar, and I can’t lie, it’s welcomed. It’s something I know in a world I don’t know. “Ryan,” he says, sounding gruff and sleepy.
“You in bed?”
“Bad night with Caleb.”
Shit. In all my madness, I forgot about the new addition. “Sorry, mate. I’ll call you later.”
“No, I’m up now. What’s up?”
“You at your country place now?” I ask, walking around the cabin.
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s not too far from here, right?”
“An hour. What’s with all the questions?”
“Fancy coming to see me? I’ll put the barbecue on. We’ll have a beer.” I can hear myself. I sound very unlike me.
The small pause before Jake talks again tells me he’s noted I’m behaving out of character. “Right. A barbecue and a beer. I’d love to, but we’ve kind of got our hands full. I can’t leave Cami to deal with them both so soon. She’s knackered.”
My heart warms. “I meant for them to come, too.”
“Huh?”
“All of you. Here. It’ll be nice.”
“What’s going on?” Jake asks, full of suspicion. It’s warranted. In the years I’ve known Jake, not once have I suggested a family get-together. Only a drink in the pub. Man time. That’s us.
I exhale and take the plunge. All in. Confession time. I need a mate’s ear. “I think I’ve gone and got myself a girlfriend.”
Silence.
“Jake? Are you there?” I pull my phone from my ear to check my signal. Four bars. “Jake?”
“You?” he finally says. That’s it. Nothing more.
“That’s what I fucking said, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know. I thought you did, but then I thought it must have been a mistake. You? Ryan Willis? The eternal bachelor?”
I find a post and let my forehead fall against it. His reaction is only cementing what we all know. This is way out of my comfort zone. “Help a man out, won’t you? I’m having a bit of a meltdown here.”
“Okay, t
ake a breath.”
“Took loads. Still having a meltdown.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name’s Hannah. She’s moved into town. Opened a little store.”
“What makes you think she’s your girlfriend?”
“Well, she spent the night last night.” I show the heavens my palm, as if it’s as simple as that.
Jake starts laughing hysterically, then he quickly zips it, and I hear him apologize. Then two seconds later, a baby starts squawking. “Damn,” he mutters. “You woke the baby.”
“Me?”
“God damn it, Ryan, I only just got him off to sleep.”
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug.
“Spending the night with someone doesn’t make her your girlfriend.” Jake says, bringing us back to the trouble at hand.
“I know that,” I retort indignantly. “But I’m not just talking about that. There’s the things she said, the things I said. Fucking hell, Jake, I said some serious shit. Thought some serious shit.”
“How long have you known her?”
“A week.”
“And last night was the first time you slept with her?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, you’re slacking, boy.”
I sag where I’m standing, my teeth grinding with frustration. “She’s not that kind of woman. I had absolutely no desire to screw her blind. It was meaningful. Inevitable. Fucking amazing, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”
He huffs a small shot of laughter, and I know beyond a doubt that he’s starting to relate. I know his story. I know he understands. “Does she know about Alex?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know about her snaky mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I get the feeling something isn’t right with her.” I walk away from my truck and start pacing the lawn, kicking some twigs as I go. “I think she’s been screwed over or something. By a man.”
“Okay, so she might have an issue with trust. Maybe she just needs time before she spills it all to you. I of all people understand that.”
I stop in my tracks, hearing him but struggling to accept what he’s saying. “It’s not just that.” I hope she’ll eventually tell me why she’s a little wary and cagey, but how this progresses isn’t resting on it. “I’m worried about Alex. She’s had me to herself for as long as she can remember. She says she wants me to have a girlfriend, but I’m not sure she understands the implications.”
“What implications?”
“Sharing her Chunky Monkey, for a start.”
Jake laughs. “Oh, Ryan. You kill me sometimes. Tell me, how would you feel if you never saw this woman again?”
“That would be hard. Do you know how small Hampton is?”
“Answer the fucking question.”
“Horrible,” I spit, forced into imagining it. “Empty. Angry. Hard done by.” Whoa. But it’s all true. I had the most incredible evening that stretched into this morning. It was perfect. Until Darcy showed up.
“Stop being such a fucking pussy and go with it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, I don’t know. Breaking my heart? Breaking Alex’s heart? “So you think I should tell Alex?”
“Yes, if you like this woman that much, tell her.”
“Okay.” I will as soon as I’ve spoken to Hannah. She should know I’m telling my daughter about her, I guess. “About that barbecue. I want you guys to meet her.”
“Let me speak to Cami. When were you thinking?”
“Next weekend?”
“I’ll get back to you. Got to go before the baby brings down the fucking house.” Jake hangs up, and I look back at the cabin.
Alex will be fine, I know that deep down in my heart. She’s always going on about me meeting someone, and really, I know my fear isn’t anything to do with how I might handle this. Or Alex, for that matter, though telling my daughter about a woman is a huge deal, a massive step, and I would never do it lightly. It would have to be serious, and now, when I seem to have leveled out my thoughts and gotten over my stupid panic, I realize that my trepidation is actually a result of how little I know about Hannah. I have a lot to learn about her. And my biggest fear is that Alex will start falling for her like I am, and Hannah will leave us both.
Chapter Thirteen
HANNAH
I’m shivering by the time I make it home. Shivering and mad. Ryan couldn’t have gotten me out of his cabin faster if he’d shoved a supersonic engine up my arse.
“Arsehole,” I mutter, pushing my way into my store and slamming the door. I’m wounded. I understand that meeting his daughter is a big step and her finding us soaked and all cozy in the shower wouldn’t be ideal, but the way Ryan carried on, his urgency and panic, made me feel like he was embarrassed. Of me? And what’s the deal with Alex’s mother? Why can’t she know about me? What’s it to her if Ryan sees a woman? That’s bad enough, but his statement about his daughter is what really stung.
She definitely can’t see you.
What, ever? Am I going to be a secret fling, a fuck to call upon whenever he’s not playing dad? I thought I meant more than that. I thought Ryan wanted more than that. Everything he said suggested it. I feel like I’ve been hoodwinked. Reeled in and then tossed away.
I stamp up to my apartment and head for the shower, dead set on scrubbing myself clean of Ryan Willis. I’m furious for letting myself get carried away. But above all, I’m angry because the sharp jab of reality has made me remember something important: I shouldn’t get attached. I shouldn’t get too swept up in the feelings of something lovely. Because it’ll be too hard to walk away when I need to. And I will need to. Eventually, I will have to leave Hampton. And that’s not Ryan’s fault at all.
Last night taught me something important, though. It taught me that I’m not completely broken. That I could be fixed. But what’s the point in being fixed if you know you’ll always end up broken again?
* * *
It’s another quiet day in the store. I try to create something, tossing paint at the canvas haphazardly, but not even anything accidental happens. I sit back after an hour of trying and notice for the first time since I planted myself on this stool that every color I’ve used is dull. Gloomy. It’s indicative of how I’m feeling. I give up and clear away, pulling my laptop out and loading my online store.
I nearly come out of my skin when I find I’ve made a sale on one of my paintings. “Oh my God,” I whisper, looking across to the landscape oil that’s currently hanging on my shop wall. I smile, returning my attention to the details of the buyer. “Scotland,” I say to myself, noting that the address is a castle. Excitement tickles my tummy as I print off shipping labels and set them aside, ready for when I’ve wrapped the painting to post. And then I find myself pulling up Facebook.
When I type in my sister’s name, my heart sinks and my excitement vanishes. She’s changed her profile picture again. My throat clogs with emotion as I stare at my mother in her bed, her eyes empty as she looks back at me. She’s gripping the blanket over her legs hard, her arthritis-plagued fingers deformed. My sister is sitting on the bed next to her, smiling, though it’s a sad smile. I feel a teardrop roll down my cheek, and I look down when it falls, seeing it splash when it hits the counter. This picture was taken on a bad day. Mum looked perky on Saturday. It was a good day. Has it been bad days since? Another tear falls.
“Hey.”
I jump and look up, finding Molly approaching. I quickly snap my laptop shut and brush at my cheeks. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?” She places her handbag on the counter, assessing me worriedly.
I sniff and pluck a tissue from the box nearby, flapping it casually before taking it to my nose. “Hay fever.” I blow my nose hard. “It’s got me good this year.”
Molly’s nose scrunches in sympathy as she pulls up a stool and parks herself opposite me. �
�Come on, then.”
“Come on what?”
I notice that her usually neat ponytail is askew, and her rosy cheeks are rosier than normal. “I ran here from school on my lunch break, Hannah.”
“Why?” I rub at my running nose.
“I saw you with Ryan last night.”
The tissue stills as I bring it away, my mouth forming a straight—guilty—line. How much did she see? “He was making sure I got home okay.”
“And that involves a snog, too, huh?”
I’m up from the stool quickly, heading into the kitchenette out back, stalling having to spill. But when I do spill, it’s definitely a conversation that requires tea. I flick the kettle on and grab two mugs as Molly arrives in the room sounding a little wheezy. “Tell me everything.”
I find myself throwing the tea bags in the mugs with a bit more force than necessary. “He kissed me.”
“Yes, I saw. And?”
“And that was it.”
“Oh, come on. This is Hampton. Nothing exciting happens. Don’t spoil my fun.” Molly’s beside me in a second, resting against the counter as I pour the water and stir. Her eyes are excited. I laugh on the inside. I’m about to piss on her bonfire.
“And I went to his place and we had sex and then I left this morning.”
“Oh my God!”
“It was a mistake.” I grab the milk from the fridge and slam the door, leaning against it. “It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m kicking myself that it did.”
Her face drops. “Why? He’s gorgeous. Not to mention single.”
And he kicked me out this morning like I expect he boots out every other woman he seduces. God, why am I even letting that bother me? I’ve already convinced myself it was for the best. I was very close to falling in too deep, and that would be stupid. I should be thanking him for snapping me back to reality. I told Molly last night that I didn’t need a man to make me strong again. I should remember that, and I should definitely disregard all those feelings of liberation and freedom that I felt during the best sex ever. With the loveliest man I’ve ever met. No, not lovely. He’s an arsehole.
Leave Me Breathless Page 15
