Let Me Be Your Hope (Music and Letters Series Book 2)

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  He had worn another three-piece suit during his seminar and they were fast becoming my kryptonite. I needed a coffee just to make notes without feeling like I was going to keel over. It also hadn’t escaped my attention that it had been the most over subscribed lecture of the day.

  ‘So, is it round two tomorrow?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, apparently there were a lot of requests from people who couldn’t get in, so they want me to repeat it in the morning. Who knew a lecture on gathering stats to shape best practice would be so interesting?’

  ‘Yeah, who knew?’ I replied, sarcastically rolling my head to emphasise the number of women who had descended around our grassy spot. He looked at me like I had just given him a mathematical equation to solve, puzzled and genuinely immune to the huge pull he had.

  Then the thunder broke the connection.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ I said, shaking my head as the downpour started. It didn’t take long for it to soak us all through. People were shouting and complaints were being thrown around at the poor staff who were now handing around large golf umbrellas. I put the hood of my robe over my head and Jamie laughed at the wet slap it made on my forehead. His hand sat at my waist, but I soon felt it drop lower, sitting just above the curve of my arse. His chest pushed out and his breathing slowed. He watched me with his hooded eyes—a look of love so intense it made my shoulders shake harshly with a shiver.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the delay but the fire service have now confirmed it is safe to return to the hotel. Free drinks will be available between eight and ten tonight as a gesture of our apologies.’ The crowd on the lawn roared, but for me, there was only one person there. Jamie Dawson. Still my love, my soul, my heart.

  Fuckbags of shit…

  He walked me back to my room, which I tried to remember was no big deal considering it was next to mine.

  ‘Are you taking advantage of the free drinks tonight? You never know, they may crack open the Pimm’s,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Yeah, you know me. Why settle on a glass when you can have a jug?’ I laughed stupidly, because I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to say that didn’t involve the status of us.

  ‘See you later then.’ He backed a few feet down to his room and we both laughed quietly. He put his forehead against the door, shook his head and gave me a lazy wave before he disappeared inside.

  I made my way inside my room and immediately heard my mobile ring.

  ‘Be careful,’ Elle said.

  ‘Why don’t you just come up to my room?’

  ‘Can’t be bothered. I’m cold and need a bath to warm me up. Plus I was worried I might interrupt something.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve just observed epic flirty banter between the two of you.’

  ‘Not flirty; just friendly. Manager and colleague.’

  ‘Nips and cut glass? Would you have made that comment to Colin?’ she chastised.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I’m just calling to remind you that he’s a married man. Be careful. If you need me, come on up.’

  ‘I’ll be careful. Promise.’

  I threw the phone down on the bed and lay there thinking about what Elle had said until the shivers became too much. I went to run a bath, and as I did, I could hear faint sounds and water running from Jamie’s room. I found myself putting my hand to the wall and imagined he was doing the same. The only barrier between us was a thin layer of plasterboard and a veil of wallpaper.

  And then I knew.

  I couldn’t stay in that room knowing he was so close. I turned off the taps in a rush, grabbed the key from the dressing table, and before I knew it, I was banging on his door— which he opened on the second knock.

  ‘I started running a bath to warm myself up, but then my thoughts were so heavy I couldn’t shift them. I knew I had to come and talk to you. I tried to ignore it, I really did.’

  He held his hand on the door like it was there to steady him. I watched his chest rise and fall and I saw the look behind his sad eyes. Desire. Need. Want.

  ‘I had to say it. I don’t expect you to say anything back.’

  The water dripped down off a curl that had escaped my lopsided bun and a shiver ran through me. I noticed my robe had come undone, so I dragged the edges together to form a barrier. A barrier from him. Stupid, but at the time, it made so much sense.

  ‘You’re freezing.’

  ‘Don’t say anything. I need to get this out.’ I was breathless. Suddenly, the moment I’d rehearsed was finally here. ‘You were the one person who knew me. I threw everything at you and you caught it all and claimed it as yours.’ He took in a hard breath and lifted his head. ‘I’d never felt so possessed, adored or wanted, and I fucking craved it!’ I said, deliberately shouting and purposely drawing attention to the word craved because that’s what I’d been doing from the moment he left.

  ‘Abi,’ he warned, taking a step closer.

  ‘You don’t wear a wedding ring,’ I said.

  He hid his left hand behind his back. ‘No, never have.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Many reasons.’ His voice got louder. The ease we had formed earlier under the blare of the fire alarm had shrivelled up into nothing.

  ‘What reasons? You don’t have pudgy fingers and you certainly don’t want to cheat because I’m basically throwing myself at you and you’re not taking the bait.’

  He shook his head and drew his lips together in a hard, bleak line. ‘Because it’s a sham, that’s why. Because wearing a ring would make it real; it would be too intimate.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

  ‘Come in, Abi, please.’

  I parked myself on the sofa by the window as he sat on the stool by the dressing table. I nervously sat on my hands and tapped my feet on the carpet. They were covered in mud, grass and weird bits of stick that I didn’t even feel.

  ‘Are you going to explain?’ I asked. He was sitting forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands wringing in front of him. He nodded his head a few times as if trying to get his words in order before letting them escape his mouth.

  ‘Let’s talk about the letter you sent just before my birthday.’

  Fuck. I could still see my handwriting when I closed my eyes.

  ‘I wanted to hurt you,’ I said softly, terrified of where this was going.

  ‘You did.’

  ‘We hurt each other.’

  ‘I didn’t feel that way at the time, but I see it now.’ He stood and walked into the bathroom. I could hear the groan of taps and the splashes of running water. When he walked back into the room, he sat back down on the stool quietly. ‘You told me you were seeing someone else, and that fucking stung, Abi.’

  ‘I was in love with you. I didn’t know what else to do to get you to take notice of me. I accepted the meant to be bullshit just because it kept some kind of connection to you.’

  ‘I regret that more than anything. It was pretty shitty to ask you put your life on hold. I wanted to keep you but knew I couldn’t do anything long distance. There was Mum and I still needed to work. But can I also point out that you said you wouldn’t come with me?’

  ‘I couldn’t just leave. I had responsibilities too. My mum needed me. She might not have been ill, but looking out for her was—is—a full time job. I couldn’t just leave her,’ I said, desperately trying to justify why I hadn’t just packed up my life and agreed to move to London with him. I didn’t have the right to call him out when I hadn’t done anything to make our relationship work either. I took a deep breath. ‘We didn’t fight hard enough. I’d just got into the team I wanted and my friends were all there. Seems like crap excuses now.’

  ‘There was a difference. I had to leave, but you had a choice. You knew my mum was ill. I was all she had. The job came along with that. I had no option.’

  ‘Why are you blaming me?’ I shouted in exasperation.

  ‘I’m not blaming.’


  ‘I thought we were discussing why your marriage is such a sham.’ I crossed my arms, trying not to cringe at the bitch in my tone.

  He stood up and strode into the bathroom to turn off the taps, returning with a towel wrapped around his hands. He dried them quickly and threw the towel on the bed. ‘My wife’s name is Clara.’

  ‘How nice. Thanks for sharing,’ I spat, hurt that he would even mention her name in front of me.

  ‘Abi—’

  I looped my arms through each other, wrapping them around myself in comfort and feeling prickled at his reprimand.

  ‘I’ve known Clara for years. We went to uni together. We were good mates. Nothing had ever happened between us, but I knew she liked me. We’d always flirted but I never wanted to ruin our friendship.’

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ I whispered to no one but myself.

  ‘When I got your letter, I spiralled into a mess. I was going out with some mates the night of my birthday and she was there. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to say fuck you—’

  ‘So you fucked her?’ I interrupted. His head fell.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ I said with everything genuine and real fighting inside of me.

  He stood, scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck and crouched down in front of me. ‘Everything I’ve done, everything I still do, is all for you. I wonder all the time if Abi would like this, if she’d approve of that, what she would tell me to do.’

  ‘Did you think that when you made the decision to get married?’ I asked angrily.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ I stood up and pushed his hand away as he went to hold me. ‘Do you really think I would have given you my blessing?’

  ‘Not your blessing maybe, but you would have said it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  He dropped his head. ‘Let’s just stop,’ he whispered. ‘Can’t we just remember tonight?’

  ‘Remember what?’ I asked.

  ‘Us.’

  I broke out a single sob pressing my hand to my chest to steady myself. I suddenly remembered how his hair felt between my fingers, how his body felt between my legs, and how his heart felt somewhere deep inside of me.

  I gasped when he stepped forward and folded me into him, lightly brushing the side of my breast. I pushed his hand away and caught the hurt on his face.

  ‘I’m not asking you to be the other woman. I wouldn’t do that to you,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘I was the woman once.’

  ‘You always have been,’ he sighed.

  ‘You’re talking in riddles. I’m so confused.’

  ‘Come with me.’ He held out his hand and I took it on instinct. He led me into the bathroom where I found the bath ready, warm, full of bubbles and the smell of vanilla surrounding me. My favourite. He kissed the top of my head and stayed with his lips on my skin. I could feel his breath on my forehead, heightening everything I’d been holding in. He was real. He was here. But he was still not mine to keep.

  I had spent far too long trying to explain it all away, imagining different scenarios and making up stories. I didn’t know which was worse—spending almost two years wondering if he was still alive with feelings of intense loss, or believing that he’d left me because he just didn’t want to be a part of my life anymore.

  I had mourned. I had grieved. But I still loved.

  As all of those thoughts stirred, I felt the need to repeatedly hit the heel of my hand into his chest, but at the same time, I wanted him to grab onto my wrists and kiss me with the same passion and desire that had burned in us throughout our entire relationship.

  He stood behind me, reaching his arms around my waist to undo the belt of my borrowed robe, still wet and heavy from the rain. I felt prickles across my skin as he slipped it off my shoulders and pooled around my legs onto the tiled floor.

  ‘I’m not going to undress you. If you want to stay, you need to make the move so I know you’re happy with this,’ he whispered into my ear before moving away. A breath after he did, I pulled down the straps of my swim costume, pushed it down my hips and stepped out of it. I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. He didn’t say anything. I couldn’t feel his eyes on me like I used to. He just took my hand as I stepped into the bath and lowered myself into the warm water.

  He walked out of the bathroom, and for a second, I wondered if he would return, but then I heard his steps. He appeared carrying the stool from the dressing table. He put it down at the side of the bath and picked up a bottle of body wash. He still didn’t look at my body; his eyes were fixed firmly on my face. The bubbles covered me, so he didn’t need to worry about restraining himself in any way. I was covered in a suit of bubbly white foam.

  He picked up the sponge that was floating in the water, his fingertips brushing my legs, causing a burn across my skin. I lowered my eyes to his hands and watched as he poured body wash onto the sponge and started working it in with both hands.

  He felt for my hand in the water and lifted my arm, moving the sponge around in slow circles before dipping it back in and lifting it over me, squeezing it so the trickle of water washed off the suds. His movements were careful and meticulous. I hadn’t been looked after or adored like this since him. I missed it. I missed this. I missed us.

  ‘Lean your head back,’ he said, removing the band from the messy knot of my bun. My hair fell down my back with a wet slap. I opened my eyes briefly and caught his smile.

  He used the cup that had been holding his toothbrush to pour water over my head, wetting the long strands of hair, pulling his big hands back from my forehead to my crown. So softly, so full of love and renewed appreciation.

  ‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he said, still concentrating on working his fingers through my hair before dropping the cup into the water. ‘I miss you so much,’ he whispered into my earlobe, which tingled with its own blissful vibration, the same vibration when an orgasm starts gathering its strength. ‘The ache never stopped. It’s still here. Sometimes it’s so strong I don’t know what to do with myself, but then I accept it’s my punishment for what I did. The pain I caused. The mess I made.’

  He continued washing me with the soft sponge, confirming that all of my sexual experiences since he left had meant nothing. This was the most intimate I’d ever been. No sex, no expectations, and with a man who meant absolutely everything to me.

  We fell into our natural rhythm. It didn’t feel forced. It was just us. This time, I didn’t have to feel my way around. There were no false pretences or hopes that the man in front of me was going to be mine until I took my last breath. This time, I knew utterly and completely that he wasn’t mine to keep.

  His blue eyes had changed over the last two years. They now appeared grey. They briefly took in my body, glancing quickly down the bathtub. His eyes skimmed the tops of my shoulders and then moved down to my hands resting on either side of the bath before he stood and physically took a step back, creating more distance between us. He pulled the stool back and perched right on the edge, his legs outstretched before him.

  ‘How did you cope? Tell me how you got through it?’ he asked.

  I put both of my hands into the water and immediately embraced the warmth I felt across my body. I sighed deeply and caught my determination, which had been lying sluggishly at the bottom of my spine.

  ‘I believe that no matter how hard a situation is, we all have the ability to ride through the rough. It’s a human condition. A hope function. Like setting an alarm to wake you up in the morning. My alarm is on the dressing table at the other side of my room. It makes me get up to turn it off. I choose to turn on my hope function as I turn off the morning alarm.’

  ‘The hope function?’ he asked thoughtfully, holding his chin in his hands.

  ‘We all have it. We all have a choice about turning it on. Some days are harder than others, but you must have turned it on, Jamie, because you’re he
re, still standing.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I wasn’t enough for you. You left. I was obviously never part of you’re hope function.’

  ‘You were everything,’ he said, crouching as he stood to move the stool back to the side of the bath.

  ‘What changed?’

  ‘You know I can’t…’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I can’t go there. My hope function was off. Shut down to the point where I never thought I could turn it back on again.’ He dropped his head and shook it slightly.

  ‘I’m the complete opposite to you. I always have my hope function switched on. I’ve had to. It was too difficult to think deeply about why you left and why you didn’t want to keep close contact; just letters.’

  ‘You deserved more,’ he said, finally meeting my eyes.

  ‘You’re right, I did.’

  ‘No, I meant you deserved more than me, more than I could give you.’

  I didn’t reply but we kept our gaze until he dropped his hand in the water to search for the sponge. He squeezed it and returned to circling it down my arms.

  ‘I always loved your notches and grooves. Your bones fascinated me,’ he said, lost in thought. ‘I told my mum about your collarbone and how I used to trace my finger across the hard line. She called them saltcellars. I have no idea why,’ he said softly, not taking his eyes off me. ‘I always wondered. Probably always will.’ I took hold of his hand, the pull forcing him down to his knees beside me. He pressed his forehead to mine and I pressed my hand to his cheek. I hoped that if we stayed there long enough, I would start to read his thoughts, that the jumble of what had happened during the last two years would transfer to me. This made me press my head harder against him until he pulled away.

  ‘I hoped you’d change your mind,’ I said urgently, ‘and tell me it was all a mistake, that you missed me with everything you had.’ He nodded his head and closed his eyes. ‘I hoped you’d pick up the phone and call,’ I said on a broken voice and deep breath. ‘I hoped you would find it too hard, too fucking hard, without me in your life that you couldn’t breathe, that wherever you were, every ceiling felt like it was pushing down on top of you and every wall was closing in.’ His eyes were still closed and his head was shaking. ‘I hoped you would write lost words, words you couldn’t say out loud but could say through holding a pen and scribbling roughly. I hoped to see the indents of pain where you’d pressed too hard across the paper because the feelings were too much. I hoped every night I would come home to a letter.’ I shook out the shake in my voice and sucked in air on a deep gasp. ‘That describes my hope function, Jamie. That hope function is why I’m still standing.’