Wolfe's Lair

by Alice Raine

  ‘Pregnant? What a cunning little bitch! She’s trying to trap you, Oliver. I told you she was no different to Abi.’

  I had no idea what the hell this had to do with his ex, but it was obvious just how gleeful Alex was at our heated conversation. Not only was she speaking as if I wasn’t even in the room, but the smug cow was only just managing to suppress her delighted grin.

  ‘Get out, Alex!’ Oliver spat. Alex fired back another snarky contribution before leaving the room, but my mind was numb and tuned out her words. I think I was slipping into shock. I needed to get away and try to clear my mind.

  The rapid clicking of Alex’s heels disappearing down the corridor was the only sound around us for several seconds as Oliver and I simply stared at each other, the weight of a thousand unsaid words seeming to settle on my shoulders. I was so astonished by his reaction that I couldn’t speak. And even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to say.

  How could he doubt me like this?

  I turned numbly on the spot and barely made it out of his office door before my tears started falling. When they came, they flooded down my cheeks and began dropping off my jaw and nose and rapidly soaking the front of my shirt.

  I made it to the end of the corridor, but unfortunately as I reached the door that led to the club my fingers were trembling too badly to enter the damn code into the key pad, and I ended up pitifully resting my forehead against the door as I tried to bring my weeping under control.

  I was too absorbed in my overwhelming emotions to hear the striding footsteps approaching, but suddenly I felt the air shift just behind me a second before hands landed on either side of me, effectively boxing me in.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question, Robyn. Is it mine?’ Oliver’s voice was as icy and unrecognisable as it had been earlier, and I still couldn’t understand where this side of him was coming from. Where was his Spanish warmth now? Where was the passionate, caring man I’d fallen for?

  I felt as if my life were falling apart chunk by hopeless chunk, and I couldn’t for the life of me think what to do about it.

  ‘Look at me, turn around,’ he demanded in the low tone reserved for his dominant side when we were playing in a scene. This was turning into a scene all right, but a dramatic one, rather than a sexual one.

  I raised my head from the doorframe and saw my sorry reflection in the central glass window; my nose was red from crying, my cheeks tear-stained, and my eyes were unattractively bloodshot.

  Letting out a long, slow breath, I followed his command, turning in the box of his arms, and reluctantly raised my eyes to his.

  Oliver’s face was still eerily blank, his eyes showing no emotion at all, but as he took in my pitiful expression, no doubt with dripping nose and running make-up, his brows flinched slightly. It was the first trace of emotion I’d seen since all this had begun. I still couldn’t believe he’d asked me if it was his. Didn’t he have any inclination how serious I was about him?

  ‘Are you going to answer me?’ he asked again.

  I knew that by avoiding his request I probably made myself seem guilty, but I simply wasn’t willing to give any credence to his appalling insinuations.

  Looking him directly in the eye, I absorbed a final image of his beautiful features and shook my head. ‘Actually, I think you’ve said quite enough for both of us. Goodbye, Oliver.’

  I don’t know what had prompted his lack of faith in me, but it seemed to have fired up my sudden bravery. My tears had stopped, and I tipped my jaw upwards in determination before finally succeeded in turning and typing in the code required to grant my escape.

  The door opened with a gentle push, and I gave Oliver a final, fleeting look, seeing open shock on his expression as I took a deep breath and walked away from him.

  My steps were a little wobbly. As I headed for the dance floor I heard a huge smashing sound and an almighty roar from behind me, and turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Oliver overturning a stack of chairs in the corridor then throwing his head back with the force of his scream.

  Wow. I had no idea what had just happened in the last ten minutes, or why he seemed so infuriated, but with one more shuddered breath, I continued to walk away.

  I was halfway towards the main entrance when I spotted Alex coming towards me from behind the bar. She had a bottle of Oliver’s favoured whisky in one hand, and two glasses in the other. ‘Goodbye, Robyn,’ she sneered as she strutted past me in the direction I had just come from. I was amazed that she had refrained from adding the “good riddance” which had been so obvious in her tone.

  I could do with a stiff drink myself, but seeing as I was almost certainly pregnant, it looked like that was off the cards for a fair few months. It was obviously Alex’s intention, though; snuggle up to Oliver in his time of need with a dram or two of his favourite tipple. The bitch. I bet she’d just been waiting for something like this to happen so she could leap in and be his saviour.

  Images of them sharing a drink together, and her touching him and comforting him, flooded my mind and I had to swallow hard and push the painful visions aside.

  Part of me had desperately wanted Oliver to come after me; reach for me and pull me into his arms, or perhaps call out and apologise for his bizarre behaviour, but my hurt, shrinking heart was oddly glad that he didn’t. If his reaction to my pregnancy was anything to go by, then I was better off on my own. Alex could have him.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Robyn

  I hadn’t thought it was possible, but in the days that followed my disastrous confession to Oliver, things got even more screwed up.

  On my way home from the club I got a double pack of pregnancy tests, the first of which was negative. So, with Sasha as my sidekick, I did the second test, which, confusingly, was also negative. We decided that perhaps they were a faulty batch, but I didn’t see the point in getting more; I was pregnant, I had to be.

  Chloe was away with work, and Sasha was supposed to be heading to see her brother for a few days that night, but was reluctant to leave me alone with all that was going on. Space could be good for me, though, so I shoved her out the door, and tried to distract myself from my problems by doing some writing.

  About two hours later, my certainty on the fact that I was pregnant was suddenly shattered, as I was sat staring uselessly at my laptop and felt a tell-tale moisture between my legs, which indicated that my much-delayed period had just arrived.

  A trip to the toilet confirmed this, and as I sat there shaking my head in disbelief I finally gave in to the tears that I’d been holding in since leaving Oliver at Club Twist. This type of late period had happened to me on one occasion in the past, when I was super-stressed. Perhaps the strain of trying to finish the book had caused the initial delay, and the abduction had been the cherry on the cake, affecting my cycle way more than I had realised.

  I couldn’t believe the timing. If I had got it just a few hours earlier, then none of this would have happened. I’d probably be sharing a drink with Oliver at the club now, or perhaps heading back here for a night of snuggling. I wasn’t a huge fan of period sex, but in our time together Oliver had proven that he knew plenty of other fun ways we could fill a night in bed together when I was on my monthly cycle.

  But that wasn’t the case, it had happened, and over the next three days I well and truly wallowed in my upset in the oppressively silent flat by myself. I didn’t hear from Oliver, and nor did I contact him. I felt completely strung out, which was partly hormonal, but mostly because of my shattered relationship with him. He’d come to mean so much to me over our time together, and I was really struggling to comprehend the fact that he was no longer going to be a part of my life.

  When she returned the next evening, Sasha dumped her bag down on the living room floor and gave me an assessing gaze as if trying to work out if I was just as fragile as I had been when she had left.

  I was, and from the consoling grimace on her face, she could clearly see it.

  In the end she
went for her trademark flippancy in an attempt at cheering me up, which was just as well, because sympathy would probably have made me cry.

  ‘God, you look like shit, babe. Shame we can’t cheer you up with wine, eh?’ she grumbled, pouring herself a glass and flopping onto the sofa.

  Silently getting up, I went to the kitchen to retrieve a glass then went to Sasha’s side and held it out to her. ‘I got my period.’

  Her eyes popped out on stalks as she stared at me for a second, then hurriedly poured me a glass of red. ‘Shit! You’re not pregnant?’

  I took a swig and jerkily shook my head. ‘Nope. Never was. The tests were right. Neg-a-tive. I came on just after you left.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Yes, wow indeed. Talk about a shitty turn of circumstances. ‘I’d been pretty worked up about finishing my book, and then with all the Dominic shit … I guess stress just delayed it.’

  Sasha took a healthy glug of her wine, and nodded solemnly. ‘Yeah. That would make sense. That’s happened to me before. When I was doing my dissertation, I was nearly three weeks late, and I’d been seeing four different guys at the time, so I was crapping myself!’ she revealed in her typically over the top style. Sitting a little closer, she chewed on her lower lip. ‘So this is pretty dramatic. What does it all mean?’

  I took another large gulp of my wine, and shrugged. ‘I guess it means I chucked away my relationship with Oliver over nothing, but that I got to see his true colours in the process.’

  ‘Hmm. He must have had his reasons for his reaction … Have you spoken to him? Has he called?’ Sasha eyed me over the rim of her wine glass.

  ‘I haven’t called him.’ I shrugged and fiddled with the sleeve of my jumper in an attempt to avoid eye contact with her. ‘And I dunno if he’s called me.’

  Sighing heavily, she gave me a heavy stare. ‘Can I take that to mean you still have your phone switched off?’

  ‘So what if it is turned off?’ I huffed. ‘Even if he has been calling I don’t want to speak to him.’ Well, I sort of did. It might only be five days since I’d seen him, but I missed Oliver terribly. He’d become such a huge part of my life that the sudden departure of his all-consuming presence, his texts and phone calls, had been incredibly noticeable. “Noticeable” was such an understatement, though, because it was so much more than that – every time I allowed myself to think about Oliver it felt like I had a ragged, gaping hole in my heart.

  Trying to push aside my pain, I shook my head. ‘Just leave it, Sasha, I don’t want to talk about him.’ Then I gave up my pretence and chucked a pillow at her.

  ‘Hey! Woah! Watch the vino!’ she squawked, holding her wine aloft to avoid the cushion. She placed her glass on the coffee table, and, after giving me a shifty glance, she swooped forwards and scooped up my phone from the table.

  ‘Oi! Give it back!’ I lurched at her, scrabbling to get my phone back, but I was interrupted from my mission by the chiming of the doorbell behind me. ‘Have the bloody thing, then. You don’t know my PIN-code anyway,’ I grumbled, walking to the door and checking the peephole to see a delivery guy outside, before I pulled it open.

  ‘Package for Miss Scott?’

  ‘Oh. That’s me.’ It seemed a strange time of night for a delivery, but I signed the electronic pad and took the packet before locking the door behind me and heading back to the sofa.

  ‘You have twenty-six new text messages and sixty-three missed calls! Sixty-three!’ Sasha informed me in shock, thrusting my phone at me and wiggling it in my face. ‘I can’t unlock it to see who they’re from, but I reckon I can make an educated guess. I think Oliver wants to apologise.’

  Sixty-three missed calls? Wow. It had been over five days since I’d seen him, but still, sixty-three calls was a hell of a lot.

  ‘Maybe he should have thought of that before he went all ice-man on me,’ I muttered, slipping a finger under the seal of the cardboard packet that had just been delivered.

  I ripped it open with a flourish, taking out some of my pent-up frustration on the cardboard. The noise distracted Sasha from looking at my phone, and instead she looked at the package curiously. ‘Ooh, what is it?’

  Tipping the contents out, I found a small silver iPod, some pale pink headphones, and a folded piece of paper. Without even reading the note I intuitively knew who it was from, and my stomach clenched. My fingers were already trembling as I picked up the paper, but as soon as I saw Oliver’s elegant handwriting on the note it turned to a full-on shake.

  ‘It’s from him,’ I whispered, my voice quivering so badly that Sasha immediately shifted and sat next to me, placing a consoling hand on my arm.

  Taking in a deep breath, I opened the note and read.

  Robyn,

  I cannot express in words how sorry I am for my behaviour. Please believe me when I say I had my reasons for my words, cariño, which I wish to share with you. Please meet me so we can talk?

  In the meantime, accept this iPod. I had been putting together a playlist for you of all the songs I found relevant to our relationship. I was planning on giving it to you on your birthday, but seeing as I screwed up so monumentally, I have finished it off so that I could give it to you now.

  I hope it helps you understand the depth of what I feel for you, even if I can’t vocalise it myself. The lyrics in these tracks express what I haven’t been strong enough to.

  Yours always, Oliver

  P.S. It makes me very uncomfortable not being able to get in touch with you. Please turn your phone on.

  I stared at the note for a good few minutes, reading and rereading its contents. Unconsciously, I was also tracing the text with my finger, almost caressing it.

  ‘Wow. Heavy stuff,’ Sasha breathed, leaning over my shoulder to read the note. ‘What does cariño mean?’

  I swallowed hard. Even thinking about him saying the affectionate term made me want to cry. ‘It’s Spanish,’ I croaked, having to clear my throat before continuing. ‘It sort of translates to sweetheart. He calls me it all the time.’ I carefully folded the paper and put it on the table before correcting myself. ‘Or at least he did.’

  Picking up the iPod, I stared down at it, stroking my finger gently over the small metallic square as I imagined Oliver holding it and packing it into the envelope. Sasha gave my shoulder a squeeze, and stood up. ‘I’ll give you some privacy.’

  Giving her an appreciative nod, I popped the soft earbuds into my ears. With slightly trembling fingers I turned the device on and found just one single playlist listed in the memory, titled Mi dulce pequeño petirrojo.

  Frowning, I wondered what it meant, then suddenly recalled our time in Barcelona and the name his mother had called me – dulce pequeño petirrojo, or “sweet little robin” – and Oliver’s adaption, where he’d said, “my sweet little robin”. My throat was instantly thick with emotion at the sweet title, but I tried to swallow it down and pressed play.

  Oliver had mentioned the importance of the lyrics, so I closed my eyes and listened as various artists sung about passion, soulmates, and togetherness.

  As the songs rolled from one to another, my chest felt tight, and tears built in my eyes, but when Jack Johnson started singing Better Together and saying how love was the answer, my tears finally started to fall. It was true, Oliver and I had been better together.

  But could love be the answer?

  I knew I loved him, but he’d never said it to me. Was that what he was trying to express to me with these songs?

  Better Together. It hurt to listen to it, but it might be one of my favourite songs now. Without Oliver I didn’t feel whole any more, but he was gone, and I just couldn’t see how I could get over my hurt and take him back.

  Chapter Fifty

  Robyn

  ‘Morning, babe,’ Sasha cooed as she strolled past me, leafing through some post. ‘I was just coming to get you. There’s another delivery for you in the hall.’

  Another delivery? ‘From Oliver?’ I croaked, my grip tighten
ing on the iPod in my hand. I still had one earbud in now as I listened to the playlist again. In fact, I’d not taken it off as I’d slept last night, and had only briefly removed it when I’d showered five minutes ago. At this rate, it would need charging soon, but if I didn’t relax my fist I was going to crush the poor thing before it had chance to run out of battery power.

  ‘Yeah, I think so,’ Sasha replied vaguely, seemingly absorbed in the letter she was examining.

  God. I’d barely come to terms with the selection of songs on the iPod and what they represented. I wasn’t sure I could deal with anything else yet. ‘Didn’t you bring it in?’

  ‘Nah, it’s big. Needs your signature.’

  Normally the arrival of a large package would fill me with childlike excitement, but in the last week I’d really struggled to garner much enthusiasm for anything. What with the Dominic shite, then finishing with Oliver, it had been a hell of a rollercoaster. Sighing heavily, I walked over to the door.

  Stepping out, I frowned when I found the hallway empty, but then nearly jumped out of my socks as I registered a dark shape in the periphery of my vision, down to my left-hand side.

  My panicked imagination briefly conjured images of Dominic, here to finish what he had started, but no, as my dizzying panic passed, I registered that it was, in fact, Oliver, sitting against the wall, his knees bent, arms wrapped around his legs and head hanging forwards. At least it was, until he realised I stood there gawking at him, and he leaped to his feet in record speed.

  ‘Robyn! Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I replied, all the while cursing Sasha. Delivery my arse. Shit. He was really here, right before me, and although I couldn’t deny that his appearance was much more preferable than that of Dominic, I wasn’t ready for this.

  My wary eyes travelled up his frame, then up some more. Somehow, over our five-day absence, I’d forgotten how tall Oliver was. I began backing away into the flat to get me some space, but a sudden shove in my lower spine had me falling forwards into the hallway again. Spinning on the spot, I found Sasha, also known as the phantom pusher, who gave me a rueful look.