Despite all my worries, I sleep deeply and undisturbed for almost ten hours. Conor was good on his word to take care of the babies, but the freedom means I’m now overdue for a nursing.
When I go downstairs, though, I don’t find my family anywhere. I check the whole house before texting Conor to ask where they are.
His reply surprises me. At the park. Be back soon.
He’s taken our little ones to the park. I’ve never taken them to the park. Another failing, I think, shaking my head as I go to do the pumping routine once more.
With time on my own, I decide to go ahead and reach out to Amelia. I might as well rip the Band-Aid off the rest of this injury. She sounds light and airy when she answers and is quick to agree to meet me at our usual donut shop even though this isn’t our regular day.
Though I’ve hurried, I find she’s there when I arrive, saving a table. She’s got a coffee for each of us and a donut in front of her. I don’t usually like those overly sugary things, but the sight of it makes my stomach rumble and I ask to share it with her when I’m settled opposite her.
“Of course,” she says. “It’s a simple one today. Just chocolate with sea salt.”
I take a bite and the thing practically dissolves in my mouth. The feeling is pleasant at first, then I’m overwhelmed by the sugar and regret my decision. I take a sip of coffee.
I’m stalling. I just don’t know how to begin.
“Everything all right?” she asks.
I should have known she’d spot that I was off right away. She’s had all kinds of insight into me, hasn’t she?
“Well, not exactly,” I reply. She offers me with a warm, compassionate gaze. It’s the one that makes you feel like you can tell her anything. “Conor let slip the arrangement you two worked out. You know, the thing where you pretend to be my friend but are really giving me therapy?”
She had a piece of the donut ready to pop it into her mouth but has stopped in mid-air.
“As you might expect,” I continue, “I’m furious. I’m hurt. I feel betrayed. By both of you. And I don’t quite know what to do with all of those feelings.”
“I feel like there’s been some confusion,” she says, her hand with the bit of donut slowly dropping to the table.
“Really? Conor seemed pretty clear on the fact that you proposed this arrangement.”
“I just meant, I do consider you a friend—”
“Then do me the courtesy of not lying to me. Not at this moment.”
She considers me, then her eyes drift to the window. I let her get lost in her thoughts, not entirely sure I want to go through with this confrontation. It would be so much easier to just walk out at this point. To simply let her know that she’s ended our friendship with this deceit could be enough, couldn’t it? I could walk away from this odd episode in my life and be done with it.
But I don’t move, too invested in finding out what she thought she was doing.
Finally, she looks at me and asks, “Do you remember the state you were in when you came to my office that first day? You were overwhelmed by a half a dozen major issues, including possible postpartum depression.”
“I remember it very well. It was the morning after one of the lowest points of my life. But it was just a moment. I was having a rough time because everything had built up on me. But you know I moved past it.”
“I didn’t know that for certain then, though. And a few days later, you declared you were perfectly well and no longer needed therapy. I wanted to believe that. But my experience told me I couldn’t do so without knowing more. And then you offered an opportunity for me to do that by inviting me for coffee. I really did enjoy our time here that day.” She gestures to the donut shop we’re in. “And I really did believe it when I told Conor I thought this could work as a genuine friendship where I was also mindful to offer guidance where I could.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make, though. Don’t you see?”
“Some people need less conventional therapy. That’s all that was behind it. Trying to style some help into a different format. Into something you were comfortable with.”
“Again, that should have been my choice. Not yours.”
“Have I been any help to you in these last weeks?”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it is.”
“You really do have problems with professional boundaries, don’t you?” I ask with a scoff. “Let me guess, this didn’t start with me, did it? And it didn’t even start with Danny Boy? You’ve probably been doing these sorts of things for quite a while.”
“I’m only interested in being of help. To me, it’s less about the formalities put in place than the results.”
“You should have your license revoked.”
“Do you really believe that? Am I a menace?”
I open my mouth to tell her she is exactly that, but I don’t get the words out. Because, if I’m honest, I have to admit that she helped me immeasurably. But I’m still angry with how it all came about.
“Granted, I know this isn’t ideal,” she says. “Ideally, you would have agreed to this more unconventional approach. But I did treat you like a friend. I told you about my sister and my nephew. I told you about my parents’ expectation of perfection in me and how difficult that was to deal with. I told you about Daniel. That was all real. I swear to you, my intentions were good.”
“Everyone’s intentions were so pure,” I say snidely. “But it’s not enough.”
“I’m sorry, Felicity. I did suggest telling you at one point.”
“But?”
“Conor was against it. He thought you needed me too much to disturb what we had already begun.”
“And you were convinced by that?”
“That, and the fact that when I reflected on our conversations, I realized they were almost as much about me as they were about you.”
“As a ruse, you mean? You told me things to lure me into thinking we were on equal footing. But it was only the pretense of sharing, right?”
“If you’re suggesting I used my sister’s past and all the other personal things I told you as some kind of shameless way to get you to confide in me in return, then you really didn’t bother to know me at all.”
“How am I to know what to think at this point? How am I to ever trust what you say?”
“I’ve only ever spoken to you about Daniel. Your counsel helped me.”
“Helped you to do what? To keep from taking a chance in being with him? To keep the decision out of his hands for whether to make his own choices like you did with me?”
“What does that mean?”
“You said you won’t have a relationship with him because you don’t want to be the cause of him losing control of his sobriety. At first, I thought that was so romantic. That you were giving up a chance at possible happiness in order to ensure his wellbeing. But I’ve come to realize it’s just another way you are making all the decisions. Whether he screws up his sobriety would never be about you. That’s not in your control. No wonder you and Conor got on as thick as thieves. You’re very alike in your insatiable need to control things.”
This appears to resonate with her. Her eyes drop and shift back and forth as she absorbs the implications of what I’ve told her. I take no pleasure in this, especially when I see the devastation on her face as it all—finally—clicks with her. She only now, with my insight, understands the error of her actions. In the end, all the rule-bending, all the overstepping, all the misguided attempts to help, however well-intentioned, have meant she’s not only harmed me, but sabotaged her own happiness.
I watch as she covers her mouth in dismay and tears rush to her eyes.
“Oh god, Felicity,” she says in a whisper. “I am so very sorry. I am sorry for breaking your trust and manipulating you. I thought it was all for good. I thought I was helping a friend. But I can see I was abusing my position. It was wrong. I was wrong.”
The acknowledgment and apology fe
els good. But it doesn’t wash away all the debris of her betrayal. It doesn’t make me feel any less hurt by the ways she and Conor conspired to “help” me. I keep returning to when she was at our home for dinner and how the subtext I felt was real. It makes me cringe to think of how they played things off, how clever they must have felt. And how dumb I was.
Standing, I shoulder my purse and look down at her.
“I hope you take the time to look at yourself,” I tell her. I start to leave but need to say one more thing. “To answer your question earlier, yes you did help me. But the ends do not justify the means.”
She blinks slowly and nods.
Pushing the shop door open and heading out onto the street, I feel exhausted but lighter at the same time.
I feel like I’ve reclaimed a bit of myself.
I feel like me again.
And I won’t let anything stop me from moving forward.
It’s raining but I inhale deeply, feeling refreshed by it. It feels fitting—a way of starting fresh. My legs are strong and steady as I walk. I’ve got a good rhythm, one where I feel like I could walk all day. But I come to a halt when I glance at the storefronts on my right and see a travel agent with a gorgeous display in the window. They suggest sun-soaked European destinations like Italy, Spain, and France. But the photos of Portugal are what draws my eye. I’ve never been there. The mix of colorful buildings of towns and cities alike are charming. And the emerald ocean water along a Riviera-style coastline are breathtaking. It looks like a place where one could collect her thoughts.
37
Conor
“I’m fucking impressed with us,” Gavin says.
We’re standing side by side, each of us wearing our youngest child in wraps against our chests, while pushing our eldest child in swings.
I laugh, thinking of the sight we make. Two rockstars who can generate ear-splitting screams from rabid audiences have turned into park-going dads.
I’d gone downstairs the night before and did what I always do when things are troubling me—turned to music. Sometimes I play the piano, but most often it’s the guitar. And that’s what I did for hours. I pulled out one of my favorite acoustic guitars and played for almost two hours before Ella woke. I tended to her and then returned to the guitar. Playing has the extraordinary ability to either take me away from my thoughts or to focus them.
I stayed up the rest of the night, trying to figure out how I was going to save my marriage. No answers came to me, though, so I was glad when the kids were up. Lizzy had been given the day off since she stayed late the night before, so it was just me and the kids. I changed them, fed them, and played with them for a while, but the time dragged on as I waited for Felicity to get up. Too antsy to wait any longer, I called Gavin to say I couldn’t make it to the studio until later in the day. When he asked what I was doing instead, I told him I needed to get out of the house and was going to take the kids to the park. He offered to meet me.
And so, here we are.
“Listen,” Gavin says, “What’s been going on?”
I glance at him and then give Romeo a gentle push. He’s in one of those bucket seat swings, his chubby hands holding tight to the plastic-coated chains. It’s not a casual question. Gavin has held his tongue for the most part, but he’s astute enough to know I’ve been struggling with things.
“A whole lot of shite, is what,” I reply, surprising myself. I don’t tend to pour out my heart the way Gavin does. I don’t look to vent or get advice. I keep things close to me, wanting that control. Which is exactly what Felicity says is at the root of our problems. I wanted to control her. Control her emotional state. When it was both never in my power and never my right to do so.
“Let’s have it, then,” Gavin says.
I shrug. But after a few silent seconds, I unleash, telling him all about my father first. He says all the right things and it feels good to share that burden. And then I tell him about Felicity and how I’ve mangled things.
At the end, Gavin laughs.
“What’s funny?” I snap.
“It’s just, Con, you have this thing where you lose sight of the big picture. It makes you a great fucking guitar player because you can focus in on it so well. But it makes you pretty shite at relationships.”
“That’s helpful, thanks.”
“I get why you did it. I do. And I’m not above saying I wouldn’t have done the same thing. You wanted to help her. You saw an opportunity, and you took it. But now you gotta face the fallout.”
“What if the fallout is she’s going to divorce me?”
“Nah,” he says dismissively.
“No? What makes you so sure?”
“For fuck’s sake, this is nothing compared to what I’ve survived.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a whole other story. There’s nothing Sophie wouldn’t forgive.”
He thinks about that for a moment as the swings go back and forth. Daisy is reaching out and trying to catch Romeo’s hand, but they miss over and over again.
“The only reason that might be true,” he says, “is because we know how lucky we are to have ever found each other. To have ever had the love we have. You don’t just give up on it and walk away.”
I should have known better than to bring up Sophie. Yes, I want to say, your love is epic, blah blah blah.
“Felicity knows that feeling well, wouldn’t you think?” he continues.
“How do you mean?”
“With her first husband having walked away. She knows better than most what a waste it is to give up like that.”
“Lucky for me he did what he did.”
“And lucky for you that she’ll recognize the motive beneath what you did, Con. You’ll see,” he says sagely.
“I fucking hope you’re right.”
Before he can reply, Romeo gurgles and we both watch as a mix of milk and the morning’s cereal comes shooting out of his mouth. It’s projectile vomit that is, honestly, impressive.
“Well done, Romeo!” Gavin says with a grin.
I stop his swing and kneel in front of him, using the bib around his neck to wipe his mouth. “You all right? Swing got your belly upset?”
He rewards me with a smile and I have the sense that he’s proud of himself.
And then he goes for round two, hitting me in the face with more vomit. I shield Ella, but the abrupt move wakes her, and she complains with cries loud enough to wake the dead. It’s a miracle I can hear Gavin’s laughter above her wailing.
“Fuck me,” I mutter as Gavin lends me a tot-sized blanket to wipe myself.
38
I’m relieved Felicity is up and ready to receive us when we get home. She wrinkles her nose when she gets a whiff of us, though.
“You smell, em—”
“Romeo threw up all over me, so yes, I don’t smell great,” I say with a smile.
“Oh, goodness.” She takes him from me. “How are you feeling, Romeo? All better now that you got that out?”
“I may have been pushing him a bit too high in the swing.”
She laughs, and I want to pull her into my arms in gratitude at the sound. It feels like everything is back to normal. Like we’re back to normal.
“You’d better clean up,” she says
“I will.”
Ella is asleep in her car seat. I take her into her room, so she can keep on with her nap. Then I head for a hot shower. Under the heat of the water, my spirits are fucking high as I scrub my face and vigorously brush my teeth on the off chance that Romeo tagged my mouth. I keep replaying Felicity’s laugh in my head and realize I’m smiling my way through the shower. She was so herself, so . . . not angry at me. It was just a little cooling off that we needed, I realize. Now, we can move forward.
When I come out the bathroom, I find Felicity waiting for me on the side of the bed. I go to her, still dripping and lean down to kiss her, ready to turn this into a proper makeup session.
But she pulls away from me and looks off to the si
de. My heart sinks. And I’m confused. I thought we were on our way to moving on, but this is a step backwards.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You should get dressed.”
She’s still not looking at me and my heart aches at the implications.
“Tell me what’s going on.” I sit next to her on the bed.
“You should get dressed. I’ll wait.”
“Are you fucking kicking me out? Is that why I need to get dressed?”
“No,” she says, and I breathe easier.
I step into our closet and dress quickly in clean jeans and a tee shirt. When I return, she’s standing at the foot of the bed.
“Here’s the thing. I told you last night that I need space and that’s still true.”
“Okay,” I say warily.
“I’m going to take the babies and go away for a few days.”
My heart stops beating. My chest feels like its caving in. I don’t breathe or blink.
My wife is leaving me and taking the kids with her.
“I found a little rental in Porto.”
“Porto?” I ask, unable to come up with anything more meaningful to say.
“In Portugal. It’s a quick flight, but it’ll make me feel like I have the space I need.”
“You need to be away from me?”
“I need to be able to think, that’s all. James says you’re just about done with the album. You’ll be able to focus on it with us away.”
“I don’t fucking care about the album. I need you and our children here with me. Otherwise, all of this is meaningless.”
She reaches out and grabs my forearm, giving me a quick squeeze. “The babies and I will be there for two days. And then I want you to meet us.”
“What for? So, you can make it official?”
“Make what official?”
“That you want to end this. End us.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I just need a couple days, sweetheart. I just need two days where I can get my head together.”
“So, go. Go and leave the kids here.”
She shakes her head. “No, I need to have them with me. And I’m still nursing them. It’s just two days. Then I want you to be with us.”
Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6) Page 19
