Escaping Mr Right

by Avril Tremayne

  More crying. Was it ever going to stop? ‘So you have to stay.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll stay, and get it all finished. I promise.’

  I looked up at him. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ And he tucked me back in my normal position, under his chin. ‘And tomorrow, we’ll go home.’

  I stayed in his arms, taking deep, shuddery, going-to-stop-crying-now breaths, while he ran his hand over my hair.

  ‘We can’t go home,’ I said at last. ‘Because there are the others.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘The other children. We need to find families for them, too. How are we going to do that?’

  He sighed. ‘There are processes for this, Chloe.’

  ‘They’re not working. They don’t work. They never work. You know that.’

  ‘They worked for Honey.’

  ‘But can’t we –? I mean don’t you ever want to … to adopt one of them?’

  ‘Why? Because nobody wanted to adopt me?’ He sighed again. ‘Chloe, it’s just not possible to adopt every child in the world.’

  ‘But … one? What about just one? Because you said … You said, when I asked you about this place being just a drop in the ocean, you said there were a lot of drops. And you – I – could be a drop, right?’

  He tilted my face up. ‘How is that going to work, Chloe?’

  ‘I don’t know. But there’s a way, isn’t there?’

  He was shaking his head before the words had even left my mouth. ‘You don’t just pick a kid and head to the airport with her. The checks and balances are intense. And here, in the Philippines …? In your specific case, the first obstacle is that you’re too young. Next, you’re not married. And no, there’s no shooting off to Vegas and coming back for her. You have to be married for at least three years. Even then, it can take years. It took Honey’s new parents twelve months, and they’re Filipino.’

  ‘But Joan said American.’

  ‘They live in America, but they’re Filipino. And they’re Catholic, very religious. That’s important here. They’ve been married for eight years, and are unable to have a baby. They’ve spent a lot of time with Honey, and they’re madly in love with her. You can see how that’s perfect, can’t you?’

  ‘I – I – Yes,’ I said, but my voice was wobbling perilously again.

  Nick took my face in his hands. Wiped at my tears with the pads of his thumbs. ‘It’s not going to happen for you this time, sweetheart. You can see that too, can’t you?’

  And I burst into tears again.

  ‘Ah, Chloe,’ he said, and hugged me close.

  ‘But I want her, too,’ I said – well, sobbed – into his chest.

  ‘I know you do.’ That was all. No arguments. No persuasions. Just acceptance, and a willingness to let me bawl my eyes out. ‘But sometimes we have to give up.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. And because it was oddly comforting to hear that, I managed to stop crying long enough to take another of those shuddering breaths and calm down. ‘I see, I do. I’m okay now, Nick.’

  He released me slowly. ‘Are you going to be able to do the filming this afternoon?’

  ‘I have to,’ I said, and tried to smile.

  He touched my lips. It reminded me of the time in the aircraft toilet, when he’d tried to smooth them back into place. ‘Well, I’ll be there too. So if it gets too much …’

  ‘I can do it. I can.’

  He looked at me for the longest moment. And then he smiled. ‘Yes, you can. Okay then, let’s find the van.’

  By the time I returned to the orphanage, suitably attired, I had myself well under control. And my timing was perfect. Fifteen minutes to check the preparations Nick and Derek had made – the tyres positioned, paint cans lined up, paintbrushes waiting – and then the children arrived.

  As the children chose their colours and started painting, I roamed from one to the next to the next, wielding my own paintbrush and asking about their favourite school subjects, hobbies, what they wanted to be when they grew up, how they felt about the playground – a different question for each child. Some of the answers were funny, some thoughtful, some heartbreaking. And despite the ache in my soul, I managed to smile, and encourage, and paint, and nobody could tell that my palms were sweating (hey, everyone was sweating) and my heart was beating a drum solo.

  Yep, I was holding it all together. Right up until Honey came over to me and waved her paintbrush. And that drumming heart of mine became a timpani orchestra. How was I going to talk to her on camera?

  I was quaking as I beckoned to Derek, but as I started to crouch beside Honey, Nick was there. ‘I thought you wanted me on camera again?’ he said. ‘How about if I ask Honey the questions, just to mix it up a little?’

  My throat was too tight to talk, so I nodded, and tried to smile. And just like that, as though Nick had no issue with stepping in front of a camera, he took over. And I loved him like a maniac at that moment.

  Nick knelt beside Honey, while I held the boom mike and Derek filmed, and asked her about ice cream, and favorite colours, and the games she liked to play. And then he looked at me, nodded once – like he was giving me a bit of his own strength in that one movement – and returned his attention to Honey to ask if she knew where she was going to be living soon.

  Honey smiled wide enough to light up a universe. ‘Mummy and Daddy taking me home.’ And she touched the little gold cross that was hanging on a chain around her neck. ‘See?’ she asked, which I assumed meant the cross was a gift from her parents.

  It was our closing shot. It had to be. The perfect ending: hope. An image that eased the crushing weight around my own heart.

  Blinking back a fresh round of tears, I motioned to Derek that we were done.

  ‘Right, Miss Honey,’ Nick said, and made to stand up, but Honey turned into him and snuggled into his chest – accidentally painting a red streak on his cheek at the same time.

  Nick looked at me, his eyes suspiciously bright. And I thought, So much for the tough guy. Because it was becoming increasingly clear to me that he was not tough. At all.

  Honey glowed up at Nick and touched the red mark on his cheek. ‘Is red your best colour?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, so can you paint some more?’ Nick said instantly, and she giggled, and painted a matching stripe on his other cheek.

  And I thought if Nick stood and turned his gorgeous butt to me right at that moment, I’d be squeezing well ahead of schedule.

  The bar Bryce had chosen for the celebratory drinks was in Makati. The group was leaving the hotel together, but I opted to meet them at the bar instead, because I had some serious primping to do. Not that I was going to be wearing a short swing dress and nonsensical heels – not this time. Well, all right, I was wearing nonsensical heels, in silver, but at least I was in jeans (super tight ones, I confess). And if my top was provocatively small and red and spangly, so what? Just because the dress code was casual didn’t mean I couldn’t try to knock my boyfriend’s socks off, did it? My boyfriend. Words I couldn’t quite believe I was about to say about Nick, out loud and in company.

  But just as I was preparing to leave my room, I got a call from Larry, my chief of staff, sounding me out about staying in Manila for a couple of days, even though we’d finished filming, because of a storm warning that had been issued for the Philippines.

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘But it’s not a typhoon, is it?’

  ‘Not yet. But it might turn into one, and it would be good to have someone on the spot if the shit hits the fan.’

  We debated at what point we would make a decision – apparently an overnight upgrade to storm warning signal #3 (which would predict winds of up to 185 kph within eighteen hours) would be worth the expense of keeping me in Manila – and by the time we’d finished, I was late.

  I arrived at the bar to find it was going to be a let-your-hair-all-the-way-down night. The bar was lively, vividly lit in blues, purples, pinks and reds, the music was thumping, and the tea
m had put a serious dent in what looked an endless line of tequila shots.

  The look Nick sent my way as I called out an all-inclusive greeting to the team was indecent enough to telegraph to everyone within a ten kilometre radius that he’d seen me naked a time or two. It made me wonder if he’d been tossing back a few tequilas himself, because he looked super edgy, almost feverish.

  In fact, something about him was making me nervous – enough to reach for one of those shots and down it as he started making his way towards me like one of his blasted hyenas on the hunt for zebra blood. It was almost a relief to feel my phone vibrate in my jeans pocket.

  I dug it out, doing a quick scan for a quieter area, and spied an outdoor deck. With an apologetic grimace for Nick, I headed that way, answering without checking the caller ID. ‘One minute,’ I yelled into it. Then, ‘Whew,’ stepping out into the night air. ‘Sorry about that.’

  Laugh. ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘How’s it going, Chloe?’

  ‘Oh … fiiiine.’ Slowly, because I wasn’t sure why he was calling. I didn’t want him to call, not tonight, when I was about to go public with Nick. Two days, just two more days, was all I needed.

  ‘I hear it’s all finished so you’re coming home early,’ Marcus said.

  I blinked in surprise. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Oh, so he hasn’t –? I mean I just … That is … Nobody, really … I just … thought …’

  ‘Nick?’ I asked, trying to understand. And it was as though I’d summoned Nick, because there he was, stepping onto the deck, looking for me. Premonition. Something was about to change. ‘When did you speak to Nick, Marcus?’

  ‘An hour ago. I just wondered … I mean, I thought I should check in with you, too. To see how things … Um …’ But the words trailed off. And then Marcus cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to see how things were going. Between you two. Before you get home. Before I get home. Before … well, before.’

  The deck felt like it was tipping beneath me. I needed to hold onto something. Blink, blink, breathe. ‘I’ll see you when we’re both back in Sydney and we can talk about it then,’ I said.

  ‘Chloe, it’s not –’

  But I disconnected before he could finish, because Nick had reached me.

  ‘So, is it butt-squeezing time?’ Nick asked, all jovial.

  And I knew, right then, that he and Marcus had cooked up a plan between them to move me on.

  ‘I think you know that time has come and gone, Nick,’ I said carefully.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘What –. What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that was Marcus on the phone. But you already know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh.’ Nick licked his lips – something I’d never seen him do. Nerves. He was nervous.

  ‘Marcus knows what we’ve been doing, doesn’t he?’ I asked.

  ‘Not exact–’

  ‘Marcus really doesn’t care what we’ve been doing, does he?’

  ‘He –’

  ‘Marcus and you decided, together, what we’d be doing, didn’t you?’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ he said.

  ‘You interchanged me. Like one of those groupies.’ My breaths were coming fast and furious, my hands clenching, my pulse thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings.

  His mouth tightened. ‘If you were a groupie, Chloe, I would have had you a year ago.’

  I was blinking again. ‘You –?’ Choke. ‘So that’s why it took a year? Because I wasn’t a groupie? Thank you. Thank you so much!’

  One of his hands went scraping through his hair. ‘No, it took a year because you wouldn’t open your goddamn eyes and see me. See him.’

  ‘Oh, my eyes were open. They were seeing you very clearly, Casanova Savage, trading girls with your teammates. But I never thought Marcus –’ My voice broke on his name. ‘I can’t believe he did this. I can’t believe I did this. I knew better than to do this.’

  I spun away, wanting to run, but Nick grabbed me by one swinging forearm and spun me right back. ‘Better than to do what, Chloe?’

  ‘Better than to fuck one of you … you … players.’

  ‘Fuck? Really? Is that what we were doing last night? Fucking?’ His jaw was so tight, it looked like it would crack if I tapped it with a fingernail. ‘Maybe you should be asking which player your precious Marcus wants to be fucking instead of you,’ he threw at me. Like, actually threw it. And then his eyes widened. ‘Holy fucking shit.’

  I’d sucked in a breath, preparing to spit out a little more vitriol, but it stuck in my chest. Blink. Blink. Breathe. Blink. Images flashing through my head one after the other, like screen grabs. Me, mystified after the first time I made love with Marcus, because it wasn’t as earth-shattering as I’d expected it to be. Marcus, kissing my forehead. Marcus, cringing that time I’d lap-danced him. The multiple underwear fails. Marcus tired and busy and … and tired again. Video calls keeping him home. Marcus’s flare of panic as he headed into the kitchen with Drew that night at Evie’s.

  Click, click, click, and there it was. The picture, in focus, at last.

  ‘Chloe!’ Nick cried, as I wrenched my arm free. ‘It’s not as bad as you think.’

  That breath that was stuck in my chest started wheezing thinly like I had emphysema. ‘So Marcus wants to fuck a player? Like, generally? Or you, specifically, Nick?’

  ‘He’s not – He didn’t – Chloe, listen. He didn’t even know himself until –’

  ‘Three months ago,’ I supplied. ‘When he stopped wanting to have sex with me.’

  ‘One month ago,’ Nick corrected me. ‘One month, that’s all. That’s when he knew for sure.’

  ‘Oh, one month, that’s all,’ I said with a brittle, humourless laugh. ‘Tell me, did you know, one month ago?’

  He stood there, silent, licking his lips again. ‘Did you, Nick?

  Did you? Tell me, goddamn you. Tell me now if you knew a month ago.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and I thought, Thank God. But I thought it too soon, because he added, ‘I knew eighteen months ago. Before he knew himself. Or at least before he let himself know.’

  I couldn’t breathe for a moment through the shock, the pain.

  He stepped towards me. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

  I held up my hands, staving him off. ‘So you knew even before he …? We …? Oh my God. Oh my God, my God, my God. How? How did you know? Are you … You’re not … Are you? Are you gay, too?’

  ‘Am I –? Jesus, Chloe, you know I’m not!’

  ‘What would I know? I dated a gay guy for a whole freaking year and didn’t know!’

  ‘Come down to the dark end of the deck and I’ll prove how straight I am.’

  ‘Then maybe you’ll be kind enough to do the decent thing and tell me just how you knew before he did.’

  He licked his lips again. ‘He got drunk one night and …’ Shrug, awkward. ‘You know he doesn’t drink a lot, so it … it affected him. And it … He … Look, I don’t think he even remembers that he touched me.’

  ‘He touched you. He touched you and you knew. He touched me, and I didn’t.’

  My knees started to buckle, but Nick grabbed me before I could collapse and hauled me upright. ‘You can handle this, Chloe.’

  ‘No,’ I said to his chest. ‘No, I can’t. I can’t.’

  ‘You can. You can. Look at me. Look.’

  But I kept my eyes on his chest. ‘So eighteen months … but he didn’t know … only you did. And then … one month ago … but he was still with me a month ago …’ I looked up then, almost too dazed to focus on Nick’s face. ‘When was he going to tell me?’

  ‘When you both got back to Sydney.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, but I really didn’t. ‘But he told you first.’

  ‘He came to see me after you broke up. The kiss, you told him about that kiss, and he wanted me not to sweat it. We talked about it, about you. I told him what I was going through,
how I felt about you. And he … he told me what he was going through in return.’

  ‘So he didn’t tell me. And then you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Chloe, be fair. He’s a rugby league player, a sports star. Coming out is going to be a big deal. He’s only just getting used to it himself.’

  ‘So … what? He was scared I’d steal his thunder and out him in a tell-all? Or was it you who thought that? There has to be some reason you didn’t tell me. It would have made getting into my pants easier, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you because I wanted this thing between us – between you and me – to be about us. I wanted it to be because you wanted me, not because you wanted to … to prove something to him. I wanted you to choose me, Chloe. And you did. I want you to choose me again now. Now that you know everything. Choose me, Chloe. Choose me.’

  He took my lifeless hand and brought it to his chest, over his heart. And the tears started to well in my eyes, because that gesture didn’t make me feel safe anymore.

  ‘Don’t cry, Chloe. Please, please don’t.’

  I shook my head, tears cascading. ‘I didn’t cry. Not for years and years and years. I trained myself not to. And then you brought me here, and now … Now, look what you’ve done to me.’

  ‘Shhh, shhh,’ he said, pulling me in, wrapping me up. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You cut a deal, didn’t you? How did it go? What did he say? ‘I’m gay, so take her off my hands so I don’t have to break it to her?’ Something like that? Did he tell you he’d already paved the way for you, by telling me to be nice to you? Did you think it wouldn’t matter to me which one of you I was with? Just like all those other girls in the harem? The harem, where everyone’s an adult and nobody’s getting hurt?’

  ‘Ah, Chloe. Don’t do this to yourself.’

  ‘Don’t say that! Ah, Chloe! Like that. Just … don’t! And don’t tell me not to do this to myself. I didn’t do this to myself. He did it to me. And you did it to me. Can you believe he said he loved me? He said that, less than a week ago. And I told you what he said. I told you, you bastard.’ My breath hitched, painfully, as I tried to struggle out of his arms – no luck though, he held me so tightly. ‘And you saw what it was doing to me, the … the guilt of being with you, of wanting you. And you could have helped me, you could have let me off the hook, you could have said, Don’t feel guilty. Chloe, because he’s gay and he can’t love you, but you never said a word.’