Runaway Heart (A Game of Hearts #2)

by Sonya Loveday

  “Hannah?” Johnny called out, his eyes glazed over as he looked up at me.

  “Don’t mind me. Just grabbing my bag. Continue on,” I said quickly, feeling like my skin had been left out all day under the sun.

  He was too drunk or stoned or whatever to understand.

  “Hey! You didn’t call me back after the other night,” he shouted as the girl underneath him squirmed and hiccupped.

  I stopped, turned, and said, “I know.”

  As soon the door closed behind me, I leaned back against the wall and turned around, tapping my head repeatedly against it.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  My phone vibrated in my bag. I fumbled for it through the mess of clothes and various makeups, answering it on the last ring. “Hello?”

  “Hannah?” It was Maggie. “I can barely hear you over the music. Where are you?”

  “Hang on,” I said, trying to work my way through the crowd of partiers to the nearby bathroom. Once I shut the door behind me, the noises were muffled a bit, so I said, “How the hell are you? I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. We’ve been slammed with vacationers. Summer’s the season, you know?”

  “For sure. So what’s up? Everything going good?”

  “Yeah.” She went quiet for a moment, hesitation in her voice. This meant there was something she wanted to tell me. Something serious. The last time she pulled that type of quiet was when she delivered the news about her near-death experience after falling off her boat.

  If there was ever a time I wanted to strangle my best friend, it was then.

  “What is it, Maggs?” I asked, trying not to get too worked up, thinking about her daughter Autumn, who couldn’t be older than a year.

  “I want you to be my maid-of-honor.”

  Well, I didn’t see that coming.

  “Really?” I asked, my heart inflating, trying to float out of my chest.

  “Yeah. And we have everything paid for… even a plane ticket. All you need to do is make sure you have the weekend off and, well, be here. Do you want to? Be my maid-of-honor, that is?”

  My lips parted to answer her, but I was cut off when the bathroom door swung open. A girl in a black, pleather mini-skirt and a glittery halter-top rushed over to the sink.

  You might want to turn your head for this part.

  I tried to contain my gag as she filled the sink with the inside of her stomach. Tried not to curse her out when she looked over at me with glossy eyes, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then stumbled back out of the bathroom, shouting to one of her ditsy friends that she was ready to party again.

  W. T. F.

  “Absolutely,” I said into the phone, kicking the door shut and locking it against the chance of more unwanted vomiters. “Any chance I get to see my best friend and get the hell out of here is a chance I’m taking.”

  Maggie laughed into the phone. “I’m glad to hear that, because we decided to just have the wedding. Simple and easy. No planning. Just me, him, our closest family, and the beach.”

  “And when is this magical day taking place?”

  “Next weekend.” Her voice trailed off on a lilted, pleading high note.

  “Of course it’s next weekend, because when can you ever make a serious life decision not on a whim?”

  We both laughed.

  “I know it’s really soon. I won’t hold it against you if you can’t make it.”

  “I can,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes trained on the door and not the sink. “What better way to finish out the summer than with my best friend?”

  She giggled. “Umm… nothing’s coming to mind.”

  More knocks banged against the door. Apparently, my important phone call had no place at a party. “Cool. Send me all the info, and I’ll get my ish together,” I said as a little bit of the weight my interesting night brought finally lifted.

  Maggie always could turn my frown upside down.

  “BLOODY FUCKING HELL…”

  It was too early for the screaming match happening outside the front door of my flat.

  As I got out of bed as slowly as possible to keep from alerting the percussion band on stand-by in my head from last night’s over-indulgence, I scooped up my discarded boot and chucked it at the door. The laces sailed through the air, looking like one of those wonky, blow-up air-dancing things I’d seen in a used car lot back in the States.

  My boot hit the door with a loud bang, making the thin wood shudder in its frame.

  The arseholes quieted down.

  Content they’d move on, I made my way back to bed, pulling my pillow over my head when round two kicked off.

  With a grunt, I tossed my pillow, climbing out of bed and growling as I snatched the boot that I’d tossed earlier off the floor. I yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway, ready with my own string of curse words to sort them out.

  “…saw ye with me own eyes, ye bloody wanker.”

  “…I’m tellin’ ye it wasn’t me—”

  The fug of alcohol fumes coming off the both of them made my stomach lurch. I took a shuddering breath and steadied myself by bracing my feet. Clearing my throat to work up a proper yell, I took in the scene before me. I’d seen them before, once or twice, snogging in the hallway.

  Well, they’re not snogging now, are they, mate? Give ‘em a good wallop with your boot and be done with it so we can get back to bed. Yeah?

  I brought the boot up by its laces and watched it swing in front of me like a pendulum.

  “And wot the hell d’ye think ye’ll do wi’ tha’?” the girl asked, shoving past her boyfriend and yanking the boot out of my hand.

  I reached to snatch it from her. “Give it back, ye cow!”

  Her reflexes were better than mine. To add insult to my miss, she held it up with a sneer. “A cow, is it?” she taunted, and then hurled the boot at my head.

  Her boyfriend, finding the situation funny, planted his ass against the wall and bent over, laughing hysterically when I ducked and crossed my arms over my head to keep from getting booted.

  “Hoy! What the devil are ye on about? Get out the hallway and shurrup afore I call the old nick on the lot of ye!” my neighbor—Annie Fielding—from two doors down shouted before slamming her door.

  With the girl’s attention turned away from me, I snatched my boot from the floor, chucked it inside my flat, and then stood there, giving them the ‘ole evil eye, hoping it would make them clear out faster.

  Both nutters stood motionless in the hallway, but at least the boyfriend stopped his imitation of a braying donkey.

  “Ed, is there a problem out here?” Roger asked, stepping out into the hallway wearing his robe. In one hand, he held a steaming cup, in the other, a cordless telephone.

  I waved, feeling a smug smile pull at my lips. “I’ll be all right once these two clear out and I can get some sleep.”

  “Good and well,” he answered, turning his attention on them. “Be off with ye. If I see ye loitering outside my door again havin’ a row, I’ll report ye first thing.”

  The girl, classy as she was in her skirt that barely covered her backside and a see-through tank top, flicked us off, and then smacked the lift button, completely ignoring her boyfriend, who silently moved to stand beside her.

  When the lift door closed, I heard Roger say, “I’m surprised ye woke up. It’s a bit early for a night owl like yourself.”

  I yawned as if on cue, clapping my hand over my mouth. “Just got in about an hour ago.”

  “That late, was it? I thought ye got out of work ‘round three?” he asked before taking a swallow from his cup.

  My eyelids felt like heavily weighted sandbags, and my blinks seemed to be exaggeratingly slow as I answered, “Some bloke Charlie—the pub owner—knows is getting married, so he told him he could have a stag party at the pub.”

  “Did a little celebrating, did ye?” He laughed when I brought my fingers up to indicate my part
icipation in said celebrating. “Well, ye’ll get no sympathy from me on that,” he replied, eyes dancing in merriment.

  I snorted. “I’m not hungover, just exhausted.” Which was sort of the truth. I’d only had a couple of drinks, but those, added to the fact I hadn’t a wink of sleep the night before, compounded into one giant-sized headache working its way up to the point of blowing my head clean off my shoulders.

  There was one thing about Roger Denton… make that two things. He called it like he saw it, and he didn’t take shite from anyone.

  He was the perfect neighbor. Even more so after dispatching the lover’s quarrel, making the hallway nice and quiet again.

  “See ya later, Roger,” I said, giving him a slight wave as I stumbled back into my flat, hoping my legs wouldn’t give out on me before I could cross the room and fall down on my bed.

  “DID YE JUS’ ROLL OUT the bed?” Charlie called out as I tied my apron around my waist. “Or did ye make it to bed at all?”

  He laughed at his own joke as he slapped me on the back.

  Taking a quick peek at myself in the beveled mirror above the till, I realized I looked like hell. Rolling my bloodshot eyes at my reflection, I shoved my fingers through my rain-dampened hair.

  It’s a good thing the lasses like the whole ‘just rolled out of bed look’ these days.

  Charlie snickered at my waterlogged appearance as I dried my hands on a discarded bar towel.

  “Have another stag party like that again, mate, and yer on your own.”

  Charlie, the wanker, just laughed at me and left me to it.

  Sodding arsehole.

  I couldn’t complain too much about Charlie. Once he’d found out I was back from my stint in the States, he put word around for me to come see him. It was how I got the job at Gads Hill Pub, working for him, late into the night.

  Rochester wasn’t on my list of places I wanted to settle down in, but neither was London. I had enough of big city living, well, except for New York. I’d go back in a heartbeat if I could. Two years wasn’t long enough of an adventure. But like all good things—it came to an end.

  With a sigh, I tucked those memories away and set about wiping down the bar.

  “Hoy!” a distinctly familiar voice called out from across the room, stalling my hand in mid-circular motion.

  “Holy shite! John, is that you, mate?” I reached across the bar, taking a grip on his hand, giving it a firm shake.

  “Heard you were back and thought—what the hell. I might as well take a drive down and see the old chap! How was America?” John asked as he settled belly-up to the bar.

  “Brilliant! If you ever get the chance to go, ye should,” I answered, adding, “What can I get ya?”

  He slapped a tenner on the bar. “Pull me a pint of Fosters. So why didn’t ye come back to London?”

  “Wanted a change of scenery,” I answered, keeping my answer to the basics. There was no way I wanted to get into the real reason I’d decided London was no longer the place for me.

  “And this is what you chose to look at?” He looked around the bar, and then back at me as I set the pint in front of him. Scowling down into it, he said, “She asked about ye.”

  And there it was. My past rearing up to smack me straight in the gob.

  I did my best to side step the conversation about her. “So, ye heard I was back and wasted the petrol to come see me. I gotta say, mate, I’m flattered.” I didn’t want to talk about her, or even think about her. We had both moved on, although she had first.

  John took a long swallow of beer and belched. “Ye ain’t that pretty. Had to come this way for work and thought I’d pop ‘round to see for myself if you really were back.”

  “I’m here,” I answered, unable to keep the touch of disappointment that hung heavy with my words out of my voice.

  John eyed me over the rim of his glass. “Well, ye look the same. I guess those Americans didn’t change ye too much.”

  I gave him a tight smile in reply and moved down the bar when a new customer sat down.

  John’s remark hit me square in the chest. While I might not look like I’d changed much, that was only on the outside. My life in New York, and all the experiences that came along with it, had forever changed me.

  Who’d have thought two years ago, I would have actually enjoyed my time there so much that I missed it every single day. What really made the biggest difference was my roommate Phillip. The Yank became one of my very best friends. A real friend. Someone I could count on.

  “What can I get ye?” I asked, grabbing a glass as the guy across the bar dropped his briefcase on the seat beside him.

  “A pint of Fosters,” the guy answered.

  I busied myself getting his drink, glad to have the brief moment away from John’s prying questions. I’d done well at keeping everything lodged in the back of my mind. Would have probably been able to keep it that way if not for John popping in out of the blue.

  “The boys want to know when you’ll be ‘round. They even offered to buy ye a pint or two,” John called out to me as I set the customer’s order in front of him.

  “I can’t be sure. My schedule is—” The vibration of my cell phone in my back pocket kept me from finishing. When I fished it out of my back pocket, I read the caller name. An instant smile bloomed across my face.

  “Phil, ye bloody bastard! How the hell are ye?”

  The phone hissed and popped in my ear with the static-filled connection. “Hey, Ed! I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  “Nah, there’s no bad time for your calls, mate. How’s everything? How’s our Maggie?” I asked, moving to the far end of the bar to keep my conversation somewhat private.

  “We’re doing great. Listen, I don’t want to keep you too long and rack up a huge phone bill, so I’m going to make this quick. Maggie and I are getting married next weekend, and I want you to be my best man. Tickets are bought, so you have to come.”

  “Oh, I have to, is it? Did ye think I could just drop everything and come?”

  “It’s not for me, asshole. It’s for Maggie,” Phillip countered.

  I laughed. “Well, in that case, I’ll be there. Can’t let our Maggie down, now can we?”

  “Jackass.”

  “Wanker.”

  God, I missed Phil.

  “I’ll send you an email with all the information after we get off the phone. Will that work?”

  “It will. Give Maggie a kiss for us,” I said, baiting my best friend again before we hung up.

  “You’re lucky you’re so far away right now,” Phil replied. “Next weekend, Ed. Make sure your ass is on that plane!”

  “I’ll be there with bells on. See ye then.” I hung up with a chuckle.

  “Pull me a pint of—” another customer said, waving his hand to get my attention.

  I held my finger up. “Hold that thought, mate,” I said, beelining for Charlie’s office.

  He looked up, startled, when I poked my head in. “Take me off the schedule next weekend.”

  “Wait, what do ye mean, take ye off the damn schedule? Where the hell ye goin’?”

  “Rum Cay!” I shouted over my shoulder as I headed back to the bar.

  Phillip’s call was just what I needed to get out of my funk.

  “YOU HAVE TO BE ABOUT the cutest, little person I think I’ve ever seen,” I said as I rubbed my nose against the soft down of Autumn’s hair, my heart warming when the corner of her lip curled into a smile. I looked up at Maggie. “How many months is she now?”

  “Four,” she cooed, playing with Autumn’s finger.

  “Wow… has it really been that long?” I stared down at the precious baby sleeping in my arms.

  “Yeah… it has,” Maggie said on a sigh. “But, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

  I looked between them, feeling almost crippled by how much love I felt toward them. The overwhelming emotions felt like a wad of cotton had been crammed down my throat. I hadn�
�t realized just how much I actually missed my best friend until the plane touched down on the tarmac and I saw her small form holding Autumn, engulfed in Phillip’s arms, waving furiously at me.

  I sprinted over to her as soon as my feet touched solid ground and, ever since, we’d holed ourselves up in the office of her small dive shop, spilling secrets and sharing all the stories we had stored up since we last saw each other.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s clear she gets her good looks by osmosis from her Auntie Hannah. Lord knows we were all worried she’d come out with orange hair.”

  I laughed when Maggie glared at me in her usual way. The kind that made puppies roll over and ask for belly scratches.

  “And you, as the maid of honor, should only be showering me with encouraging words,” she retorted, crossing her arms in faux anger.

  Playing the part of bridezilla fit who she was about as much as me playing a lovesick schoolgirl.

  I looked at her sideways. Felt her forehead for signs of fever. “You are Maggie Fairchild, right? The same straight-talking, don’t-give-a-shit chick I knew growing up? Don’t tell me parenthood has made you all sensitive.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry… it’s just… I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should have planned this wedding rather than winging it. I’m about to marry the man I’m madly in love with, and I’m not even sure if his parents will show. Not that their opinion matters… I just… they haven’t even met Autumn yet.”

  My shoulders buckled as I looked down at Autumn. “Yeah, well, they’d be fucktards not to come. And, if they don’t, then they don’t deserve the chance to get to know this amazingly beautiful little girl,” I said, grabbing Maggie’s hand.

  Maggie hadn’t heard a word through her apocalyptic, internal meltdown.

  “Do you think I’m insane for doing this?” she asked, picking at the doughnut on the napkin on her desk while I nursed a Red Bull.

  “For doing what?”

  “Getting married last minute, and then taking Autumn on a family trip rather than a honeymoon.”

  “What’s the definition of insane anyway?” I asked with a small shrug as I set Autumn in her travel crib. She stirred, stretching her tiny arms, and then smacked her lips once before succumbing back to the land of slumber.