So Now You're Back

by Heidi Rice

  ‘I had no idea it was as bad as that.’

  His thigh muscles bunched beneath her palm, and guilt rolled through her at the stark, grim picture he was painting. He’d said it wasn’t her fault, but maybe it had been. A little bit.

  It had been so easy for her to romanticise and exploit the few things she knew about Luke’s home life as a teenager. He’d been the quintessential bad boy. Wounded and wanting, someone who could love her just for her. Unlike her parents, who had always set limits and conditions on their affection.

  Leaving home at seventeen, shacking up with Luke, having Lizzie a year later had been an easy way to liberate herself from the weight of those expectations. But all the time it had been the opposite of romantic for him.

  ‘Of course you didn’t know.’ He focused on her, the haunted look she remembered shadowing his eyes. ‘Why would I ever tell you? You were my escape from all that. Being around you was like having this force field that protected me from them.’ He covered her hand on his leg, circled the skin with his thumb. ‘The first time we made love, you held me afterwards. You said all sorts of cheesy things about being in love with me.’ He chuckled. ‘You were such a starry-eyed romantic. But it felt so good to have you hug me like that. To have you hold me like you cared. You made it better, at least for a while.’

  ‘And then I got pregnant with Lizzie. And you were trapped again.’ Even if she couldn’t have made the connection then, she could see it clearly now. She’d been playing at being a grown-up, while he’d been looking for a way out.

  How young and naive she’d been. Because as much as she’d wanted to nurture him in their early days, she’d abandoned the quest as soon as she had Lizzie to focus on. Lizzie, her beautiful baby girl, who had been tiny and new and needy, and had none of the frustrating complexities, the unbreachable defences of her father.

  And how ironic, that it had been those dark unknowable qualities in Luke—his moods, his secrets, his inability to share and discuss—that she had blamed him for later on, that had made him so wildly attractive to her in the first place.

  She blew out a breath.

  God, what a mess we made, both of us.

  ‘We should have waited,’ she said. ‘We were far too young to have a baby.’

  ‘Well, thank God we didn’t wait.’ He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Or we wouldn’t have Lizzie now.’

  ‘I know, but even so, you weren’t ready for that kind of responsibility.’

  The tightness in her chest loosened. The tightness she had refused to acknowledge for years but had always been there, crouching under her heart, ready to pounce out of the shadows if she didn’t keep it ruthlessly controlled.

  Was that the real reason she’d refused to talk to him for sixteen years? Not anger, not hurt, but guilt? Because she’d made the decision to have Lizzie without a thought to his feelings, his fears, and had always known, however much she later tried to deny it, that she had been partly to blame for his withdrawal?

  ‘Hal, I would never have been ready. Not until I dealt with where I came from.’ Shifting round, he placed his hands on either side of her hips.

  She drew back. ‘But I put so much pressure on you. And after you’d had all that therapy to get yourself straight, I wouldn’t let you come back. I wouldn’t even talk to you.’

  ‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got an overdeveloped sense of responsibility?’

  She let out a shaky laugh at his exasperated look. ‘Your daughter has called me a control freak, on numerous occasions. Does that count?’

  ‘It’s on the spectrum.’ The wry smile was ridiculously comforting. ‘The thing is, the therapy helped. But you know what really got me straight?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Lizzie. Even if you wouldn’t talk to me, you let me have her for six weeks a year, when you didn’t have to.’

  She coughed out a laugh. ‘I hate to say it, but I’m pretty sure the main reason I let you see her was because I thought you’d cave after one week of looking after a three-year-old on your own.’ She played with the hem of her T-shirt, keen to look anywhere but his face.

  God, honesty hour is a bitch.

  ‘You have no idea how miffed I was when Lizzie came back from that first trip with a thousand and one stories about how terrific her daddy was and what a great time she’d had.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ He sent her a wry smile. ‘I’m guessing she didn’t mention being sick on the Phantom Manor ride at Disneyland, then. Or wetting the bed the first night because I’d forgotten to stock up on night nappies.’

  ‘No, funnily enough she didn’t mention any of that.’ Halle laughed at the thought of his struggling to look after a three-year-old, but her amusement was bittersweet.

  Suddenly, all those glowing reports over the years, of all the amazing, fabulous, astonishingly awesome stuff Lizzie did in Paris while she was with Luke, could be viewed in a very different light. Was it possible they had never been a stick to beat Halle with? Had Lizzie simply been sugar-coating the truth to protect her daddy and the bond she had with him?

  And to think Halle had always thought she’d hidden her anger towards him so well. She’d even boasted about it to the family therapist, when the woman had probed. No, she didn’t have any communication with Lizzie’s father, but she’d never spoken a disparaging word about him in her daughter’s presence. She’d congratulated herself on her forbearance, her magnanimity, her ability to be the bigger, better person. But what if Lizzie had known exactly how she felt all along, and had kept that knowledge a secret, because she’d thought she had to, to keep Luke in her life?

  Apparently, hindsight is a bitch, too.

  ‘Lizzie always told me what an amazing time she had with you,’ she said. ‘I hated that you were Super Dad while I could never quite manage to be Super Mum.’

  ‘I can assure you,’ Luke said. ‘All the therapy in the world couldn’t really make me Super Dad. Most of the time it felt like Lizzie was parenting me. She’s so smart and capable. Just like you always were.’

  ‘Not like me,’ Halle corrected. ‘If I had been as smart and capable as I thought, I might have realised that by trying to be Super Mum I never gave Lizzie the room to be imperfect. To fail and know it was OK.’

  ‘No need to worry, Super Mum.’ Luke’s hand rested on her knee. ‘I had the failure-by-example part of her parenting well and truly covered.’

  She smiled. Even though she knew now she’d never even come close to being Super Mum.

  ‘So are we good now?’ he asked.

  The steady gaze made her feel shaky and far too aware of him. She had the closure she’d needed for sixteen years. That was enough. It had to be enough. ‘Yes, we’re good.’

  He framed her face. ‘Then how do you feel about a spot of make-up sex, to seal the deal?’

  She laughed, the giddy rush of endorphins going some way to explain the crazy leap of her pulse. ‘Make-up sex sounds good.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ he said, the hesitant smile scarily sweet. ‘Because I’m not sure I can pull out like that again without causing myself a serious injury.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said, grasping his head to tug him closer.

  He slanted his lips across hers. The kiss was deep, hungry, leaving her breathless and yearning. She worked his towel loose, to find him hugely erect. She caressed the thick column from root to tip, loving the feel of him, the velvet steel so soft, and yet so hard, as he groaned.

  Threading her fingers through his hair, she brought his face to hers.

  ‘I need you inside me,’ she said.

  He grasped her waist, wrestled off her T-shirt, the tension dissolving as his rough palms stroked her sides. ‘I know.’

  She stretched out on the bed, pulling his arm until his body covered hers. His thumb circled her clitoris, one thick finger sliding into her. The coil of longing yanked tight inside her.

  ‘Seriously, Luke, this is one of the few times I don’t need foreplay.’

 
; He laughed, the sound strained as he held her hips, positioning her underneath him. She spread her thighs, angled her pelvis until his penis nudged her slick sex. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she grasped his buttocks, ready to beg.

  But then he sank into her in one solid thrust.

  Her breath expelled from her lungs as she adjusted to the fullness. Her muscles clenched round the thick intrusion as he filled up all the spaces inside her that had felt empty for so long.

  ‘How does that feel?’ he asked.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Better than Bugs?’

  She slapped his arse. ‘Shut up and move, Best.’

  ‘You asked for it, lady.’ He hooked his hands under her knees, leaving her fully open to him, unable to resist the punishing depth of his thrusts, as he established a steady rhythm, which quickly became more furious, more frantic.

  The fever built in hot waves, her sex clenching and releasing as he worked a spot deep inside. Maybe size mattered, after all.

  His eyes met hers, the pupils dilated, and then his hand splayed across her back and he lifted her to clamp his mouth over a straining nipple.

  The hard suction, the shock of memory, sent her spinning as he sucked the rigid nipple to the roof of his mouth. The fireball of need blazed through her, sending her soaring towards the final edge.

  The brutal orgasm slammed into her as his hips pistoned, the deep thrusts gathering pace and purpose. Her mind spun free, the cries of fulfilment echoing off the polished wooden walls.

  He grunted as she massaged his thick length, then shouted out as he came and collapsed on top of her.

  They panted in unison, the heavy weight of him crushing her into the mattress. He nuzzled her neck, sending sensation echoing into her sex.

  ‘That was fast,’ he said.

  ‘It’s been a while.’ Her throat clogged with the new rush of emotion—the poignant moment of shared intimacy. ‘You remembered.’

  He lifted off her, his still-firm penis sliding out. ‘Remembered what, exactly?’ he teased, all mock innocence.

  She would have laughed if she didn’t suddenly feel so scared.

  ‘You know perfectly well what,’ she countered.

  ‘I bet Bugs can’t do that,’ he said, lifting his eyebrows to accompany the naughty grin.

  She gave him a playful punch and chuckled. ‘Will you please shut up about Bugs?’ And forced back the fear.

  Don’t be a muppet. You’re a smart, successful and eminently sensible career woman now. No way would you ever be idiotic enough to confuse sex with love a second time. Even great sex. Even great mind-blowing make-up sex.

  As they lay side by side, both staring at the ceiling fan, the silence disturbed only by the regulatory clip of the fan’s blades, he grasped her fingers and raised them to his lips.

  ‘Of course I remembered.’ He buzzed a kiss across her knuckles. ‘You never forget your first, Hal.’

  Her heart punched her ribs, because she didn’t feel very sensible any more.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Lizzie, are you up?’

  A low voice beckoned Lizzie out of dreamland, along with the light tap on her bedroom door.

  She clicked on her iPhone. Squinted at the luminous digital clock. Seven a.m. ‘Just about.’

  A nimbus of light from the hall silhouetted Trey in the doorway. ‘Sorry, you’re still in bed.’

  Thrusting the mess of hair off her face, she smiled at the light blush on his cheeks. ‘It’s OK, I’m not naked.’

  He coughed into his hand. And she could have sworn his gaze flicked to her breasts. Her nipples rose accordingly, thrusting against the thin cotton camisole she wore with pyjama bottoms. She’d seen that look quite a few times, ever since their X-rated snog in the park. Intent and wary, and observant enough to make her mouth water and her thighs go all trembly. However much he might want to deny it, Trey was as aware of her now as she was of him and it felt … empowering. In a Beyoncé ‘Single Ladies’ kind of way. Because she knew however much he wanted her, Trey would never ask. Never cross that line. And never try to shame her into putting out the way Liam had. So it was entirely up to her to take the initiative. The thought would have crippled her with nerves a week ago. But, after all those secret looks, now it made her feel strong and sexy and, well, empowered.

  She flung back the duvet, leaped out of the bed and whipped her robe off the pile of magazines and assorted other crap littered all over the floor. ‘Come in, Trey.’

  He stood stranded in the doorway, watching her every move as she tied the robe. ‘I need to ask you a favour,’ he said, taking a cautious step into the room.

  She crossed to the door and pushed it shut behind him. He stared down at her mouth for a moment. A long, exhilarating moment.

  ‘What’s the favour?’ she asked finally, when he didn’t continue.

  He snapped back to full consciousness. ‘Could you take Aldo to school this morning?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She put her anticipation on lockdown. Noticing the smudged hollows under his eyes for the first time. He’d gone out last night after putting Aldo to bed. And she didn’t know when he’d returned. ‘Is it your mum?’

  He gave a weary nod. ‘It’s probably a false alarm. I’ve had a few of those. But the hospice nurse called and said I might want to come in a bit earlier today. She’s had a rough night.’

  ‘Stay as long as you need to. I can pick up Aldo, too, if you want.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  But as he reached for the doorknob, she slid her hand into his. ‘Trey, wait.’

  He turned back. Letting go of his hand, she stretched up on tiptoes and placed her hands against his chest. He felt warm and solid, but the ripple of tension wasn’t far behind.

  ‘You look like you could use a hug.’

  ‘Better not,’ he said, not denying it.

  She touched his cheek, inhaled the scent of his citrus shaving soap and peppermint toothpaste. And waited for his gaze to meet hers.

  ‘I’m not fragile, you know.’ She certainly didn’t feel fragile any more. ‘You don’t have to protect me.’ The rush of tenderness was as potent as the rush of endorphins. Whatever happened between them in the long-term, even if it was nothing, here and now, she knew he needed her. And she wanted to show him she cared. She peered up at him, then cradled his cheeks and pulled his mouth to hers. ‘And it’s only a kiss.’

  She touched her lips to his. His hands bracketed her hips and, for a second, she thought he would push her away, but then he groaned and tugged her closer, opening his mouth to let her in.

  She sank her fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp. The kiss was hot, and tempting, the sweetness and need leaving her breathless. He broke away, his breathing ragged, but held her for a few minutes more, his nose buried in her hair.

  ‘Thanks, that was nice,’ he said, ridiculously formal and polite, but with the hint of dry humour.

  She drew back, enjoying the amused twist on his lips. ‘It was entirely my pleasure.’ At least she’d managed to take the misery away for a moment. ‘I’ll be here when you get back. If you need someone to talk to, call.’

  ‘OK.’ He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, as if sealing in the sensation.

  ‘And don’t worry, I’ll cover for you with my mum when she calls.’

  ‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

  ‘You’re not asking.’ Lifting on tiptoes, she kissed him once more. The chaste peck one of affection, of understanding and reassurance, this time.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said again. Then left the room.

  She floated back towards the bed, on a cloud of bliss, until she spotted the clock on her iPhone.

  Crapola. Ten past seven, she had a measly forty minutes to get Aldo up, clothed, fed and pack-lunch enabled. A tall order for Super Nanny, let alone a girl with the worst bed hair in the history of the world.

  Chapter 18

  Get a room, people. Extreme PDAs are the last thing I need this morning.
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br />   Halle glared at the couple canoodling on the bench at the far end of the reception building’s porch. They were the third loved-up pair she’d spotted this morning since slipping away from Luke, whom she’d left snoring softly in her bed, to jog over to the resort’s reception for the noon Skype call she’d scheduled with the kids. She pulled her iPhone out and plugged in the earbuds so she wouldn’t have to hear the nauseating murmur of sweet nothings being exchanged ten feet away. She wondered vaguely what Luke was going to do about his exposé, if it turned out Monroe’s methods actually worked?

  The panic that had propelled her out of Luke’s arms like a rocket twenty minutes ago whizzed up the back of her neck and set her scalp alight.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Monroe’s method is just a clever con. Last night was an illusion. The perfect storm of hot make-up sex and long-overdue closure. The ultimate stress buster after surviving a ten-day emotional and physical assault course.

  You are not falling for Luke again. That much is non-negotiable.

  Signing on to the resort’s Wi-Fi, she opened up her Skype app, checked the time and then waited for Lizzie to pick up.

  Her daughter’s face flashed onto the screen, the bright smile a surprise. ‘Hi, Mum, how’s things in the US?’

  Halle shifted round so only the resort building’s white-shingled wall was in view and sent up a small prayer of thanks for the grainy image quality. ‘Hi, honey, everything’s great.’ She pushed the prickle of guilt aside, promising herself there would be no more lies. Once she returned home. ‘More to the point, how are you guys doing?’

  ‘We’re good, but I asked first. And I want details.’ Lizzie leaned into the shot as if trying to peer past her. ‘What city are you in? And how have the signings been going?’