“Whatever could he have to say that would make me change my mind that he’s in the wrong?”
“I cannot even begin to imagine.”
Julian’s words stay with me as I pace the pavement. I look up at the entrance to the park. It’s opposite the flat Mac put me in. If I turn I’d be able to see my old balcony, but I refuse to look up at it. It’s too painful. I keep my attention on the park. In all my time at the flat I never visited. It’s a bit ironic that I’ve chosen to do it now. I check my watch again, but it appears to have stopped. I hold it to my face and shake my wrist, huffing when anotherminute clicks over. It is working. It’s just the time in my world that seems to have stopped.
I slide my hand into my jean pocket. The fake wedding ring is still there. I’d considered sending it back to him when I left but I just couldn’t do it. Now I carry it everywhere with me, and it’s come to feel like a talisman—as if some of his protection has seeped into the warm metal.
I resume my pacing. My belly is clenched tight, and I don’t know whether it’s caused by anger at Mac or nerves at seeing him again. Seeing him last night had managed to undo all the good work I’d done in the past month. I’d bolstered my heart, persuading myself he was a cold bastard who wasn’t worth my tears. Then one look at him had torn down that tower of shitty lies. He’s just a man—flawed and damaged but still kind. I can’t hate him even if I want to.
But I am still angry. Julian might say it’s a cover, but he doesn’t know the mixture of shame and embarrassment that makes my stomach churn like a washing machine. It’s bad enough that he paid me for sex, but now he’s rescuing my gambling addict of a brother. It’s a shame Jeremy Kyle is off-air now, because we’d have been a surefire hit on that show.
I rub my neck, feeling like someone is watching me. When I turn around, I see Mac standing a few feet away from me, his eyes intent. I greedily take in his appearance. He’s wearing another of his expensive suits, this one charcoal grey, and his hair shines as dark as a blackbird’s wing in the sunshine. He’s watching me just as hungrily, his eyes avid.
He slides his hands into his pockets. The move draws the material of his trousers tight over his thighs and groin, and I swallow hard at the memories that fill me. I feel hungry, angry, and yearning. It’s not a comfortable mix.
“How long have you been there?” I say hoarsely.
He shrugs. “A few minutes.”
“Why didn’t you shout me?”
“I wanted to watch you,” he says simply.
I groan. “You can’t say things like that.”
Humour lights his tired eyes for a second. “Why not? You’re fascinating.”
“You know why.”
The smile dies away, and he nods at the park entrance. “Shall we walk?”
I nod and fall into step next to him. The park is busy with joggers and mums pushing prams. A small playground is full of children, their happy screams reaching us as we walk.
In unspoken agreement, we take a path away from the public and walk a little longer in a silence full of a charged energy. I’m frantically trying to prop up my anger, so I don’t feel the yearning for him. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Maybe I never did.
That dark thought makes me stop dead on the path. “Why?” I ask.
He stops beside me, making no pretence at not knowing what I’m talking about. “Because.”
“Because what? Why did you do that for Tyler?” A thought strikes my brain like a bolt of lightning, and a number of things suddenly make sense. “Oh god. That’s not all you did, is it?”
He hesitates, suddenly cautious. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t just find him and put him in a clinic, did you?”
He scratches his chin in a rare sign of nerves. Then he looks steadfastly at me. “You know I didn’t.”
Things are coming together. Tyler’s absence. The lack of trouble. The surety behind his texts that he was okay.
“Oh my god,” I say slowly. “He’s been staying with you.” He nods, and the shock takes my breath away. “At yourhome?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t invite people to your home.Idon’t even know where you fucking live.” For some reason, this feels like a massive betrayal, and I don’t know why and don’t have the time to figure it out.
He swallows. “Would you like to?” he says hoarsely.
I point my finger at him. The thought that Tyler was at his house—a place where Mac wouldn’t take me—is obliterating everything else. “Don’t even offer that. It’s too late for that shit.”
