A Lifetime of Tomorrows (Shattered Men #1)

Chapter 1

Harvey

“Isn’t this your stop?”

I jumped as the old lady sitting next to me gently touched my arm. “What? Oh, yeah, sorry.” I smiled and gripped my backpack tighter.

I’d been gazing around absentmindedly as the train rattled along the tracks, almost lulled to sleep by the gentle sway as it made its way down the line.

We rode the Tube three mornings a week. Me on my way to a job I detested, her to goodness knows where. It’d been this way for the past few weeks, and other than a brief hello, we’d spoken very little, but she always sat by me whenever she could.

The brakes squealed loudly as we pulled into the station before the train lurched to a stop. I heaved myself to my feet and braced myself for the rush to come.

“Thanks.” I smiled again. It didn’t hurt to be kind.

“You’re welcome, dearie. Wouldn’t want you to be late for work.”

I fought my way to the door and slipped through the gap as it opened, puffing out a breath as I stepped onto the platform, the stench of dampness unmistakable in the underground.

I hated riding the metal tube, but I’d take it over an hour-long bus journey any day, and I didn’t have that kind of time to travel.

“Move out of the fucking way,” an angry voice said behind me. I felt a hard shove and almost dropped my backpack, but I should have known better than to stand still. Rush hour was a bitch, both above and below ground.

The doors hissed closed, the rails whining as the train disappeared into the dank, dark tunnel. That was my cue to climb the concrete stairs, out of the white-tiled tunnels, and up into the fresh air.

Tempted as I was to make a run for it and escape to places unknown, I turned towards the tall building where I worked. My stomach churned at the thought of another day spent talking to people I didn’t care about, listening to the problems of the customers, and doing my best to put them right.

Working in customer service was a drag, but I was ill-equipped to do anything else.

I’d drifted from job to job since leaving school, and twelve years later, I was still looking for the right one.

I had no aspirations to become a pilot, a doctor, a lawyer, or a dentist. I might have at some point, but all my drive and enthusiasm for life had disappeared, along with the few friends I had.

My life had been one disappointment after another.

Could I call myself an orphan at twenty-eight?

That’s what I was, my parents both having died; my dad from a heart attack eight years ago, and my mum of Covid.

To top it all, I’d lost my grandma a mere six months after Mum had died, and I’d struggled since then.

I’d been on my own for four years, living in the house I’d grown up in, with constant reminders in every room of the happiness we’d shared.

I suppose I should have sold up, but the house was mine.

The mortgage had been paid when Mum passed away, leaving me with nothing but a few household bills to pay each month.

Plus, it was my childhood home, and I cherished the memories we’d made there.

“Good morning,” Ed said as I stepped into the lift, another metal box taking me to the twentieth floor for the next eight hours.

“Is it?” I asked, thinking of the day ahead and what it might hold.

“Could be worse.” He nudged me, a wide smile on his face. Ed, my co-worker was an eternal optimist, whereas I wasn’t. I wasn’t a pessimist. I just experienced very little joy in my life.

“How, Ed? We have to spend eight hours sitting in a barren office listening to people complain.”

“Eh, you’ve got a point, but look on the bright side. It’s Gerald’s birthday. There’ll be cake, at least.”

“Let’s hope it’s not carrot like last time.”

“You find the worst in everything, Harvey. Lighten the fuck up. Come out for a drink later. Take the stick out of your arse and let your hair down. Who knows? You might enjoy yourself for a change.”

Was I really that miserable?

Yes. I was that miserable.

My therapist said I needed to do something outside of the house other than work, but by the time I got home, I had no inclination to do anything, especially now the nights were drawing in.

But she was right. I needed a hobby.

No, I needed a life.

“I’ll see.”

“We both know that means no.” The lift dinged, and the doors parted. Ed stepped out. “This is me. Think about it, Harvey.”

As much as I tried to put the thought out of my head on the way to my floor, I conceded I should at least make some sort of effort. What was the alternative?

Another night spent alone, eating microwave meals, was never a good thing.

I arrived at my pod, my headset dangling from the monitor. I hung my coat, filled my coffee cup, and sat at the desk ready to start. Within thirty seconds, my phone rang. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and answered.

“Good morning. This is Harvey. How may I help you?”

The morning dragged, and by lunchtime, I was ready to call it quits. I sat in silence in the break room, my head in my phone, nibbling on a packet of stale crackers I’d found in the cupboard at home. At least I had cake to look forward to.

Just my fucking luck, the cake was carrot, but I ate the proffered slice, anyway. It would have been rude not to. I liked cake as much as the next person, but chocolate was my favourite by far.

The afternoon passed no quicker than the morning, and I couldn’t wait to get home, so I was as surprised as they were to find myself sitting between Ed and Sally from accounts in the pub local to work, my backpack firmly ensconced on my lap, with a cold glass of orange juice on the table in front of me.

“Are we having fun yet?” Ed took my bag and dumped it on the seat next to him before I could stop him. “Take your coat off. Loosen up, have some fun.”

I pulled the sleeves down over my hands. I wasn’t losing the jacket.

“It’s karaoke soon,” Sally said. “Will you sing with me?”

Did I seem the type of person to sing on a stage? I spoke to hardly anyone at the office. “I think I’ll pass.”

How soon until I could make my excuses and go home?

“Well, Killian will be up soon. He’s got such a lovely voice. He sings every week.”

“Sally here has a crush on Killian. Watch her face when he gets up,” Ed whispered in my ear.

I didn’t have to wait long, as soon enough, Killian stepped onto the stage, a guitar slung across his back.

I could see the attraction. He must have been around six foot two, with brown curly hair tied in a man bun, tendrils of hair framing his face.

He wore ripped, dirty jeans, a white T-shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of scuffed brown lace-up boots, fashionably unlaced.

Rings adorned his fingers, and strands of leather and coloured string bound his wrists.

A chunky wooden medallion hung around his neck.

Sally shifted next to me, her breathing noticeably quicker.

He sat on a stool, one foot on the floor, the other resting on the rung, his guitar now in front of him.

Sally wasn’t the only one enamoured with his appearance. I couldn’t tear my eyes away and hoped no one noticed how he’d drawn my attention. He strummed the guitar, twiddling the pegs until he was happy with the result.

The room darkened and fell silent, and lit only by a single spotlight, he played the unmistakable first bars of Breakeven. I wasn’t a huge fan of music, but The Script was a band my parents had played.

I remembered them dancing in the lounge as I’d peer through the bannisters when they thought I was in bed.

I was thirteen, maybe fourteen. Where most boys that age would have rolled their eyes and scooted off to their room, watching them dance and seeing the love they had for each other shining like a beacon in the night, I hoped that one day, I’d find someone to look at me the way they looked at each other.

Dad would sing to her as they twirled together, and she’d laugh before falling into his arms, her face flushed. But the minute their lips met, I’d sneak back to bed, not wishing to intrude on such a private, intimate moment.

Ed’s elbow in my ribs brought me back to the present, and Killian’s voice, as gentle as a warm summer breeze, filled the room.

In the words of the song, I was alive but barely breathing. How could his words affect me this way?

But it wasn’t the words. It was his voice, gravelly yet smooth, that drew me in and made me forget everything but the sight and sound of him.

The song finished, and it was all I could do not to jump to my feet and clap like a lunatic, but I held my breath, trying to slow my pounding heart.

“I told you he was good.” Sally faced me, tears in her eyes, her hand on her chest.

I knew how she felt, but I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my feelings with her.

“So, if it’s okay with you guys, I’ll sing another, and then one of you lovely lot can give it a go.”

The Irish accent rolled off his tongue, even more melodic than the song he’d sung. Could he be any more perfect?

The next song was unfamiliar to me, but I listened intently, lost in his voice. The tendons in his tanned arms moved as he stroked the guitar strings. Oh, how I would have loved to be one, feeling the calluses that would be there, but I pushed the notion away.

It wasn’t right to have such thoughts, and I closed my eyes, my fingers itching to do something, anything to stop the crawling sensation beneath my skin. Clenching and unclenching my fists, I slowed my breathing, trying to get a hold of myself before I did something stupid.

Pulling the sleeves of my jacket down, I grasped the edges in my hands, shielding my palms from my sharp fingernails. I had another session with my therapist the following day, where I’d confess my sins to the face on my computer screen.

But first, I had to get through the night. That would be the hard thing, knowing I’d harboured impure thoughts about the man occupying the stage.

The song finished, and rapturous applause rang out, filling the small setting.

“Not sure how anyone will top that,” Ed shouted above the noise. Even he joined in, but I was too intent on my inner musings.

It was time for me to leave. I’d done my bit for the day. I’d eaten the cake, mumbled through Happy Birthday, and made it to the pub for a celebratory drink. More than I’d managed in a month of Sundays.

I drained my glass and stood, reaching across Ed to grab my backpack.

“You can’t go yet. The night’s still young.”

“I… I have to get home.” I couldn’t stand another minute in here. My skin tingled, and sweat trickled down my back. The first signs. Next would be the breathlessness, followed by a full-blown panic attack.

“I get it,” Sally said, her face filled with pity. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But…” Ed started.

“Let him go. You’ve got me to keep you company for the rest of the night.” She sidled up next to him and placed a delicate hand on his thigh.

I mouthed a thank you and slung my bag over one shoulder before heading out the door and into the fresh night air. Autumn was on its way, but the warmer temperatures refused to let go, leaving us with an unseasonably warm October.

Close quarters and crowded rooms. I hated them both, and while I tried to avoid them, sometimes it just wasn’t possible. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, filling my lungs.

Hold for three, then release.

Hold for three, release.

I did it three times more, necessary exercises to soothe the anxiety threatening to overtake me.

“I know panic breathing when I see it.” I turned sharply towards the voice and almost overbalanced.

Killian leant against the wall; the orange glow of a cigarette held between his thumb and fingertips.

I tracked it as he brought it to his lips and sucked in a breath, the tip bright beneath the streetlight.

“Do you want one?” He offered it to me, and I shook my head.

“I don’t smoke, but thanks.” I’d never been tempted. Well, that was a lie. I’d tried it once, then promptly thrown up, never touching another.

I’d been about sixteen. Mum had smelt it on me, and I’d broken down and admitted it. She said it would teach me a lesson, and it had.

But here, standing in front of the handsome man, I was tempted to take it up if only to place my lips around the cigarette butt his had graced.

My skin crawled again, an unconscious response to my thoughts.

No, I wouldn’t give them airtime. They should be tucked away in the recesses of my mind, never to see the light of day. Thoughts like that led to punishment.

“Please yourself, but you look like you could use something. How about a drink?”

“I don’t drink either.”

“God Almighty. You’ll be living a sorry life.”

If only he knew, but I couldn’t stand here and talk to him. “I need to go, or else I’ll miss the last bus.”

“It’s barely eight o’clock. The night is young. Join me for a coffee, won’t ya?”

Tempted as I was, this had to end now. I wanted to claw the skin off my bones.

“Maybe another time.” I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t take offence. It wasn’t him; it was me.

I placed one foot in front of the other and slowly walked away. My skin prickled again, and I felt his eyes bore into me as I finally broke free from his orbit.

I couldn’t get sucked in again. It never ended well.

“Next week it is.” His words went round and round in my head as I rode the bus home, my bag still clutched to my chest.

The journey wasn’t quite an hour at this time of night, but it was still after nine when I got home. I threw my bag to the floor, stripped off my coat, and hung it in the hallway, resisting the urge to chuck it and my other clothes in a heap.

“I am enough just as I am. I release fear and welcome peace.” Words I should have tattooed on my fucking body, but while the affirmations usually worked, tonight I struggled to connect with them.

“I am safe and protected.” But by whom?

“I love and accept myself.” Well, no one else would.

I clawed at my now-bare skin, the pearlescent ridges firm beneath my fingers. Too many scars littered my body.

Scars from a younger me.

Scars I fought to hide every day lest everyone see my shame.

Scars I would add to. Of that, I had no doubt.