TWENTY-FOUR
Elton
My head is pounding. I can feel the blood rushing round my brain.
“How’s her tutor doing? Is he helping her?
I worry he sounds overly friendly. Is he the right fit for her?
I don’t want him pushing her too hard. Or not enough.
” MJ bombards me with so many questions she barely takes a breath. Her voice is sharp and panicked.
“Tutoring is helping. She’s improved in maths. She’s doing well, MJ. I promise.” I let the silence stretch, wondering what side of MJ we are going to encounter next.
“She doesn’t talk to me.” The melancholy in her voice tugs at my heart strings.
“What are you talking about? Of course she does.” She doesn’t. Neive doesn’t even talk to me.
“She still blames me. Not that I’m surprised.” This is where we say hello to the self-deprecating side of MJ. “Of course she’s mad at me. Who wouldn’t be? I’m a terrible mother. I’ve completely let her down. I let everyone down.”
I sigh, letting my lungs empty of air, hoping to dispel the tension that sits on my chest during every phone call with MJ. Every time I think we might be closer to having her home, we have a conversation like this and I can’t help but feel disappointed.
“How’s therapy going, MJ?” I ask, trying to ignore her victim mentality.
“Shit, Elton. It’s all bloody shit. I hate all this talking crap,” she practically yells at me down the phone. Now, we are jumping to anger.
The rainbow of emotions we go through every phone call and visit. It’s enough to make me want to lock myself in a dark room for a week. MJ feels things deeply, from love to heartbreak. Every emotion is a hurricane of intensity.
She’s still just my little sister. Still a little girl, scared and confused as I barricaded our bedroom door at night.
She never understood the yelling and the sound of shattering glass, or why she had to go and live with strangers.
She was surrounded by so much unknown and I should have been there for her.
She wasn’t allowed to stay with me when I moved into Diane’s.
It nearly broke me, but when Diane’s brother paid for me to attend Weston Academy I saw my opportunity to better myself and save her.
A knock at the door gives my brain a small reprieve from her chaotic ramblings.
Claire pokes her head into the room. Her warm smile eases the tension in my brain.
She slips inside quietly. Despite me insisting she is family here, Claire tiptoes around me when I’m in the office.
She pops a coffee on my desk. I smile at her, and she places a hand on my arm as she nods towards the phone where she can hear MJ monologing.
Being the wonderful woman she is, she says nothing and continues to tidy around me, opening blinds and fussing with papers on my desk.
“MJ, love. I’ve got to go. We’ll come see you this week. Send Neive pictures of the stables, she’ll like that. And do not bring up Wales again.”
She doesn’t respond. I shut down the Wales idea and I won’t have MJ bringing it up to Neive again.
I hang up the phone and bang my head against the desk.
“Here, painkillers.” Claire hands me over exactly what I need with a bottle of water. “You can’t spend all morning cooped up in here. Your girl is out there making pancakes with Neive and you’re missing out on all the fun.”
I love that Reilly is comfortable here. I woke up early to get on top of work before starting our Sunday together. Left her lying in my bed, hair streaked across the pillow. She won’t move in, but she spends most nights here now.
“How’s MJ?” Claire asks.
I huff out a breath, unsure of how to answer that question. “She’s … healing.”
“Are you?” she responds, with a gentle hand on my arm.
“Do I need to?” I ask.
“We all need to heal ourselves. Everyone could do with some re-evaluation every now and then.”
“Can’t you do it for me, Claire?” I give her my puppy dog eyes, but she easily resists.
“Sure, I’ll just get to that in between all the cooking and window cleaning.” I’ve told her a million times I would hire a window cleaner, but she insists it is part of her job and she likes to be kept busy. She pats my arm as Reilly opens the office door with a plate of pancakes in her hands.
“Sorry,” she says, a little flushed. “Am I intruding?”
“Never,” I assure her.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” Claire leaves me alone with the vision in front of me, squeezing Reilly’s arm as she slips out the room. She gives her a warm smile reserved for her inner circle. Which now includes Reilly.
Reilly’s red hair is, as always, piled on top of her head in an unruly bun. Her eyes sparkling with mischief, she’s wearing my shirt tucked into a pair of denim shorts. And she’s barefoot. Deliciously barefoot.
“Come here.” She sets a plate on the desk in front of me. A stack of American style pancakes, with blueberries and syrup. The smell is insane, it’s filled the house with a homely weekend vibe.
I pull her in front of me and lift her so she’s sitting on the edge of my desk. Her feet come either side of me on the chair and she rolls me closer.
She runs her hands through my hair, tingles run through me as her fingers caress my scalp. She rubs my temples.
“Are you okay?” she asks me, soft and calming. I nod. “Don’t hide from me, Elton.” I’m trying not to, but I am at a loss for what to say. How do I even begin to describe what’s going on in my head?
“I don’t know how to help her.” Her being both MJ, and Neive. And maybe me a little bit.
“You are helping her,” she reassures me, but I don’t believe it.
“It doesn’t feel like it.” I rest my head on her chest, breathing in the scent. Grounding myself into her.
“You put so much responsibility on your shoulders.”
“She is my responsibility,” I say a little harder than I possibly should have. Reilly purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t understand. MJ is my responsibility. She always has been and always will be. Who else is going to look after her?
While I was off living the good life under the patronage of Charles’s father, MJ was suffering. I allowed her to suffer. No more.
Reilly
The tension radiates from him. I want to do nothing more than make it all go away. I know better than that though. These are his demons. He’s the only one who can help himself. I’ll be waiting here on the side lines for when he needs me.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my shorts. Elton leans back in the chair, mindlessly stroking his hand along my calves.
When I see who’s calling me I immediately flip it face down on the desk. I can’t bear that he could ruin this moment.
“Whose that?”
“Ugh, no one. An irritation.” I use my feet to roll him back towards me so he’s nestled in between my thighs again. I pull him by his neck into a kiss, trying to distract him, I don’t want to have this conversation. Tim’s constant presence doesn’t need to be made into a thing.
“Should I be worried?” His frown lines deepen, but he continues to gently stroke circles on my thighs, as he kisses along my jawline. I melt into his touch.
“Not at all. It’s my ex. Still calls me sometimes. I don’t answer and I ignore his texts. Promise.” I go to unbutton his shirt but his hands have stopped their slow exploration of me, and he has a noticeable hold on either side of my body.
“How often?” His jaw is tight and the question comes out firmly.
“Is that a twinge of jealousy I hear in your voice, Elton?” I tease him. He’s not the jealous type, but I guess we all hold a touch of the green-eyed monster.
“It’s not jealousy, Reilly. It’s concern. How often does he try to contact you?”
“Elton. No need for concern. He’s harmless.”
“I’ve heard that before.” He mutters under his breath as he pushes away from me and stands from his desk. He takes his phone out and shoots off a message, then pockets it before sighing and looking at me.
He steps forward and takes my face in his hands, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Tell me when he tries to contact you. I need to keep an eye on this.”
“On this or on me?”
“This isn’t a question of trust, Reilly. This is me wanting to look out for you. I take care of what’s mine.” His grip on my thigh is possessive.
“Yours?”
“It’s protective, Reilly, not possessive.” He may believe that, but it’s a fine line not many can tread easily. Maybe Elton can though.
I choose to believe him. He’s a good man. Our actions aren’t always perfect, but they should come from a good place. It’s the intention that matters.
“Good, I don’t like possessive,” I warn him, lying to myself a tiny bit. There’s something innately hot about being in the eye of the storm.
Would it be cruel to rile him up a little more? How far would I have to push him to get a punishing fuck on his desk?
He could bend me over, a few smacks on my arse before he takes my wrists behind my back with one hand and roughly slams …
“Where’s your head at, darling?” His hands are underneath my shirt and I’ve wrapped my legs around him.
“Where do you stand on a little role play?” I ask, playfully. He chuckles into my neck, sucking at the base before moving along to my collarbone, slipping a few buttons of my shirt free.
“Reilly?” The sweet joyful voice of an unaware teenager sings through the door as it swings open.
Elton steps back, adjusting himself and taking a seat as I hop off the desk trying my best to discreetly button my shirt.
“I found a place in the New Forest with pony rides to the pub.” Neive smiles sweetly at us as she takes a seat in the chair in front of the desk. “Why do you guys look weird?”
She scans me, taking in my dishevelled hair and slightly unbuttoned shirt.
“Oh Jesus!” She slams her hand over her eyes and stands, starting to back out of the room. “Lock the door. Take it upstairs. Wait until I’m OUT of the house.” The horror of what she could have walked in on causes disgust to drip from her voice, as she hurries out of the room.
Elton groans, putting his head in his hands. I can’t suppress the giggles, laughter ripping from me. He bangs his head on the desk three times.
I hug him from behind, running my hands through his hair, trying to coax him from his despair.
“I suck at this parental guardian thing.”
“Everyone sucks at the parental guardian thing.” I pull his head back by the roots and kiss him.
“So pony rides to the pub?” he asks.
“Pony rides to the pub,” I confirm.