Chapter 6
Hendricks
My eyes stay trained on Story attempting to disappear around a couple of people who’ve come out of a store on the other side of the high street. If it’s on my account, it’s pointless.
I could find her anywhere, anytime. Her ponytail no longer swings behind her, replaced by blunt edges bobbing along her shoulder, but the way she holds herself with hard-set shoulders, a straight spine, and a determined stride .
. . I’d recognize her anywhere. My mind flashes back to the day I told her Sienna was pregnant, and I watched her storm away.
But if Story’s angry with me—still, again, now—it’s nothing on the anger I feel.
“Was that Max’s teacher?”
Tearing my eyes away from where my ex-best friend has finally vanished around the corner, I turn to Birgitta and nod. “Yeah.”
“She looked mad.”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
I shrug and shake my head, because I don’t have an answer.
“I didn’t know you were coming into the village. I could have collected what you needed.”
“It’s your day off,” I reply mindlessly, my eyes back on the corner of The One True Love. The last spot Story was visible.
I wonder how far she’s gotten.
I’m so tempted to go after her. I want to run her down and shake some sense into her because she’s clearly lost her mind.
“I’m always happy to do whatever you need.”
My eyes flick back to Birgitta, and it’s then that a piercing pain hits me right between them before turning into a dull throb.
I know what people think when they realize Birgitta is my nanny. It’s what Story clearly thinks. Nothing more than a fucking cliché. That I’m a cliché. Not to mention how insulting it is for Birgitta.
Normally, people’s opinions are the least of my concerns, but they’re not holding it against me like Story is. And that brief thirty-second interaction has my blood boiling way more than it should on a frosty Saturday morning, because all it does is remind me of when she left England last time.
“Thanks, but you enjoy your weekend.”
She can’t have gotten far. Even at the speed she was sprinting, I could catch up to her or at least see where she was.
Fuck it.
“Actually, on second thought, could you give me a minute? Max is in the store. Would you mind waiting for him?”
Birgitta’s lips purse in slight confusion, and I’m not surprised. It’s her day off and I rarely ask her to work on a Saturday. Even if it’s only for a few minutes. It’s how I keep the boundaries in check.
“Sure.”
I take off, calling, “Thanks,” as I dodge a couple of Labradors on leads and hope Story hasn’t taken a shortcut through the fields. Though given the rain this week, it’s going to be muddy, and Story hates the mud.
After a couple of near misses where shoppers flock out of a store right as I run past, and ignoring Mrs. Winston calling my name, my memory proves correct. I round the corner and find her slumped against the fence halfway up the road by Miles’s cottage, head in her hands.
It stops me dead because even from where I’m standing forty yards away, I can tell she’s crying, shoulders jerking softly as she sobs, and my anger vanishes.
Since Max came along, my ability to withstand other people’s tears has diminished by one thousand percent.
Not that I ever particularly cared for it, but now I just have this inherent need to fix the cause.
Except this time, the cause is me, and it’s a problem I’d like to get to the bottom of once and for all.
Her head jerks up at the sound of a stone being kicked, her big, slightly bloodshot, brown eyes flaring as she spots me.
“I’m not in the mood,” she snaps, drawing a sleeve under her nose and then wiping her eyes.
“You’re certainly very irritable since you returned to Valentine Nook,” I remark, working hard to keep my tone even so that my annoyance doesn’t return. “But I don’t give a shit, Stor.”
“My name is Sophie,” she grits out.
“I haven’t called you Sophie since we were ten.”
She lets out a deep sigh, takes one sniff, and stares right at me. “What are you doing, Hendricks? Why have you followed me?”
“Why d’you think?”
“I have no idea what you do or don’t do, Hendricks. Or the reasons behind your actions. I never have.”
Her gaze is still locked onto mine, jaw working side to side.
My mind spins with every conversation I’ve had with myself, every conclusion I came up with as to why she left, and it all boils down to the day I found out Sienna was pregnant.
Miles calls it jealousy, and maybe he’s right, but I never believed it was as simple as that.
One thing neither of us has ever been able to wrap our heads around is how she vanished with no explanation. Especially me. I might have fucked things up to begin with, but she fucked things up worse. I’d just found out my life was about to drastically change and she left me.
I’d needed my best friend.
Cutting me out the way she did was nothing short of callous. It would have been easier to deal with if she’d died.
My heart never fully mended.
“Well, that makes two of us.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I wish I’d never come back. I wish I’d never agreed to stay and help. I wish I’d never taken that job. I wish . . .”
She catches herself before the words leave her mouth, but I know what they are. She wishes she’d never seen me.
I can’t deny that it doesn’t hurt. It does. Not quite reaching into my chest and ripping my heart out, like she’d done before, but close.
And really, how dare she? Does she think she’s sparing my feelings after what she put me through?
“Don’t feel you have to stop on my account. Please, do continue.”
Her jaw juts and clenches, then her shoulders drop. “It just would have been easier, that’s all. We both know it.”
“I know nothing, clearly, so feel free to enlighten me. What would have been easier, Story? Come on, use your words.” I know I’m taunting her, but I don’t care.
She throws her arms up. “Not knowing how you are. Not seeing how your life is. Not . . .”
Her eyes drop, and everything she wants to say but hasn’t is left hanging in the air, along with her wrong conclusion about Birgitta. I know that’s what she’s thinking because she’s practically snarling at me now.
If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny.
Miles always believed Story was in love with me, but I’ve never had his confidence. Moving our relationship out of anything other than friendship proved harder than it sounds. Believe me, I tried.
I only know how I felt back then. How I feel now. That after six years, seeing her can still add an extra thud thud thud to my heartbeat. But even the dance against my rib cage isn’t enough to make me forget the pain.
My life changed in more ways than one on that day.
“You’re pissed at me? No, Story, you don’t get to be pissed at me. You don’t get to vanish for six years with no explanation and act like it’s not okay that I have a life.”
“I’M PISSED AT ME.”
I step back, giving her space in case she explodes—a likely scenario given the color of her face. But she takes a deep breath, and her skin returns to her usual rosy pink.
“I’m pissed at me.” It’s quieter, smaller even, but no less impactful.
“Why, Stor? Tell me, I want to know. I deserve to know.”
Her nostrils flare as she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it, and it’s in the past. But truly, Hendricks, I know you have a life, a family. You’re a vet like you always wanted to be, and . . . I’m happy for you.”
I’d believe her if it wasn’t for the sad smile on her face. I’m very tempted to let her stew, but my conscience gets the better of me.
“Not that you deserve it nor do I have to explain myself, but Birgitta is Max’s nanny. She’s neither my wife nor my girlfriend. And no, I haven’t fucked her.”
I have to admit the look of utter shock and embarrassment on Story’s face is one I’m enjoying. Story is rarely wrong.
Now that I have the floor, I’m debating whether to continue, but I honestly don’t know where to begin.
In front of me is the girl I used to share everything with, every secret, every good and bad day.
But now I live a life she’s not part of, one that took me to hell and back, and it’s going to take more than a snatched five minutes on a Saturday morning to fill her in. Even with Birgitta watching Max for me.
She’s still staring at me, wearing the same expression she always did when her brain was running in circles. It’s not the first time I’ve wished I could literally read her mind.
But as is the case when you’re a single parent, reality smacks you in the face at the most inopportune times. The ringtone I have assigned for Birgitta buzzes in my pocket and I’m reminded of my priorities.
“Hey, sorry I’ll . . .” My voice cuts off as I take in the sound of my son wailing down the phone. “I’m on my way now.”
My gaze hasn’t left Story even though hers is fixed back on the ground. My gut twists with all the things I want to say to her. Instead, I leave with the only ones I can find.
“Sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you around, Stor.”
I sprint off without looking back, retracing my footsteps until I spot Birgitta outside The Beanery where I left her. Only she’s sitting on the pavement, cradling Max, one hand on his head, the other on his nose, trying to stem the blood pouring down his face.
“Da-da-daddy,” he wails as he sees me, his tiny chest heaving with wracking sobs as he holds his arms out to me.
“Oh buddy, what happened?” I ask.
“He ran out of the store and tripped, landing on his nose. The bleeding is slowing down.” Birgitta pulls back a paper napkin, and immediately another flow of blood pours from his nose.
It’s made worse because he’s crying so hard, and the blood, tears, and snot all mix. Taking a clean napkin from a pile next to Birgitta, I hold it to his nose and scoop him out of her arms into mine.
“It’s okay, Maxy. We’ll go to the surgery and get you all patched up, okay?”