Chapter 23 #2
“I’m so sorry. And what happened to the sexy guy? Did he still come over?”
She shakes her head. “No, I blocked him from everything—social media, my phone, everything.”
I frown, maybe I’ve had too much wine, because I feel like I’ve missed a key part of the story. “Clem, I’m not following—”
“The guy I met in Palm Beach, the man I had fallen in love with through our calls every night, is Santiago Torres, the player who nearly killed Miles.”
It’s a plot twist I don’t see coming. My jaw nearly unhinges it drops so quickly. Clementine’s eyes shoot up when I gasp.
I reach out and grab her hand because, above everything, it’s clear how distressed she is. “Does anyone know?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve never told a soul. I’ve tried to forget him, I’ve tried to sleep with other guys, but I can’t bring myself to. I can’t do it, Story. I still love him. We shared things we never shared with anyone.”
I’ll say one thing, Clementine’s story is putting my marginally fucked-up situation with Hendricks into a much more flattering light. I also wrote the book on men you shouldn’t be in love with.
“Clem. I . . . um . . .” I’m actually lost for words.
Picking up the bottle, she tops up our glasses, emptying it. We’re definitely going to need another one.
“I saw him today.”
“Who?”
“Santi, he was at the match—”
I blink, not sure I heard correctly. Because this Torres guy being at Foxleigh Park where Miles plays isn’t just crazy, it’s a death wish.
“Sorry, what?”
“His letters, flowers, emails . . . I can ignore them, but since his suspension ended last summer, he’s popped up at tournaments when I’m least expecting. Always when Miles is playing.”
“He’s still contacting you?”
“All the time. Begging me to speak to him.”
“Jesus, Clem.”
“I finally gave in today, said I’d listen if he agreed to leave me alone after, but then Hendricks caught us. He was so mad, and I don’t blame him—”
“This was this afternoon?”
She nods. I could likely time it down to the minute. Directly before he came to find me in the champagne tent. I knew something wasn’t right with him, even considering his dislike for Sam Pelling.
Poor Hendricks. Poor Clementine. Poor me.
“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He and Miles share everything, but this . . . might do more damage.”
“We’re in uncharted territory.”
The pair of us look up to find Eddie with a new bottle of wine. “How’re things going? Working on the list of who’s caused this?”
Clementine grins at him through bloodshot eyes. “Sure are.”
“Good, good,” he gruffs, and trudges back to the bar with the empty bottle.
Clementine tops up our glasses and wipes a hand under her nose. “Anyway, tell me what’s happening with you and Hendricks? Are things better?”
I shake my head and follow it with a shrug. It’s hard to find the words.
“Not really . . . I don’t know . . . I thought it was okay, then it wasn’t . . . I was looking for him when I found you.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. We can go—”
“No. I’m glad we’re here.”
“What are you going to do?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. He wants us to be ‘friends,’ he says that’s all he can offer.
I know he thinks I’m returning to Australia, I was going to tell him I’m not .
. .” I glance down at my handbag, casually placed next to me.
Clementine is totally unaware that it’s carrying around a ticking time bomb. “You want to hear something stupid?”
“Hey,” Clementine scoffs, “I think I have the monopoly on stupid.”
“We’ll see.” Reaching into my handbag, I pull out an old phone and place it on the table. “That’s six years old.”
Clementine’s brows slowly raise. “Happy Birthday?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “A couple of weeks ago, Hendricks said he’d messaged me, and I never replied. I never replied because I never got them. I racked my brain, trying to figure it out until I realized he sent them to my old UK phone. That one.”
“Hendricks’s messages are on there?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I’ve charged it, but I’m too scared to turn it on. I don’t want to be reminded of how badly I fucked things up when I already know.”
“Story. You were both young, and young people do stupid stuff, so give yourself a break—”
“Are you including yourself in that?”
“Touché.”
Picking up the phone, I run it between my fingers, turning it over and over. The alcohol is making me brave but not brave enough.
“Will you read them with me?”
Her hands reach across the table and take mine. “I’d be honored.” It might be the wine talking, but I’m taking it.
“Do you want me to turn it on?”
I slide it across to her. She presses the button, then pushes it back to the center of the table, and we wait.
The first thing that comes up is my lock screen, a picture of Hendricks and me taken on Honeysuckle Hill one summer.
“Shall I go and get Eddie’s Wi-Fi code?” she asks, just as the first ping sounds out.
It’s followed by another, and another. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
My stomach drops a little further with each one.
“Shit.”
Clementine tops up our glasses again and holds hers out. “Come on, it’s going to be okay.”
Gingerly, I pick up the phone and open it. The messages are still coming through thick and fast, making it harder to get back up to the beginning.
Then I find the top.
HENDRICKS: You’re in Australia? What the fuck, Story?
HENDRICKS: Call me.
HENDRICKS: This isn’t funny. Are you seriously in Australia?
HENDRICKS: AUSTRALIA?
HENDRICKS: I can’t believe you’ve gone without a word.
HENDRICKS: What did I do?
HENDRICKS: Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry, Story.
What’s left of my belly churns. This is worse than I thought it would be. I glance up at Clementine, and her eyes are as wide as mine.
“It’s okay, keep going.”
HENDRICKS: It’s official.
HENDRICKS: The paternity test came back today, and I’m going to be a dad.
HENDRICKS: Fuck.
HENDRICKS: I’m scared.
HENDRICKS: I miss you, please call me back. Please let me know you’re okay.
HENDRICKS: I saw your dad today, he says you’re settling in and you have a job teaching.
HENDRICKS: Proud of you, Stor.
HENDRICKS: So Miles hates Sienna.
It’s weak, but for the first time, I laugh because of course Miles does. Clementine leans over to read the screen better and scoffs when she gets to the message.
“Yeah, he really did, and he tried to like her, which is so not Miles. But she was awful. I only met her a couple of times too, which tells you everything you need to know.”
I don’t know why, but the fact Miles tried to like her makes me really sad.
HENDRICKS: Apparently, the weather in Sydney has been a scorcher today. It’s getting cold here.
HENDRICKS: I saw Eddie today, and he told me to say hi. So, hi. Claudia said flapjack takings are down ha ha. As I don’t actually know, I said you were lying on the beach every day, wrestling crocodiles and kangaroos. Whatever you’re doing, I hope it’s fun.
HENDRICKS: I went to the ultrasound appointment today. We’re having a boy. I’m going to be a dad. I miss you. I wish you were here. Please call me, Story, please. I’m begging.
HENDRICKS: I fucked things up so badly. I’m so sorry, Stor.
HENDRICKS: Happy Birthday, Storyteller.
HENDRICKS: I don’t want to be a shit dad. I’m so scared I’m going to fuck up. I wish my dad was here.
HENDRICKS: I don’t think it’s going to work out with Sienna.
HENDRICKS: *photo*
HENDRICKS: Story, meet my son, Max. He’s perfect. I’m so in love with him. I wish you were here. I wish he could meet my best friend.
HENDRICKS: You’re still my best friend, Stor.
All the emotions I’ve tried to keep at bay pour out in a loud, chesty sob. He’s so cute and tiny. It’s followed by pictures of Hendricks holding Max, Miles and Clementine holding Max, Max and the dogs. And it hurts, the pain of seeing everything I missed is more acute than I expected it to be.
Clementine’s hand covers mine. “I’m sorry, Story. It must be hard seeing all this.”
“I tried to block it all out, you know—” I ease a dry wet wipe from the packet and blow my nose.
“It doesn’t work,” she finishes for me.
HENDRICKS: Happy Birthday, Storyteller.
HENDRICKS: Max is teething, it’s brutal. On the plus side, I seem to have moved my sleep schedule to match your time zone.
HENDRICKS: Max started walking. We got eight steps. I feel very strongly he’s going to be an athlete.
HENDRICKS: Miles has introduced Max to polo. He can barely walk, but he swings the mallet like a pro. But we had to move all the priceless china before Lando’s head exploded ha ha.
HENDRICKS: *photo*
HENDRICKS: My boy is one. Can you believe it?
Clementine grabs my phone. “Oh, he was so cute. He wore that birthday hat all day.”
I nod. It’s all I can manage without crying. But then I catch sight of the next message, and holding it in is impossible. Tears spill down my cheeks and splash on the screen.
HENDRICKS: Sienna and I are done. I tried, Stor. I tried so fucking hard, but I have to put Max first.
HENDRICKS: I have meetings with the solicitors today, and they think I can get full custody. I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me what to do.
HENDRICKS: Happy Birthday, Storyteller.
The timestamps between the messages become increasingly far apart. Until the last message.
HENDRICKS: Happy Birthday, Storyteller.
That was three years ago. They stopped, just like he said.
Clementine picks up the dry wet wipes and silently passes them over.
“What are you going to do?”
I blow my nose, pick up my water, and drink half in one go. “I love Hendricks, and I always have. And he loves me. I just need to show him that we’re better together than apart.”
Clementine picks up her wine. “I’ll drink to that.”
Picking up the bottle, I fill my glass. “Now I need to figure out how to do that. I need to stop him seeing me as the teenage Story.”
“Seduce him.” She laughs, and it’s followed by a dramatic shudder. “Bleugh. Not that I want to think about my brother having sex—”
“If it makes you feel better, I think about him having sex all the time.” I snort, before dissolving into giggles, and when Clementine joins in, it turns into full belly laughter.
We laugh and laugh and laugh. Every time we think we’re stopping, we catch each other’s eye, and it starts all over again until Eddie comes over with more water.
“Looks like things are improving.”
We both know he’s trying to be nice, but it silences us into realizing our shared desolation. Eddie runs off the moment our faces crumble.
“Clem, what are you going to do about Santiago Torres?” I ask after using the last dry wet wipe to blow my nose.
“Honestly”—she grins, but there’s a sadness behind it—“I have no fucking clue, and I’m not going to figure it out tonight.”
And so, we finish the wine and order another bottle.
We each come up with a plan on how to tackle our respective problems. Eddie brings us huge plates of steak pie and mash.
We laugh, we cry, and eventually, after debating whether a fourth bottle of wine would be a step too far, we decide it’s perhaps time to go home.
Which is when Hendricks storms into the pub.