Chapter 42
S omething shifted between us after that.
When I woke up the next morning, tucked under the duvet with a pillow clutched in my arms and no Jonathan in sight, some jagged part of me settled a little, at least enough to venture out of my room.
Bypassing the familiar pictures of his dad and Sheila mixed in with newer photos of Cora’s wedding day and a baby April sleeping on Jonathan’s chest, I head down to the kitchen before fear digs its claws in again.
Having the freedom to wander, to eat and drink what I want, when I want is something I can’t quite wrap my head around.
God. To think, I’m in my forties, excited over something so mundane, so basic.
Making my way to the Nespresso machine and looking at the overly complicated device, I’m biting my lip in concentration when I feel his presence behind me.
“Need a hand?” he offers, coming around slowly. Giving me time to move, I realise. God damn this man and his considerate ways. It’s more than I can handle these days. Is he trying to kill me? Because if so, mission success.
Stepping back and letting him work, I take him in.
He was always unfairly handsome, and time has only served to enhance that.
His dark hair is greying slightly at the temples in a sexy way.
There are lines on his face that weren’t there before, evidence of a life well lived.
His skin is still tan despite living in dreary England, and his cologne is the same as it always was.
He might be taller and broader, but he’s the same man at his core.
The man I was helpless but to fall in love with.
The man I longed for, day in and day out, for years.
The man I don’t deserve.
I’m a broken mess of a human, barely able to function, with more baggage than an airport belt.
I’m holding him back from his life. I shouldn’t be here.
I can’t bear witness to him living his life while I’m struggling to get out of bed each morning.
I refuse to hold him back. He doesn’t deserve to be cursed to living half a life because of me.
“Thank you.” I take a sip of the coffee, letting it warm my bones before continuing. “I was thinking, I’m going to start looking for a job so I can get out of your way.”
Leaning against the counter, he sips his own coffee. Closes his eyes. Exhales. Pins me under his unwavering stare. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. No. You’re not going anywhere, not until you’re good and ready. If you’re ever ready, that is. There’s no rush.”
“It’s hardly fair,” I scoff.
“Fair?”
“You have a life to live. I’m sure me being here isn’t helping.
” I roll my eyes, setting my cup down before taking a seat at the breakfast bar and rubbing my hip.
Standing for long periods tends to make old injuries flare up, reminding me they aren’t to be ignored.
His sharp eyes miss nothing, zeroing in on my hip with a cocked brow and clenched jaw.
He scoffs, downing his coffee and crossing the kitchen to lean against the other side of the breakfast bar. “I want you here, end of discussion.”
Before I can come up with a response, the lift behind me pings, and I can’t control my flinch at the sudden noise.
Seeing it, he raises his eyebrow, as if I’ve just proven his point.
Rolling my eyes at his stubbornness, I twist to see who arrived, only to inhale sharply at the sight of Cora with a toddler perched on her hip.
Hearing about April and seeing my baby with a baby are two very different things, and the reminder of everything I missed is just another blow.
Those bastards robbed me of so many life events, so much time I can never get back, milestones I can never witness firsthand.
“Hey, Dad –” With a sharp inhale, she cuts herself off, her eyes frozen on me. I hardly even recognise myself these days, so I can only imagine what she sees.
“Hello, darling.” With sweaty palms and a racing heart, I close the distance between us.
With a watery smile, she passes me April.
Looking down at my grandchild—her green eyes the spitting image of her father’s but the blonde curls are all Cora, all me, all Freya—wetness trickles down the side of my face as my heart splinters.
My finger gripped in her tiny fist, she coos up at me, bright eyes full of innocence, an innocence I pray she never loses.
“Hi, precious girl. I’m your Nanny, and I’m so happy to meet you. ”
“I thought you’d like an April day, but I think Mum has laid claim,” Cora jokes as Jonathan comes to stand beside me.
In this moment, it’s easy to picture what should have been.
I look up at him, the pain that beats inside me like a drum reflected on his face.
We lost so much, and for what? Angus still got me.
He still got Freya. I still lost her. And what did we gain?
Who did our sacrifices save? Certainly not us.
It’s hard not to think it was all for nought.
“While I would love to fight for some April time, there’s a few things I need to attend to today. Why don’t you have a girls’ day?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to the top of April and Cora’s heads as he makes his way to the lift. Such a familiar move that I wish I had been around to see develop .
“Sounds good,” Cora responds before turning her eyes to me. They’re eyes so like her father’s, it was like he was haunting me every time I looked at her, a blessing and a curse at the same time.
“Hey, Mum.” Her voice breaks but her eyes stay dry, and her hands twitch at her sides.
Closing the distance between us, I wrap my free arm around her and pull her in for a hug.
Instantly, I’m transported back to simpler times, when a hug could fix everything, and our biggest issues were things like high school heartbreaks.
Fuck, I’d give everything to go back to those days, and yet seeing her and Jonathan together, the idea of ripping father and daughter apart is too cruel to stomach.
“I missed you so much, darling,” I tell her.
Pulling back, I take her in, cataloguing how she’s changed, how she’s aged.
Gone is the softness to her features and the wide-eyed look of innocence, and in their place stands a woman sure of herself.
As April starts to fuss, she takes her back, getting her situated on the living room floor with some toys before taking a seat to play with her.
“Being a mum suits you,” I comment, crossing the room to join them.
Seeing this bachelor pad turned into something more homey, with family photos and kids’ toys scattered about the place, just strengthens my resolve to get caught up on everything I missed.
I’ve lost more than enough time, and I’ll be damned if I don’t treasure being reunited with my family.
I owe it to Freya to make the most of this for both of us.
“I learnt from the best.” Cora’s softly spoken words jerk me from my thoughts. “Anytime I questioned myself or got overwhelmed, I’d ask myself what you would do. It’s worked for me so far, I think. I just wanted to make you proud.”
“Darling, you’ve made me proud every single day of your life, even without knowing the ins and outs of the last few years, I can guarantee you that,” I reassure her, reaching over to grasp her hand. The fact there’s even room for her to doubt that cuts me in half.
“So, tell me—how did little April here come to be? What happened to Corey?” Corey was her now ex-boyfriend who I never thought was good enough for her. Something about him always set my instincts on edge, like a sharp sensation in your teeth you can’t quite explain.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she laughs, shaking her head. Then she dives in—telling me about how she caught him cheating, how it finally pushed her to end things for good. Her voice is animated, her hands moving as she talks about Owen.
It’s obvious—he’s the one for her.
She lights up just saying his name, and as the day passes with stories and stolen smiles, one thing becomes clear: this world fits her.
While I’ve always felt like I was trying to survive the mafia, she was born to lead it.
As morning fades into early afternoon and April falls asleep in Cora’s arms, she takes her leave with promises to do this again soon.
The second they’re gone; the silence turns eerie and stifling.
The flat feels almost haunted by my mistakes, my fears, my worries, the impending doom looming over my head with every second.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, pacing the length of the room while my mind races.
The guilt at keeping what little I know to myself is eating me alive.
But how do I even begin to piece everything together without reliving my worst memories?
No matter what I do, I can’t shake the gut instinct that shit is going to blow up.
I’m seconds away from working myself into a panic attack when the lift opens to reveal a familiar redhead.
With her trademark red lipstick, a bottle of chardonnay from one of Don Salvatore’s vineyards clutched in one hand, and her hip cocked to the side, she looks as much of a boss bitch now as she did all those years ago.
“I thought you could do with some wine time,” she explains as she grabs two wine glasses and makes her way over. Setting her haul on the coffee table, she turns her feline-like eyes on me. Tutting, she says, “We have a lot of work to do, don’t we?”
“I guess so.” I laugh. God, I missed her and her frank nature. Quirking a brow at her choice of wine, I drawl, “Speaking of, are you looking for trouble? ”
“Helen, darling, you should know the answer to that. Regardless, with a wedding on the horizon, we’re practically allies.
” She waves off my concerns, and before I can even question the second half of that sentence, she’s pouring us both a glass, toeing off her heels and curling her feet underneath her as she swiftly changes the subject.
“A little birdie told me you’ve been hiding up in that spare room.
And while I can’t say I blame you—those sheets are heavenly—it’s time we nip that in the bud. ”
“Says who?”
She laughs like it’s actually funny. “Me, darling. Jonathan, bless his soul, would let you take your sweet time until he’s in the grave because that man loves you.
He’s scared of sending you running for the hills.
I, however, do not share the same fear. I thought we lost you, and now, we have a ghost back.
While it’s an improvement, it’s nowhere near enough. So, I come with a pep talk in hand.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s hear it, then.”
“It’s simple, really. That man hasn’t so much as looked at anyone in all the time you’ve been gone.
He mourned you like a widower and wore his grief like a badge of honour.
You can trust him; you know that, right?
Even when Logan came spitting facts about you not being dead, when they went down a rabbit hole of unravelling your secrets, he never once cared about your ties to the Clan.
And you should know how much that means coming from a man like him.
So, whatever it is that’s eating you alive? You can trust him. You can trust me .”
Her words land like the well-aimed attack to my defences she means them to be. Tears stream down my face by the end, and all the hurt, all the damage I’ve been trying so fucking hard to keep behind the damn spills over.
“I think I need to get tested,” I confess. Donna’s shocked inhale reaches my ears a moment before the sound of glass shattering has me whipping around to find Jonathan standing mere feet behind us, a broken glass at his feet and a look of anguish painted across his features.