Chapter 62
SIXTY-TWO
Gigi
Ten days later
I readjust the scarf round my neck, the late-evening wind whipping the edges. The sun is setting, casting an ambient glow over the small corner shop.
I push open the glass door, the bell giving off a tinny chime as I step inside.
The smell of steam mixed with a faint trace of lavender fills my nose.
I cough, trying to clear the lingering hoarseness of my throat.
The distraction sends my boot slipping a little on the tiled floor before I spot the “wet floor” sign.
“Careful.” The man behind the counter smiles kindly to mask his light snickering.
“I’m here to pick up my dry cleaning,” I say, forcing a swallow. “It should be under … Gigi Thomas.” I push the crumpled slip of blue paper over the counter.
The man peers over the glasses perched on the end of his nose and nods, disappearing in the racks of items, all wrapped neatly in thick plastic.
A distant radio plays, barely audible from where I’m standing. Signs litter the front of the desk, all stuck down with tape. “Tips welcome” and “cash only”—
Shit.
I’m digging through my purse, hunting for the cash, when I hear the man’s voice between the rails.
“Normally, your mother is the one to pick up the orders.” He reappears round the mountain of dry cleaning, the rug resting on his shoulder, crinkling loudly as he sets it down. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a while. How is she?”
My lips part, my heart skipping in my chest. The disastrous truth is the first response on the tip of my tongue.
She’s dead.
The man tilts his head to the side, and as I watch his brows pull into a frown over innocent green eyes that haven’t witnessed death to the extent that I have. He doesn’t know the destruction grief can cause.
“She’s fine.” I smile, my eyes creasing. “Just thought I’d help her out today.”
Relief washes over him, and he taps a few buttons, making the old register clink. “Tell her I said hello.”
“I will.”
“That’ll be thirty-three pounds, please.”
I nod. “Right.”
“It’s strange, really,” the shopkeeper muses as I pull the change from the bottom of my bag, setting it on the counter. “I’d never seen a wine stain so dark. It was a tough job getting it out.”
“Oh, you know what Mum’s like.” I shake my head dismissively, fighting the heat gathering on my skin. “She only settles for the best.”
“I see.” His eyes are lidded, watching me with scepticism. He recovers quickly, putting the cash in the drawer. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Thomas.”
I smile, repositioning the bag on my shoulder and tucking the rug under my arm. I’m careful with my feet, narrowly avoiding the hazardous floor.
“Baking soda and dish soap.”
I splay my hand out against the ajar door, the gust of wind slipping into the shop. “Come again?”
“For the wine.” He smiles knowingly. “In case you need to clear the stain again.”
A blush rises to my cheeks. “Good to know.”
If I’d have known how much of a struggle it’d be to return home with a dry-cleaned rug, I would never have agreed to my mother’s dying wish. I settle for hanging it over the back seat, the roof down, a major hazard for any vehicles nearby.
As I pull up outside my family’s home, the door swings open. Harry leaves it ajar, jogging down the path to help me lift the rug from the seats.
“Is now a bad time to say I never liked this rug?”
He’s not wrong.
Heaving with the effort as we slip it from the car and through the entryway, I exhale, “Not my style either.”
“Did anyone follow you?”
We set the rug down in the middle of the living room. “There’s a black Ford parked at the end of the street, but it could be nothing.”
“We’ll get a move on soon, just to be safe.” He kisses my temple, nodding towards the stairs. “I’ll get the last few pieces together.”
While Harry’s footsteps echo up the stairs, I kneel on the floor, ripping open the sheet with a pair of scissors. The rug tumbles out, and I straighten it, sitting back on my heels to admire the faultless fabric, blinking back the images of that night.
The blood. The death. All of it.
One of the most horrific nights that make up our story. We’ve dealt with so much tragedy I don’t think life could have thrown us much worse.
I rise to my feet, dusting off the scent of starch from my clothing, and pull away the scarf concealing the bruises on my neck.
When I reach the top of the staircase, I find Harry packing last-minute essentials into a duffle bag.
We don’t have much, only the necessities to last us a few days before we make camp on the road.
I watch him silently, leaning against the doorframe of my brother’s room. It’s strange how life has brought us full circle back here. I guess a part of me knew it was always Harry.
Harry who sealed my fate on the dark side.
Harry who snuck into my brother’s room when I was at my lowest.
Harry who loved me at times when no one else did.
He turns round, a smile spreading over his gorgeous mouth. He approaches me in a couple of strides, his palm cradling my cheek. His eyes flick to my neck, then back up to my eyes.
It still hurts him, but he doesn’t say it – not anymore. He knows I’d go through it all again, every second with Jamie, to protect his life. I’d do anything for him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“You. Us.”
“I wish things played out differently,” he confesses, his arms circling my waist. “I wish I could’ve given you a ring before another man got there first. I wish I could’ve asked your mother for her blessing.”
There was a time when I would have ached to live a different life – one where I could start over and search for Harry first just to find him sooner.
But I don’t think like that anymore.
Everything that’s happened, every memory of Harry’s I was once oblivious to, is part of our story. While I may not like our beginning, I love our end. And I guess, in a way, when you love someone, that’s all that matters. Throughout everything, you’ll find your way back to each other.
You’ll find them, and they’ll find you.
As long as it’s taken us to get here, Harry and I got our ending. And if things had played out differently, I know he would’ve torn the world apart to get me back.
And I realise now, there are no circumstances life could’ve thrown at us where we wouldn’t have found each other in the end. I’ll walk by his side throughout everything, for as long as life may allow us – because even if my story didn’t start with Harry, it ends with him.
His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his green eyes.
“Right now, I’d probably get down on one knee and ask you to marry me, but I can’t promise you a happily ever after when I’m not sure what lies ahead.
So I promise to give you all of me. I’ll give you anything, Gigi.
You want a diamond? I’ll give you a thousand.
You want a family? I’ll give you a home and children inside of it one day.
I’m asking for forever with you, for us to be permanent in the same way my scars will never leave, and I promise to be indebted to you for the rest of my life. ”
“God, I love you so much,” I breathe.
I barely have time to finish my sentence before he’s cupping the sides of my face just as strongly as I’ve grabbed him, kissing him with every ounce of strength I have. I love him. Fuck, I love this man with every bone in my body.
This is my happily ever after.
I want to scream to the world that this man is finally mine.
Through the pounding heartbeat swarming my ears, I hear vehicles pulling up outside, their tyres screeching against the pavement.
“Harry …”
“Mm?” he muses as if he’s got all the time in the world.
I pull back, breathless. “We have company.”
We reach the window overlooking the driveway. Three SUVs are pulled haphazardly across the street. Men slip out of the doors, guns drawn, heading straight for the entrance. The front door groans as it’s bashed in, footsteps echoing downstairs as they look from room to room.
Harry gestures to the window and pushes it open, just like the night I confronted the shadow in this room. The gaze so strong I was bound to spend the rest of my life chasing it.
A smile tilts his lips up. “Ready?”
“Ready.”