Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Lance
“Tell me again what happened,” I say to Dog for the third time.
“She screwed me,” he shouts. “That conniving bitch has been using my credit card on the sly for months. The minimum payment goes out by direct debit. I never noticed until this week.”
“What’s the balance?” I sigh, trying to take it in. Millie really was too good to be true. For months, she’d been stealing from him—a bit from his wallet here and there, and then outright charging his card. Sweet, innocent Millie was a persona. She’s a con-woman.
“￡7,246.90,” he growls. “Spent in four months on shoes, makeup, clothes, lunches, and fuck knows what else. I just can’t believe it, mate. I really thought she was the one. "His shoulders slump, devastation written all over him. He fell fast and hard, and she emptied his pockets on the way out.
“Do you want to go to the police?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He rubs his face. “I spoke to her mum this morning. It’s not the first time.
She thought Millie was different with me.
She’s offered to pay it back, but I know she can’t afford it.
And if it becomes another police case, Millie will end up in jail.
I’m not sure I can do that to either of them. ”
“If you don’t, she’ll rob someone else,” I warn. “It’s theft, Dog. She stole from you.”
“I know.” He exhales shakily. “But the girl obviously has issues. I can afford to clear the balance. Part of me wants to pay it, walk away, and never think of her again. I still care for her, Lance.”
His confusion mirrors my own. The juxtaposition of loving someone while they lie. That no matter what they’ve done, you don’t want to be the reason their life becomes more complex. The instinct to distance but protect at once.
“Whatever you decide, I’m here for you.” I punch his arm, and he gives me a small, broken smile.
Spring has arrived. Flowers push through the thawing ground, and Aviemore smells fresh and alive. But I don’t feel any of it. Today marks four months without my Katie, and I’m drifting. Everything in my life runs on autopilot.
I’m still officially on leave from the army, dragging my heels on the final decision.
Hannah doesn’t want me to go back. She wants me here, being her dad.
She’s struggling with the new living situation.
Hamish is redecorating the place, introducing rules, trying to play father.
Arguments at their house are constant, often ending with a call for me to collect her.
Ainsley is being less vindictive, but only when it benefits her. Hannah staying with me is becoming a more common occurrence. The divorce should be final by the end of the year. Thank God.
Two weeks ago, I collected Hannah from school. She slid into the car with tears streaming down her face and wrapped her arms around me before I could start the engine.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are those girls picking on you again?”
She nodded her head miserably. “It was Maisie Campbell,” she mumbled.
“Hamish’s niece?”
“Yes. She said that her Uncle Hamish and Mum were engaged.”
I swallowed the rage clawing its way up my throat. I’d heard the rumor and was waiting for it to be confirmed. Never did I expect it to come from the lips of a teenager.
“I told her it was a lie,” she continued, “that Mum would never marry him. She’s still married to you.”
“We’re getting a divorce,” I reminded her softly. She did’t acknowledge it, just bulldozed past what she didn’t want to hear.
“She said she was right. That they went to her granny’s last weekend to celebrate it. So, I texted Mum.”
Hannah had been with me last weekend. My stomach dropped.
“She told me it’s true,” she wailed, “and she didn’t tell me because I’d be horrible about it. She said I need to get used to it. And that it’s not up for discussion.”
Her sobs tore me apart. My knuckles whitened on the wheel, trying to squeeze the fury down. How dare Ainsley let her daughter hear it from Hamish’s family first? How dare she celebrate without telling her own child?
I’ll deal with Ainsley later; this was not the time. My girl needed comfort. Needed me present. Her heart was breaking, and it’s the adults in her life’s fault. She needed one solid presence at least, and that was me.
Thank heavens she never met Katie. I’ll stay single forever. Love only seems to bring pain.
***
Dog and I stand at the departure gate.
“Last call for boarding to Ibiza,” the speaker blares.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I mutter, grabbing my bag.
“Come on, mate,” he laughs. “Two weeks of sun, sea, and women is exactly what we need to forget the shit of the last six months.”
“That part I agree with.”
“You’re going to fuck Katie Clark out of your mind. When we come home, you won’t even remember what you saw in her.” He thrusts his hips like a lunatic. Heaven help the poor woman he finds if that’s his best move.
I roll my eyes. We’ve had this same argument for months; not engaging is my best defense. When she ended things in January, I thought the pain would pass. It hasn’t.
Everyone was wrong about her being a rebound fling.I love her.
Missing her fiftieth birthday was brutal. I wanted to be there to celebrate with her. I don’t care that she could technically be old enough to be my mother. We fit like a puzzle. She’s my missing piece. And I’ve never been able to shake the feeling of her. I don’t ever want to lose it.
This trip is my last attempt to forget her.
To move on. Deep down, I know it won’t work.
She’s been gone six months with no word.
When I went to Eden House, Harold escorted me out and said she’d returned to London.
I was given firm instructions not to return.
He gave me her letter—sweet, final, and not nearly enough to sever the tie. It only made me love her more.
My leave ends soon, and I’ve re-signed with the Army for three more years.
With everything so chaotic and complicated, the structure feels like a safety net I need.
I’ll be heading to Iraq later this summer.
The mission is humanitarian only; low-risk.
My squad will be training their soldier and supporting civilians.
The Brigadier made me an offer to do something good.
It’s a chance to be a positive influence where it matters.
Hannah was devastated when I told her. She made me promise I’d be home for Christmas. I will be. This year, her Christmas Day will be with me. These are my final tours. The last years. Once they’re done, I’m choosing stability. For her.
The plane is crammed with drunk stag and hen parties, families, and overexcited twenty-somethings.
Dog and I reach our seats in row twelve—window and aisle.
We left the middle seat open hoping for space, but a petite blonde in her mid-twenties sits there.
Pretty face. Huge chest. Dog is rubbing his hands together mentally.
“Don’t piss her off,” I hiss.
“Hello gorgeous,” he greets her. She smiles, flattered. “Mind if I squeeze past? Unless you want the window?”
“No, I like the middle.” She stands, and Dog shuffles past, brushing her chest blatantly. Idiot.
The aisle is my preference—the escape avenue open rather than being boxed in. The soldier in me never truly sleeps. I settle in and search my bag for my headphones.
Dog has already struck up a conversation with our neighbor. His best James Bond accent in place, smooth, so he thinks.
Before I can pull the headphones out, the case is knocked from my hand by someone behind me doing the macarena. The tiny box hits the floor, and the earbuds scatter.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, dropping to my knees to retrieve them. When I lift my head, I’m staring straight up the blonde’s skirt. My nose grazes her knee. She hisses and yanks the fabric down.
Her glare could peel paint.
Dog smirks, delighted.
I shove my earbuds in, slouch back in my seat, and don’t speak to another soul for the rest of the flight