Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Lance
The Ibizan sun beats down on my face as I lie on my lounger.
Dance music fills the air, people laugh, bodies glisten, and everyone looks as if they’ve come ready to forget real life.
Ibiza feels like it’s in an alternative dimension, one where no one has problems, no one has an ex-wife, and no one has a woman they can’t stop thinking about.
I wish I could be one of them.
Dog lives it up easily. I don’t.
We’ve been here for three days and nights, relaxing in the sun and partying under the moon.
I’m relieved to have a two-bedroom apartment.
Dog has brought a different girl back every night, each one louder than the last. This morning at 4 a.m., I gave up on sleep.
I grabbed my towel and headed for the beach, choosing the sunrise over Dog’s sex soundtrack.
Sitting alone on the sand, I watched the sky warm from purple to gold. All I could think about was Katie. How she was so wrong but so right for me. And how nothing—no beach, no women, no holiday—could distract me from the hole she left behind.
Dog plonks himself down beside me, shades on, beer in hand.
“Bro, if you get a girl tonight, do you mind going back to her place? I need some sleep,” he says.
I snort. “If I get a girl tonight, check my pulse. I’ll be dead.”
He laughs. “Shagging that old bird has made you boring, mate. You need a palate cleanser. There’s plenty here.”
“Leave Katie out of it,” I snap. “She’s nothing like these girls you’re trailing every night. Don’t lump her in with them.”
“Hell, mate… you’re saving yourself for a woman who’s not even here.”
I shoot him a look.
He lifts his hands. “Fine, fine. But bloody hell, you need to get laid before you self-combust.” He mutters something about tragedy, then wanders off.
The beach party is in full swing, drinks flowing. A group of guys are playing volleyball, and I join in. Anything to improve my mood. Hitting the ball releases my built-up tension, and relief seeps through my body. Thoughts of Katie fade for an hour.
The game’s rough—all the players are fit and competitive. They push, jump, and generally batter each other out of the way.
It’s a stag party, the final friend to get married. All are professional men, a combination of lawyers, accountants, and finance managers. Work hard, play harder is their motto. How do their wives feel with all their husbands in Ibiza for a boys’ weekend while they’re at home with the kids?
A relationship is strong if they can trust their partner to this extent, to be comfortable with them going off to the sun and sea for fun. It still stings that Ainsley betrayed me while I was serving my country. When my life was on the line every moment, day and night.
Afternoon turns to evening, and we head back to the apartment.
Tonight, Dog has tickets for Mammoth Nightclub in Ibiza Town.
It’s the biggest club on the island, and the tickets were hard to come by.
The DJ playing is one of the best in the world, not that I’d know.
According to Dog, we had to be there. We’re walking, he’s talking, but I’m zoned out.
“We’re just going to meet the girls there,” he says casually.
“Girls? What girls?”
“Amber and Sugar. I knew you weren’t listening, mate.”
“Amber and Sugar?” My eyes roll backwards. “Seriously?”
“Yes, bonehead.” His jaw ticks. “Amber and Sugar. They’re meeting us at the club tonight. You’ll have a good time. But keep your hands off Amber. She’s mine.”
Shaking my head, I say nothing. Great, the one that sounds like a hooker is for me. This holiday has proven that being Dog’s wingman is tedious. I have no interest in picking up women this way.
A huge woolly mammoth stands among the ocean of people in the club, so tall revelers dance beneath it.
Icicles hang from the ceiling, giving the whole place an ice palace feel, in stark contrast to the tropical Ibizan climate.
The tightly packed crowd bounces to the beat, and the DJ, high on his stage, is full of energy as he plays the tunes.
Lights of white and blue fly across the crowds as smoke machines continually spray into the air.
Dog checks his phone constantly, waiting for news of the girls.
He’s had no word from Amber since leaving her at the beach bar hours ago. Selfishly, I hope they don’t appear.
“They’re here,” he shouts over the music, pulling my sleeve. We head toward the mammoth in the center of the dance floor.
A girl with flowing red curls throws herself into his arms. Dark eyes, bright red lips, she stands a full head taller than him.
Her glittery gold dress barely covers her behind.
They swallow each other’s tongues. Behind them, a shy blonde peeks out, watching everything with big, soft eyes. This must be Sugar.
When she notices me looking, she gives a small smile. Not flirty, just kind.
Dog abandons us, wrapping his arms around Amber’s thighs and carrying her away.
I lean toward Sugar. “I’m Lance. You must be Sugar.”
She laughs, her blonde hair swaying side to side. “Bloody Amber thought it’d be a good code name. My name’s Sally.”
For the first time all week, something inside me loosens. She’s sweet. Honest.
“You want a drink?” I ask.
She nods, probably relieved to get away from the mammoth, never mind Dog’s mating display.
We fight our way to the bar and sit side by side, yelling brief details of our lives while laughing at nothing because the music is too loud to talk properly. She smiles; I try to smile back, but it doesn’t sit right. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.
We’re three drinks in when she looks at me and tilts her head. “You’re… sad,” she says, reading me too well. “Are you here to forget someone?”
The truth punches straight through my chest. Am I really that transparent? The admission is right there on my tongue. I’ve nothing to hide.
“Yes,” I say simply. “But it’s not working.”
She squeezes my arm, gentle and friendly. “Me too.”
And that’s it. That’s our bond. Not flirting. Not wanting anything. Just two broken people holding the edges of their wounds together. Two people who found each other on a random holiday, dragged along by their friends.
“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”
She nods gratefully.
We wander along the promenade, talking properly now. She tells me about her ex—caught him in their bed with someone else. I tell her… the surface-level truth. My divorce. My work. Most importantly, my daughter. Leaving out the woman I can’t breathe without.
We sit at a beach bar with cocktails, listening to the waves. It's the calmest I’ve felt since leaving Scotland. No expectations. No misplaced hope. Just two people talking about their lives.
“Your turn,” she says softly. “What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“The one that got away.” Her eyes soften. “Not your ex-wife, the girl you’re pining for.”
I close my eyes. Hell, I’m an open book.
“Katie.”
She nods like she understands everything. “You still love her.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “More than I should.”
Her lips curl upwards. “Then don’t force yourself to be here for any reason except healing. Friends?”
I exhale. “Friends.”
We clink glasses.
Later, I walk her back to her hotel. She presses her hand to my arm before going inside.
“Goodnight, Lance.”
“Goodnight, Sally.”
No kiss. No sex. No temptation.
Just… company. Safe, simple company, that we both enjoyed. Neither of us wanting more than some time and a normal conversation. And for the first time since I left Aviemore, I don’t feel completely alone.