28. Prettier but sad
CHAPTER 28
Prettier but sad
CALUM
“Mr Dissick,” Cathie breathes out.
Mister who? I shove my hands into my pockets to stop myself from drawing her into a hug. Our last encounter is still fresh in my memory. I look around for her protective bodyguard. He’s absent. I’ve imagined this moment too many times to count, but it was nothing like this.
“Really?” I tease. “Why so formal?”
The scowl on Cathie’s lips wipes the smile lingering on mine. My mouth shapes into an O as my gaze sweeps over her frame. She cut her hair. Why? Since when? Cathie crosses her arms under her boobs. The white dress she’s wearing hugs her upper body, tightens around her midriff, then flows downward to her knees. She’s as pretty as ever, maybe prettier with age.
Prettier but sad.
I want to pull her into a hug, if only this one time, to remind her she’s not alone. But we are not the same Calum and Cathie anymore. And there’s no one nearby to dissolve the tension.
“Hilarious,” she finally says. What do I say to that? She wedges herself between me and the door, her eyes hardening as they rake over me from top to bottom. Coming here was a battle against my conscience. I have no idea why I left the comfort of my house to see an ex who lives in another country. “Why are you here, Mr Dissick? What do you want this time?”
This time? The question leaves her lips with a tinge of bitterness. She’s grieving. I’ll have to remember that. I run a hand through my hair, and her brows furrow. How do I say I came for her?
“To pay my condolences,” I reply. She lifts a brow, and her sad eyes drill holes into me. I am here for her, but now that I’m here, how do I announce my role? What about the boyfriend? In the end, I settle for a simple answer. “Amelia was my friend. Her sister was kind to me.”
Anger flashes across Cathie’s face. She lifts a finger, shaking her head in disappointment, rage, and so many negative emotions. “Amelia Greene was not your friend. She was mine.”
The lump in my throat pushes down to my chest. I knew this would be tough, suspected Cathie would be upset because of those emails, but I also expected her to have forgotten about them or moved on. She has a new man. Why’s she mad? I try to smile, but it irks her.
“I’m going to ask you one last time, Mr Dissick. Why are you here?”
The cold air carries her words, and they rest on my shoulders like dumbbells.
“To see you, Cathie,” I confess.
Her jaw slacks. She blinks twice, and then a fresh wave of anger crashes over her. I think I might have said the wrong thing. Pointing to the street where my rental car awaits me, she says, “Leave. I don’t want to see you. Leave us—”
“Cathie?” a male voice calls from inside. She turns to the person. From here, I can’t see him, but I can bet it’s the motherfucker who stole her from me. I take an involuntary step away from the door. Coming here was a mistake. “Is everything okay? You are taking too long.”
The person comes into view. The boyfriend. I straighten up to my full height. Pain stabs me everywhere as he stands close to Cathie. I’m only comforted by the fact he doesn’t throw an arm over her shoulder or kiss her to show dominance. We never got to be in love openly, but she has that now. I should say something now, but my tongue is tied.
“Hi,” the man says. He’s much older than Cathie and looks to be in his late twenties. Is this her type now? I can dress up. I can also grow out my beard. The man eyes me like he knows me. Right. He must have heard my song or remembers I hugged his girl. “Can we help you?”
Cathie scoffs. “Help? Mr Dissick was just on his way out. Right, sir?” Who the hell is sir? I am only twenty-four. Her fake smile splits her lips, and my stupid self thinks up ways to make her smile genuinely. Maybe I can move on if we get a chance to talk. “Mr Dissick.”
“Wrong,” I reply. “I was not on my way out.”
Cathie slides an arm around her boyfriend’s waist, and my heart nearly pokes out of my chest. She shouldn’t touch him. She can’t touch him.
“Jason,” she whispers. So that’s the fucker’s name. Turning her back to me, she tugs on his wrist, and my hands clench in my pockets. The blue-eyed bastard holds my gaze. It’s a damn shame we are about the same height, so I can’t intimidate him with that. I don’t like her with him, for him, or touching him. I don’t like her not being mine. Fuck. “I don’t want him here.”
That sets me off. When the fucker tries to talk, I cut him off. “I’m going nowhere until…”
Until what?
“Go away,” Cathie cries into his chest, and he pulls her close. I stare at the earth beneath me.
When will I get the memo? When she tattoos it on my forehead that she’s done with me?
“Maybe come back later?” he whispers. He has a protective arm around her shoulders, and she doesn’t do me the decency of a look in my direction. Come later? How about never? I’ll never return here if I leave today. She’s done with what we had. “You’re upsetting her, sir.”
“Okay,” I reply.
They leave without closing the door, and I watch him lead her to a door. It hurts. Seeing her is like ripping the Band-Aid off a fresh wound. I’ve been lying to myself for a long time.
I’m not over her. I don’t think I’ll ever be.
I shut the door and head to my car that’s parked at the same spot from two years ago when I brought her to visit her friend. Footfalls sound behind me, but I hasten my pace. I won’t wait to be kicked out a second time. The person hurries. I reach my car, but their voice stops me.
“Calum?”
My hand freezes on the door. From the window of my car, I see a familiar face. The blonde hair unlocks the memories of her helping me. She was also here when Cathie visited Amelia.
“You came,” Ashley says.
I turn. “Yeah.”
“Amelia said you would,” she murmurs.
Laughter escapes her, but it ends in a coughing bout. Tears fill her eyes. She wipes the liquid rolling down her cheeks, but they continue to escape. The window of Amelia’s room opens, and a figure moves behind the curtain. I don’t know if it’s Cathie, but as I pull Ashley into a hug, I hope she’s the one watching and getting jealous.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell her.
Ashley sighs. She steps away from the hug, but my hands linger on her shoulders. “Me too. We had a long time to prepare for it, so I guess that makes it better.” I doubt it does, but I’m not a killjoy. “I’m so glad you showed up today, Calum. Thank you.”
Jerking my head towards her family’s house, I say, “Your friends don’t share in that sentiment. They almost kicked me out.”
“Jason can’t hurt a fly,” Ashley replies. But he can hurt a grown man. My face must have conveyed my true feelings. She laughs and steps out of my reach. “Wait, Jason or Cathie?”
“Both?”
Tucking her hair into a headband, Ashley checks herself out on my car window. Does she have any idea why Cathie cut her hair? Is it a message to me? I’ve heard of women cutting their hair to show they were done with bad relationships or to signify a new era.
“Death sucks, you know? And people deal with it differently,” Ashley mutters. My reflection offers her a tight smile. Cathie is dealing with it harshly. “Do you want to come inside?”
“I don’t know if Cathie would like that.”
“She needs time and space right now. But we will be in my room,” Ashley offers. I jump back. Ashley Greene is pretty and used to have a crush on me, but I’m not here for a hook-up. Understanding dawns on her. She snorts and rolls her eyes. “It’s not what you think. Amelia was so sure you would come, so she left you some letters. I want to give them to you, okay?”
Ah. Okay.
We cover the short gap to her house in silence. I’ve been inside the Greene’s house but it was from such a long time ago. A time I didn’t have to explore. Ashley enters before me, charging straight for the staircase. My eyes go to the pictures of the Greene sisters on the walls. Their parents are in some of them. But they have another side of the wall dedicated to photos of only their parents. A figure is sprawled on the couch with his forearms crossed over his face.
Jason. Is he good to Cathie?
Ashley stops at the foot of the stairs. “We are processing this differently,” she mutters, as if asking me to sympathise with Jason. Like I can. He’s the enemy, a thief. Her brown eyes remind me of her sister, and they watch me as I approach her. “Don’t be hard on them.”
We continue up the stairs. When we are almost upstairs, I say, “I don’t understand Cathie.”
Silence follows my statement. Ashley leads me to a room with purple walls, calendars, and a table of crystals. A tall chest of drawers lines one wall. All the portraits on it are face down.
Dragging a chair from the table, she tells me, “I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”
“Oh, I am,” I say. Ashley sits on the bed, her hands stretched out behind her. In the comfort of her room, she lets down her guard. The vulnerability and sadness of a girl who lost her baby sister becomes clear. I straddle the chair. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss, Ashley.”
Ashley brushes a stray tear from under her eye and laughs. The sound is so bitter it feels like whips digging into my skin. “Yeah. We all are. When are you leaving? How’s the new tour coming along?” she asks all at once before I can answer one. “It’s in Europe this time, right?”
“Right,” I reply. “It’s coming along fine.”
It starts in April.
“Cool.”
We sit in awkward silence for another minute. Then her face lights up. “Your letters.”
“Yeah,” I say.
Scooting to her wardrobe, Ashley ransacks it for some minutes, leaving me to wonder what’s wrong. When she finds what she’s looking for, she stalks back to me with a triumphant grin.
“Amelia left this for you. Sorry, it’s just one letter,” she says. I accept the envelope, and she lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t know when you’ll be leaving to prepare for your tour, but if it’s not too much to ask, please hang around for a bit. At least until you talk to Cathie. She could use another familiar face around here.”
My head bobs before the words leave my lips. I’ll regret this, but I still say, “Yeah. I’ll stick around.” If Jason is good for her, she won’t ask me to stay. “Maybe we might play catch-up.”
“Thanks for coming.” Ashley opens the door. I walk out. Before she shuts the door, she says, “Amelia would have appreciated it. She really tried to wait for you. Both of you, actually.”
Me and Cathie? I stare at the envelope, then at Ashley’s door. I’m alone on this floor. Eyeing the staircase, the urge to run builds. Where is Mace? Does he look like Jason or Cathie?
She has a son. It still doesn’t ring true to me.
I rip the envelope open, and two pictures fall out. Without a glance at them, I smoothen the handwritten note. I’m guessing everything will make sense after I read the letter. The first line steals my breath away. I stagger to the stairs, and my knees buck. Slumping down on the top of the stairs, I place the letter on my knees. The handwriting is unfamiliar. Amelia’s?
The dry patches on different spots on the paper give the impression she cried when writing it. The realisation hits me so hard my eyes sting, and my heart aches so badly for Cathie.
But how can I help her?
If you’re reading this, then I guess I’m dead.
Hi, Mr Dissick.
Only two lines in, and my heart is hurting. I fold the letter and shove it into my pocket. I can’t do this here. If it contains devastating news, I would rather read it in the comfort of my room. On my feet, I take a step down the stairs and halt. The pictures. I find them on the floor, face down. One peek, and I will be out of here. But one look at it, and I frown. That’s my picture.
The blue-eyed kid has his hands and feet in the air. The hoodie of his brown onesie covers his forehead, but wisps of blonde hair still escape it. How did Amelia get my baby pictures?
A look at the timestamp of the picture heightens my confusion. The date is last year, so it can’t be me. What is Amelia trying to tell me? Come on. Ashley’s door is still closed. What is going on? The second picture forces a breath out of my lungs. The same boy is with Cathie.
No.
No. It can’t be.
It’s a coincidence.
Cathie would have told me. I rush down the stairs. The living room is empty except for Jason. I storm to him and grab him by the collar, squeezing so hard I’m surprised he can breathe.
“Where’s she?” I demand, breathing down on his face.
Jason glares at my hands, and I slowly unhand him. I retrieve the letter in my pocket, but before I ask questions, he says, “Where’s who?”
“Cathie? Where’s she?”
“She left.”
I take a deep breath. I’m not breathing right. I’m not thinking right.
“Who are you?” I say.
Confusion thickens my voice. I don’t expect an answer, but he tells me, “Jason King.”
“Papa Mace?” I whisper. It earns me a frown. I wet my parched throat and try again. Holding up the pictures, I continue, “The kid, the kid… You’ve seen Cathie’s kid, right? Is he yours?”
“No. Amelia wasn’t ready for kids.”
Amelia Greene? He was dating both of them? No. No, it can’t be. Her family wouldn’t have welcomed him. Cathie, too. Except… The blunt knife in my chest pushes deeper into my heart. Standing in front of him, back stiff, I sweep my hand across my body from head to toe.
“Look at me. Really look at me. Do we look alike? Does her son look like me?” Jason delays by a second but nods. All the air in my chest rushes out. I unclench my fist, and the letter drops to my feet. I don’t want to believe it. It’s impossible. “This kid, Mace, how old is he?”
“Mace turned one last week, but Cathie didn’t celebrate. Maybe you can fix that.”