CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
Sofia gestures towards the door. “Go. Both of you.”
Vinn grabs his jacket. Ray lingers for a second, his eyes flicking to me. Something unreadable passes between us. Then he turns and follows Vinn out, the door closes behind them and silence settles.
Sofia watches the door for a few seconds, like she’s making sure they won’t come back. Then she turns to me, lifting her glass.
“Well,” she says, “that went well.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, pushing my food around my plate. “It tends to get like that with Ray.”
She studies me for a moment then leans forward slightly. “Where do you plan to live?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on my plate. “I’ve not really had time to think about it. Ray kind of pushed me into coming here but . . . I’d like to move away.”
Her brows lift. “Really? Wouldn’t it be handy to have Ray around? Shared parental duties and all that?” She smiles. “It’s hard work.”
“He’s so full-on,” I mutter. “And he hates me.”
Sofia’s expression shifts, confusion flickering across her face. “What makes you think that?”
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “You didn’t hear the things he said to me when Anika died. We went from happy to hate so fast, my head was spinning.”
She nods slowly. “He thought a lot of her,” she says. “That was always going to hit him hard. But if he hated you, do you really think you’d be sitting here right now? Living with him?”
“Like I said,” I reply, finally meeting her gaze, “he’s doing this because of the baby. If I wasn’t carrying his child, he wouldn’t have given me a second thought.”
Sofia leans back, crossing her legs. “When you weren’t around,” she says, “Ray wasn’t exactly thriving. He was drinking a lot. More than usual. Even Vinn was worried about him.”
I scoff softly. “Funny way of showing it.”
“I’m serious,” she presses. “Getting Sebastian back helped, yeah. But,” she pauses, watching me carefully, “having you back? That changed something. The baby just gave him an excuse to make it happen.”
I shake my head, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping me. “I know he was seeing someone, Sofia. Don’t make it sound like he sat around pining for me. I didn’t hear a thing from him. Not a call, not a message. Nothing.”
Her lips press together. “Harriett was convenient,” she says. “If she meant anything, she’d still be around.”
“Harriett,” I repeat, the name tasting bitter in my mouth. “Of course.” Someone more his type. Someone who fits.
Sofia watches me. “Can I ask you something?” I nod, already wary. “Do you love him?”
For a split second, my chest tightens, my throat burns, and every part of me wants to say yes.
Because I do.
I love him in a way that makes no sense. In a way that hurts. But what kind of idiot falls for a man who can switch like that? Who can tear you apart and walk away like it’s nothing?
I shake my head. “No.”
Sofia doesn’t call me out on it, but she doesn’t believe me either, I can tell by her lingering look.
“You keep saying he hates you,” she says instead.
“But everything you’re telling me sounds like a man who lost control and didn’t know how to deal with it.
Everything in his life changed all at once.
And you know exactly how that feels . . . right?”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper, staring down at the plate.
Her expression softens slightly. “Stop acting like leaving is the only stable option,” she says. “Because running away doesn’t always fix things.”
“I’m not running away.”
She raises a brow. “Okay,” she says. “Then what are you doing?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
She leans back again, taking a sip of her drink. “Look,” she says, “I’m not saying you should stay. And I’m definitely not saying you should forgive him overnight.”
“Good,” I mutter.
“But I am saying this—don’t make decisions based on who he was at his worst when you’re standing in front of who he is now.”
She reaches for my hand. “You’re not giving him any room,” she says.
“For what?” I ask.
“To fix it,” she replies.
RAY
“She presses all your buttons,” Vinn smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face.
“Then why bring her back?” he asks. “If she’s driving you insane.”
I exhale sharply. “She’s having my child. What was I supposed to do?”
“Swap numbers?” he shrugs. “Check in now and then? Then pay a judge for full custody when the baby’s born?”
My jaw tightens. “It crossed my mind,” I admit quietly. “Would’ve been easier.”
“Is she even well enough to look after a kid?” he presses.
I hesitate. “She can’t even fucking cook,” I mutter, more to myself than him. “I don’t know.”
“Then get the paperwork drawn up,” he says simply. “Cover yourself.”
“Oh great!” My head whips in the direction of Sofia, whose glaring at us. “Good one,” she snaps.
Wynter is already halfway across the casino floor, pushing through the crowd, her face pale.
“Shit,” I breathe. “How much did she hear?”
“All of it,” Sofia bites out.
I rush after her, ignoring the way Sofia berates us both for being idiots.
I push straight out onto the street. The chaos of London has never seemed so loud as it does right now. People shove past me and traffic idles along the busy roads. There are too many faces passing me in a blur.
And none of them are hers.
“Wynter!” I shout, scanning the crowds, my heartbeat kicking hard against my ribs. There’s nothing. No sign of her. No flash of her hair. No glimpse of that fucking jumper she’s been wearing.
My chest tightens.
Think. Where would she go? The park. She liked it there before, said it was quiet and away from everything.
I start moving, fast, weaving through people, barely registering the horns blaring or the curses thrown my way as I shove past.
I call her and it rings. Then cuts to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter, already redialling.
I try over and over, until eventually, she turns her phone off completely and it goes straight to voicemail.
My pace quickens, breaking into a jog now, my eyes scanning every corner, every bench, every shadow like she might just appear if I look hard enough.
She heard everything. Every fucking word. I stop, slowly turning to scan the area. “Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
I’m about to call Lucy, bracing myself for the fallout, when my phone rings.
It’s Dale.
“What?” I snap.
“She’s here,” he says quietly, “at the apartment.”
Relief hits me so hard, it nearly knocks the air out of me. “She okay?”
“She . . . seems it.”
“I’m on my way.”
I push through the apartment door minutes later, my breaths still uneven.
Music blasts through the space at a level that surely tests the sound system to full capacity.
Dale is leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching something with clear amusement.
“What’s going on?” I ask, frowning.
“She’s decorating,” he says, shrugging.
I follow his gaze.
Wynter stands in the middle of the room, barefoot, her hair a mess, with a tin of paint in one hand, a brush in the other.
She drags a streak of deep green across the pristine white wall.
“She said she liked the décor,” I mutter dryly, moving to stand beside him.
“Apparently not,” Dale smirks.
She’s singing along to whatever’s blasting through the speakers, completely in her own world. Seemingly unbothered. But at least she’s here . . . alive.
And fuck, the sight of her—it does something to me.
“She’s still fit,” Dale says casually. “Even pregnant.”
I nudge him sharply. “Watch it.”
He grins. “What? Just saying. Once she’s had the baby, how would you feel about me taking her off your hands?”
Something dark flares in my chest. “You go near her,” I say quietly, “and I’ll have to rethink this lifelong friendship.”
He chuckles. “What happened to bros before hoes?”
“Wynter isn’t a hoe, for a start,” I snap. Then, quieter, “And I’m not convinced I’m ready to give her up.”
He glances at me, more serious now. “No?”
I watch her. The way she moves. The way she hums under her breath. The way she looks . . . free.
“Something about her is addictive,” I admit. “When she’s not around, I can ignore it. Keep my distance. But the second I see her . . .” I trail off. “All I want to do is keep her. Lock her away where nothing can touch her.”
Dale lets out a low whistle. “You’ve got it bad.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Problem is, she’s in love with her dead boyfriend. How the fuck do I compete with that?”
“You don’t,” he says simply. I glance at him. “You can’t compete with a ghost,” he continues. “You just stick around. Let her see that life doesn’t stop. That you’re here when she’s ready.”
I huff out a breath. “After the way I treated her? I’d be surprised if she ever forgives me.”
Dale shrugs. “She’s still here, isn’t she?”
I look back at Wynter. Paint on her hands. Hair falling in her face. Completely wrecking my apartment.
And still—
she came back.
“That’s got to mean something,” Dale adds.