Chapter Fifty-Two Mo
Chapter Fifty-Two
MO
Mo pressed play and sat back in his chair as the song filled the room.
It’d taken longer than he’d have liked to get just right, but it had to be perfect.
It had to say all the things he should’ve said weeks ago—a sorry and a promise in one.
It was a long shot, he knew. He’d been unforgivably shit.
But if there was even a remote possibility—even a quark-sized chance—that Netta still had feelings for him, he was ready to put his heart on the line. She was worth it.
The sound of the guitar intro washed over him, a pleading melody that had rolled out of him like pent-up water released from a dam. The words had been harder. What do you say to someone you’ve fallen in love with and treated like you didn’t? Sorry was nowhere near enough.
Mo closed his eyes and focused on his voice as it drifted from the speakers, rasping out the words he hoped would let Netta know what she meant to him. As the song drew to a close, he nodded to himself and leaned forward, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. It was good. It was ready.
He tapped a nervous beat on the desktop, his foot slamming the pedal of an imaginary bass drum. ‘C’mon, Mo,’ he mumbled. ‘Just fucking send it.’
He attached the audio file to an email addressed to Netta and hit send before he lost his nerve, a sharp exhale contracting his belly as the ‘message sent’ notification appeared on his screen. It was gone. Out of his hands. The ball was in her court now.
There’d been something else playing on his mind, too. Something that refused to be ignored, despite his best efforts. Rhona, in the way she always was, had been right: he needed to sort himself out. He reached for his phone. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ he murmured.
Rhona had sent him the details of her therapist, as she’d said she would.
His fingers hovered over the number, the prospect of change feeling like a bottomless chasm.
Like standing on the edge of the known and the unknown.
It could be his undoing or it could be the making of him.
It could also be a complete waste of time.
Either way, how he’d treated Netta had shown him he needed to do something. He owed it to her to at least try.
He took a deep breath, and called.