Chapter 12 #2
As he chopped vegetables, the plans he’d made last summer before his accident played in his mind.
He’d been all set to work as a Sports Ambassador on the Get Living Campaign, a sports charity that organized fitness events for children and families.
It was run by the Canadian Olympic swimmer, Michael Adams. They’d also discussed other, long-term activities for Dan to get involved in too.
Having glimpsed a future working with young athletes, Dan had contemplated setting up his own athletics club for underprivileged kids.
But that was before the horse.
After the horse, Sebastian Clarke, another Canadian swimmer and a friend of Michael’s, had taken Dan’s place on the Get Living Campaign.
By all accounts, Sebastian had done a great job, and Dan had felt more than a little churlish in not responding to the emails both Sebastian and Michael had been sending him recently.
They wanted to meet. To discuss opportunities.
But all Dan wanted to do was rest and pull his head together. Get stronger, get fitter, and get used to the life-altering changes of the past six months.
More exact details on what he’d do with the rest of his life could wait.
Because first, he had to start rebuilding it.
After dinner, there were too many mosquitoes to sit outside, and Libby was winding Karim down to get him ready for bed.
Dan made coffee and carried two cups into the living room.
Karim was playing on the floor, and Libby was on the sofa writing in a notebook.
When she looked up, she snapped her notebook shut and stuffed it into the large bag she always had with her.
Dan was constantly surprised by what she pulled out of that bag. Water, toys, biscuits, tissues. On the beach earlier, she’d even found a ball of string and made Karim a little fishing rod that he’d been ridiculously pleased about.
“You carry your life around in that bag,” he said, handing her a cup.
“Yep, mine and Karim’s. Just the essentials, though.”
“Like toy cars and string?”
“Oh, believe me, those are very essential—for Karim and for my sanity.” She made room on the sofa for Dan to sit beside her and then blew on her coffee. “Are you sticking around for a Flumpy Monster bedtime story?”
“Of course,” he said, “I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”
Which was partly true. Libby’s soft voice relaxed him, and the more time he spent around her and Karim, the more they drew him out of his fug.
“What should we do tomorrow?” he asked.
“You want to hang out with us?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Libby flashed him one of those smiles that made his gaze linger on her mouth. “I’d like to explore some of the beaches,” she said, “like in this photo.” She stood and angled her body toward the bookshelf. “I was looking through this book earlier, and—whoa!”
She stumbled and dropped into his lap.
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” Libby gushed. “I was trying not to step on Karim… My foot twisted, and…”
Soft, lush, and welcoming, her plump lips were only inches away from his. It would be nice to kiss them. Maybe better than nice.
“Um…Dan?”
Her eyelashes rose, and her deep-brown gaze met his.
Then Karim jumped between them, squealing with laughter.
“Hey, sweet cheeks!” In a flash, Libby was back in playful mum-mode, scrambling off his lap and pulling Karim with her. “Let’s not squash Dan any more than I already have, honey. It’s Flumpy Monster time.”
Not what Dan had in mind just now at all, but he sat back as if he hadn’t almost crossed the line with Libby from random friends to random friends who kissed. That would’ve been awkward. Complicated. Two things he didn’t need right now.
“I’ll read you a story in a minute, baby,” Libby said and then quickly glanced in Dan’s direction, her cheeks darkening. “Can you keep an eye on him for a minute while I use the bathroom?”
“Of course.” Dan smiled, but she dashed off, not meeting his gaze.
Karim patted his knee.
“Cars,” he said in his singsong way. “Cars.”
“You want to play cars? Okay, kid, let’s do it.” Pushing cars on the floor with a two-year-old would be a much more diplomatic way to spend the evening. “Where are they?”
“Mommy bag.”
Of course, they were. Karim tugged at the straps of Libby’s bag-of-everything, and a whole load of stuff spilled out onto the floor. Clothes, books, coloring pencils…
“Maybe we’d better wait for your mum. She’ll be out in a minute.”
“Cars in here.” Karim continued to rummage, chucking out a packet of tissues and a comb, a pen, and the notebook he’d seen Libby writing in earlier.
“Okay, kid, I’ll help you. Just maybe let’s not throw all of your mum’s things on the floor. We better—”
Dan’s gaze hit on his name scrawled on the open page of the notebook.
Lightning Strike: The Highs and Lows of Daniel Jones.
“Red car!” Karim shoved the toy under Dan’s nose.
“Uh…yay, kiddo. That’s great.” But Dan was too absorbed in the words that glared back at him.
The Real Daniel Jones…
The effects of accident/injuries on relationship with Isabella…
What the…? Why was Libby writing about him?
The blue strap poking out of her bag caught his attention. Dan pulled it out, and the words PRESS screamed at him.
Liberta Jones, Freelance Journalist. In the photograph, her hair was dark and natural. Professional. No funky pink and purple streaks in sight.
The toilet flushed.
He saw red. Clutching the notebook in one hand and the pass in the other, Dan stormed to the bathroom. As soon as Libby cracked open the door, he pushed through it. She stepped back, and he slammed it shut behind him.
“You’re a journalist?” The strap of her press pass swung between them as he shook his fist at her. “You’re writing a fucking story about me?”
“I—”
“When were you gonna tell me?” he demanded. Shit, all the things she’d witnessed this past week! She’d seen him at his worst. Angry and foul-mouthed, spewing and crawling on the floor. “Is that why you were so keen to stay when I was sick? Because you wanted a story out of me?”
“No, I wanted to help you.”
“Help? By stalking me? By worming your way into my life?”
“How dare—”
“And last night, you were sneaking around, eavesdropping on me talking to my mother. Shit, Libby,” he hissed. “Who are you working for?”
“No one. Dan, listen, I—”
“I bet you couldn’t believe your bloody luck when Malek turned up, could you? You gonna write a sordid tale about my mum and her toy boy?”
“I wouldn’t do a thing like that!”
“And I’ll believe you because…?”
“Because I wouldn’t! I like your mom.”
“Bollocks. Your kind are only out for themselves.”
“That’s not true.”
“And I bet you had a good laugh when I came out here to the middle of nowhere with you, didn’t you? And just now, leading me on…” Dan clenched his teeth. “A kiss-and-tell story?”
“No!”
“Bullshit.” He waved the notebook in her face. “Nice headlines.”
“They’re—”
“Mamma!”
“Hey, baby. I’m coming.” Libby went to move past him.
He blocked her. “I swear to god, Libby, if you print one word about me or my family, I’ll come down on you like a fucking ton of bricks.”
“Let me pass. Karim wants me.”
“I mean it, Libby.” He blocked her again. “Print one word, and my lawyers will be all over you.”
“Mamma!”
“Move out of my way.” She shoved his chest just as Karim banged on the door, his cries hitting Dan like a fireball.
He backed off, horrified and disgusted that he’d lost control. But fuck, was there really no escape from people who wanted a piece of him?
He had to get away. Far, far away. He stalked past Libby in the hallway. Karim was in her arms, but he was still crying.
“It’s okay, baby. Mommy only went to the bathroom.” Her soft voice shook, seeping into his room as he packed his bag. “It’s all right, sweetie. No harm done. Let’s read Flumpy Monster now.”
When he stepped back out, they were cuddled on the sofa in front of an open book.
“Dan…”
“Stay away from me.”
Then he stalked out into the night.