Chapter 15
Telling Dan exactly what she thought of him had certainly made Libby feel better. For all of thirty seconds. Now, she just felt empty, having blown the last shred of friendship with the guy she hadn’t stopped thinking about for days.
“Ho hum,” she said to herself, because Karim was still asleep and she was alone. Again.
But she marched on. She had a South Pacific island to explore.
That thought should—would—brighten her crappy mood.
Being by herself was nothing new. In some ways, she’d spent her whole life on her own.
Her parents hadn’t engaged much with her growing up, too different in their views to understand their inquisitive, talkative daughter who was constantly seeking truth and hard facts.
Then, when she was eighteen, she’d left home and moved to LA, where under the bright lights, she’d been sucked up in the whirlwind that was Juliana Cortez.
Strong, powerful, and feared—Juliana had been a goddess to worship, an inspiration to a hungry young journalist like Libby, fresh out of night school and desperate to make a name for herself. Desperate to expose the truth.
The truth?
Ha!
Working for Juliana had been excellent training and very lucrative, but she saw now that writing gossip and reporting people’s downfall didn’t benefit anyone other than the journalists and photographers who were getting rich off other people’s misery.
We’ve got to be there on the worst days of their lives.
That was something else Juliana always used to say, and now it turned Libby’s stomach. Writing and investigating for a gossip site had never been what she’d set out to do with her life.
Neither was being a mom nor traveling with her baby, but at least she was trying to establish some sort of income now while solo parenting, doing something she enjoyed.
So enough of being distracted by grumpy British athletes.
It was time to re-gain her focus on her mission.
Shoot video diaries, give other parents tips and advice on visiting faraway places with young children.
Surely there were thousands of people interested in the life she was leading…
But getting noticed in the vastness of the internet was so difficult, and yes, she had been guilty of wanting to use Dan’s fame to propel her platform into the big-time.
Was that really such a big ask? Well, it served her right for expecting a helping hand.
She was always better off standing on her own two feet. To keep going on the path she’d chosen.
And right now, that path was literally too bumpy. She slowed her pace on the deserted dirt road. The last thing she needed now was for Karim to wake up whining, or worse still, for the stroller to fall apart.
Sweat rolled down her face. Humidity stuck to her skin. She should find somewhere cool so she could work on her article while Karim napped. Or maybe she could even shoot some footage in the forest so at least she’d feel productive.
As she wiped her forehead, a large tree in a clearing next to the road caught her eye. Just the spot she’d been looking for. She stepped closer. Yellow and red leaves scattered the ground. No, not leaves, but ripe fruit that had fallen from the tree.
Mango!
Dozens of them.
Libby pulled a bag out of the bottom of the stroller and began to collect the scattered fruit off the ground.
Some were damaged from their fall and covered in dirt.
Others were just a little bruised. She could cut around the bad bits and make a purée with the good pieces.
She could even make curries and desserts—all sorts of things. They’d have a feast.
10 delicious things to do with mango…
Right there was a video idea and an article for a blog post.
She dug out her phone and started recording.
“Hey guys,” she whispered to the camera, careful not to wake Karim.
“So, while my baby sleeps, I’m taking a walk through beautiful Atiu, just a little way from the harbor, and look what I found.
” She picked up a ripe mango bursting with juice and held it up to the camera.
Then, angling her phone to the tree, she added, “Just look at how soft and juicy these are.” She squeezed the fruit.
Juice glistened and dripped down her fingers.
She brought it to her lips and licked. Sweet tanginess exploded in her mouth.
“Oh, my! This is so delicious, guys. I wish you could all try some.” She took another juicy mouthful, sucking at the soft, sweet flesh.
“Mmm…too good. This is too good.” She then winked at the camera and stopped recording.
Oh, argh. What a pile of inane crap!
Who’d be interested in watching her eat a mango she’d scraped off the frickin’ ground?
She stuffed her phone back into her bag and swallowed her last mouthful.
So much for her stupid ideas, her stupid plans.
She licked her fingers and threw the pit over her shoulder into the bushes. But the thrash of leaves was way louder than she’d expected. She spun around. Her breath caught.
Dan had stepped into the clearing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a journalist?” he asked.
“Like straight after you said you hated them? Gee, I’m not sure.” She tried to calm her racing heart and continued to pick mangoes off the ground.
But Dan’s gaze remained heavy on her. “So, who do you work for?”
“Myself.”
“And you earn enough to support you and Karim?”
Slowly, she straightened, keeping her eyes steady on his and her temper in check. Losing it now wouldn’t help anyone. “It’s none of your goddamn business how I support myself and my son.”
“It is if you want to get rich quick out of me. Who have you told that I’m here?”
“No one,” she said sharply. “And if you hadn’t been such a hotheaded dick the other night, I would’ve told you what my notebook was all about. I thought we were friends, but you didn’t even have the decency to listen to me.”
“Friends don’t make notes on each other.”
“I’m constantly making notes. About everything and anything.
It’s what I do! Maybe it’s time you hauled your head out of your ass and made some notes too.
Like, ‘Count my blessings’ and ‘Stop sulking.’” She poked him hard in the chest. “When are you gonna wake up and realize you’re not actually dead? You’re alive, you idiot. You’re alive.”
Dan stumbled back, Libby’s words like electric zaps to his head.
“You’ve been walking around like a dead man,” she was saying, coming at him with one hand on her hip and her finger jabbing the air in front of him. “You’ve been given a second chance, so use it.”
“I… I am using it!”
She scoffed and stalked to the stroller.
“What?” he snapped. “You think I can just flick a switch, and hey presto, everything’s sunshine and rainbows again?”
“It’s been six months, Dan. I get it. You don’t want to give me an interview, and that’s fine.
I’m sorry I ever had that stupid idea. But for your sake, if no one else’s, isn’t it time that you made a conscious decision to move on from what happened to you?
Or at least start to try to move on. You have the rest of your life ahead of you.
What are you going to do? Lose your shit and threaten anyone who takes an interest in you with lawyers?
” She then snatched a cloth bag from under the stroller and tossed it at his feet. “These belong to you.”
Dan picked up the bag as Libby dragged Karim in his stroller past him, her words resounding in his ears.
She couldn’t possibly know the half of it, but fuck it, she was right.
He did have to move on from his accident—and he was trying to move on, wasn’t he?
That was the whole point of coming to the Cooks?
This was supposed to be his time for reflection.
For getting stronger, mentally and physically, without the press constantly in his face.
He opened the bag. His running shoes, the ones that had gone missing at Christopher Mac’s house, were inside, along with a handwritten note.
You’ve won the battle. Show off your scars.
“What the hell’s this supposed to mean?” he called out, barely seeing Libby through the trees now.
“You’ll work it out!” she called back.
Dan read the note again. Battle? The battle for life and death? The one his father had lost, but he’d somehow won?
A conscious decision to move on?
Libby was full of crap. She had no idea what these past six months had been like.
Six months of pain. Six months of dealing with the mental shit as he processed the fact that he could no longer do the one thing he’d loved doing.
Not only that. Running was his career. His main source of income. It was what defined him.
And his scars? Wasn’t that what everyone wanted to see? The shell of the elite athlete the angry horse had left behind. The stiff leg, the limp. The ruined career. The failed engagement. Absolutely everything that he’d lost.
Except he hadn’t lost his life. His mother. His sisters. His friends. His achievements. His house. His money. He still had a healthy pot of that. Certainly more than most.
Count your blessings.
Well, he just did, thanks, and did he feel any better?
No.
Dan toed the undergrowth.
He felt like a shitty, ungrateful bastard.
And he couldn’t shake this irritation at Libby—because she’d made him face up to being that shitty, ungrateful bastard.
Rightly so, but still. It pissed him off.
She’d also called him a prick, dick, and arsehole more times this past week than anyone else had done in his whole life.
He’d deserved it, but now, everything was gnawing at him to prove to her that despite how it appeared, he wasn’t a prick, dick, or an arsehole. Not at all.
“Libby, wait!” He hobbled after her, and by the time he reached her, she was already on the track that led back to the village.