Chapter 41 #2
I look at the amazing young man in front of me, begging me to stay with him and his beautiful family. My heart tells me to grab him with both hands and never let him go. My head tells me this will never work; I’ll end up heartbroken all over again.
“Honey,” I say softly. “When you were seventeen, I was thirty-four. I was a woman with a husband and a life. You were just a boy. This is wrong, Lance, no matter how we both feel. There are almost twenty years between us. I won’t trap you into a life with an old woman.
In ten years, I’ll be sixty, and you’ll be in your prime.
I won’t be so selfish or let you be so selfless. ”
My eyes are fixed on the ground, unable to meet his gaze.
Tears fill them, my heart splintering. We’re walking in the hospital gardens; it feels good to get outside.
The January morning air bites my cheeks, but the sun is shining without a cloud in the sky.
We stop and sit on a bench, he takes my hands in his, wrapping his strong fingers around mine.
“Katie, look at me,” he says softly. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground.
He uses a finger under my chin to raise my face to his.
“Katie, I’m not a seventeen-year-old boy anymore.
What we both were back then is irrelevant.
Our age gap is irrelevant. We didn’t even know each other all those years ago.
We met as adults with history and baggage.
I’ve been married and had children. I’ve been divorced.
I’ve served my Queen and country and lost my leg in the process.
I’ve lived, Katie, more than a lot of men my age and older. ”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile, and my insides quiver.
“I think I’m more than capable of deciding who I love. Don’t you?”
***
The plane home is quiet. It’s a late-night flight, and most passengers want to settle down to sleep. David agrees and snuggles into his father after his last bottle of milk.
I’m nervous about heading back to Scotland. America did nothing but leave my writing career in ruins, and my confidence shattered.
Brad has never reached out to see how I am—his only communication was to tell me that my belongings were being shipped back to my London apartment. And that Lance was never to approach him again.
I asked Lance about it; he told me not to ask further questions.
Just that it was sorted. Brad turned up at the hospital, and Lance had shown him out.
I didn’t need to know anymore. The thought is both a relief and unsettling, but I’m not sure I want to know what happened between them.
All I know is Lance is the one who’s here, thank goodness.
When I spoke to Amy about Lance’s offer to stay with him while I recover, she encouraged me wholeheartedly. “Katie, where better to recuperate than in the fresh air, surrounded by nature, with a man who thinks you’re a queen. Go and enjoy yourself, then you can decide what happens next.”
So here I am on a flight to Edinburgh with a man who could be my son and his baby boy. When I walked out on Brad on Christmas Day, this was the last place I thought I would ever end up. Skipping back chapters in my love story, though the plot has changed.
I let my mind drift back to that night when I finally snapped. His constant bullying and control became too much for me to handle, the way he paraded me in front of his friends. Them treating me like a staff member rather than his equal.
After his comment about letting me speak to an agent, I went straight upstairs, packed a bag, and walked out the front door, not looking back.
It’s hard to say why that one comment made me leave, but in these situations its often death by a thousand cuts rather than one monumental gunshot that makes a person leave.
It can be something that appears minor, that will push someone over the edge.
For me, it was the realization that his control extended to me, my career, and my future.
He would decide what opportunities I had, and whether he would allow them.
The risk to my career was the same whether I stayed or left.
So I left. A split decision, which may have saved my life, minus the road traffic accident in the middle.
From the safety of a bus shelter down the road, I saw him and his guests spill out onto the porch, calling my name.
I stood for the minutes they were there, watching his anger bubble to the surface, then burst out.
He picked up a plant pot and smashed it onto the ground, soil and leaves scattering across the tiles.
His friends jumped back and circled him as if he was a lion, dangerous and waiting to pounce.
After they returned inside, my phone pinged with a message.
You’re dead to me. Your career is over. Don’t expect to work in the industry again. Leave and rot in hell, bitch.
I do believe that some things happen for a reason. Perhaps I was meant to snap that night; that car was meant to hit me. It catapulted Lance back into my life. Maybe I should take it as a sign and stop worrying about the consequences of every decision I make.
Live life now, as I promised myself I would a few years ago.
Trying to live the life I believe I should, hasn’t exactly landed me where I wanted to. Taking a risk on the unexpected is perhaps what I need.