Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tori
Five years later.
“… And for those reasons, we believe that Walker security systems would be the perfect fit for your new company. Thank you for your time today.”
The men around the table clap, and I take my seat at the top of the large meeting room table beside my colleague, Anthony.
Life looks very different for me now. After that night with Noah, I knew I needed to get away.
I realized I wasn’t living; I was surviving.
I was counting down the days until my next visit with Noah, where I got a light relief from the pain and anxiety I was constantly feeling.
He took it all away. He was my safety net, always catching me, always saving me, and that was too much weight to expect one person to carry.
I owed it to him, to Trent, and to myself to truly heal, and I think I am as healed as I’ll ever be.
I moved to London to help run my dad’s office here, and I haven’t set foot on American soil since.
Moving out of America and across the pond by myself was the scariest thing I have ever done, but growth and healing don’t happen when we are comfortable.
It happens in the uncomfortable, messy, upsetting moments, when we choose to fight and choose to push through the hard moments.
Sure, there are days when it sneaks up on me more than others, but I remember what Noah said.
Live a full life, one so great that when I get to see Trent again, I can tell him all about it.
I’m living for him, for our baby that was sadly never meant to be, and for myself.
I miss Noah desperately. We exchanged a few letters over the years.
He transferred across to the special forces and seems to enjoy it.
I haven’t seen him since that morning when I walked away.
I knew it was the right thing to do, even though it was painful.
But sometimes the things that are good for us hurt the most.
“We need some time to discuss, but I think we can say with confidence that we will be working with your company.” The old, gray-haired gentleman with small, round glasses holds out a hand for me to shake, and I take it before Anthony, and I pack up our presentation and head out to our cars.
“I think that went well,” Antony confirms, and I nod in agreement.
“Do you fancy getting a celebratory drink with me?” I give him a small smile.
Anthony is a nice guy, the cliché: tall, dark, and handsome, with a swoony British accent.
He’s asked me out approximately twelve times, and I decline every time because, as much as I have healed and I am in the best place I have been in years, I’m not ready to date, and if I were being really honest with myself, it’s because he’s not Noah.
I don’t think I’ll ever be over Noah Jones, and maybe in another life we would have been the perfect couple, but sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.
“Thanks, but I can’t. I have my brother and his girlfriend staying with me, and I am hosting a charity gala next weekend, and I have a ton of things to sort.”
Harry has been staying with me on and off since I moved here.
He says it’s because they are opening up a new club here, which is true, but I know he could do a lot of it stateside.
He wants to make sure I am okay, and honestly, I am grateful for the company.
This time he came with Ali. He says they are friends, and she’s here for work, but I know my brother.
I’ve never seen him act like this around a woman.
“Maybe another time,” he says with a wink.
“Maybe,” I say as I open my car door, and give him a small wave before I climb into my black Range Rover.
I crank the car stereo and make the drive to my waterfront apartment, or flat as the British call it, in Canary Wharf. I love London. I love the people, the buildings, the hustle and bustle of it all. It keeps my mind busy.
I enter my apartment and kick off my heels, feeling instant relief when my bare feet flatten against the cool tiled floor of my entryway.
“Hello. Anyone home?” I am met with silence.
I head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of rosé, feeling instantly relaxed from my busy day as the crisp, cold liquid hits my tongue and I swallow it down.
I untuck my white blouse from my pencil skirt, find a rogue claw clip on the kitchen counter, and twist my hair up, then pick up my phone to FaceTime my friend, Meg.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, babe, how did your meeting go?” She sounds a little breathless. I narrow my eyes to focus on the screen.
“Are you at the gym?” I ask.
“Yep, got to get my steps in and grow my non-existent arse. I have a second date.”
I giggle. Meghan was the first friend I made when I moved here. She’s fun, easy going, doesn’t take life too seriously. She works in marketing for my dad’s company, and I love everything about her, from her cute brunette bob to her British accent.
“Second date, this is exciting.” I smile, taking another sip of my wine.
“It is, but you avoided my question. How did the meeting go?”
“Good. I think they’ll sign with us,” I confirm.
“Oh, good. I’ll get working on the launch campaign next week.”
I finish my wine and begin pouring another.
“Uh oh, a second glass, what’s wrong?” she asks.
I let out a big sigh. “I don’t know. I think I need some sort of glow up, maybe a love life. Anthony asked me out again.”
“And of course, you said no because we don’t date grown men who still play with Pokémon cards.” Meghan says it’s a life mantra.
I choke on my wine. “Yes, that is the man’s main flaw,” I confirm.
“Why the sudden change of heart? I’ve been trying to get you to date someone for months.”
“No, you’ve been trying to get me to sign up for these unhinged dating apps where I will likely meet a serial killer and get locked in his basement.”
“Okay, firstly, we’re in England. We don’t really have basements. Secondly, you watch too much true crime, and thirdly, if you keep working these long hours and avoid the outdoors, how are you supposed to meet someone?”
“Hmm, you make a good point,” I agree.
“Yes, yes, I do. How about you and me, we have a girly day tomorrow? Get you all glammed, ready for the gala next week. Hair, nails, a little massage, new dress, lunch at Harrods.”
I smile into the screen, so grateful for this easy-going British girl.
She knows my past: the good, the bad, and the ugly.
She’s never judged, just took me under her wing and made me feel like there was more to me than my pain and grief, and showed me that starting over didn’t have to be scary; it could be exciting.
“Sounds good. Shall we meet at Oxford Street Station at 10 tomorrow?” I suggest.
“Sounds like a plan. See you then, babe. Love you. Bye.” She waves at the screen.
“Love you. Bye,” I repeat and end the call.
After a hot shower, fresh pajamas, and Noah on my mind the entire time, I head for my nightstand and the secret box I keep in the bottom drawer.
I take my glass of wine and head out to the balcony that overlooks the wharf in London.
It’s a beautiful view that I’ll never tire of.
Being close to the water helps me relax, and it always makes me think of Noah and our times at the beach in the early days of my grief.
I take a seat on the outdoor couch, setting down my glass of wine on the table so I can open the box. It’s filled with letters from Noah. I take out the first letter he ever wrote to me.
I think about him every day. I miss him, but in a different way from the way I miss Trent.
I’ve accepted Trent isn’t coming back. He’ll always be a part of my life, my story, but he’s a chapter that I have had to close, whereas my chapter with Noah was left on a cliffhanger.
I don’t regret walking away that day; I think it’s what I needed to do, but I wish things could have happened differently.
I bring my knees to my chest and remember the words he said to me: Amor Fati. It means to love your fate. I instinctively reach for the compass necklace that hangs around my neck.
I reach inside the box, pull out my notebook and pen, and begin writing.