13. Chapter 13 #2
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the shift. It was subtle but unmistakable. The quiet thread tethering us frayed, his expression shuttering enough to let me know the moment had passed.
And it was my doing.
I couldn’t hold his gaze. Instead, I blinked hard, retreating inward, scrambling to piece myself back together. The walls I lived behind rose up, and instinct kicked in, sharp and immediate.
He raked a hand through his hair, the frustration plain to see.
But he didn’t push, and I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t. Ever the gentleman, he offered me his arm again, and I accepted, even though I didn’t deserve it.
We walked toward the dining room in silence, all the unspoken things stretched between us.
By the time we arrived, I’d gathered myself—at least enough to fake composure. My face still felt warm, but I lifted my chin anyway. Eleanor was very kind. She wouldn’t acknowledge my tear-streaked cheeks.
The scent of a roast and vegetables drifted toward me, reminding me just how long it had been since I last ate.
It was all I could do to keep from drooling over the freshly baked rolls that filled the air with their mouthwatering aroma.
My stomach growled embarrassingly loud, causing Andrew to laugh.
A rush of heat hit my face at the sound, and Eleanor entered, followed by several servers. After holding out my seat, Andrew did the same for his grandmother and then took his.
“My husband will be so sad that he missed your visit. He’s away, giving some lecture on corporate law this week,” Eleanor said with a warm smile.
My stomach clenched. Corporate law. I shifted in my seat, suddenly unsure. Could it be the same conference Cameron was attending? The coincidence made my skin prickle. But I didn’t dare ask. Even voicing the thought felt dangerous.
Instead, I latched onto the safer thread. “Oh…pot roast. I love it,” I said, the smile I offered likely as thin as my composure.
Eleanor’s eyes twinkled kindly. “So tell me all about what you’ve been doing with your life these days.”
Oh no. Of course, she’d want to know. You can do this. Breathe.
I pinched my thigh beneath the table, sharp enough to force my focus. The sting grounded me. I smoothed my dress, rubbing the spot where the pain lingered. My own personal anchor.
The truth couldn’t come out. But Declan could.
I inhaled slowly, bracing myself, then reached for the water glass in front of me. The condensation kissed my fingers as I lifted it, taking a measured sip to stall for time.
“Well…it’s been quite a journey, actually,” I said at last, my voice softer than I intended. Setting the glass down carefully, I picked up my fork and absentmindedly cut into a roasted potato.
“I have a son,” I continued. “He’s six now. He’s absolutely crazy about football. Go Manchester United.” A nervous chuckle escaped, and I forced a smile. “He can talk for hours about it, if you let him. He can tell you each of the players, their strengths and weaknesses.”
Eleanor beamed, her face lighting up. “Oh, how wonderful! A little footballer in the making, I see.”
“Does he play the piano like his mother?” Andrew asked.
My gaze snapped to his. That flirty dimple flashed, stealing my breath for a moment as my eyes caught on the curve of his mouth. Visions of him looking up at me from between my legs played in a loop in my mind.
I blinked hard, forcing the flutter down. “No,” I replied, recovering quickly. “He’s more of an artist, actually. Incredibly talented at drawing. He could hold a crayon adaptively at five months and was scribbling spontaneously by seven months.”
I felt myself rambling, but once I started talking about Declan, it was hard to stop. The words tumbled out, eager and proud.
Andrew’s brow quirked. Was that a spark of amusement? Or was it surprise lighting his eyes? I grabbed my water glass and took a hasty sip, hoping it masked the sudden spike of nerves.
“Neuro-typical children his age can draw a person with a neck, hands, and clothes,” I added, setting the glass down. “He had that mastered by the time he was three and a half.”
“Does he take lessons, then?” Eleanor asked gently.
“No.” My voice caught on the single syllable, and I looked down at my plate, suddenly too aware of the way the air tightened around me.
Cameron thought art lessons were a joke. A stupid indulgence he refused to allow. The one and only time I’d brought it up, I’d been met with a chilling smile and a cruel suggestion about what might happen to Declan’s hands if I pushed the matter again.
Part of me still clung to the hope that he wouldn’t actually hurt him. But the truth—the real, ugly truth—was that I didn’t know. And that was terrifying.
Secretly, Declan loved art even more than football. But over the years, he’d learned to keep that joy tucked away, reserved only for his nanny and me. It was his secret gift, just as much as it was mine to protect.
“Do you have any pictures of him?” Eleanor asked, her tone softer now. She must have sensed the shift.
“Pictures?” I echoed, thrown off.
“Yes, on your phone?”
My hand paused halfway to my fork. “Oh, um…I’m the worst at taking pictures,” I said with a weak laugh, trying to steer the conversation away from the trap it was becoming. “I almost always get my finger in the way or the lighting is awful.” I shrugged.
The half-lie tasted bitter, but I forced another bite into my mouth, chewing more for distraction than hunger as Eleanor and Andrew exchanged a glance I didn’t quite have the courage to meet.
That nagging voice inside screamed louder now. It was demanding—urging me to take the opportunity being handed to me and run with it. Run and never look back.
Andrew’s phone buzzed on the table, followed by the now-familiar ringtone slicing through the stillness.
Her.
“I’ve got to take this,” he said quickly, rising from his seat and stepping away. “Now, now. It’s only a week,” I heard him murmur into the phone, voice low and careful.
Eleanor smiled gently, leaning a little toward the sound. “Tell her I love her,” she called sweetly after him.
My gaze dropped to my lap as guilt rushed in, hot and suffocating. My fingers curled into my dress. What was I doing? Andrew had a life. Someone who loved him. And I was well…a broken woman sitting at a stranger’s table pretending I still had a place in this world.
He shouldn’t be here with me. He had to feel torn, being pulled between his very real obligations to her and whatever mess I represented. Eleanor turned to me again, her focus soft but unflinching.
“So Andy told me you two first met at that little blue teahouse in town…and then again at a club?”
There was a gentle lilt to her voice, but the question was clear beneath it. Reasonable. Expected. I was a married woman. A mother to boot. And I was here, in her home, randomly spending time with her grandson and sitting across from her as if I wasn’t those things.
I swallowed hard, forcing the lump down, though it left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
“He wants to help me,” I whispered, the words barely mine. Unsure. Half-formed.
My hands moved on instinct, pinching the bruised skin of my thigh beneath the table. The sharp pain was enough, and I didn’t even flinch this time. The sting quieted the chaos in my chest, making breathing easier.
Eleanor’s expression didn’t shift. But it was there in her eyes. They held mine like she already knew.
“Do you need it…the help, Victoria?”
The tears I’d held back burned behind my eyes.
I wanted to scream. It didn’t seem possible that one person could cry as much as I had today.
Add in the weight of this conversation, the fear and uncertainty that had been building all day.
It suddenly became too much. My breath quickened, each inhale shallower than the last.
It was like invisible hands were shoving my head under imaginary water. My chest hurt, and I gripped it as I turned panic-stricken eyes to Eleanor. Was I dying? Oh God, if I died right here, what would happen to Declan?
That single thought only increased the relentless grip of the icy fingers closing around my throat. I gasped, trying to suck in air. My hands trembled violently, and a crushing sense of despair consumed me.
The room tilted, and the edges of my vision frayed, curling inward.
Tiny black specks danced across the tablecloth, multiplying with every shallow breath I took.
I blinked hard, trying to clear them, but they only grew.
The spots became shadows. Thank God I was already sitting, or I would have fallen.
Seeing my distress, Eleanor moved into action. “Andrew,” she bellowed.
In a blur, beautiful blue eyes held mine. My first instinct was to distance myself from him. Then, in the deepest recesses of my mind, it registered. He was my only hope in this world.
“Andrew, you have t-t-to—”
“Angel, baby, it’s okay,” he whispered, his words barely making it through. Kneeling beside me, he gently placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m here.”
Without hesitation, he yanked off his T-shirt and caught my wrist. His skin was hot against my palm as he pressed my hand flat to the center of his chest.
The steady thud of his heart pulsed beneath my fingertips. It was strong and steady. All the things I wasn’t. So I latched onto that rhythm, each beat stronger than the chaos in my head.
“Alright,” he said, with a gentle but firm voice. “We’re going to breathe together, as one, okay?”
I nodded, willingly trusting him to get me through whatever this was.
“Close your eyes, shut out everything except my voice. You’re going to focus on it like your life depends on it. Now, slowly take one breath through your nose with me.”
I obeyed, drawing in a long, shaky breath.
“That’s it, you’re doing so well. Feel the air filling your lungs,” he said.
My chest expanded, the searing pain lessening slightly, and the air in my lungs didn’t feel like shards anymore.
“Hold it for a second. You’ll feel your body tense with anticipation, but it’s okay. We’re going to let it out slowly through your nose,” he instructed.
A small measure of tension left my body as I exhaled.
“Now you’re going to be a good girl and do it again. Same way,” he said, his tone unwavering. “Inhale slowly. Now count to five in your mind.”
I followed his command, counting as I breathed in the air around me.
“Now I need you to hold it for the same count of five,” he continued, this time counting it out. “That’s it. Now exhale for another count of five, love. That’s it. Such a good girl breathing for me.”
We repeated the process. The rhythm of his voice was the anchor I needed.
With each breath, the world outside faded, and it was just us.
Minutes passed, and the steady thump of his heart under my palm served as a reminder that I would be an absolute idiot not to allow this man and his crew to help me.
The moment I let the thought have a voice, it bloomed into a roar. There was no more wavering. No more fear stronger than this truth.
With my eyes shut tight, I found the courage to say it out loud. “Andrew, I won’t leave without my son. And he won’t let me have him.”
“Look at me.” His voice was low, steady, but firm. A command, not a request.
It took effort to lift my gaze, but when I did, the storm inside me quieted. The compassion staring back was one thing, but it was the pride that did me in.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he said. “We need to get back to the hotel. It’s time to make a plan.”
The panic that had gripped me slowly ebbed, each breath coming a little easier. From the side, Eleanor exhaled softly, her face a portrait of relief. An old, familiar emotion bloomed inside me.
Hope. My long-lost friend. This time I wasn’t going to let go of her.