25. Indie
INDIE
AUGUST
“His mother?”
I nod.
“Bloody hell,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. “And his ex-girlfriend?”
I nod again.
“Bloody hell,” he repeats, slamming back a shot, the second one of this story.
We ordered them when I was halfway through the funeral, Sebastian’s jaw dropping open as I described that spectacle. He caught Lara as she was walking toward a customer and gently asked for two shots of tequila, top shelf.
Heartbreak necessitated the good stuff.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Indie,” he says, laying a hand over mine on the bar. It feels only friendly now, just pure comfort.
I think Sebastian and I both had been searching for something that we were not ready for—hence Sebastian’s boldness and me pushing myself to kiss him back.
Sebastian feels like a friend, and that feels right.
“Truly,” Sebastian stresses. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“I didn’t. And the thing that sucks is that Teddy didn’t deserve having Dawn as his mother,” I say, slamming back my shot. “He deserves better, but so do I.”
“Hear, hear,” he says, raising his glass. “You absolutely deserve better. And make sure you fucking demand better.”
I prop my elbow on the bar and lean my head on my hand, feeling a brief wave of sadness wash through me.
Around us, the lounge glows golden from the soft lighting, a couple is kissing in the corner booth, and a group of friends is taking pictures and laughing together.
My stomach twists.
“I miss him,” I admit quietly. “Does that make me an idiot?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot for missing Rose?” he counters immediately.
Frowning, I shake my head. “No. I think that makes you human. You were planning a life with Rose…”
“Then there’s your answer, love,” Sebastian says, winking.
My grin turns sly as I gesture to him with my glass. “You must be a good barrister.”
“I’m the fucking best,” he says, faux-smug and making me laugh.
Then something occurs to me, and I ask him because I feel comfortable around Sebastian now. Like he’s a friend—an unexpected friend built from a trauma bond over expensive liquor. The best kind of friend, really.
“Could you ever forgive Rose?”
Sebastian takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing like he’s really thinking about his answer.
“When we talked after I had calmed down, because I was…” He trails off, jaw tightening, giving me a glimpse into how angry and broken he must have been.
“Surprisingly, her apology was incredibly genuine. She said she was sorry. She admitted it was a conscious series of horrible decisions that she knew would hurt me, but didn’t care because she was only thinking about herself.
She fully owned that. Took responsibility.
Showed genuine remorse. She said she would never do it again.
She misses me. She loves me. She’s attending therapy now to seek help for her impulsive, selfish behaviors. ”
My brows raise in surprise.
“But I can still never forgive her,” he says, shrugging. “I considered it. I closed my eyes and imagined a future where I forgave her, and we reconciled, and I realized I could never unsee what I’d seen—” he flinches slightly. “—her and him, in our bed.”
This time, I’m the one laying a hand over his, squeezing. He gives me a small, sad smile.
“I loved Rose. I’ve known her since we were children, and she was my first—my only love.
I would have moved heaven and earth for that woman,” he says, exhaling like all the air leaves his body at once.
“But I would never trust her again. Never. And that’s not fair to either of us, keeping us in a relationship where I would question her every move.
Every time I went out of town, I would be checking the cameras, texting her constantly, needing reassurance.
If she even talked to another man, I would jump to conclusions.
I would allow resentment to grow between us, and our relationship would be… ”
“Toxic,” I supply, and he nods.
“I think I want to keep the memories of the good, because there were so many. She was such a big part of my life—a lot of my happy memories—even if the end of us was awful. But to do that, I had to let her go. And I still miss her every day I wake up and realize she’s not in bed with me.”
I nod in understanding. Similar sentiments to what I feel toward Teddy. I miss him so much, but I don’t trust him. Not now.
“Teddy didn’t cheat on me,” I say, because I need to say it out loud.
“Betrayal comes in all shapes and sizes, Indie. And everyone has a different threshold for forgiveness. Mine doesn’t include cheating,” he looks at me, curious and asks softly, “Does yours?”
My answer is immediate and firm.
“No, if he cheated, I’d be done with him for good,” I say, smirking when humor bubbles up in my throat. “Probably go full Waiting to Exhale on him and set fire to his car with everything of his in it.”
Sebastian frowns, not catching the reference. Another movie I used to rent at the library.
“It’s a movie, anyway,” I sigh. “I just… feel confused, because he deeply hurt me. But he followed me here to London. He apologized sincerely, as did Rose. He got me gluten-free donuts—do you understand how hard it is to find a good gluten-free donut?”
Sebastian chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t say I do.”
"Next to impossible, Sebastian. But he found some for me this morning.
He used to be so careful when we were out to eat, too, making sure nothing contained gluten.
He remembered little things about me—my favorite snacks, my comfort movies, and the fabrics and jewelry I prefer because the others feel too cold or too wrong.
And he didn't even bat an eye when I said that, unlike other people who think I'm clinically insane when I explain that I prefer gold because it feels warm, and the scrubs the hospital provides make me want to peel my skin off. "
The alcohol has completely loosened my lips now, and I continue on, riling myself up.
"He even knew when I was getting my period, and I would come back to my apartment to find a huge bag of chocolate and a drawing he made of me, the details perfect down to the last smile line.
He could sense when I had a bad day at work and needed quiet for at least an hour, or I'd send myself into a meltdown.
Then, when I did have a meltdown, he never looked at me differently; he was just... there for me. However I needed him."
Tears sting my eyes, anger and love warring in my chest like a fucking battle I can't control, only observe.
"He knew just the amount of pressure I needed in a hug, because too light feels ticklish, but too much feels suffocating. He knew how to make space for every part of me that others considered difficult or bizarre..."
My voice catches, and my body deflates.
"And yet..."
Sebastian smiles sadly. "He didn't show up when it mattered."
"Yes!" I say, a little too loud, as conversation around us cuts for a moment before picking back up.
Sebastian doesn't flinch or try to calm me down.
He just nods encouragingly. "And that's the most infuriating thing, because it's usually the little things people forget.
Especially about me. He knew how to take care of me, but he didn't know how to stand up for me. "
Sebastian considers my words for a moment.
"Have you talked to him?"
I look down, feeling a little ashamed.
"No, I just... left in the middle of the night," I say, my mouth twisting. "Like a coward."
"It's not cowardly, Indie," he says, leaning closer to me, his voice firm. "That was survival."
My throat tightens.
"But I think you have a lot of questions that you are owed answers to."
"I just don't think I'm ready to hear them yet," I say, the truth of it tasting sour in my mouth. "I don't want to ruin my vacation."
"So, don't ask them yet. Enjoy your vacation. You're owed this," Sebastian says, leaning closer and dropping his voice. "But Indie, you’re allowed to feel hurt. You’re allowed to react to that hurt. You’re owed answers for your hurt. When you're ready, demand them."
We share a smile, and I'm forced to admit—my chest feels lighter.
An hour later, Sebastian pays the bill, waving me off when I offer to split it. I stand from the stool, feeling a little off balance but not so bad. My body feels buzzed still, but not drunk, still in control of myself.
A shiver runs down my spine, though, a feeling of eyes on me, but I assume that it's Sebastian glancing in my direction.
When I glance over my shoulder, I only see people lingering in the dim lounge, sitting in booths, laughing softly with each other, settling their tabs. Nothing unusual.
Still, the feeling persists, and my skin feels charged.
"Ready?" Sebastian says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
It's past midnight, but when we step outside, London is still awake and doesn't seem to be going to sleep anytime soon. People mill about smoking, talking, stumbling in and out of the block of bars.
It's a cool night, but the air feels amazing on my exposed back, and I take greedy inhales, feeling it sober me up.
Sebastian gestures in the opposite direction from where I'm heading.
"Are you sure you don't want me to call you a car?"
"No, my hotel is right down the street," I say, pointing in that direction. "And it's a nice night. I'll enjoy the walk."
He still looks skeptical, glancing at the people in the street. "Do you need me to walk with you?"
"I need some air and time to think alone," I shake my head. "And I am very aware of my surroundings, and..."
I trail off, gesturing to the still-busy street of people.
Sebastian sighs, a wide smile on his face.
"You're refreshingly blunt, Indie. It was a pleasure. I hope we can keep in contact?"
I take my phone out of my purse and hand it to him, where he enters his number. I text him my name so he has it, and he waves his phone to show me he received it.
Then, before I think twice, I pull Sebastian into a hug, and he returns it. I'm pleased to feel there's no artificial heat anymore, no tension, just pure warmth and comfort and friendship.
"Thank you, Sebastian," I whisper, before pulling back.
"No," he says, shaking his head. "Thank you, Indie."
I watch him turn around, take about ten steps in the direction of his flat, and realize I need something from him.
"Sebastian," I call, and he stops in his tracks, turning to me.
His eyes are soft, and I walk closer until we're only a foot away from each other.
"Do you think people can genuinely change?" I ask him. "Do you think second chances do exist?"
Sebastian smiles, leans in, and presses a kiss to my cheek.
"For you—I think he'd be a fool not to try," he whispers in my ear. "But make him fucking earn it."
Smiling, I wave to Sebastian before turning and walking toward the hotel, weaving in and out of the crowds of people. I feel eyes on me once more, a shiver running down my bare back, but I keep my gaze forward and walk alert, heels clicking against the pavement.
I feel watched, but it doesn't necessarily feel menacing. In fact, it kind of feels... strangely comforting. Like a guardian angel, but every time I glance over my shoulder, I don't see anything.
Weird.
Shivers run up and down my bare back, and I cross the street to the hotel, walk into the lobby, and rush toward the open and waiting elevator, pressing my floor. Sighing in relief that I'll be able to take these heels off soon, I lean against the mirrored wall and close my eyes for a moment.
Just as the doors begin to slide closed, I open my eyes.
And my heart leaps.
I can't be sure. I don't know if it's my half-buzzed brain playing tricks on me, but near the far side of the lobby, half-hidden by the shadows, I catch the shape of a man.
Tall. Broad. Dark-haired. Bearded. Green eyes.
The doors shut before I can see his face clearly.
But I can feel him.
"Promise you'll text me when you get to Santorini!" Petra orders me sternly. "I should be back home by then!"
"I promise," I bend down to hug Petra tightly, breathing through the stinging in my nose. I'm seconds away from bursting into tears. God, I can't believe a woman I've known for days can have such an effect on me. Not just any woman—a friend.
One of the many I made in this wonderful city.
"I will track you down, Indie," Petra warns me.
"I have no doubt, Petra," I laugh wetly.
She pulls back, her hands gripping my forearms as she studies me with fierce, dark eyes. The train station is bustling around us as others say their goodbyes, too.
I smile down at my new friend, whose face softens, and she reaches up to cup my face. I lean down to her so she can press a kiss to each side of my face.
"Enjoy your vacation, my friend," Petra says. "You deserve it."
"I will," I promise, stepping back and swinging my bag over my shoulder.
I give Petra one last look before I step onto the train. She blows me kisses, and I beam, heart full, waving to her once more before walking on board.
Petra's headed home today, too, with her flight leaving tonight. All morning, through breakfast with the girls, she talked about how excited she was to get back to her husband. It made me feel good for her to have that, with no sting in my chest.
That felt like progress.
Before we parted ways into our respective cabs, the girls pulled me into a group hug that made me blubber like a baby right on the sidewalk. I felt accepted, enfolded into their group, and the optimism that these friendships might be permanent grew and grew.
Zuri has a conference in NYC this year and promised she'll come down to Cape May for a beach day.
Genevieve is coming in for Fashion Week and demanded I meet her in the city for lunch.
Lupita already offered her home whenever I want to see Portugal, which I will absolutely take her up on when I get some time off.
And sweet Petra, who helped make my ex-boyfriend jealous just because he hurt me, said she would take me to the train station to see me off.
I think that sometimes terrible things happen because you can build something new and better from the ruins.
New friendships.
New life.
A new you.
And maybe that's better than what you had before.
It doesn't take long to find my seat and settle in. It's a two-and-a-half-hour train ride to Paris, so I place my bag above me, sit by the window, slide my headphones over my ears, and put on music.
The train starts moving, and as London blurs by the window, I smile.
"Au revoir, London," I whisper under my breath.
Paris awaits.