Sandbanks, the Lake District

Present Day

 

 

 

Drake Rosen took one of the canapés and popped it in his mouth while he observed Oliver and Felicity Cray work the crowd.

Felicity was the quintessential blushing bride, her platinum and diamond tiara glittered even from where he stood by the buffet table. Oliver was with the men who had lived in the area, older men who knew him in his youth before he left. His face was sombre, his forehead creased in concentration while he listened. Still, there was no doubt that Oliver watched his wife with an eagle eye tracking her movements. Oliver’s harsh features had softened the moment Felicity became his wife. He was a man who now had the most precious thing in the world.

A man who had everything.

Drake wouldn’t mind if he found that kind of peace where there was a woman by his side. But he’d probably not watch or track his woman of the day with as much possessiveness that Oliver exhibited. Sure, while the woman was his fuck buddy, he wouldn’t want someone else’s wick dipping into her well unless there was some unspoken arrangement of non-exclusivity. Even then, that wouldn’t sit well with him. He just didn’t want getting tied down with some chick who’d end up leaving five years down the line. Too much of a hassle going through a divorce.

Not that he’d been thought a divorce or that he believed Oliver and Felicity would go down that road. Marriage just wasn’t for him. He had no plans of being responsible for a woman in his future. They were merely pussies to pamper his dick.

Save for one.

Drake looked away as though a different part of the churchyard could stop resurrecting so many memories like ghosts of the dead lurking in the periphery of his vision, taunting him and laughing at the path Drake was forced to take.

Yet in the midst of the same shadows, a light glimmered like the twinkling of moonlight on water on a dark night. It was the wraith he’d have willingly given his freedom for just to be by her side. She was there, always at the back of his mind. His candle of hope was also the source of his despair. When he least expected it, her beautiful spectre arrived to tease him with hair from which the sun stole its light and eyes so blue it made darkness cry at their beauty.

Drake watched Oliver once more. He’d found out more about Oliver in a week’s time than all the years they had been neighbours. Major Oliver Cray was an ex-soldier and head of a covert ops team that worked within the confines of plausible deniability.

But that went to pot when he lost his leg saving Felicity from the killer who breached the inner sanctum of Bridgewater Lofts. Oliver’s team refused to continue working without him at the helm. They followed him when he set up C-5 Security.

Felicity moved away from Oliver to speak to some of the villagers who came to attend the reception. When Oliver couldn’t move closer to his wife or as quickly as he wanted to because of his prosthetic leg, he only had to glance at Vincent Spassky, the team’s sniper, who moved like a portable wall keeping Felicity in sight.

Drake’s mouth twitched at the number of people who stared slack jawed at Vincent. A huge boulder f a man, he would have made a good cage fighter. Maybe Drake could convince him to leave the spook business and be one of his fighters.

A small marquee was placed on the church’s grounds housing several tables and chairs where people could sit, but everyone opted to stay outside since it was a beautiful day. The living mingling among the dead.

With Oliver and Felicity’s wedding, there was a new beginning.

Drake continued to watch the crowd. Apart from Luke Bryce and himself, the men in their group who owned Bridgewater Lofts couldn’t make it to the wedding. Rouen Abelard had pressing matters to attend to in France. And Kieran… Drake stared out without seeing. The last time he saw Kieran was in Felicity’s restaurant when they were talking about what to do with the flats. They still needed to discuss the building’s renovation and tightening security especially after the recent security breach. But they couldn’t find Kieran. Without him, they couldn’t put any proposal to a vote.

A young girl approached Vincent and shook his trouser leg before raising her arms. Her golden curls bobbed as she waited, tiny fingers curling and wriggling in the air. Drake took a sip of his champagne to wash down the taste of the chorizo in his mouth, the bubbles flattening against his tongue. He choked a laugh at the sight of Vincent’s hard face breaking into a smile when he bent to pick the child up into his arms. The squeal from the little girl brought a lull in the conversation around them as people looked askance. But the laughter that burst from the little girl’s throat eased the trepidation in the air and people resumed their conversations. Vincent joined in the young girl’s laughter. When the girl’s squeal pealed like the sweetest chimes, an unfamiliar tightening settled in Drake’s chest.

There was a girl, his special girl whose laugh had the power to make Drake kneel and lay his heart at her feet. One girl who had been bold enough to approach him to ask him to keep her safe when no one else had been willing to help her get settled as a new transferee from another school. The one with whom he shared quiet moments, the best times of his young life while they sat together on the roof of her house. No words were needed when their hearts spoke. At least his heart did. It always knew when she was near. All those moments disappeared when he was forced to leave and they lost contact like a beautiful dream gone up in smoke.

His phone rang as he watched Vincent once more being overrun by children like he was the old woman who lived in a shoe.

“Rosen.”

“When are you heading back to town?”

“Soon,” Drake replied, still chewing whatever was left inside his mouth. “It’s not like the gym is going to collapse without me for a day. Caius.”

“Drop the sarcasm, Drake. We need to talk about selling your interest.”

“Sure.” Drake shrugged even though Caius couldn’t see him. He placed his glass down and popped another canapé inside his mouth. “As long as your contact meets my price and the fighters are well taken care of, I’ll be more than happy to sell. I just don’t see that happening.”

Caius’ frustration breathed down the line. “This is the best fucking deal we have!”

“For you.” A steely edge crept into Drake’s voice. “I’m not willing to go below twenty million plus health insurance and pension. That’s a very reasonable price.”

“We can’t sustain this!”

The sound of rustling sheets in the background and a woman’s voice whining for Caius to come back to bed reached Drake’s ear he nearly choked on his food.

“Seriously? In the middle of screwing a chick? Desperation is an understatement for you. I can and I will sustain this business.”

Drake was no saint but he was disgusted at how low his business partner was willing to go. He may dip his wick into a lot of waxed mounds but he didn’t do women in relationships. Caius had a wife and kids and he sure as hell wasn’t with Fiona right now. For all of his associate’s rant, Caius was a pussy when a pussy was about to give him head.

“Drake!”

He ended the call. Business was business. Business was not under discussion during a fuck session. Not that it would stop him either thinking about his enterprise while he rammed his dick into a one night stand’s plump lips.

Drake was annoyed. The first business he and Miles O’Hanlon decided to co-own was now in jeopardy. It was gym that Miles had taken him to all those years ago until they decided to take it over. The Erudite Club and Gym or EC Gym for short.

It wasn’t easy deciding to let go of the gym but he didn’t want to get tied down with managing it all on his own after Miles, his former high school coach wanted out. He was getting old to have to deal with the gym’s operations. Drake could give it to the fighters like a cooperative where they could handle the operations and make it as big as they could to reap the benefits of their hard work. His gut told him otherwise. They weren’t ready to handle the gym yet.

Drake took another champagne flute from a passing tray when his heart gonged as hard as the Big Ben, making air whoosh out from his surprised lungs. Only one person made his heart beat that way but she was gone. Had been gone for a long time and he had been trying to find her without success. His heart thudded like the false start of a car with a dead battery.

What the fuck?

He couldn’t be having a coronary. He’d passed his medical check-up with flying colours.

His gaze narrowed at the guests, at those passing through Sandbanks to enjoy its scenic views of grassy hills and walking trails. Curious onlookers who slowed down by the church’s low stone fence to stare at the wedding reception before moving on. Drake scanned the throng entering the café opposite the church, the outdoors and souvenir shop. One more sweeping gaze, and the glass he held froze midway to his mouth.

Two women stood out in the crowd of walkers and tourists in the small village. Both had dark hair but it was just one of the women he focused on. Drake stared in shock. He’d recognise her anywhere. Her facial features were different and so much the same. Sky blue eyes, pert nose, and easily blushing cheeks.

Bethany?

She had been a natural blond but her black hair with dark blue strands that matched the colour of her eyes when she was angry made her look more the woman than the girl he remembered. Alluring, attractive, seductive. Why didn’t he consider that she’d change her appearance when he had hired the private investigator to find her? Why did he think she’d stay the same as he’d left her? No wonder the PI didn’t find anything.

Hot and cold heat pressed at agonizingly slow intervals through him causing an invisible vice to squeeze his chest. Nothing like going through his first heart attack if it came to that. She may have altered her appearance but that didn’t stop Drake from immediately knowing it was her. The one he had been forced to leave behind. It didn’t matter if she was a woman with the natural looking make-up in a sea of women with the same look. He’d still find her, still set a course to her even if the other women enticed him to take them instead of Bethany because she was and forever would be the light in his fucked up life.

Drake’s heart tripped when her mouth lifted in a smile.

Look at me, Bethany. Smile at me. Please.

She and her friend stood beside his car outside the church’s gates. Bethany was curvier now and he liked that. Her fitted walking jacket was testament to the perfect curvature of her breasts and slim waist, enhancing her pert heart shaped ass. A far cry from when she had been something between a bean pole and a lamp post. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her any less.

Somewhere, Drake’s brain picked up glass shattering and the gasps of those near him. Stinging pain bloomed in his hand and it hurt bad. He pulled his gaze away from Bethany to see that he had crushed the champagne flute he was holding. The bubbly ran with his blood to drip to the grass by his feet.

“Rosen, what the hell?” A frowning Oliver was followed closely by Felicity.

“That’s a nasty cut.” Felicity winced, taking one of the thick napkins and putting it under Drake’s hand while Oliver carefully removed what was left of the glass from Drake’s grasp save for a shard embedded in the fleshy part of his palm.

“I’m fine, Cray. Really.” He looked at his wound like it was a perplexing conundrum under a microscope. His mind split between the pain in his hand and Bethany until thought of Bethany faded and the sight of blood coaxed the bile to begin its ascent up his throat.

Oh shit.

“Hold still, suh!” Malcolm Burton, one of Oliver’s men moved in and even before Oliver could blink took out the huge chunk out of his palm.

“Bloody fuck!” Drake hissed through tight lips. People close by gasped and moved away.

Serves them right. Nosy crowd.

“Very good, suh!” Malcolm remained unperturbed.

“Looks like you’ve heard Oliver swear all the time,” Drake murmured, watching as Malcolm staunched the blood with another thick napkin. He was having an out of body experience watching Malcolm out of curiosity than dread.

“Not only him. All of them. Including me.” Malcolm replied. He pressed down hard on the wound causing Drake to inhale harshly and hiss. The cut was burning now and he could feel it through his veins right down to his feet. “Keep pressing down while I get the kit.”

Beads of sweat started to break on Drake’s forehead. He swallowed slowly several times so those around wouldn’t notice. The contents of his stomach twisted in his gut. Fuck. He wasn’t going to blow in front of all these people let alone a church.

That was disrespectful.

He started breathing deep.

In, out, in, out. You can do it.

“Need a chair?” Luke strode to him unfolding a chair he took out of the marquee. He looked at Drake with both mockery and concern. Gracie stood to one side with Flynn and Theresa.

Drake nodded. He didn’t trust himself to talk. He had already spilled blood. No need to add vomit on the suits of his friends to cap his humiliation.

He lowered his arse on the seat, finding the scent of the grasses’ evaporating dew and the earth a tonic for the queasiness that threatened to unman him.

Bethany would have known what to do to stop his queasy stomach. She had tended the cut above his left brow after his fight with Andrew Tabler. She had been trembling then and the tears that coursed down her checks had all but dried. He’d joked to stop her from crying, telling her they were now bound forever because they had similar scars on their brows. A tremulous smile lifted her mouth but soon disappeared in the face of her haunted eyes. Her uniform had been torn and her knees were scraped and bleeding. But she had still attended to his wound first before she tended to her wounds. Always others first before herself. After that, Drake gave her all of his heart.

He turned to face the churchyard’s wall. There were people streaming in and out of the yard and others who stayed watching the scene unfolding where he was on centre stage. He wanted to call her, shout to her to come over. She may not hear him at first but she’d be able to read his lips. Damn fucking propriety.

But Bethany was gone.

 

* * *

 

Despite the cool air, sweat still filmed Bethany’s armpits and trickled in between her breasts. She smelled rusty, like the oil that coated a bicycle belt. But damn…she felt good.

She didn’t always like walking the trails going up and down rugged terrain. She wasn’t exactly a willing participant to hiking when Cinzia introduced her to the joys of open spaces. Cinzia nagged her until Bethany caved in just to keep her friend quiet. It had been hard the first time.

Bethany had become fidgety the closer they got to the Peak District to try a trail just off Snake Pass. Ten minutes into the trail, she started to relax. Every step after was like shedding off the old skin to allow what was underneath to feel the sun’s warmth.

Sandbanks was a new place in the Lake District she and Cinzia decided to explore, but never in all her dreams and nightmares did she expect her past to come hurtling through the church yard on the heels of the memories of fifteen years ago.

Her feet couldn’t move deciding to take root on dry ground. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t, unable to avert her eyes from drinking in the only person who could make her heart breathe and stutter at the same time.

Drake.

“Bettina, cara?” Cinzia Marchetti looked at her, bemused. “You’re paler than a ghost. I can see the hills through you.”

Her gaze locked with Drake’s. His eyes had widened then narrowed. Her heart sank and soared at the same time like one of those amusement park rides where she was suspended fifty feet up in the air before it fell in a whoosh with the ground below getting a speedy introduction to the contents of her stomach.

Bethany wanted to move closer to see whether she was dreaming or not. If she wasn’t, she wanted to move past the church gates and throw herself into Drake’s arms and give him a few of the kisses she had kept under lock and key only for him, knowing that he’d catch her and keep her safe.

At the same time, she wanted to hide.

“Bettina!”

Her sharp intake of breath joined the gasps and dismay of the crowd when the glass Drake held in his hand broke and blood started trickling down his wrist.

He hates blood.

“What’s happening to you? You’re paler than pale.” Cinzia took a step back, giving Bethany a once over. Her dark brown eyes were filled with concern. “Are you sure the air didn’t cause this? What about something you ate?”

Bethany pulled her gaze away from the scene in the church grounds and when she did her heart beat a little faster. The recognition in Drake’s eyes from a distance flushed her cheeks.

“Sorry, I didn’t get you.” She looked at her friend’s mouth.

“Your pallor, something you ate or the thinner air here?”

“No, I actually haven’t eaten,” Bethany replied, her voice husky. “Let’s go and grab something.” She wasn’t hungry but she needed to get some air into her lungs. Seeing Drake made her forget how to breathe.

“Okay.” Cinzia looked around before pointing to a small coffee shop just opposite the church. “Let’s try there.”

“No.” Bethany gripped Cinzia’s arm so tight it made her friend’s perfectly trimmed brows rise. She eased her grip. Now wasn’t the time to apologise. “I saw a deli when we got here. Remember the one I said probably looks like what we’d see in New York?”

“Ah si, the pastrami one.” Cinzia’s face cleared, though she still had a dubious look. “Let’s go then.”

Bethany couldn’t keep her pace sedate. She averted her gaze from the commotion inside the church yard hoping the people who surrounded her past gave her time to disappear again. The cool wind lifted her now-blue-black tresses from her nape, licking the sweat from there as well as rustled the colourful buntings above them that festooned the main street. The small flags made flicking noises as though cheering her on to get to the pastrami place in a race against time.

Knowing Drake, he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. If things had been different, Bethany would have loved the chase. She would have delighted in the exhilaration and excitement of hiding from Drake and being found by him. They used to play that game and she always looked forward to being enveloped in his arms after he caught her, sharing kisses that made her drunk on his taste. Things were different now. Drake catching her would no longer lead to a good thing.

Walkers and a group of tourists strolled along the only main street of the village. It was easier to camouflage herself among those with the same brand of dark blue parka she wore.

The deli’s door was wide open with the queue ending outside the shop. The few tables inside were already taken until a couple stood.

“Over there.” This time, Bethany didn’t have to pull Cinzia with her. Her friend honed right towards a corner table, smiling at the couple who vacated the table.

Cinzia took the chair facing the shop entrance.

“I’ll sit there.” Bethany lifted her chin while she unzipped her jacket.

“And let that man to die for see you?” Cinzia’s perfect brow rose. “That one who stopped you cold, you nearly turned into a ghost instead of seeing one?”

Bethany flushed under her friend’s stare until Cinzia’s gaze softened. Cinzia had been there when her life was spiralling out of control. Her friend knew her more than she knew herself.

“I saw what happened, cara. He was the one who got away, wasn’t he?”

Bethany shoulders sagged, tension washing out of her in the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She sank down on her seat easing it a little with her bum making the legs scrape the wooden floor. The voices of staff and customers deciding about what meats to put into the bread of choice were mixed with conversations over coffee and tea and the ka-ching of the till.

“What kind of sandwich do you want?” Cinzia fished out her purse from her jacket pocket. “I’m going to assume you’re hungry after our walk.”

“I’ll have an espresso.”

“Hmmm….” Cinzia tapped a finger on her mouth. “Not so sure if they have that kind of sandwich.”

“Cinzia.” Bethany sighed. She rubbed her right temple where a headache was slowly waking. She wasn’t in the mood to kid around, too shaken at seeing the past that caused her sleepless nights, wondering where he was.

Even when she was with someone else.

Cinzia smirked then left.

Bethany covered her face with her hands. She had evaded Drake for so long. Of all the places she’d see him again it had to be this remote village smack in the middle of almost nowhere that was more a destination for walkers, not a wedding.

She knew Drake recognised her even though she had dyed her hair. Disbelief came first before his face became as hard as chiselled stone. Crushing the champagne flute in his hand after he caught a glimpse of her was proof positive that he was angry with her. The fleeting pleasure she saw in his gaze almost made her want to dig up the hope she buried all those years ago.

Only just.

“Ecco.” Cinzia gently placed a demi-tasse in front of Bethany. “Come, Bettina. Drink.”

Bethany smiled her thanks, sighing as the tendrils of the espresso’s scent filled her nose. Strong, dark, aromatic liquid gold. Just like Drake.

“Don’t look now, but your man just passed the deli,” Cinzia said conversationally.

Bethany caught herself at the last minute, nearly giving her presence away but the stark ugliness of what she had become stopped her cold, careening her down to earth and burning to the nothingness she knew she had no hope of escaping from.

“Talk to me,” she whispered.

Cinzia’s eyes widened. “About what?”

“Anything.” She lifted her eyes, pleading.

“Cara.” Cinzia reached out her hand. “Shouldn’t you be the one to talk? To let that tension out since you saw him in the church?”

Bethany looked down at her demitasse as she squeezed her friend’s hand.

“Getting it off your chest might just be the thing you need.” Cinzia spoke again.

Bethany looked at the woman who rescued her from a life she didn’t want in the first place, taking in Cinzia’s jet black hair to her thickly fringed lashes and the slash of her trademark red lipstick to her Roman nose, slanted cheeks and slightly wide mouth that drooped at that moment.

Cinzia was right. She needed confession and her unconventional priestess would give her the temporary absolution to keep her going before she got sucked into the whirlpool once more.

It might just be the closure she needed in order to let go.