Cash launched his phone against the wall, watching dispassionately as the broken pieces fell to the ground. No one was at the door, but the pain of talking to Natalia when he couldn’t see her, touch her, make love to her was too much. He’d have done anything to have her there right then, but she made her position clear, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it other than give her time as she’d requested.

He picked the sim card out of the splinters of what had been his phone. He’d have to buy a new one. Smashing it had been rash and stupid. What if Gracie needed to contact him and couldn’t? He checked his watch. If he put his foot down, he might make it before the shops closed.

Several dangerous driving manoeuvres later, he reached the shopping centre just in time and managed to pick up a new iPhone. On the walk back to the car, he called Gracie.

“Cash,” she said, answering almost immediately. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s fine. Just checking in.”

“Again?” she said, her tone light and teasing.

He laughed. “I broke my phone, so I’ve been uncontactable for an hour or so. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t tried to call.”

“No, I haven’t. Everything’s fine here. All quiet.”

“Good, good,” he murmured.

“How did you break your phone?”

“It had an argument with the wall. The wall won.”

Gracie chuckled. “Oh, dear.”

Cash dug his keys out of his pocket as he reached the car. “Hang on a minute. I’m just putting you on speaker.” He slid inside and started the engine, and his phone connected to Bluetooth.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Gracie replied.”

“Don’t forget Natalia’s coming over this weekend, so if you need me, can you text first? Unless it’s urgent.”

Gracie sighed. “Cash, far be it for me to poke my nose into your business. If it’s as serious with this girl as it sounds, sooner or later you’ll need to tell her.”

“I know. Just not yet.” He started the engine. “I’ve got to go. Night, Gracie.”

He cut the call and drove home. On his way to bed, he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. This house had always been his sanctuary, his place of peace when life got too crazy. But without Natalia, it might as well be a prison, a place that kept life out rather than inviting it in.

He sagged onto the bed and put the rim of the bottle to his lips, taking a couple of long, deep swallows. The last time he’d been this lost was after he treated Natalia so appallingly at Rupe’s place in London. But this was worse. Much, much worse. This time, the hangover was going to be a bitch. He took another swig, daring the bitch to do her worst.

 

* * *

 

Cash opened his eyes a crack, immediately closing them again as sunlight almost burned away his retinas. Trust Northern Ireland to have one of its rare sunny days when he had a hangover. He wrapped the duvet around himself as waves of nausea added to his miserable state. Hundreds of tiny hammers relentlessly jabbed at his head, and his body ached so badly he wouldn’t have been surprised to find himself covered in bruises.

He forced his lids open once again, squinting to reduce the amount of light hitting the back of his eyes. Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and his stomach lurched as the room spun. He took several deep breaths, waiting for the nausea to subside before staggering to his feet. He shivered and took a tentative step forward. His stomach immediately protested, and he slammed a hand over his mouth, making it to the bathroom just in time.

He didn’t know how long he stayed slumped on the cool bathroom floor or how he managed to get himself back to bed, but the next time he woke, it was pitch-black. He glanced at the clock. Fuck. He’d lost a whole day. His stomach rumbled, and he made the second attempt of the day to get out of bed. This time, he negotiated the trip to the kitchen without being sick. If he’d had the energy, he’d have high-fived himself.

He forced down an omelette and drank two litres of water. That meant he’d be pissing all night, but at least it stopped his mouth feeling as though he’d eaten a sweaty flip-flop. He needed to call Natalia, but couldn’t remember where he’d left his new phone. Using what little energy he had, he carried out a systematic search, eventually finding it in his dressing room.

He staggered back to bed on gangly and weak legs, and although the food had helped settle his stomach, he still had a killer hangover. He had to stop trying to drown his problems in alcohol. It might feel good at the time, but the next day definitely wasn’t worth it.

He dialled Natalia’s number and closed his eyes.

“Hi.” Her soft voice drifted into his ear, and he pressed the phone closer. Just hearing her speak perked him up. “I thought you weren’t going to call.”

“Sorry. It’s been a weird day. Is it too late?”

“Of course not. You sound awful. Is everything okay?”

He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a strangled groan. “Not really.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Her obvious concern made his heart ache.

“Because I couldn’t drown myself in you, I decided Jack Daniels might make a suitable alternative. He didn’t.”

“Oh, Cash.”

“Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.” He fixed the pillows beneath his head. “Tell me about your day.”

“Pete sent me to cover a demonstration marching on Downing Street against hospital cuts, and some guy peed on my shoes.”

He laughed. “Oh, my poor baby.”

“I know. My life is so glamorous.”

“What time can you finish on Friday? I need to get the plane scheduled to come and pick you up.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can easily get a flight from City.”

“You are getting a flight from City. In my jet.”

Natalia hesitated, and he imagined her shaking her head or rolling her eyes. He braced himself for a battle.

“I can get there for six.” She’d said the exact opposite of what he imagined, something she seemed to do quite often. That was just as well, because the resultant battle if she’d insisted on flying commercial would have sapped what little energy he had.

“Good. I’ll text you the details of where Isaac will be. I’d come myself, but I’ve got this TV thing that’s been in the diary for ages, and much as I’d like to, I can’t get out of it.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll call you tomorrow and see you Friday.”

“Okay. Night, baby.” He hung up, feeling a lot better. As he drifted off to sleep, he vowed that the next day, he’d get off his arse and plan the perfect weekend for the perfect woman.

His perfect woman.