Joel
One Year Later
I’m not too proud to admit that no amount of training could’ve prepared me for the hell that was that night. Impotent isn’t the right word, a fucking useless heap of skin and bones is more apt for all the help I was. I managed to call 911, but after that, I just stood by and let the most incredible woman I know and love work to try and save our daughter. I couldn’t move. I wanted to, every fibre in me wanted to spring into action and perform the miracle needed, but I was too terrified.
For the first time in my life, I was too petrified to do my job. I’ve never failed at anything, but that night I failed at being a doctor and a father. Of course, Regan sees it differently, and I’m so thankful she does, and that she is all about the second chances. Which is why we are here today.
“Tell me again why we’re here?” Regan shivers against the chill in the air, and I pull her a little closer to share my warmth. Her long black coat gapes open at the front, she hasn’t been able to button it up for over a month now.
“I’m going to buy you a new coat, that one is ridiculous.”
“So is buying a coat for the last month of pregnancy, now tell me again why we have to go through this? What’s wrong with the toilet bowl?”
“The death of a first pet is traumatic.”
“For who, because Ruby doesn’t look nearly as bothered by this as someone I could mention.” She arches a mocking brow that I ignore.
“I loved that fish.’
“I know you did, but I’m freezing my tits off here.” She uses her free hand to cross over herself.
“I second that.” Cameron adds, looking more confused than anyone else gathered. Harper just looks hung over, but then it is very early on a Sunday morning. Everyone close accepted Ruby’s last minute invitation to give Nero a formal send off. All of Regan’s friends, her old neighbours, and on my side, Trinity, are here.
This last year has been my greatest challenge, and I understand now exactly how important it is to have friends as well as family.
“Okay, so what now?” Cameron asks as we all fall silent, standing around a small hole in the ground in the garden of our townhouse.
“Ruby, do you want to say a few words?” I ask. She gives a little nod and holds the small cardboard box she decorated and Nero’s last resting place in front of her. She steps forward and places it in the hole. She stands back up, looks around, but doesn’t say a word.
“Joel.”
“Shh, let her speak.”
“Yeah, about that…Joel.” Regan squeezes a death grip on my hand and pinches out words that are strained through her gritted teeth.
“Ruby, momma’s kind of cold.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Ruby’s eyes widen and a deep frown creases her forehead. She is the spitting image of Regan when she does that.
“It’s okay, baby girl, just say what you feel.” I say softly and yet still failing to hide the urgency in my tone.
“Joel.” Regan pants and I know I need to get us out of here, right now. “Oh…OH!”
“You go, we’ll finish up here.” Trinity takes Ruby’s hand.
“Can I come?”
“Don’t you want to finish here?”
“Oh, yes….Goodbye, Nero, you were a lovely fish. I will miss you, but I have to go and meet my new baby brother or sister.” She pats down the small mound of soil over the box and jumps to her feet. Wiping her hands together and cleaning off the crumbs of dirt she looks up and declares.”OK, I’m ready.”
“Right then.”
“I can’t believe I got out of bed for this sh-“
“-You know, Harper, I’m more than happy to take you right back to bed if that will help your mood.” Cameron cuts in.
“Aren’t you just the selfless soul!”
“You know it.”
“Thank you for the kind offer, but I’m up now, may as well follow the herd. It’s not everyday I get to be an aunt again.”
“See, there is a heart in there. I knew it!”
“Ahh! Fuuudge, that hurt.” Cameron rubs his arm where Harper has just landed an impressive sounding thump.
“Come on, baby, let’s go.” With my arm supporting Regan, I steer us back to my car.
“You lied!” Regan grits out through her clenched jaw, fisting the front of my t-shirt. Her glare looks like it could melt paint from the walls.
“About?” I calmly reply, holding her hand as it constricts to the point I start to fear for my future as a surgeon.
“Many things.” She starts to pant through the pain as it peaks and ebbs in quick succession. She’s barely getting a moment in between contractions.
“If you’re referring to this situation, I did explain at the time that blue line confirmed you were pregnant, and that I never lied about the sperm donation. And in my defence at the time, I didn’t lie about my infertility. I had a very, very low sperm count after contracting mumps. It just wasn’t as permanent as I was led to believe. Oops. I try to pull off a light, apologetic smile, whilst smoothing the slick hair from her face only to expose narrowed eyes and a mean scowl.
“And you lied about the pain. You said nothing would ever hurt as much as…huff-huff-huff…and this…this hurts. This really fucking hurts!” She yells.
“I know, baby, but you’re doing so well.”
“I’m going to fucking rip your bollocks off for lying to me,” she snarls, and I’m surprised fire doesn’t explode from her nostrils, she’s so riled up, right up to the point she flops back exhausted onto the bed.
“Is this normal?” I address the nurse finishing her examination. I’ve asked the same question a hundred times even though we both know I know the answer. I’ve delivered babies before, I’ve just never been at this end of the table before. The nurse humours me with her reply.
“Everything is quite normal, Dr Prescott.” She snaps the latex gloves from her hands and gives an easy, calming smile.
“The language, I mean does every newborn enter the world wondering if the mother that has nurtured them for nine months is in fact a hardened dock worker?”
“You squeeze a melon out of your…huff-huff-huff… Oh, god, I can’t.” She starts to argue, but pain diverts her indignation.
“Everything is quite normal, Regan, you’re doing really well, not long now.” The nurse assures us both.
“Where’s everyone?” she asks, ignoring the supposedly encouraging news.
“I think they went for ice cream.” I tease and instantly regret my attempt to lighten the situation.
“Now? They had to go now?” Her eyes glaze with the burst of tears. “They were all supposed to be here, they promised.” She wails, and I quickly try and defuse this new dilemma.
“They are all here, baby, everyone is in the waiting room. I was teasing.”
“You were what? …huff-huff… Oh, god, Joel, I can’t do this. It hurts too much.”
“Yes, you can. Come on, Reggie, think of—”
“Not another word.” She holds up her finger, and my mouth snaps shut, because there is not a single thing I can say that will ease the pain of literally being torn in two.
“Okay, Mrs Prescott, you’re the boss,” I say and mean it.
“Damn right…ahh…ahhh!” She doubles up, crying out and holding her breath at the same time.
“I want to push!”
“What?”
“Did I stutter? I said I want to motherfucking push.”
“Okaaay, there’s my little hellion. Let me get the nurse back.” I take one step, and she grabs my t-shirt with the strength of Hercules and pulls me to her face.
“No, now…I’m pushing now.”
“Oh, fuck!” I press the call button, snap on some gloves, and dive right in.
“No, Joel…not you!” She yells and groans as pain seizes her choking the words in her mouth before they reach the air.
“Too late, baby. This little one is coming.” I place my hands ready.
“Dr Prescott, I can take it from here.”
“Yes, yes, let her take it…ahh!” Regan pants.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Regan, better let Dr Prescott finish, now he’s started.” The nurse says and pats my shoulder before stepping up to hold Regan’s hand.
“Push, Regan, one more push,” I coax, and, despite the fear that has been my constant companion for the last nine months, I suddenly feel very sure. The pain takes control of her body and even though her screams are tearing me apart, I’ve got this, I’ve got her, and now, I’ve got our baby.
“Here you go.” I stand and pass the pink, slimy baby to her momma. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm, and perfect. Regan reaches with shaky arms and takes the baby from me. Her head lays heavily on Regan’s chest, and I still haven’t released the breath I’m holding. Regan’s hands lightly check every wrinkle, crease and tiny toe, before and only when she smiles a peaceful smile at me, do I relax enough to exhale.
“Oh, my god, Reggie, she’s perfect. She looks just like Ruby.” My eyes fill with tears, and my vision is just a blurry mess. I wipe them dry and carefully sit on the edge of the bed, as close as I can get without spooning.
“Really?”
“She looks like her momma.” I lean closer and plant a grateful kiss on her dry lips.
“Is she okay, Joel? Is she—”
“She’s perfect.” I touch the back of my finger lightly to our baby’s rosy cheek.
“Hey, there, little lady, welcome to the family,” Regan says softly, beaming and exhausted.
“You up for visitors? I don’t think I can keep them waiting much longer.” I ask, after we have had all the checks and Regan has had a quick clean-up.
“Sure, it’s not like they haven’t seen me looking worse.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.” I kiss her once more, then the top of our baby’s head, and walk out to get the others.
“Momma!” I hear the squeal before I see the blur of pink rush toward me.
“Ruby, do you want to meet your little sister?” I lift Ruby high on my hip, and then carefully place her beside Regan on the bed. My heart aches and swells at the sight, Regan cuddling the daughter she saved all those months ago.
She kept up CPR on Ruby until the paramedics could take over. The next few hours were my very worst, and I know I wouldn’t have survived any of it without her and her calm determination that everything was going to be all right, when it really wasn’t. She never faltered, even as we clung together and prayed, not for a miracle—I knew we were never going to find a donor at this stage—I just wanted to have one more day, where Ruby would wake, and we could say goodbye.
Even when she did wake the next day, we couldn’t give up. She argued for a second screening for me as a donor. We were out of options.
We held on to each other so tight throughout the four long days of G-CSF injections, which would stimulate my stem cell production enough for extraction. A second blood screen persuaded the transplant team that the risk of rejection was within the normal range, enough to proceed, and that’s all we wanted, because, without the transplant, Ruby would die.
“Here, sweetie, lean back against the pillow and me, and we can hold her together.” Regan tries to hand Ruby the baby, but the angle is all wrong. Trinity steps forward to help.
“Let me,” She holds my baby for a little hug, and then places her in Ruby’s eager waiting arms.
“Thank you, and thank you for this morning.”
“Nowhere we’d rather be,” Trinity says.
“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to have been in here earlier. Momma needs to put a hundred dollars in the cuss jar.” I wink at Ruby, who giggles and then stops herself when the baby wriggles.
Harper and Cameron are comically keeping their distance but venture a little closer when Regan waves them over.
It’s not like pregnancy is catchy.
“Cam, Harper, it’s safe. You can come closer.”
“We know,” They try to brush off the fear that has them both wide-eyed. Regan told me they weren’t around when Ruby was this tiny.
“So, what’s her name, Momma?” Ruby asks, and Regan looks over to me.
“We wanted you to choose.” I say, and Regan nods her agreement when Ruby looks at her with shock in her wide eyes.
“Really?”
“Ruby, you’re our little miracle, and we thought you’d like to name what turned out to be our other little ‘miracle’,” I explain, and I know it was the right decision when her face lights up with pride.
“Then let’s call her Miracle,” she says excitedly, after only a fraction of a second’s thought and with absolute conviction.
“Miracle, it is,” I repeat with a slight grimace. I mouths to Regan something about maybe needing a normal middle name, and she mouths back…maybe.
THE END
Enjoy this sample of Wanted
“JESUS, FINN, YOU SURE YOU’RE not emigrating?” Hope laughs out a dirty throaty sound, as she struggles with the last of my suitcases. Stacking the final piece on the back seat on top of the mobile mountain, which pretty much contains my life or what was my pathetic life. I flash a tight smile, which sticks to my teeth, and a punch of guilt hits me in the gut, which I clearly fail to hide in my expression. “Finn?” I can hear the wobble in my best friend’s voice, her tone pitched with genuine concern.
“No, I’m not emigrating.” I make a show of rolling my eyes at her dramatics, even as I mumble ‘probably’ under my breath so as not to be accused of lying outright, if all does go well. “One month is a long time. I need a lot of shit.”
“There’s a lot and then there’s all your shit. I should know, since you’ve been camped on my sofa for the last three months. My flat looks like it’s been burgled, it’s so bare. I think the only thing you haven’t packed is Dolly here.” She pats the soft-top roof of my ancient Citrëon 2CV.
“I would take her if I could.” I tilt my head and cast an affectionate glance at the car that has rescued me from many a disaster, the most recent, moving everything I own from my home with Dave to the aforementioned sofa in Hope’s flat. Luckily Dolly is like the frickin’ Tardis, and I only needed to make one trip. Come to think of it, that isn’t lucky at all, it’s just sad. I’m twenty-six years old, and I spent ten of those with the love of my life, yet all my worldly possessions fit inside a 4-door, antique car, which has wildlife growing in the footwells.
“It’s only a month; I’ll take good care of her.” Hope’s face fails to achieve the smile she’s desperately trying for, and I take that as my cue to jump in the car and avoid eye contact. I’m such a coward.
We chat for a while, and the car falls silent. Hope reaches over and her bony hand grips mine, which is clutching the steering wheel. Her eyes are glazing again, and I try, with enormous effort, to swallow the lump in my throat, but it won’t budge.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” she tells me for the umpteenth time. “Do you really have to go? He could be a psycho.” I twist my hand in hers so our fingers are now threaded.
“He could be, but he isn’t,” I reassure her.
“I still think you’re crazy.” She states this with certainty but no judgment.
There are many reasons she has been my best friend since primary school. For a start, she’s the keeper of all my secrets. The morning after every sleepover since my early teens, she would take delight in embarrassing me, regurgitating every word I spilt throughout the night when I talked in my sleep. The worst of all habits, in my opinion, because there was nothing I could do to stop myself, and I was, by all accounts, shamelessly honest and open. I bought a dreamcatcher, which seemed to help. Nevertheless, in the end, I begged her not to keep me talking. I asked her to wake me or even add a gag as a preferable alternative to sneaking a peek inside my subconscious. She told me I was a spoilsport but agreed, because above everything else, she always has my back. Even if she doesn’t agree with my choices, she’s undoubtedly my one-woman cheerleader, crossing everything she has and wishing me all the luck in the world without so much as a twitch of a judgmental brow.
“No. Crazy would be giving Dave another chance to humiliate me and waste another God knows how many more years of my life.” My laugh is rightly humorless and filled with contempt.
“Yeah, that would be crazy. But the States? Do you really have to go all that way to find one decent guy?” I choke back a cough and feel my cheeks burn with the truth and lie I’m about to serve.
“Orange County, California, and yes, it would seem so.” Not technically a black lie, it’s vague enough. And if my damn cheeks aren’t flashing like a fucking beacon, I might get away with it.
“What aren’t you telling me, Finn?” Hope shifts in her seat, and her tone is deadly serious. Dammit.
Now I could lie, but she would know. If we lived in the Dark Ages, she would’ve been burnt at the stake years ago; it’s kind of spooky, her witchy ways. But the truth? If I tell her the actual truth, she’s likely to grab the wheel from my hands and flip a one-eighty in the middle of the motorway, rush hour traffic be damned, and probably end poor Dolly in the process. So, I have to give her something meaty, the truth, but not quite the whole truth and maybe a little bit of, nothing but the truth.
“He’s asked me to marry him.” I think that counts as meaty, and I try for a casual delivery with my level tone, though I don’t think it matters.
“What the fuck, Finn?” she hollers, causing my shoulders to shoot up to protect my ears because my hands are occupied. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ve ‘known’ ”—she exaggerates her air quotes and lays the sarcasm on thick with her condescending tone—“him for what, three months? And now, you’re going to marry the dude?”
“I didn’t say I was going to marry him. That’s what this month is about. It’s a trial.” My words are stark in the silence of the car. They sound ridiculous when spoken out loud. Who does this? What sane, normal woman would? She’s right; it’s nuts. I’m out of my fucking mind. Which is why none of that matters.
I’m a crazy woman, and three months ago, I said, “Fuck it.” I made this decision, and I’m not backing out.
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then.” The sarcasm is like treacle now, and her tone is tinged with bitter disbelief and disappointment.
This is not how I wanted today to go. I fix my mouth tight shut for fear of saying something I can’t take back. The tension is palpable, and I cringe when Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” crackles through the retro radio hanging from a makeshift hammock under the dashboard. Perfect.
We reach the airport and Hope helps me load my cases onto the trolley. She still hasn’t said a word. I hand her the keys to Dolly and go to walk away. She’s double parked, so I know she has to get going. She grabs the sleeve of my denim jacket and pulls me into her tiny, surprisingly strong hold.
“Wow, the gym’s been paying off for you, too. You hug like a heavyweight.” I groan under her hold.
“Or like I might never see my best friend again.” Her soft words hit me hard.
“Hope…” I sigh and return her embrace with a gentle heartfelt squeeze around her shoulders, her head resting against my neck. I feel her body shudder with the first gasp of a sob. It’s enough to make my nose tingle, and a slew of big fat tears fall onto my cheek.
“But it’s true. That might be the case.” She sniffs, sloppy wet sounds she doesn’t try to hide.
“No, it’s not true.” I pull back and hold her gaze with mine, her dark green eyes fill with tears, matching my own. I blink to try and keep focus.
“Stay, Finn…please,” she mutters, her fat lip wobbling.
She’s killing me. “I can’t, Hope.” I shake my head, and the heaviness in my heart, the sadness I feel is a fraction of the sorrow I have endured, and she knows this. “I wasted ten years of my life with a man who had no intention of marrying me, H, and he even took delight in humiliating me about the fact in front of all my friends. He made me feel utterly worthless, and now…” I stutter and draw in a fortifying breath. “I have these men, and one of them promised to marry me. I get to choose…me, I—” I clamp my mouth shut at my apocalyptic fuck-up.
“Men?” she snaps.
“Man, I meant man.” I wave my hand to dismiss my seemingly silly mistake,
“You said men,” Hope corrects and then gasps. “Finn you didn’t answer that advert?” Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes like saucers, and we both suck in a shocked breath.
“I…I…” I can’t construct a sentence. She steps up to me and interrupts so I don’t have to. I wish she didn’t.
“That’s who you’ve been talking to so secretively these last three months every spare minute. That’s what all this gym shit you’ve been dragging me to morning, noon, and night for the last three months has been all about. It’s because you need to be fit enough to take on four guys?” She stares at me, and her mouth is open so wide it’s comical, but I’m not laughing. I’m waiting for the scream, the howl of judgment to rain down on my slutty arse. I draw in a breath and brace.
“Yes.” I tip my chin, and time comes to a halt…and remains still as I frown at my friend, the statue. Her wide emerald eyes are fixed and focused, though I’m not sure on what. I wave my hand in front of her face, but she doesn’t flinch. Is it possible to be catatonic standing up?
“Hope? Are you okay? You’re kind of freaking me out.” I look around to see if anyone else is observing my friend’s weird behavior, but no one is paying us any attention. Well, other than the parking officer who is scowling between Dolly and the No Waiting sign. “Hope!” I hiss a little loud, and she blinks and gives a full body shudder, regaining her senses.
“Four guys?” she asks with a degree of awe in her tone.
I hesitate before answering.
“Yes.”
“At one time?” She arches a brow, and her lips begin to curl into a wicked smirk.
“Not necessarily. We haven’t actually gone over the logistics,” I reply, a little straight-laced given the topic, after all, we’re hardly in a secret-sharing environment.
“But they wanted a twenty-year-old?”
Her incredulous face pisses me off, and I place my hands on my hips and tip my chin, my tone a little on the defensive side. “Well, they got a mid-to-late twenty-year-old, who has worked her arse off to knock the last several years off her clock…literally.” I straighten my back and subtly tighten my tummy in lieu of drawing in an obvious slimming breath.
“Oh babe, you do. You look smoking hot; don’t worry about that.” She pats my arms and flashes her best friend a reassuring smile. “No. You need to worry more about the fact you don’t have enough holes, because, babe, that’s something you can’t fix at the gym.” She bites her lip to hold in her trademark filthy laugh, but I crack first and she’s quick to follow. She throws her head back, full-on belly aching, dirty laughter falling from her lips, eyes streaming, shaking her head. “Oh my God, you’re going to be kept busy around the cock.” She doubles over at her own joke and waves me down because I think she has another gem. “They’re in the Forces right? They’re going to want everything to run like clockwork.”
“Okaaaay, then, are we finished?” I pat her back as she attempts to regain her composure.
“Sorry. So sorry…too tempting. You’re right, you have a flight to catch. The cock is ticking. No time to be dicking around now.” She snorts with another laugh.
“Hope.” I sigh.
“Look, Finn. I still think you’re batshit insane, but if you have to go crazy, at least you’ll have lots of nuts to keep you company.” She pulls me in for a final hug, and I can see she’s genuinely smiling. Her face is a little wet from her tears, but her expression doesn’t hold any anxiousness or tension. There’s a little worry, which is understandable. Maybe I should’ve told her sooner. “I want you to promise to do one thing for me.” She clears her throat; her tone is soft but serious.
“What’s that?” I wait with bated breath for her to tell me what she’ll need from me to ease her mind, and will it be anything within my power. She hesitates a moment before her shoulders start to shake.
“Pictures…I want lots of pictures.” She snickers some more.
“I’m gone. I’ll call you when I land.” I turn on my heel and start to push the half-ton trolley away from my best—annoying—friend.
“With pictures!” she calls after me.
“Sure, with pictures.” I turn my back to the trolley so I’m facing her while pushing the beast up the ramp.
“You go, girl. Take one for the team! Oh wait, no. Take four with the team!” She shouts with the volume of a crowd control foghorn over the entire departures drop-off area. I cringe, but raise my hand to wave her off. Her own hands are flapping at me like a crazy person before she sinks into the car. The parking officer has finally lost his patience and points for her to leave or get towed. Dolly wouldn’t survive a tow with all that manhandling. I watch the cream and raspberry car filter into the traffic and disappear. Shit, I hope I’m in better shape than Dolly when it comes to being manhandled.
Four Months Ago
“YOU CAN’T BE HERE WHEN he gets home, Hope. It will kind of ruin the surprise.” I slam the oven door shut, having checked the chicken is doing whatever it’s supposed to do in the oven, when I’m not allowed to drench it in a decadent cream sauce or rich wine gravy. The best I can manage within my boyfriend’s tight ‘health freak’ guidelines is a light pan fry to give it some color, and then steam the little fella in the oven to try and keep it tender and juicy. Dave owns an elite gym in the West End of London with a superstar clientele, and appearance has become a bit of a focus for him. I guess it always has been, but I’m more conscious of it now, perhaps, since it’s become less important to me.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she says, with enough horror in her tone to convince me she isn’t joking. “I don’t want to be here when you start dry humping your man as soon as he gets in the door.”
“That wasn’t the surprise I was going for.” I narrow my eyes and stick my tongue out at her disturbed expression.
“But sex is…I mean it’s why, under that coat you look like you’re auditioning for the Rocky Horror Picture Show.” She leans over and pulls the lapels of my Mac wide open. I squeal and re-tighten the loose material, cinching it firmly at the waist. I take a quick peek myself, because now I’m filled with panic.
“What? You’re kidding right?” I laugh nervously, searching her implacable face for any signs she’s joking. “I was hoping for agent provocateur seductress, not transvestite.”
She rolls her eyes, tutting and shaking her head with a light admonishing smile.
“I’m kidding, Finn. Jeez, you’re easy to tease when you’re strung out or frustrated.” She snickers, a deep, filthy, wicked laugh, and reaches for my hand to offer some genuine comfort. I’m all over the place with uncertainty and zero confidence. “You look fucking hot under the Mac. Is that part of the get up? He’s into the whole flashing-in-public thing?” She takes another sip of my wine despite having declined her own glass, and has proceeded to drink nearly all of mine.
“Hardly. No, I was hoping we could go for a quick drink, and this might turn him on. I mean I’m practically naked under here.” I hate sounding tentative about this, but I’m more than a little out of my comfort zone.
“Shit, Finn. You could wear a used bin liner, and you’d turn most men on. What makes Dave so special you’re worried it won’t? Does he have a golden dick or something?”
“No. I just…” I hesitate as I struggle to articulate feelings I don’t really understand myself. “He’s my best friend, Hope, apart from you, obviously.”
“That’s a given. Continue.” She beams a smile which crinkles her bright green eyes and widens her even brighter painted red lips. Her wild, glorious red hair is slicked back in a severe bun, practical for work but a little harsh for her soft pixie features.
“Sometimes I feel that’s all I am. I don’t know when it happened but I worry we’ve slipped from lovers to mates, and I miss feeling…wanted…desired, you know?”
“Um… Only ever one-night stands over here, so not really.” She gives an unapologetic shrug. I didn’t really expect her to understand. Her longest relationship is with me. She was with me when, underage and out looking for fun, we snuck into club. We ran straight into Dave and his mates. In borrowed heels and the tightest dress this side of indecent, I literally fell on my arse at his feet. He owned me from that night on. I never stood a chance. I fell for him and didn’t look back. I do have my doubts about Hope, on the other hand. I don’t think she’d fall if she was hit with a fucking freight train.
“We’ve been together for a long time, Hope, and I think he’s a little bored. So I thought I’d spice things up a bit.”
“And is he making the same effort?” She purses her lips in an effort to temper her underlying objections. She does this a lot when we talk about Dave, however, this time, she’s very wrong.
“I think he’s going to do more than that.” I rush out the words with a surprised blurt of excitement, which seems to pique her interest.
“Oh really? What?” She leans in closer to me, her face mirroring my smile.
“I think he’s going to propose to me on Saturday.” I drop my mouth in mock shock. Well, not mock since I am shocked.
“Why Saturday?” Her face is unchanged. No more excitement, no less either; however, she looks a little skeptical.
“It’s his birthday, and he’s been really secretive. It’s not like him. I normally organize everything we do socially, but this time, he’s called all our friends, booked a private room at the new club on the high street. He’s even sorted the caterers. Every time I offer to help he says he’s got it covered, and all he wants from me is to say, ‘Yes’.” I clap my hands together in a rapid-fire mini applause.
“Fuck!” Now that tone is utter shock.
“I know.” I giggle and bounce on my toes. “Honestly, Hope, all this time I thought he was going off me. I know he loves me, but he really hasn’t shown much interest sexually for ages.”
Hope wrinkles her nose with distaste. “Eww…Do we have to? I can’t help having a visual when you talk details.” She sticks two fingers down her throat as if her tone isn’t enough for me to get the level of her abhorrence.
“I’m serious.” I flick the end of the tea towel and catch her with an impressive snap on her arm. She yelps and scowls, and I ignore the fiery stare. “I’ve been really busy at work, and I haven’t been to the gym in like forever. This”—I grab my squidgy midriff and then shift my hands to my size D-cups—“is not the body he signed up for.”
“What? The body from when you were sixteen, you mean? Well, no fucking shit, Sherlock. Whose body is? Listen very carefully. You are fucking hot, any size you choose to be, so don’t give me that shit. Has he actually said that, because I will cut him—”
“No! No, he hasn’t.” I wave her down as she brandishes a spoon as if it was a mighty blade of body-shaming retribution. “He wouldn’t say anything like that. But, I know image is important to him, so I’m sure it’s in the back of his mind, and I can’t help thinking—”
“The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and if he isn’t eating…” She wiggles her finger in the general direction of my crotch.
“Exactly.” I sigh. “I honestly don’t remember the last time he did that.” I mouth the last word silently.
“Too many carbs?” She lets loose an unladylike snort, and I blurt out a laugh. I love that about her; she always makes me feel better. “So the big seduction thing is a preemptive thank you…a timely reminder of how fucking lucky he is?”
“I hope so.”
“You know I fucking hate this about you? No, not you. I hate how he makes you doubt yourself. I don’t get the whole marriage thing, but I know it’s important to you and he does too. So the fact he’s kept you waiting all these years chips away at your self-esteem and you’re all, ‘Maybe I’m not attractive to him anymore. Or maybe he sees me as just a friend’. It’s billy bollocks. You fucking rock, and he’s damn lucky to have you. There are hundreds of guys who would think the same as me. You happen to have fallen in love with a bit of a dick.” She holds her hands up to signal the end of her little speech and draws in one more breath. “I’m not judging, just stating fact.”
“It’s complicated.” I shrug off her tirade, because I have heard it before, and it stings because it’s true.
“No, it’s simple, although I’m jumping down from my soapbox because, he may be a dick, but he’s your dick, and you are the only one who matters in the equation. Your happiness and you’ve wanted that white dress since we used to play dress-up when we were kids.” She steps around the kitchen island to my side and wraps her arm around my waist.
“I still love to dress-up.” I snicker, looking down at my kinky ensemble.
“The outfits have become a little dirtier—a little more leather than lace.”
Hope wiggles her brow.
“And at least I fit into the heels.” I lift up my leg to showcase my most spectacular shoes.
“Killer heels, and if they don’t seal the deal, I don’t know what will. I can guarantee it won’t be that meal you’re cooking.”
“It’s his favorite.” I try to sound offended and defend my efforts, but she’s right. Again.
“Bollocks. That’s no one’s favorite: steamed chicken, brown rice, and broccoli. Oh God, I’m going to gag.” She starts retching, and I push her away then walk over to the hob to make sure as bland as this meal is, it’s at the very least perfectly cooked. “Okay, I’m going to be off. Do you want me to meet you for lunch tomorrow? I’m working at the spa round the corner. I could pop in.” She slips her bag over her shoulder, then grabs her keys and phone from the counter.
“Depends on whether you’re coming to see me for lunch or coming to fuck my boss.” I point an accusatory wooden spoon her way, and she boldly returns my stare with no shame, a fiery spark in her eyes.
“Well, he is very fuckable.”
“Hope…” I warn.
“Fine! Lunch.” She holds her palms flat in an act of supplication. “I promise no fucking. Maybe a quick handjob, but definitely no fucking.”
So much for supplication.
She grabs her coat from the kitchen stool and makes to run from the room. Not that I could catch her with my skyscraper slingback stilettos.
“See you tomorrow. I can tell you all about it,” I call after her.
“Please don’t. I’ve only just stopped gagging from the food.” She pops her head round the door, her shoulders jerking and her cheeks puffed out holding in pretend vomit.
“Out!” I point my finger and give my dismissal in a firm and final tone.
“Love ya’, Finn.” Her reply is delivered sing-song, which always leaves me with a smile.
“HMM…SOMETHING SMELLS GOOD, RP, what’s the occasion?” Dave walks into the kitchen dropping his gym bag and briefcase. His near-black hair is still damp from the shower he would’ve taken before he left the gym. He is religious with his workouts, and I have to admit he looks damn good because of it. He’s not overly tall, five foot eleven. I’m five foot five, so he’s tall enough. He has wide shoulders, trim, narrow waist. His thighs are kind of weird now though, bulging and distorted with muscle mass, it makes finding jeans that fit a challenge. Every muscle from his tanned nose to his pedicured toes is toned to perfection, if a little bulky for my taste. I felt he reached perfection a few years ago, but apparently, that wasn’t perfect enough. His face is bright with a wide smile, and his jacket strains at the seams when he draws in a deep breath through his nose, capturing the aroma of the meal I have tried so desperately hard to make interesting. He strides straight past me to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and peers over my shoulder at the pans simmering. He ruffles my hair that I had artfully fashioned into a messy bun. I thought at the time, It is amazing how much effort is required to look effortless. “Why have you got your coat on, if we’re eating in?”
“I thought we could go out for a quick drink before dinner?” I give him a genuine, shy smile as I feel a surge of nervousness start to grip my tummy.
“Have I missed an anniversary or something?” He frowns, taking in the fact my face has little make-up and my coat isn’t all I’m wearing.
“No, I thought we could try something a little different.” I twist around so I’m now facing him, and with a boldness that surprises both me and him, I drag my leg up his thigh. The gap in the front of my coat widens and falls back, exposing my long leg, stocking, and suspender. I press the spike of my heel against his butt, impressed I can, one, get my leg up that high and, two, maintain my balance.
“You want to go out like that?” His derisive tone is as harsh as a slap in the face, but his mocking laugh is worse.
“Well, For a start, I’d quite like you to maybe not laugh at the suggestion.” I slip my leg back down. I don’t want to sound hurt or angry, or this evening will be a non-starter.
On the other hand, right now, I can’t ignore the real pain from the slice of rejection that cut deep with his response.
“I’m not laughing. I’m a little surprised, is all. This isn’t like you, RP—”
“Could you maybe not call me RP tonight?” I watch as more bemusement twists his features.
“Why? You know I don’t mean anything by it. It’s a nickname.” I can see he’s struggling to understand, but I don’t want to go into details. I want a bit of fun and a lot of intimacy.
“I know. Just maybe not tonight.” I try and keep my plea lighthearted but earnest, because it really is a shitty nickname.
“Fine. You’re acting really weird, Finn. Are you on your period?”
“Oh, my God!” I hold my breath and count silently to ten, thanking all that’s holy I don’t have a knife at hand.
“Sorry. Clearly not, although…” His accusation hangs in the air like a noose swinging silently in the gallows, along with the remainder of my surprise evening.
“Jesus, Dave.” My voice catches with an equal mix of fury and emotion.
“What? What have I done?” His tone has switched from confused to inflammatory with a tinge of aggression. “I walk in and, bam, you’re acting all weird, wanting to have sex and go outside with me, while looking like a stripper.”
“I’m weird for wanting sex?” I take a step back and cross my arms tight around my waist, covering as much of myself as I can. I still feel more than naked, utterly vulnerable.
“That’s not what I said.” He lets out a heavy sigh, his hands deep in his pockets, and he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Look, can we start this again, and maybe you can talk to me and tell me what the hell’s going on?” His tone softens, and I think that’s worse. I get an intense prickle at the bridge of my nose, and I have to blink to stop the tears from welling. I won’t fucking cry. I shake myself and straighten, pulling myself together.
“Fine, but I’m going to need a drink.” I grab my empty glass and the bottle of white wine from the cooler.
“Really, RP? You know that’s like a meal in itself. Do you have any idea of how many cal—” He wisely snaps his big, fat mouth shut as I spin to face him with thunder, and possibly murder in my eyes.
“If you say calories, I swear to God, Dave, this bottle is going where the sun don’t shine, and it’s not going in narrow end first.” I wave my weapon of choice at his startled face. The only words playing in my head are Hope telling me I fell in love with a bit of a dick. I pour a large glass of wine, making a childish point to fill it to the top, slurping from the lip of the glass before I can lift it. I watch Dave intently as he nervously draws small sips from his bottled water.
“Do you love me, Dave?” I hold his gaze as his eyes widen with worry.
“Is this a trick question?”
“It really isn’t.” I let out a sigh, feeling the warmth of the alcohol hit my bloodstream, calming me some. This conversation feels a little weightier than I was anticipating. I wasn’t expecting much conversation at all.
“Then yes, of course I love you. You’re my best friend, my little RP. Well, not so little.”
“Really, Dave? Is that seriously the problem here? That I’ve gained some weight?” I take another gulp.
“I was joking, and I never said that.” He has a look of mock hurt blazing across his face that I could make such an accusation.
“We hardly ever have sex, so there has to be some reason.”
“I love you, Finn. I’m not going to lie and say you are at your most beautiful now, because I personally think you’ll look more gorgeous when you lose a little weight.” He tips his head like that will soften the shallow, passive-aggressive insult.
“Just like I think you are most handsome when you’re not so bumpy with all those gross muscles.” I counter in all seriousness.
“No, but joking aside, Finn…” He barely gives my insult any recognition, and he certainly thinks it was a joke. “…you’re a very beautiful woman, and I’m a lucky guy.” He steps forward and sweeps his arms around me, pulling me close and holding me tight. This is all I wanted, to be held…well, held and some cock. I’ll take being embraced over indifference.
“And the sex?” I push, because, actually, I would really like some cock. I think I’ve healed over.
“I guess I’ve just had a lot on at work, and I know this might come as a shock, but guys don’t think about sex every five minutes.” He laughs out loud and playfully taps me on the nose. I’m not entirely convinced, but he holds my gaze, and I do see the love in his dark hazel eyes. It’s always been him, even if he can be a bit of a dick.
“So, we’re good?” I ask and grind a little against his erection, which is most definitely just as keen as I am.
“We’re more than good, Finn. You are my perfect woman, and on Saturday, I’m going to prove it.”
“Saturday?” I ask, hoping for more, then not. I’m all tingly with the anticipation, and I kind of like the feeling.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not saying another thing.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then my cheek. His lips brush mine, and as soon as I open my mouth to take a little more, he withdraws everything. His heat and his body. I sag from the loss, but he takes my hand. ”Come here.” He pulls me over to the kitchen island and slides his hands over my shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles and massaging with just the right amount of pressure to make me moan. What am I saying? I’m so horny a gust of wind would make me moan.
“I’m starving,” he declares, and all ministrations cease. I tip my head up to meet his gaze. He has a relaxed smile, and I sigh, a little defeated but only a slight amount. I still have Saturday.
“So, do you want your dinner now?” My hope that he wants to give me more flatlines with his answer.
“Yes! Then you can give me a blowjob, how about that?” Talk about throwing the dog a bone.
“AND I TAKE IT YOU bit his dick off, and we’re off to visit him in hospital so your best friend can laugh her arse off.” Hope has her arm threaded through mine as we head back to the salon where I work as an artistic director, second to the owner, Carlos. I’m a hairdresser. I can polish it up however I like, but I’m a stylist, a fucking good one at the best damn Salon in Chelsea, London—most probably the whole of the UK if you believe Carlos’s hype.
“I shouldn’t have told you. It always sounds worse when I say it out loud. I like giving blowjobs. I mean I got off so, it was a win for me too.” I sound feeble even to my own ears. When did I become so pathetic?
“But that’s not what you were hoping for, right? For the evening, I mean. So, it wasn’t a win, by any stretch. Where the fuck is your backbone?” She’s keeping her tone remarkably soft, considering the furious glare sparkling in her green eyes.
“It will be a win on Saturday,” I mumble.
“You’d say yes? After that? I mean, after everything you’ve told me, you’d still say yes?” She stops in her tracks and faces me, utter astonishment shining from her pale complexion.
“I love him, Hope, and he loves me. No relationship is smooth sailing. Everyone’s shit stinks. At the end of the day, though, he picked me.” I can’t hide the catch in my voice. “I’ve never been picked for anything. Parents, foster care, even my grandmother didn’t really pick me. I was dumped there. I know marriage isn’t the be-all end-all, but it means someone wants to commit their life to me forever. Dave wants me.”
‘“Even if one in two marriages end in divorce.” She throws out a random statistic which happens to suit her argument.
“Yeah, even then, because for now and for each day in our one-day-at-a-time relationship, he has chosen me.” I nod in affirmation with a little ‘so-there’ thrown in.
“You get the partner you deserve, Finn, and right now, he’s being a dick, and you’re being a doormat.”
“Hope!” My eyes water instantly, because she’s never voiced her view with such a mean spirit before, and she looks mortified right away.
“I’m sorry, Finn! God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” I bite back, and my voice cracks.
“Yes, I did. But you know I only want you happy.” She cups my face, her hands like silk from all the massages, and her eyes are as wet as mine. She holds my gaze as silent tears trickle down my face. She gives a tight nod. “All right, angel. But just so you know, if I swung your way, you would’ve been well and truly chosen a long fucking time ago.” She pushes out a light laugh, which is just enough to ease the tension.
“And I would’ve chosen you, but even though you have the most amazing green eyes I’ve ever seen, I’m still more of a penis girl.” I push the front door to the salon as she laughs with me. She’s just as much my world as I am hers, and I know she has my best interests at heart. It doesn’t mean she’s right, but it does mean she’ll always have my back.
“Preaching to the choir, sister. Speaking of penises, or is it penii? Carlos!” Hope calls out to my boss. The salon is packed, but Carlos is lounging in the luxurious waiting area, spread-out like a glorious God on the cloud-like, puffy, white sofas. His dark skin glows and thick, jet-black hair, hangs strategically for maximum impact across his handsome face. His sultry eyes, the shade of midnight, are just as bewitching. “Damn, sometimes I hate my one-night-stand rule.” Hope flashes me a wickedly carnal smile, and I suddenly fear for the safety of my boss. This is a match made in hell.
“Hope, you look quite edible.” Carlos sits up, and Hope leans down to kiss his cheek in greeting.
“Don’t I, though.”
I pull her back and step between them. It’s like rutting season; they’re both as bad as the other, and I know I’m grumpy about it because I’m hopelessly horny.
“Hope, when are you going to persuade Finn here to let me loose on those platinum locks? You know it’s a crime to work in London’s most prestigious salon and have glorious but utterly boring hair. She’s never had so much as a tint washed through it.” He drags his long fingers along my scalp and loosens the tie holding the mass of curls at bay. His fingers shake and pull the strands free. I think I might whimper. Hope certainly snickers.
“You’re on a fat chance there, Carlos,” Hope replies, and I seem to have entered a dream-state. “Dave likes the natural look: no color, no cuts, no tatts. Completely natural. You’d have more luck trimming her bush than cutting any length off her hair.” She snickers at her comment.
“Hope!” I choke out a cough and feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. She may have bumped uglies with Carlos and now obviously thinks she has no need to engage her brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s still my boss.
“What? I’m just saying…” She waves off my concern with a shrug. “You haven’t changed your appearance since you were sixteen, and he nearly threw a shitfit when we both got our noses and navels pierced. He said I was a bad influence.” She drops her tone to mimic Dave’s reprimand, but ends up laughing.
“You are a bad influence.” I join in, because she’s too infectious not to.
“I like her essence.” Carlos’s rough grumble and thick accent make Hope sigh loudly.
“Influence,” I correct.
“Oh I heard what you said.” His gaze cuts to Hope like she’s the only person on the planet; it makes the hairs on my neck stand at attention. I miss that. I’m seriously suffering from sensory deprivation if I can get this turned on by my boss’s husky voice and a few choice words in the middle of my work shift.
“At least let Carlos do something special for Saturday?” Hope goads after some seriously heated seconds of eye fucking, then winks conspiratorially at my boss.
“Oh, yes, the big day. Please, angel, I will make you utterly irresistible. Not that you aren’t already, but I will make the icing. Yes?” He turns his attention to me, and I notice Hope fans herself while his gaze is diverted.
“Fine! But you’re not cutting the length, because Dave likes it long.” I hold up my index finger to indicate that is my number one rule.
“Who doesn’t?” Hope gushes under her breath, and I cringe because, for the love of God, she’s now blatantly staring at my boss’s pants. Ground, swallow me now.
“So Saturday, you’re coming, Carlos?” I ask quickly to keep his eyes on me and not on my wayward friend.
“Of course.” His smile is bright, wide with perfectly straight, dazzling teeth. Killer smile.
“Good. Dave’s friends and family always makes me conscious of the fact my side of the room looks like someone forgot to mail the invites.” I half joke.
“It won’t look like that this time. He has invited the whole salon, and what we may lack in number we make up for with style and glamour.” Carlos wiggles his thick, dark brows wickedly.
“And interest. Dave’s mates are narcissistic boring fuckwits. Again, I’m not judging, I’m stating a fact.” Hope holds up her hands and tightens her lips as if she has finally finished with the unsavory comments. Unlikely.
“Oh God!” I slap my hand against my head with a sense of doom and exasperation.
“Ah, don’t be like that, Finn.” She jumps onto my part of the sofa and throws both her arms around me, squeezing until I can’t breathe. “It’s going to be fun with a big fat capital F.”
Present day
“NAME?” THE LADY AT THE check-in desk fails to hide her irritation, but judging by the exaggerated roll of her tarantula-lashed eyes, she really isn’t trying very hard. I may be holding up the queue, but this trolley is possessed by Satan, won’t go where I push it, and does in fact weigh about the same as my car. Oh, if she huffs one more time, I swear. I abandon the trolley, jutting across the path between the desks and the roped-off hordes of impatient travellers.
“Sanderson.” I pinch out a tight smile, and even then, I’m being generous.
“Have you checked in already?”
“That’s why I’m here at the check-in desk.” I smile for real this time because I get to use my own dramatic eye roll. “No, I haven’t, but I’m all good to go now.”
“Would you wait a moment? There seems to be a problem.” Her eyes dart from me to her screen and then back to me. Her brows furrow with confusion and now her nervous smile, although genuine, makes my anxiety reach new heights. I know I have the right day. I double-checked the booking and there’s no fucking way I’m hauling all my stuff back to Hope’s. If it isn’t the right day, I’ll just stay here. After all it’s not like I don’t have my whole life in those cases.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sanderson, you are in the wrong queue.” Her smile now dazzles it’s so wide and white.
“Um—”
“Please follow me.” She is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I take a step back at this miraculous transformation. “The porter will bring your bags.”
“Porter?” I numbly follow her at the gentle tug on my sleeve, watching with my mouth agape as a burly porter pushes my trolley and follows us to the first class check-in desk.
I snort out an unladylike sound, cupping my mouth to contain the sound, and laugh. I look around for the prankster; this has Hope written all over it. Not that she has the money, but she’d think nothing of causing a little chaos.
The lady who brought me over, hands me to an elegant, immaculately groomed man with a deep tan and bright blue eyes.
“I’m so sorry for the confusion. Marc will take very good care of you.” She smiles again, and I’m sure her cheeks must be aching with the stretch of her lips.
“Not a problem.” My brain hasn’t engaged, and I’m still waiting for the big reveal.
“Is that all of your luggage, Ms. Sanderson?” Marc drags my attention away from nervously scouring the area for where Hope might be hiding.
“Um, yes, but we can stop this now. I get the joke. Really very clever, but—”
“I’m sorry? What joke?” Marc asks with genuine confusion.
“The flying first class joke.” I drop my hip and tilt my head in lieu of another eye roll.
“You don’t want to fly first class?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Well, obviously I do; however, I booked economy.” There’s a hushed inhale like I have thrown out the C-word at a nuns convention.
“You were upgraded, Ms. Sanderson. I can assure you this isn’t a joke. I’m also pretty confident you will want to fly first class.” His warm grin matches the friendly gleam in his eyes.
“Really? I mean really, I was upgraded? By whom?” I try to peer around his screen, but it has some sort of privacy cover blurring out any details.
“I don’t believe I’m allowed to give out that information,” he warns.
“Well, I don’t believe I will be getting on the plane and maybe you will have to haul those cases back down to economy,” I sass and fight the urge to click and wave my fingers in his face.
“Give me a moment.” He smirks at my attitude, and I give a light shrug. Yes, I’m the idiot kicking up a fuss about being upgraded. He returns with a triumphant smile. “Elemental paid for the upgrade.”
“Oh.” The instant recognition makes my lips spread into a wide, warm smile. “In that case…” I thrust my passport forward and lay it on the counter.
“So you’re happy to travel now, Ms. Sanderson?”
“Very happy, yes.” I nod enthusiastically. Elemental is the name of the house where the men live …and my future husband. Oh God.
I downed the first glass of champagne. It really didn’t touch the sides of my throat and I notice first class has a bar—a real bar. So I’m pretty sure my nerves won’t be a problem for much longer. The seats are massive and recline into a full bed. Not that I’ll be able to sleep, but I might fall into an alcohol-induced coma at some point on this ten-hour flight, so a horizontal option is good. I pull the crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket, or the catalyst as I like to call it. Smoothing it out on my knee that won’t stop shaking, I read it for the millionth time.
Hope showed me the advert three months ago. By then, I’d already spent one month on her couch, and she thought I could do with a giggle. The ad had been making the rounds on social media, and she laughed about it—we both did. Joked about ‘if only’. But I had a twinge in my tummy that pushed me to take the next step from ‘if only’. My heart was broken, my head was all over the fucking place after that Saturday, but my instinct was right on the money. My instinct said, “Fuck it, Finn. Why the hell not?”
You can question my sanity, and fine, you can question my motives too, but once I was satisfied this was, indeed, a genuine offer, I doubt I would have chosen any differently at the end of the day, or more specifically at the end of that Saturday four months ago.