Chapter 22

FLYNN

I text her. No answer. I call her again and again. Nothing.

We were meant to meet at a sushi joint for an early dinner—she doesn’t like the bike and insists it’s madness for me to pick her up. London Traffic—then we’d made plans to see a movie. One we couldn’t decide on. Chasity isn’t a fan of action movies, and I don’t fancy watching subtitles and films in black and white, which I assumed were more her wheelhouse. It turns out she’s a fan of chick click and romantic comedies. But it’s all good, and our disagreements are just verbal foreplay.

I would’ve been happy staying in, but when you’re in a relationship, you’ve got to switch it up. A dinner, a show, an actual picnic with grass and shit, which isn’t quite as good as staying in bed, feeding her figs, champagne, and my cock. But a relationship isn’t solely based on bedrooms and fucking. Or bathrooms and fucking. Or kitchens and . . . well, you get the picture. You’ve got to get out once in a while is what I’m saying.

When she’s ten minutes late, I’m not worried. Twenty and I’ll admit my feelings ramp up to concerned, intermingled with a little irritation. Thirty and a couple of unanswered phone calls and my thoughts are running to frantic.

Calm down, I censure myself. Don’t go hunting her down like she owes you money.

There must be a reason. Some kind of work emergency maybe? Family? Something to excuse a lack of preoccupation with her phone. I hope, whatever it is, runs to the former and is coupled with something as simple as a flat battery on her phone.

Like a loser, I vacate the table and grab a couple of take-out boxes and some Asahi Japanese beer, changing my mind at the last minute and swapping it out for a decent sized bottle of sake. Something tells me I might need it. A half hour later, and I’m pulling up at her door.

I knock. Ring the bell. Stand back from the door and look up at her bedroom window to where the shutters are slid shut. I pull out my phone again and just as the call connects, the front door slides open a couple of inches.

‘I’m sorry.’ Words almost bubble from her mouth. Her eyes are rimmed red, mascara having tracked down her face at some point before being smeared across her cheeks.

‘What happened?’ I ask, stepping closer to find her body blocking the entrance. She’s not gonna let me in?

‘I fell asleep. I’m sorry—I should’ve called.’ She sniffs, and I nod, weighing up my options. I’m not sure what they are but accepting this bullshit sure as shit isn’t one of them.

‘Fuck this,’ I grunt, catching her midriff with my shoulder, lifting her into the air as I stand.

‘Flynn, please, I don’t have the energy.’

And this is patently true, lucky for me, hey? Or else I might now be recovering from a knee to my face. The bottle of sake in the bag wrapped around my wrist bashes against the door frame as I push my way in. I wonder distractedly if the sushi will be in any state to eat after that.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you,’ she whimpers upside down as I pause in the hallway. ‘I promise. But just not tonight.’

‘Shush, babe.’ If there was ever a sign that Chastity needs me, it would be that tone right there—and words following my actions that don’t resemble go fuck yourself.

Hallway. Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom. Where to put her down? I go for neutral, depositing her on the couch.

‘I’m sorry.’ Something twists in my gut as she folds herself forward, her hands in her lap, her face covering them.

‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’ I chuck my jacket on the opposite chair and drop to my knee in front of her to rub a few circles of reassurance across her back. The gears in my mind beginning to turn and clank, coming up blank. ‘What is it, babe?’ Under my hand, her body stiffens, and she rapidly shakes her head. But I’m not accepting that shit, either.

I take a seat next to her, pulling her barely resistant form onto my lap. My body cradles hers, her legs bent, feet planted on the sofa cushion to the side as I band my arms around her. I keep up with the circles, though lighter this time, the way I know she likes.

I don’t speak, and I don’t make demands. I just listen to her small, shuddering breaths, her face pressed into my shirt as I accept the cooling effects of her tears breaching my shirt to touch my skin.

Eventually, her breathing evens out. I think maybe she’s gone to sleep—worn herself out. I don’t doubt that’s part of why she didn’t turn up earlier. Exhaustion from tears? But what the fuck has happened and how can I help? How can I fix this? As though privy to my thoughts, she speaks.

‘I saw my ex today. Miles is his name.’

Oh, shit. My heart fucking sinks to the depths of my boots. Anything that causes this much hurt hasn’t been dealt with—the emotion and the pain hasn’t burned itself out. But I still don’t speak. I don’t know what to say, but I feel the implications, the thoughts of her slipping away making me sick.

‘I-I haven’t seen him since we broke up. He said I was u-unstable.’ Her breath catches on the final word, her chest beginning to stutter again.

‘We say a lot of things we don’t mean when we’re hurting. And you already know men are arseholes, right?’

Her laughter is just a consonant sound that breaks free, surprising us both.

‘Thing is, he was right.’

‘Maybe,’ I counter quietly. ‘Love makes us do mad things sometimes.’

‘I was crazy,’ she whispers, her finger reaching out to trace the pocket on my shirt. ‘I we . . . we had, almost had, a baby.’ A miscarriage, maybe?

‘How is this something I don’t know?’ I wished I could swallow the words back. What an arsehole. What a selfish prick—what the fuck has it to do with me until she says?

‘No one knows. After we split up, I pretty much cut everyone from that time out of my life. I didn’t have him, and I didn’t have my baby, and he . . . he’s just moved on. Like nothing happened. I saw him today. He’s married, and he has a family. A beautiful family.’ She shakes her head, her next words seeming apropos of nothing. ‘His son is called Freddie. I think that hurt me more than seeing him. Why does he get to move on and I’m stuck?’

‘You’re not stuck, babe. You’re amazing.’ She doesn’t seem to hear me, or maybe she isn’t listening. ‘Why does this son’s name piss you off?’

‘Because he stole my name,’ she mumbles.

‘I didn’t know you were called Freddie.’ I feel her smile weakly at my words, and as I push the fallen hair from her face, I place my lips on her head.

‘I’ll never be able to use it now,’ she whispers.

‘It’s a pretty shit name, babe. I don’t think I want a son with a name like that.’ My lips freeze on her head as I wonder where that came from. Way to drag out the caveman, Flynn.

‘Why would you call your son Freddie?’ she asks, not latching onto the meaning behind my words—the words that caused a strange sensation in my chest. And those words? They lead to images. Things I’d never thought of until now.

Chastity, her gaze soft and belly swollen. Chastity with our child in her arms.

Fuck. The idea is crazy and exciting. I’ve always wanted kids. I’ve just never—

She twists her head, giving me her swollen eyes and sombre gaze.

‘Are you still in love with him?’ I almost don’t want to ask, apprehensive that I might hear something I’m not ready to hear. But as she shakes her head, I find myself releasing a heavy breath.

‘I’m sorry you lost a baby, and I’m sorry you’ve carried this on your own.’ You’re not alone now. You have me.

‘I couldn’t talk about it,’ she says, her words barely a squeak. ‘Not since. I’ve never told anyone—I was barely pregnant. I’d only just found out. One minute, we were wondering how a baby would fit into our lives, and the next, I was being rushed to surgery.’

‘I’m so sorry, babe.’ I wrap my arms around her and crush her to my chest as though the power of my arms holding her could bear her pain instead. ‘So fuckin’ sorry.’

‘It was an ectopic pregnancy. Emergency surgery. I might’ve died.’

‘Fuck.’ I can’t keep saying I’m sorry, even if I am. ‘You must’ve been terrified. I’m so pleased you didn’t die.’ She huffs out a short laugh again. ‘I mean it, Chastity. I’m out of my fucking head on you. I’d give you a dozen Freddies right now just to see you smile.’ And I would. I haven’t even fucked her today, but the sight of her smile, however weak, shoots my veins with the same endorphins. I’m high on the girl.

‘You don’t even like kids.’

‘Just a fuckin’ minute.’ Hands on her shoulders, I push her away a little just to see her expression. ‘Where’d you get that idea from?’

‘The day at the pub. You said—’

‘Come on. I say a lot of shit.’ It’s true. ‘Especially when I’m trying to get an invitation to your undies.’

‘You said you’d make a great uncle.’

‘That’s true. And I do. My older brother, Byron, has a couple of the little fuckers. But I want kids. I just needed to find the woman mad enough to put up with my arse to have them with. Looks like you’re it.’ She doesn’t look convinced.

‘Then why did you say that? Why did you look so horrified?’

‘Firstly, it’s not the kind of thing a single bloke runs around saying—go on, let me fill you with my babies!’

‘Actually, that sounds like one of your pickup lines.’ She bites her lip to stifle a smile.

‘And second, I really liked you. I didn’t want to frighten you off because you weren’t giving off baby vibes. You have your business, and you’re always so straight, when you were fully dressed, at least. And you don’t go around kissing babies and pulling kooky, gooey faces.’

‘No, but I’m always the first to offer to hold little ones to give mums a break.’

‘Sneaky. I like it.’

‘I think I have a bit of a fetish,’ she admits shyly. ‘I like the smell of a baby’s head.’

‘Nah, that’s not a fetish. That’s biology.’

‘It’s like baby crack,’ she adds.

‘Nah, pretty sure baby crack is at the other end, and not quite so sweet smelling.’ Funny how her tear swollen eyes can still manage a withering look.

‘So you’d like a family.’

‘If I find the right man.’ A hint of her attitude returns, and though I smile, I also theatrically clutch my heart.

‘Way to sling me under the bus. Are my swimmers no good for you?’

‘Don’t joke about it, Flynn,’ she says, sounding pained.

‘Who’s joking? See this face? As sober as a judge and just as serious.’ And as I say the words, I know them to be true. ‘So, that’s settled then. You want kids and so do I. Guess that makes me your ideal man a little further down the line. We just might need to get a lot of practice in first.’

‘My ideal man isn’t crazy. You can’t just decide you want a family with someone you barely know.’

‘Didn’t stop my parents.’

‘What?’ She drags the word out over several disbelieving syllables.

‘They’d been dating a month when Mum fell pregnant. Forty years later and the old fella still can’t keep his hands off her.’

‘That sounds like a fairy tale.’

‘True. Like the ones the Brothers Grimm wrote, especially when you’re a kid and you go into the laundry room to find a clean T-shirt only to find your mum sitting on the washing machine, your dad’s hips working like a piston between her legs.’ I shiver at the memory, feeling like I ought to cast a circle of salt or something. ‘And then there are my brothers. They’re like the cast of a gory fairy tale. When you meet them, you’ll see what I mean.’ I pull her to my chest again and sigh. ‘Come on, fuckin’ Miles?’

‘What’s wrong with Miles? Apart from him being a colossal twat?’

‘It just sounds like you had a close escape from the fuckwit. He must’ve been an ugly kid. Who names their kid a measurement of length? Maybe the kids weren’t even his. His wife might’ve been playing Miles away. A bloke with a name like Miles sounds like he couldn’t organise a fuck in a brothel, never mind father a couple of kids.’

‘And you’re such an expert on fatherhood?’

‘I reckon I am. I have the best kind of dad. A pretty cool family, too. Just don’t tell them I said so. I’ll tell you about them sometime.’

Chastity yawns, nuzzling closer. ‘I have had a really shitty day. And these things you’re telling me are just like . . . information overload. I just need this day to be over.’

‘Sounds like a plan, babe. Lead the way.’

‘What?’

‘Well, you’re not kicking me out,’ I reply, because fuck that for a game of soldiers.

‘You want to stay?’ she says softly. ‘I’m not—’

‘Babe, don’t. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Just let me hold you tonight.’