Blake
I flick the kettle on. Sophia’s still sleeping and I’m stuck in no-man’s-land, between the horror of what I’ve allowed to happen, and relief that finally, after all these years of want and misery we’ve got to that place where she’s mine. A place of honesty.
Fairweather. I’m going to fucking kill him.
Revenge will be sweet, of that I’m sure. The Sophia I just made love to had no place playing those dangerous games, she deserves more and even if she didn’t appreciate that for herself, he should have.
There’s this constant nagging voice telling me he's behind the letters. Wouldn’t he want to keep her quiet? He could have filmed every time they’d been together, the sick fucker.
With a frustrated snap I pull my phone from my jeans, hitting a saved number. "Sloane, it’s me."
"How’s the Valley?" he puts on his worst Welsh accent, but I’m not in the mood for jokes.
"What do we know about Fairweather?"
There’s a moment of silence followed by the spark of a cigarette being lit. "As in, Jonathan Fairweather, Sophia’s boyfriend?"
I bristle and grip the phone tighter. "Whatever. I’ve been thinking about the letters and pictures. It’s almost obsessive don’t you think, personal almost?"
"Yeah, I’d say." Sloane sighs down the line. "Listen, I’ve found a lead to a private investigator; whoever this is, they are paying for someone else’s skills…" he trails off.
"What?"
"Blake, it reeks of vendetta to me. Someone, somewhere wants her to pay."
My stomach rolls. "Pay for what? It’s Fairweather, it’s got to be."
"Does he know where you are now?"
I shake my head despite the fact he can’t see it. "No, no one knows."
"I’ll keep digging, best you keep where she is quiet. The campaign has definitely increased and you know what happens when situations like this escalate."
"I know," I snap before pulling myself under control. "Sorry. It’s, it’s, just if anything happens, you know…"
"I know. I’ll check in as soon as I discover something."
"Cheers, Sloane, you’re the man."
He mutters, cursing at me and hangs up.
With the phone in my hand I stop and stare at the boiling kettle, trying to remember what I was doing—trying to see anything apart from her in my head. Scrubbing a hand down my face, exhaustion sweeps over me. She’s under my skin, crawling with an intensity that makes me realise the way I felt about her before is nowhere near close to what this has the possibility of morphing into.
"Happy now, Blake?"
Turning I find Mam watching me from the door. She’s a bloody ninja. She’s probably been stood there listening to the whole conversation. Her boots are muddy, but she’s never been the kind to worry about taking shoes off in the house.
"It’s not about being happy, it’s about what’s right." I watch her, willing her to understand and accept the decision I’ve made. "All these years, Mam. It’s been tiring."
She sits down at the kitchen table in her place, picking up the glasses she left there earlier. The same things are always in the same spot. Glasses and a biro—they are intricately her. "I know, Blake, I do. I just wonder where this is going to lead you, she’s so damaged."
"She just needs love, that’s all."
Mam raises her eyebrow. "What sort of love, that of a lover or that of a father?"
I grit my teeth. "Don’t be low."
"Have you told her you’re still in contact with her dad?"
I shake my head. There are only so many truths that can unravel in one day. "I’ll lead up to that slowly."
Mam gives me a pointed look in response which speaks louder than any words.
I brush my hair out of my eyes, my classic stalling tactic, which judging by the loud tut she gives me fails. "I will, I will." Fiddling with tea mugs to distract her from glaring at me I say, "Someone is trying to push her over the edge, that much we know, but we don’t know why. Mam, they were burning weed in her oven for goodness sake, only someone who knows how delicate she is would do that. I’m sure it’s Johnny, he’s trying to scare her into keeping some secrets quiet."
"Johnny Fairweather is clean, that’s what everyone says." It’s my turn to roll my eyes. Since life had taken me from Wales to Hollywood, my mam has become quite the gossip page connoisseur.
"Don’t be naïve, Mam. He’s not clean, I don’t think he even got through rehab. He’s a lying, disgusting bastard who doesn’t want everyone to know it’s him that caused his own overdose and not her. I mean let’s be honest here," thoughts whirl in my brain. "It was just the two of them there that night, one of them has to come out on the right side. I’m guessing he would do anything to make sure she stays broken and down."
Mum stares long and hard, her scrutiny sweeping over my face. "And you’re going to be the one to help her up?"
"If that’s what it takes. Yes."
"And when he’s working alongside her on that film, or they are walking the red carpet together and people are asking if they’re together because no one knows she is dating her bodyguard. What then?"
"Even then."
Dating. It seems such a silly word for what we’ve been through to get to this chilly afternoon in Wales.
I reach for the tea bags as the whistle begins to blow again on the kettle. "Want one?"
"What do I look like? A flipping teapot? It’s all you guys do, make me tea." She props her glasses on the end of her nose.
"Okay, okay, calm down." I laugh as I bustle around her trying to get to the drawer with the spoons.
"I went and cleaned Matilda. You left her locked up in a right state."
I wince. Matilda. I’d forgotten during my afternoon with Sophia I’d left her locked in the outhouse covered in wet sand. "Thanks, Mam. I was distracted."
Mam grunts. "You’re welcome."
We have an odd relationship. Always have. She hadn’t wanted me to follow Dad into the police force. Turns out I never got that far, but then still somehow ended up following the old bugger, anyway.
"I am sorry about Dad’s funeral. Shayne’s still really mad about it, isn’t he?" I say as I stir three sugars into Sophia’s tea.
I’d apologised many times before, once I’d calmed down after storming out of LA the last time, but the words never seemed enough.
I made a choice, and I missed my father’s funeral. That’s a decision I won’t ever be able to change—no matter how mad my brother is at me, or how disappointed my mother stays.
Mam gives me that worn smile, the one she always wears when anyone mentions Dad. "He would never have left his mark either."
And isn’t this the truth? Even when it meant missing urgent doctor appointments. Appointments that could have meant he’d still be sitting at the kitchen table with Mam. Loyalty and duty, the two fundamental character traits I’d inherited from my dad.
"I’m going to take Sophia her tea."
"Your sister is going to explode when she finds out."
"Any chance she won’t?"
Mam chuckles, shifting her glasses and pulling her crossword back towards her. "I would say zero to none. Good luck to you."
Bugger.
* * *
Sophia’s on her phone as I manhandle the cups backwards through the door. She shoves it under her pillow just a fraction of a moment too late.
Not a great start.
As if she can read my thoughts, or maybe my expression is all too obvious, she pulls the phone back out again. "I was just checking to see if Sarah called, or text."
I hold in my groan. My possessive unhealthy side doesn’t much like the attachment she’s made in rehab. But I know that’s only because I haven’t met Sarah or had a chance to vet her. It’s the bodyguard in me. The protector. "And has she?"
Sophia frowns. "Nope. I hope she’s okay. She’s fragile, you know? She puts on this tough girl front but she’s lonely."
"Then I’m sure she’s glad you’re her friend." I pass her a mug of steaming tea. "Did you tell her everything?"
She nods. "Yeah, it was good to talk to someone. I found the group therapy sessions really hard."
I sit on the bed and tuck my legs up. "Shayne always hated it. Mam made him keep going though."
"When did he get clean?"
I sigh. The truth is going to come out, eventually. "After I left to work with you. When I went with your family, he was a mess. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for walking away and taking your job, he thinks I put you above our family."
"Why did you leave him if he was struggling, he must have only been young?" She sits a little straighter, kicking her long legs out from under the duvet.
"I guess I didn’t like someone threatening a child. But maybe I was also running away from the mess here. I didn’t really know how to help Shayne; his destructive streak is legendary. It’s sad how he still holds it against me."
"It wasn’t your fault though, you were just living your own life." Her gaze settles on the blank wall for a long moment. "That’s the thing about addicts," she continues, her eyes flicking to mine. "They are quick to blame. I see it now. I blamed you for how I felt, I blamed my mum for forcing me into showbiz. It’s only now I see I could have walked away if I’d really wanted it enough."
"To find that cottage with roses?"
Her eyes hold steady on mine. "Yes."
"How exactly do you plan to pay for the cottage with roses?" I run my hand up her leg, relishing the smooth skin. "There are going to be repercussions if you don’t film the last movie."
Her nose upturns with disgust. We both know she has to go back to finish it. I wish I could ferret her away here in Wales forever, but I can’t. This is a temporary escape until things calm down and she gets a grip again—it’s not forever.
"I could find out about other scripts, I guess?" A slow smile grows across her face until it dazzles. "I’ve never searched out scripts before. We could get some sent here and you could help me practise and test them out." Her eyes shine and sitting on my bed with her hair tangled and her skin make-up free she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
"I’m a fabulous actor." With a quick flick of my hand I catch hold of her ankle and drag her down the bed.
"My tea, Blake!" The tea slops all over the sheets and pillows but I don’t care. I just bind her in my arms, kissing her warm mouth until my body comes alive under her touch.
Later when she is moaning about still being thirsty, but I’m spent on the mattress, my arms lopped above my head I decide to tell her. She’s told me everything. It’s only fair.
I take a breath, but then can’t seem to release it with my words as I begin to speak.
"Shayne and I were close growing up, tight as thieves, and well, sometimes we were." She raises an eyebrow in the darkening gloom. We’ve officially spent the whole day in bed, and I for one don’t plan to ever leave the rumpled sheets. "We weren’t always the most honest of boys." I chuckle. "How do you think Glynis at the shop knew you’d wrestled vodka down your knickers? Shayne and I used to get caught all the time. Mam used to give us hell." The bottle of vodka still sits unopened in my wardrobe and I have a good feeling it will remain that way. I’m going to go give Glynis the money myself. I’ve got this stupid idea that maybe one day I will be able to present it to Sophia as a souvenir of just how strong she is. So long as she never breaks the seal she’s always winning.
"Then," I sigh, this is the difficult bit, "There was a girl. She liked us both I think, but she was dangerous. I mean, Shayne and I were cheeky, but Erin, she always pushed it one step further." The memories batter at me from deep within the box I keep them locked in. I won’t let them out. I’m in control, not them.
"Shayne and Erin got into stuff: drinking, speed, weed, anything two local kids from Wales could get their hands on. I knew what they were doing, but I didn’t tell anyone and I just let them get on with it. Dad was strict. He had to be, he was an officer of the law and he believed in old school upbringings."
Her eyes widen as I mention dad being a police officer.
"So I let it go. I decided to do my police training down south with the Met. I didn’t want to be in Wales. Then Erin died, she drowned in the sea when she was high. Shayne was with her that night, but somehow he got himself onto the shore." The call still haunts my nightmares. Shayne’s voice broken and small when he called to tell me. "Shayne went off the rails, got into some major trouble. When it came to the background checks for my police training, well it didn’t look good."
"So that’s why you didn’t join the police?"
"No. I was halfway through when Shayne overdosed. He was so angry with me. Somehow, he blamed me because I’d left them to it and hadn’t tried to help Erin when I knew how damaged she was. As far as he was concerned, I was the reason she died in the sea, because I was the one with the knowledge to stop it."
I drag a breath into my tight lungs. Do I blame myself? Yes, sometimes.
"It’s ridiculous, really. I came home to help Mam. Dad was retired by then, taking security jobs. It was him who introduced me to Sloane, who in turn years later, led me to you." I kiss the tip of her nose despite the wild beating of my heart struggling against the dark memories of the past. "But Shayne didn’t want to be fixed, not by me anyway, so I went travelling for a while. As you know." I drop a kiss onto the top of her head. "And when the job came with you I went for it."
"And when your dad died?"
"It was when you were at your worst. You were so small and surrounded by all this crazy; every time someone came near you it was as if you’d jump out of your skin. How could I leave?"
A startling droplet of water rolls down her cheek. "Don’t cry. It’s so long ago now."
"It’s my fault you didn’t say goodbye to your dad."
"No." I shake my head. "I wouldn’t have made it back in time, anyway. And if we are laying blame, it’s Shayne’s fault. If he hadn’t pushed me away in the first place I might never have taken the job."
"He’s always going to hate me though."
"Meh," I kiss her again. "He hates most people, don’t sweat it."
I pull her closer, relishing the warmth of her body pressing alongside mine. I still crave her despite the fact I’ve owned her many times over the last few hours. "Can I ask another question?" she says.
"Another one?" I smile against her hair and kiss the top of her head.
"If I’d kissed you a week later than I did, after my eighteenth birthday. Would it have been different?"
I think about it as I watch the shadows spread across the ceiling. Eventually I sigh. I just have to be honest. "No, it wouldn’t. I wasn’t repulsed by you, Sophia, I was repulsed by me. I’m eight years older. Now it doesn’t feel too bad, but then it would have made life awful for you." I kiss her, teasing her lips into my mouth, chasing her tongue in a pretty dance until I pull away. "Now we stand a chance, I hope."
Her teeth shine white as she smiles in the now dark room. "We do."
I pull her towards me again, sinking my face into the tender skin of her neck. "I hope so. I really hope so."
I’m dozing off to sleep when she starts to shake with laughter. "What is it?"
"Us. If you think about it, Blake, it’s a bit like you shagging one of your baby sister’s friends."
I nip her throat with sharp teeth. "That’s not even funny, not funny at all."