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“Thanks.”
She sighs. “I hate to see you hurt. You are such a sweetheart, you don’t deserve this.”
“For what it’s worth, I hate it, too,” I say with an attempt at a smile. “I just wonder if I did something wrong, is all. Did I fuck it all up?”
“Sweetie, you didn’t do anything wrong. He was just not the guy for you. The most important thing is you enjoyed your first time. Some relationships are over in a night. They come, they go, but they have a purpose. You needed to throw caution to the wind and enjoy yourself. Which you did. Maybe that’s all it was ever meant to be.”
I wish I could believe that, but my heart tells me otherwise. How can I explain it to her? Th
e way I felt when our eyes met. Like I understood him better than anybody else. His sense of beauty, his sense of what really mattered in life. There was a depth to him that I could see. And he saw something in me I don’t think any man ever has. At least, that was how it felt. Perhaps the alcohol made me see things that weren’t really there.
“I shouldn’t have slept with him,” I mutter.
“But then you wouldn’t even have a good time to look back on. Do you know how lucky you are that your first time was so amazing, with such an experienced man? Most of us have to put up with a fumble and a poke in the dark,” Charlotte reasons. “One day you’ll look back on it and be glad that it happened the way it did. Believe me. You’ll come to appreciate the memory. You said it was incredible, right?”
A sigh escapes me. “Yeah, it was.”
“Accept that. And accept that you were two ships passing in the night. You’ll move on, and maybe you’ll be a little wiser. You won’t equate great sex with great love.” She touches her wine glass to mine. “And let’s not forget something.”
“What’s that?”
She smirks. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing, the daft prick. His loss.”
I can’t smile back. She doesn’t understand. It’s my loss. My loss.
Chapter Eighteen
Tyson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fkLUBxLMMio
Too Much
It’s a cold day. Clear, beautiful. Almost like a spring day, come to think of it.
The sounds of weeping grow fainter, fainter, as the rest of the mourners file away from the gravesite. It’s just me, hands clasped behind my back, standing in the middle of the church cemetery, looking at the casket that holds my best friend’s body. I feel like I’ve aged ten years since that first call from Vanessa. He managed to linger another two days after he went to sleep, but that was the best he could do.
I stare at the polished casket. Why bother making it so shiny when it’s only going into the ground? I walk up to it. Kneeling next to it, I rest my forehead against the shiny wood. He’s in there. I close my eyes.
“Everybody thinks I care about the money, like it all went to waste because you died anyway, but you know what? I don’t give a shit about it. I would have spent everything I have for you. If my money had kept you alive for one hour more, it was well spent. So those three weeks … well, that’s better than nothing. I got to tell you what needed to be said, and that has to be enough.”
My voice breaks. I pause.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten all our hopes up. I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to do at the time. I still don’t know how it happened—maybe none of us ever will. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I fucking hate it.”
I stand up and look down.
“You’ll always be my brother,” I choke out before turning away and walking down the gravel path leading to my car. I drive straight to the airport. My lawyers have already set up an investment fund for Vanessa. She never needs to worry about her old age or pension again. It was the least I could do. Her selfless loyalty to Liam touched me, and I know it would have made Liam happy to know she was taken care of.
Now, it’s time to go home. Time to find Izzy. It is the only thing that will take my mind off the grief—and the feeling that I failed him.
Chapter Nineteen
Tyson
Two Years Later
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnRS3A_iIYg
Pretty Woman
Fuck these early morning meetings. The negotiation went well, but having to deal with people first thing in the morning just kills my day. I smile to myself as I get off the elevator of the offices of my latest clients, or soon-to-be clients. They haven’t signed on the dotted line yet, but they will. I can always smell the excitement of a buyer who is desperate for my horse, but thinks that playing it cool is a good strategy to lower my price.
Sometimes, I want to save them the trouble and tell them I never lower my asking price. I know what I’m selling. It’s worth everything I ask for and more. But other times, I just sit back and watch the drama. It’s a game they love to play. Those stingy bastards would ask for a discount on a bag of fries if they could.
If it weren’t so ungodly early in the morning, I’d go out for a little celebratory drink. Instead, I need to find somewhere to pick up some chow. I missed breakfast and I’m starving. I know there’s a little hole-in-the-wall café at the end of the next block that do huge fry-ups, so I head in that direction. It’s cold and all around me people in thick coats are hurrying to the next warm place. Not me. I’m in a T-shirt. I love the cold. I even ride bare-chested in the middle of winter.
I open the door and the smell of coffee and grease hits me. My stomach rumbles.
The place is small and cozy and boiling hot. It has a hearth along one wall where people can curl their hands around steaming mugs of hot cocoa or coffee and chat quietly. There are two girls there right now, and they look me over with appraising eyes. There was a time, long ago, when I would have flirted right back. Not anymore. I’ve lost my mojo. Not even a lap full of gorgeous blondes could do it for me last week.
It’s fairly crowded, but I find a table by the window and sit down. A waitress stops by. Her hair is tied back in a messy bun and she looks harassed. I order coffee, the With Everything On It Breakfast, and extra toast.
She nods and makes a note on her order pad. “You’re hungry. Want black pudding on the side? It’s good.”
She just earned herself a hefty tip right there. “Why not?”
“Great. Be right back with your coffee,” she says flashing a big smile.
I scan the place and people are turning around to watch me. Two years ago they would have turned to look at me because I was a celebrity. Now it’s because I’m a strange fucker with a big beard and long hair. If someone looks at me it’s only because I’m so damn big and bearlike. Ignoring them, I take out my phone. I have one more appointment then I can get back on the road.
Truth is, I can’t wait to get back to the farm, back to my horses. Dealing with horses is a lot less complicated than interacting with people. Something changed in me when I lost my friend. I understood in a real and material way that life wasn’t endless. I had an expiration date. I lost my taste for the life I used to live, always needing excitement, getting into trouble, getting my picture in the gossip mags. But all that seemed like a waste of time.
Then once it became clear I was not going to be able to find Izzy, life lost all its color and vibrancy. I felt cheated by life. Everything I loved, wanted, was taken away. I devoted my time to my horses and I became a recluse and a workaholic. Some might even call me obsessed and a little mad.
There’s a little old-fashioned bell above the front door and it tinkles whenever somebody comes in or goes out. It rings and my eyes dart up from my phone purely out of reflex. And what I see knocks all the air from my lungs.
Izzy.
I stare at her, frozen, disbelieving, mesmerized. The one person I’ve always hoped to see and the last person on Earth I ever expected to see again. The amount of times I’ve run up to a woman and turned her around only to be disappointed is too numerous to be counted. It never occurred to me that I would see her here in my old haunt. Especially after both the highly recommended private investigators I hired independently informed me they didn’t even believe she lived in London anymore.
But here she is, right in front of me, smiling politely, holding open the door for a lady leaving at the same time as she is trying to come in. When the woman goes past she comes inside. Stripping her leather gloves off she rubs her hands together and blows at them through pursed lips. My astonished eyes follow her as she walks up to the counter.
How many times have I imagined seeing her again?
How many times have I dreamed this moment?
But by God, she makes all my dreams and fantasies seem like faded photographs. I stare at the color in her cheeks, the apple green of her eyes, the
blonde strands of hair that have slipped out of her beanie hat. She is like an angel.
I never believed in miracles before, but this is just too incredible not to be one. What are the chances of running into her in a city of nearly nine million people? The sheer wonder of it gets me out of my chair and sends me over to her. She’s standing in line, presumably to get a cup of coffee to go.
“Izzy,” I murmur, standing behind her.
Chapter Twenty
Tyson
She jumps and whirls around, her eyes wide with shock. She’s lost weight. At first there is just shock and surprise. Then she looks into my eyes…and recognition. For a fraction of a second I see a flash of a terrible, terrible mixture of sadness and longing. It’s only there for a split second, but I know the look because I’ve seen it in my own reflection whenever I catch sight of myself thinking of her. The longing. Wondering what might have been.
Then, her eyes go ice cold. She might as well be looking at a lifelong enemy.
I ignore that. “It’s you. I can’t believe it’s you. Out of the entire city …”
She nods, eyes moving over my face. “Small world and all that.” There’s something missing from her voice. Warmth. There’s no warmth. She sounds defeated.
“Look. I can imagine how you must feel about me,” I begin. I called the hotel I was staying at in Paris and the receptionist told me a blonde woman had come looking for me the night I checked out. I knew then she must have had a good reason for not calling me, or turning up at Costa that night. I was furious with myself for not thinking of leaving a message for her at the hotel. At any other time, I would have thought of it, but then with Liam on my mind I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’ve never forgiven myself for that. Never.
