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He is going to have to come back at some point. And when he does, I will make sure to teach him a lesson he will never forget.
“Well, look here. Our boy, all married and shit. Are we late for the wedding?”
The thick Irish accent cut into my brooding, I wince and glance over to see a tall man with shaggy dark brown hair, and an amused look in his light blue eyes. His smile widens, revealing the dimple on his cheek, and he saunters in, casually throwing himself down on the couch.
My office is situated on the top floor, and I wonder how Fergus found his way in, dressed as he is. His black shirt and black pants give him a lean, dangerous look, as do the tattoos on his arms which he has exposed, having rolled his sleeves to his elbows.
In contrast to him, I rarely let my tattoos be exposed while I am at work, unless I am working privately in my office, like right now.
“You heard, huh?” I study him.
“We all did,” comes another voice, and two more men walk in, one of them frowning, and the other in the process of rolling up his sleeves.
“So, ran away with the bride, did you?” Zayn leans against my desk, pointing to the article on the front page, his icy blue eyes gleaming.
“What of it?” I challenge, my arms crossed against my chest. Zayn raises his dark brows, and rakes a hand through his dark black hair.
“I’m not complaining, man. If that’s your new hobby, I support you.”
“Fuck you.” I grin at him. Ian walks over, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, his green eyes portraying his amusement.
“You should have told us you were getting married. I would have taken the afternoon off.” His red hair is tied in a tiny ponytail at his nape, and his eyes laugh at me. I raise my hands in defeat.
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, we figured,” Zayn informs me. “It’s always a shock to find out one of my closest friends just got married in the news. You guys need to stop doing that.” However, even Zayn’s sarcasm isn’t enough to lighten my mood, and I find myself telling them what happened.
After a long silence, Ian speaks up.
“You haven’t thought this through, have you?”
“You all remember Charlotte.” I sigh, twirling a pen between my fingers. “She used to follow us around when we were young, along with Agatha.” Fergus’s eyes darken.
“I remember the bruises her old man used to put on her.”
Zayn is quiet, but then says, “I remember her. She used to worship the ground you walked on.”
I don’t say anything for a moment.
“I hadn’t seen her in ten years. Yesterday was the first time I saw her, and it was like the abuse had just changed form. I couldn’t take it.”
“How is marrying her a solution, Philip?” Zayn asks. “You pitied her, so you decided to marry her?”
A wave of anger sweeps through me, but I bury it with the force I learnt from years of practice. I snap out, “I don’t pity her.”
My childhood friend isn’t done.
“Then explain to me what you plan on doing? Do you love this woman? Does she love you? Or are you just going to tie her to you in an attempt to protect her from the world?”
This time I can’t hide the fury that contorts my face.
“What if I do want to protect her?”
It is the lev
el-headed Ian who says, “That doesn’t seem fair to her. You just forced her into a marriage she wasn’t prepared for, after she just got jilted by the man she wanted to marry. You ended up complicating her life even more, Philip.”
I know what Ian is saying is not wrong, but a part of me doesn’t want to let go of Charlotte. I don’t understand why. I struggle to form a reason.
