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“I'm ecstatic.” He hates it as much as I do. We’re as good as brothers and not having my best friend a few streets away is giving me anxiety. It’s the one thing I'm still battling with, walking away from him and Grace. They are my family. Grace has been this little but bloody bright light in my life for the last five years. I’ll only be a couple of hours away, but I'm still leaving her. Dan is yet to tell her, as he knows I want to be there when he does. I’m going to break her little heart. She deserves better and I want to be better for her. I'm sure this needs to happen. It’s best for everyone. I'm no good to anyone in this state.
“Emily can fill up your time now.” I close the workshop and head across the garden to my house. “I hear she’s good at mopping up issues?” I snigger.
He laughs. “I'm seeing her tomorrow.”
“You need me to have Grace?”
“If you don’t mind?”
“Sure, no problem. The last pieces of furniture arrive tomorrow so I'm in all day,” I remind him, stopping for a beer on my way to the shower.
“Thanks. Look, get some sleep and we’ll catch up tomorrow.” His pity causes me to grind my teeth. It’s another reason I have to get out of here. My friends are watching me with the same pitying glances I witnessed when I first got dragged into Sarah’s lies.
It’s only because Sarah’s friend had walked in on us after Holly ran out crying that the allegations were dropped. Trinahad seen Sarah on top of me. Saw me out of it on drugs and trying to push her off. She pitied me and was willing to give evidence against her friend. That and the toxicology reports proved my innocence. Sarah’s vile lies had come crashing down around her, but lies form rumours and rumours ruin lives.
I drag in a shuddering breath, pushing the memory away.
Those that believe her cross the street.
And those that believe me pity me.
I don't want their pity. I want their respect. “What are we, married?” I mutter, shaking my irritation off.
“You wish. Fucking perv.” He disconnects on a snort. My laugh is short-lived because I'm left alone once more, alone with my chaotic thoughts. Screw Dr Peterson and her bullshit theories.
Over the last week,I have taken to following the same routine every morning. Sleep eludes me, and despite the lack of it, I'm unreasonably full of energy. My shoes beat against the wet pavement. Torrential rain slants its way across my path, blurring my vision, the freezing cold water pouring in through the fine material, leaving my feet sodden and my shins splattered in grit. As soon as I'm rounding the bend and moving towards Holly’s home, I slow. Her house comes into full view and through the open curtains, I see her with Beau in her arms. Dancing. It’s barely seven in the morning and she is shimming her way around the living room. She dips Beau and swings her round and the only thing I can hear over my heartbeat is the high-pitch squeal of her little laugh.
This is what I'm giving up.
They’re not losing anything because the evidence of their happiness is in front of me. They have each other. Dr Peterson's dagger sharp remarks have kept my mind full of doubt.
They can’t miss something they never had.
They can’t miss me because they never had me.
No one did. Not even me.
I lost myself ten years ago.
They dance their way across the window, then up on the sofa, jumping and giggling. I knew she’d be a fantastic mother. Holly always handled herself with a dignified calm. Where parents would falter, becoming flustered in certain situations, Holly takes it in her stride. Being a mother is a journey for her. One she is enjoying with her whole soul. You can see it in everything she does with Beau. Fuck, she makes most decent parents look bad. She’s the purest woman I’ve ever known. I carry on, doubling back through the village, and round the memorial towards home.
My steps falter, and my gaze narrows at the car parked out front. Nadine. She cuts the engine and gets out as I near. “Hey.” I’ve not heard or spoken to her since I ended things at Holly’s shop. Shame engulfs me, but I meet her head-on, regardless. Her eyes are dull and cold.
Fuck. Yes, you’re still an arsehole, Cameron. How many women have I seen look at me like that? Too many.
Swallowing roughly, I meet her beside her car. “You okay?” The words slip right out of my mouth, and she lifts a brow.
“I came to get my things.” Tension throbs between us and not the good kind. Her jaw is locked, and when she finally meets my eyes, I can see she’s close to tears.
“Right.” I nod and give her a strained smile. “Come in.” My walk is brisk. I can’t deal with tears. Call me a prick, but unless a woman is crying because I obliterated all sense of being in the bedroom, then I'm as good as useless. I’d run if I wasn’talready at my own fucking house. Nadine follows me in. She looks pathetic and, for a moment, I dabble with giving her Dr Peterson’s number because something tells me she needs more than whatever support she is getting at the moment. An image of her slapping me hard stops me in vocalising my suggestion.
“You finished the house.” She sounds impressed. It’s hard not to be affected. The main living area is complete with two large and wide sofas facing one another. The coffee table crafted by my bare hands sits centre on a thick rug and the antique fireplace has been restored. The kitchen was ripped out and moved to the back to allow for an oak stained island and the long chunky sideboard I found second-hand, which I carved my own design into. I’ve used the sideboard to split the areas and define the living spaces. I'm thrilled with the end result. The snug is sporting a new L-shape sofa, artwork and mini bar. All the bathrooms are top range. Next to Dan’s snobby mansion, my house is the next best thing in Richmond.
“It was completed last week,” I tell her, moving to empty my pockets and flick the coffee machine on. “Drink?” I grab some water from the fridge and glug it back.
“No, just my things, please.”
Fucking hell, this is awkward. “The house has been in a state, so I haven’t really had a chance to put your stuff aside,” I admit. Nadine rolls her eyes and kicks up her hip, leaning into the counter.
