ANGUS COULDN’T GET his head straight on this, the day he needed to more than ever before.
He’d been back at work for a couple of days, every second spent implementing the complete about turn on the Remède rebranding.
Louis Fournier and his team were due at the Big Picture Group offices in less than two hours. And he had to convince them to throw out the ideas they’d okayed a week before.
He knew he was right, his instincts on song. The kintsukuroi method was a perfect fit for the Remède ethos, as well as following the current trend in beauty being all about wellness and authenticity. It had real potential to turn the company around.
It was just every other single aspect of his life that felt jagged, ill-fitting and wrong.
And if he couldn’t focus, couldn’t demonstrate absolute certainty, couldn’t be the man in whom Louis had seen all that potential and convince them that they were right to put their faith in him, to trust him, it could yet all go up in smoke.
The phone rang on the other side of the smoky glass and his gaze was drawn that way as it had been a hundred times a day since he and Lucinda had come back to work a few days before.
Who was he kidding? His gaze had always been drawn that way. He’d convinced himself it was because Lucinda was his good-luck charm, his guard at the gate, his anchor.
When the truth was, she was all that and so much more.
Lucinda was also strong, soulful, warm and kind. She was trusting, unsure, loyal and lovely. She was his friend, his confidant, his favourite person on earth.
And when she’d taken him by the tie, pulled him in and kissed him every fibre of his being had cried out in relief.
This, a voice had whispered inside his head. This is everything you have worked towards. Everything you’ve ever wanted. Being the kind of man Lucinda Starling could want.
Then Lucinda had taken such pains to explain to Sonny why Angus was her friend, her confidant and one of her favourite people on earth and why he could never, ever be more.
He’d had no armour to protect himself. He’d felt the slice of every word—just as he had as a kid, told constantly by his mother’s line-up of deadbeat boyfriends that he didn’t matter, that no one would care if he’d never been born. That he wasn’t enough.
And now she was out there, smelling of that damn Someday perfume that made his head spin. Wearing that skirt that fit so right it looked as if it had been sewn on. Her hair was tucked over one shoulder, sleek and dark and tempting. He remembered how it had felt sliding through his fingers…
Damn it.
Angus sat forward, sinking his face into his palms, then he gouged his finger through his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt.
This was why he’d resisted all these years. This ache. Deep. Physical. Knowing her, being with her, opened up in him wants and desires he’d never let himself entertain. Hopes of a future, a partnership, a family—managing to carve out a life his own parents had never been able to.
He’d followed her to the damn resort for fear of losing her and somehow it felt as though it was happening anyway. Leaving him brimming with a kind of psychic pain he couldn’t control. Or name. And sure as hell didn’t want.
Well, enough was enough.
“Lucinda!” he shouted, forcing himself out of his chair.
He saw her shoulders square. She took a moment before slowly pressing her chair back and making her way through the smoky glass door between her world and his.
Without saying a word, she stood there with her fancy notebook and her cheap pencil, chin tilted, knees locked. She appeared cool. Unmoved.
And utterly lovely.
But, the closer he looked, he could see how her ankle jiggled. How she nibbled at the inside of her lip. The smudges under her eyes.
If he was disoriented in this new landscape, then so was she.
The only way forward, as he could see it, was the one that had got him where he was today. Disengagement.
His strength was in his ability to compartmentalise. It had helped him through the very worst parts of his childhood. And it had helped him deal with the temptation of having this woman sitting just outside his office for the past six-and-a-half years.
It had to help now.
“Angus?” she said. “Did you actually want me, or were you shouting my name for the fun of it?”
“I wanted you,” he said.
Some strong emotion fluttered across her deep, brown eyes.
But she pulled herself together, moved to the pink velvet chair he’d bought her as a gift, sat on the edge, crossed one ankle over the other and held her pencil over her notebook. “Shoot.”
Angus moved more slowly to the front of his desk, his feet knowing what his mind refused to admit—that more than anything, more than having things back to the way they were, he wanted to be near her. Needed to be. And he always had.
She looked up, her brown eyes wary. And beautiful. And sad.
It was the sadness that finally got him—as if she too was battling with the knowledge that a seismic shift had happened this past weekend. It shook him. Made him buck up and damn well pull himself together.
“Remède,” he said, his voice so gruff he barely recognised it himself.
She lifted her chin. “The boardroom is set. Food is on its way. Champagne is chilling. The IT team are working on the last layout changes to the website. It’ll be close but they’ll get it done in time. They have tickets to Comicon riding on it.”
“Great.”
“How about you?” she asked. “Are you ready?”
And despite the fact they’d tiptoed around one another for days, far more clumsily than after the Christmas party, the care in her voice—honest, real and clear as day—shone through.
And Angus’s heart dropped into his chest as if it had fallen into a well.
“I am,” he said. “You?”
She blinked. “Me? Ready to flirt and charm and flitter about? Always.”
“You do more than that, Luc.”
Her face crumpled at his use of her nickname. “I know,” she said, voice soft. “I was kidding.”
“No. You weren’t.”
She swallowed. A conversation like this would have felt different a week before. Full of banter, sass and good-natured ribbing that would have left them both feeling as if they were floating an inch off the ground.
Now every word had weight. Now every word mattered. Stacking up against him, building a wall so large soon neither would be able to see past it.
Before he could kick the damn thing down, Lucinda was already on her feet, heading back towards her door.
If this was the way things were going to be from now on it would be untenable.
“Luc,” he said, stopping to clear his throat. “Lucinda.”
She stopped, turned. “Mmm?”
I want you. I adore you. I need you. I can’t lose you. You are a part of me. The best part of me. You took a shell of a human being and made him whole.
Some deep, undamaged part of himself, some sliver of light and good, took him by the throat and gave it a squeeze. Made him check himself. To be truly sure. For Cat was right—there was no lower scum on earth than a man who would mess with a single mother unless he was in it for the long haul.
“You know I couldn’t do any of this without you,” he said.
Lucinda looked at him, right at him, her warm brown eyes like a laser.
“I know you say that, Angus, and some part of you might even believe it,” she said, with a flicker of a humourless smile. “But the truth is, you always could.”
* * *
Lucinda stood looking down at her desk, at the tub of sharpened pencils, the pile of pretty notebooks.
The joy that it had given her—the sense of ownership, of purpose, of self-respect—felt like something that had happened in a movie she’d once watched.
It was ruined. She’d ruined it. Making love with Angus, telling him she’d wanted him for the longest time…
He looked so pained every time they made eye contact now, as if he was choking on something. It had to be regret.
Not that she knew what to say. Whether to apologise or make light. To tell him she was struggling too. To agree to pretend it had never happened. They’d made it past the Christmas party near-kiss and managed to work together just fine. If anything, the sexual tension had upped their game.
So long as they’d stayed either side of the immovable, inviolable line they’d kept between them, she’d been allowed to exist in a kind of perfect balance between working with Angus in a job that fulfilled her more than she ever would have thought possible and basking in the presence of the smart, sharp, talented, determined man she adored.
Only it hadn’t been balanced. It had been emotional purgatory.
And now the line was gone, obliterated, she was totally untethered, her feelings all over the place.
Maybe she should just look Angus in the eye and tell him she’d thought herself a little bit in love with him before and now she was drowning in it.
Every time she looked at him, she saw not her boss, or the man she’d had a secret crush on for years, but his bare chest as he’d hovered over her, the dark heat in his eyes as they’d made love. She felt again the tenderness in his touch, the way he’d relaxed in a way she’d never seen in him when he’d cradled her as she’d fallen asleep. As though protecting her was his happy place. As though something that had kept him chained all these years had finally broken free.
Then she’d woken up. Alone. In every possible way that could mean.
Reaching out and finding him gone, her heart had stuttered in her chest. She’d told herself it was okay. That he hadn’t said goodbye before leaving her room because it wasn’t goodbye. That they’d be together again at breakfast. And beyond.
Only to slowly begin to panic about what came next. Would they head into work on Monday holding hands, gazing into one another’s eyes over the boardroom table, co-signing Fitz’s form that people had to sign when they started seeing one another at work?
Then, with all that piling up in her head, when she’d found Sonny in the hall and been forced to answer why Angus couldn’t be her boy’s dad…
He’d been so good to Sonny, and for Sonny. If Angus was keen and ready and wanted it too, he’d be a wonderful father. Kind and fun with solid boundaries and strong arms.
But he’d made it so clear over the years that fatherhood was not for him. That he believed no man should come close to that job without a medical, a police check, a licence and a wide-open heart.
So she’d brought out every lame thing Cat had accused him of in order to distract Sonny from the idea. She’d gone into pure self-defence mode.
But then, so had he.
Leaning against the wall in the hall, the very picture of causal indifference, offering her an early mark. Pushing her away. The wall that kept him separate from the world all but rebuilding before her very eyes.
She’d had Angus but she couldn’t have him.
He was too flawed, thorny, demanding and damaged. She’d spent too long making sure other people were happy, as if doing so was the only way to make them stay.
But what if staying wasn’t always the right answer? What if sticking, depending on her roots, believing in for ever, was the problem rather than the solution?
Before she was fully aware of where she was going, Lucinda walked down the hall, feeling as though she was on her way to her own execution. Yet at the lift she didn’t even hesitate before pressing the button to head up to the HR floor.
* * *
Fitz’s office was a mirror of Angus’s only it was plush and brash and noisy and messy, where Angus’s was spare and neat and still.
Lucinda gave Velma a wave. Velma nodded, letting her know she could head right on in.
Fitz glanced up, serious face on, as Lucinda entered his office. It softened when he saw it was her.
Taking off a pair of red tip-tilted glasses he’d clearly borrowed from Velma, he leant back in his chair. “You coming in or are you just going to stand there all day?”
“Stand here?”
“Sit,” he insisted clicking his fingers. “Now.”
Her feet dragged as she took the last few leaden steps towards the chair by Fitz’s desk. When she sat, her breath left in a sad little whoosh.
“I was wondering when you might show up.”
She blinked at him.
“You, Lucinda Starling, are a mighty oak, putting up with that fool of a boss of yours for as long as you have. And coming back to work, being your usual amazing self after what happened over the weekend…”
She leant forward, her head dropping to her knees. “You know? How do you know?”
“Sweetheart. It’s my job to know. Besides, I was there. I was stumbling back to my room the morning after the party—boy can those women dance—right as Angus was checking out. Looking like a big, broken bear with a storm cloud over his head.”
Lucinda lifted her head. The thought of Angus, broken, made her heart hurt. The thought he might feel that way because of her? How had she let things get so out of hand?
Because you love him, you goose!
Well, she thought miserably, there was that.
Fitz checked his nails as he went on. “I bugged him till he told me why. No details, unfortunately. Just the bare bones. But I’d figured it out. There’s only one person in the whole world who can bring out that kind of emotion in our boy.”
He pointed a finger Lucinda’s way.
“I can’t,” she said, barely able to string more than two words together. “I can’t do it any more, Fitz.”
Fitz stopped fussing and looked at her. Then he hopped out from behind his grand desk, came over to her, lifted her out of the chair and pulled her into a hug.
“Of course you can. You’re in love with the guy. Anyone with two eyes and a brain like a steel trap could see it.”
Something in the back of her head, some last remaining thread of a survival instinct, told her to baulk, to scoff, to poo-poo Fitz’s suggestion. But, sounding and feeling like a kicked puppy, she murmured, “Does he know?”
“My cousin?” Fitz snorted. “Smartest guy I know, bar Charlie, who doesn’t count because he’s not human. But when it comes to the workings of the heart, Angus is as clueless as they come.”
“It’s not his fault.”
Fitz laughed softly. “Only a woman in love would look at Angus Wolfe and believe the reason he hasn’t settled down with a good woman—or a bad woman, for that matter—isn’t entirely his fault.”
With a groan, her face fell against Fitz’s chest, her neck no longer able to hold up her head. She felt as if she had the flu. The love flu. The unrequited love flu. The Angus Wolfe strain.
“How did you two finally crack?” Fitz asked, his voice lacking its usual bolshie tone.
She knew what he meant. And she knew the answer. “He looked at me.”
“Hmm,” said Fitz in mock seriousness. “He has a way of doing that. What the hell does that even mean?”
She laughed, despite herself. The Angus Wolfe love flu was making her light-headed. “You know—the look. The kind that makes you see exactly what’s going on in the other person’s head and it’s enough to make your kneecaps melt clean away.”
“Ah, that look.”
Lucinda lifted her head.
“He’d given me the look once before, you know? At that crazy work Christmas party a couple of years back. All that bubbly and dancing and mistletoe, someone was always going to do the walk of shame that night.”
“Right,” Fitz agreed, shifting from foot to foot, making Lucinda wonder for a moment who he’d walked from that night.
“The look that night—it was hot. And lingering. And brimming with the promise of sweaty limbs and torn clothing and regret.” Lucinda laughed, though it felt more like a whimper, and stepped out of Fitz’s hug. “And why am I telling you any of this?”
“Because you need to let it out or you’ll implode. And you know there’s not a single thing you can say that will change how deeply I adore you.”
She nodded. He was right. She looked down at her hands. “Nothing happened between us at that party. Nothing anyone else would think was inappropriate. HR, for instance.”
Fitz breathed out. Hard. “But last weekend? Sweaty limbs, torn clothing…”
“And regret.”
“Luc. Honey.”
“It’s okay. I’m a grown-up. I knew what I was doing. And I knew no good would come of it. At the very least I’ll be able to live off it for a long, long time. Perhaps even until I’m old and grey, and Cat and I are still living together in my sweet little cottage, watching Netflix and bickering.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Fitz reached out and put a hand on her shoulder as if he could tell she might well collapse to the floor otherwise. “So, I’m assuming you didn’t come up here because you knew I have no filter and would happily listen to any details you might impart as to your dirty weekend with my stupid cousin?”
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud, but I need you to tell me what to do so that I can officially resign.”
Fitz didn’t even stiffen, as if he’d seen this coming a long time before she had.
She’d be fine financially. Her little cottage was all hers, Sonny was in a great public school and she’d get another job with a single phone call. She knew the kind of money she’d get offered from other firms.
But she’d miss this. She’d miss him. The thought of turning up to work for anyone but Angus made her feel physically ill.
She’d seen the man nearly every day for the past six-and-a-half years and had loved him for almost as long.
“He loves you too,” said Fitz, as if he’d read her mind. He went to his desk to sort out the required paperwork. “In his own way.”
“I know,” Lucinda said. “But if he taught me anything these past few years it’s that I’m worth more than that. Angus’s way of loving just isn’t enough.”
And there it was. The truth she’d steadfastly avoided admitting to herself. For it meant no longer having a crush on her boss to keep her safe from truly opening herself up to the possibility of the kind of love her parents had. The kind of love she’d feared she’d never find if she ever really went looking.
She knew Angus would be side-swiped. For all that he’d shut her out over the past few days, he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to lose her.
“Don’t tell him,” she said. “Remède will be here in an hour. And there’s nothing more important to him than that.”
“Nothing?” Fitz said, looking at her over the red sparkly glasses.
Then, muttering to himself about how he should have been a shrink or a psychic, Fitz printed out the necessary forms.
* * *
Lucinda stood outside her little cottage looking over the duck-egg-blue front door, the cream eaves, the gardenia bushes that had bloomed for the first time ever last spring.
Trying to reconcile herself with the fact that she was home. At two in the afternoon. Not because she’d had to pick up Sonny sick from school but because she no longer worked for Angus Wolfe.
She’d somehow made it back to her office after she’d finished hashing out her exit with Fitz. Then waited in the ladies’ bathroom until the last possible moment before slipping into the back of the room for the Remède pitch.
Angus had sat at the top of the room beside Louis Fournier, foot resting casually on the other knee, finger playing lightly over the seam of his mouth. A picture of cool ease, when she knew how important it was to him that this meeting went well.
Angus hadn’t looked her way, but he’d known she was there. She’d seen it in the way he shifted on his seat, the way his other hand clenched, as it had been doing all week.
She’d spent the meeting feeling as if she was on the other side of a mirror as his band of dashing, clever, talented marketing and graphics geniuses had played their symphony of social media spots and print ads and the complete overhaul of the website relaunch of the Remède brand.
It had been all she could do not to blub when Angus had explained the theory of kintsukuroi, not even pausing before crediting it to her. How Remède was a celebration of women—of mothers, daughters, sisters, friends—at every stage of life.
She hadn’t been even the slightest bit surprised when Louis had pulled Angus into a bear hug, muttering praise and thanks into his ear while he shed a tear.
The Big Picture Group team had been on a total high after all the last-minute work they’d put in, yet the moment the meeting was done Lucinda had slipped out through the door—only to hear Angus’s footsteps meet hers as he’d jogged to catch up.
“Hey,” he’d said, his voice a little rough. “Hey, slow down. What’s the big rush?”
“Stuff to do.”
“So that was wild in there.”
“It was amazing. You were amazing.” Her voice had caught as she’d said, “I’m so proud of you, Angus. Not many would have gone to the lengths you went to in order to get that so right.”
Lucinda had picked up her pace. Or she’d tried to, until Angus’s hand had clamped around her arm.
She’d stopped and turned to find herself toe to toe with her boss. Her brilliant, impossible boss. Close enough to catch the scent of his soap, the fresh cotton of his shirt, to see the thread unspooling from a button hole. She made a mental note to remind him not to buy that brand again, before remembering that wouldn’t be her job any more.
“Lucinda,” Angus had murmured, his voice scraping her insides in a way that had her curling her toes into her shoes so as not to shiver.
Pulling together every ounce of self-protection she’d had at her disposal, she’d dragged in a short, sharp breath and looked up into his eyes. Warm, hazel and far too astute for comfort.
“What’s going on?” he’d asked.
She remembered looking down the hall to see who might be watching. Who might note them standing closer than two work mates ought to stand. But everyone was busy chatting, laughing and moving in and out of one another’s offices, the hive all a flutter after the successful meeting.
Then she’d moved to Angus’s office, pushed open the door and crooked a finger his way.
A smile had hooked at the corner of his mouth. A smile so cocky, familiar, so beloved, she’d felt it as an ache deep down inside. Then he’d sauntered after her.
Expecting…something better than what he was about to receive.
But Lucinda had known, if she hadn’t done it then and there she might not have done it at all.
So she’d pulled a single sheet of white paper out of her notebook and held it out to Angus—
The front door of the cottage swung open and Lucinda near leapt out of her skin.
Catriona poked her head around the door, a piece of toast poking out of her mouth. Then she glanced at her watch. “I thought I heard a funny noise out here. What are you doing home so early?”
Lucinda found her feet and walked up onto the porch. Swinging past her sister, she said, “I quit.”
“You what?” Cat cried, then stopped to choke on a crumb she’d inhaled.
Lucinda had time to unwrap her scarf and hang it on the hall stand before Cat came hustling inside, her socks shuffling on the wooden floor. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I thought you’d be happy.”
“Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because it means I won’t be working with Angus any more.”
Cat flapped her hands, her eyes near bugging out of her head. “Why would that make me happy?”
Lucinda turned to face her sister. “You don’t like him. You’ve never liked him.”
“First, that’s not true!” Cat cried out. “And second, when did you suddenly care about that?”
“So, you like Angus?”
“He’s a freaking gem! No other boss would pay you as much as he does. Or give you the time off you need.”
Lucinda stood wearing one high heel as she’d already kicked off the other shoeoff. And she breathed deep. “Can you just…not. Today. Or ever again. I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Luc, I’m not playing. I promise. I’m too shocked. Seriously. I feel as if there’s been a tear in the space-time continuum. You can’t quit Angus.”
“I didn’t quit Angus. I quit my job.”
“Same thing.”
Lucinda glanced at her sister to find her standing in the middle of the hall looking…lost. “Come on, Cat.”
“I mean it. I’m worried right now. I’m the quitter. I’ve quit a million jobs, a million men, but you? You’re the ‘for ever’ girl. It’s probably why I’ve never been able to hate Angus, even though he’s so annoyingly good-looking and confident and brilliant. Because from day one he knew you were the for ever girl too. Just like he’s a for ever guy.”
Lucinda closed her eyes against the memory of that final moment. He’d refused to take the piece of paper, so she’d opened it up and read it out loud.
“Stop,” he’d said, his voice rough when she was about half way through.
She’d looked up, expecting refusal, an argument, maybe even some kind of revelation. But she’d never seen him look so empty, so cold.
“I don’t need notice,” he’d said.
“What do you mean?”
“Go.” He’d cocked his head towards the office door. “If you don’t want to work here any more, just go.”
She’d recoiled physically, taking a step back. “You don’t mean that.”
“When have you ever heard me say something I don’t mean?”
And so, without another word to the man she’d worked alongside for the past several years, she’d walked out of his office on boneless legs, cleared out her desk, packed her meagre possessions into her big handbag and left. Nobody had noticed. Everyone had been too high, celebrating the Remède success.
Lucinda tuned to her sister. “If he’s a for ever guy, Cat, then why did he let me go?”
Cat took her by the hand, wrapping it up tightly between hers. “He’s hurt.”
“He’s hurt? I’m the one who’s had to deal with his moods all week. With the fact he could barely even look at me. As if I’d done something unforgivable. We were both there that night.” Oh, wondrous night.
Cat snorted. “I’d put money on him looking at you. The man can barely stop looking at you. If you guys weren’t both equally mad about one another, it would be creepy how much the man looks at you.”
Lucinda’s lungs started to tighten with the effort of trying to hold in the words that were so desperate to come out. “What do you mean, he looks at me?”
“Are you kidding? The man could be the poster boy for longing.”
Lucinda slowly kicked off her other shoe and leaned against the hallway wall.
“And don’t get me started on how he looks at you when you’re with Sonny. It’s heart-breaking. Like watching a little homeless kid standing outside a candy shop window.”
“Why would he do that? He’s not a family kind of guy. You know his background. You know how hard he had it as a kid. His dad leaving, his mum and her string of appalling boyfriends. Family to him is a four-letter word.”
Cat crossed her arms, no longer looking lost so much as mad. “Are you telling me, seriously, that you don’t consider Angus family? That you’d let anyone else come into this house, sick, when your boy is here?”
“Well, no.”
“Is there anyone else you’d text before watching a new episode of Warlock Academy?”
“Never.”
“Has he seen you cry? Snort-laugh? Trip over? Swear? Has he seen you without make-up? In that God-awful green pashmina wrap thing? Has he ever played a board game with you, seen what a bad loser you are and come back for more?”
Lucinda nodded.
“And yet, with all that evidence to the contrary, he looks at you as if he’s stumbled on a fairy princess in a secret, magical glen.”
Lucinda leant harder against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor, letting her bare legs kick out in front of her.
Cat, her annoying, clever, difficult, stubborn, wonderful sister, slid down next to her.
“That’s not normal, is it?”
“For a mere boss and employee? Ah, no. Have you ever seen any of my editors over here? Have they ever followed me away on a holiday weekend?”
“Why didn’t you ever point this stuff out to me before?” Lucinda asked.
“I did. In my way. I say the grass is blue, you agree, saying it can look bluish in the right light. I say night is day, and you agree it can seem that way when the moon is bright. But, when I even think about saying something against Angus, you bite my head off and proceed to wax lyrical about how amazing the man is. I picked on him because I hoped you’d one day notice that the only time you stop trying to please everyone and simply tell your truth is when you’re defending him.” Cat nudged her with her shoulder. “I could stick a mirror up to your face, but what can I do if you refuse to open your eyes?”
Lucinda thought about it. Really thought.
Watching him struggle over the Remède account had changed things for her. The man had created a shiny, incisive, clean, fresh rebrand over which any company would salivate. It would have won awards, no doubt. But he’d known it wasn’t right, had known it had missed the heart of the business. The soul. So he’d gone deeper, pushed himself outside his comfort zone, talked to people on the ground level, immersed himself in the product—learned the difference between lipstick and lip-gloss, for goodness’ sake—to make it right.
Throughout, there had been no hiding the fact that beneath the Angus Wolfe mask was a man with a heart of gold. Not gold powder, or veins of gold, but the pure, twenty-four-carat good stuff.
Yet, so afraid of being left was she, she’d made a habit of pushing, of making it impossible for most men to bother. All men, bar Angus. He’d refused to budge. Refused to be disappointed. Refused to let her down.
And, the more she’d grown to care about the man, the more terrified she’d become of losing him. Losing him as she’d lost so many of those she’d cared about most.
When she’d felt things turning, changing, when a chance to find out what might actually be possible between them had presented itself, she’d pushed him away. Telling herself she was protecting her son when really she’d just been using his love as a shield.
“I was eighteen when I met Joe, can you believe that?” Lucinda heard herself say. “Mum and Dad had died not that long before. You were living overseas and I was at home. Alone. When Joe came on the scene, I saw him as my out. A chance to not be the good girl, to run away, to quit being me for a while. I think I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant, not because it was Joe’s baby, but because it was mine. Because there’d be someone to love who would love me best.”
Lucinda didn’t realise she was crying until she tasted a tear on her bottom lip.
Thinking of Sonny, she wanted to crawl into his bed and gather up his toy fish, donkey and the headless rabbit. How long had it been since he’d even cuddled those toys? He was more into more grown up toys now. Transformers. Superheroes of his own.
She could learn from that. From Sonny. The way he loved. And forgave. Forgave Cat when her patience ran thin. Forgave Lucinda when she ran late from work. Forgave Angus when he forgot the name of a Pokémon.
Lucinda dropped her head into her hands.
The fact that Angus Wolfe knew the name of even one Pokémon should have been a sign. One of those huge, flashing road signs you can practically see from space.
He loved her. Angus loved her. And he’d done so for a very long time.
“But I’ve quit,” she said, tears now flowing freely as it fully hit her what she’d done.
“So, un-quit.”
“I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure I should. I’m not sure he’d take me back. You’re right. I hurt him. The one person he knew he could count on walked out, right when he was enjoying the biggest high of his career. I should have talked to him. Told him how I feel. Instead I treated him as if his opinion about us didn’t matter. I let him down so very badly.”
“Fitz is right. You two doofuses deserve each other, you really do.”
“Fitz?” Lucinda said, the weirdness of that statement somehow making its way through the fog. “When have you been talking to Fitz?”
Cat looked down at her toes, wriggling them back and forth. “We…may have hooked up at that Christmas party of yours a year or so ago. And a handful of times since.”
Lucinda gawped, then realised she didn’t have the energy to care.
“Come here, you,” Cat said, holding out an arm.
And Lucinda leaned over and rested in her sister’s embrace.
Tomorrow she’d deal with tomorrow.