Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Lucy gasps down the line. ‘He fired you?’
‘I quit,’ I correct her. I realise there is only so much I can share, or so much I want to share.
‘Tell,’ she demands, her laboured breaths now under control. This means, unfortunately, she has enough steam to grill me. ‘You sat in my apartment last night talking with a bucketload of optimism, and the next morning you’re hundreds of miles away sounding like someone’s died. What’s happened?’
My throat dries up with dread at the thought of talking about it. I breathe in, swallow and repeat, breathe in, swallow and repeat, searching for a scrap of strength to spit out the words and share my woes. ‘I can’t,’ I croak, brushing at my cheeks roughly when I feel a tiny bead of wet trickle down my skin. Goddamn it, why am I crying?
‘What did he do?’ She sounds mad.
‘He . . .’ I hiccup, covering my eyes like it might stop the mental images of him in my apartment. I can’t tell Lucy what he did. I can’t tell her he broke into my apartment and scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I can’t tell anyone, leaving me to shoulder the truth alone. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘The arsehole,’ she spits, growling down the line for a few moments before a lingering silence falls, and I wait and hope that my friend can leave it there. ‘Okay,’ she finally says softly, though obviously forced for my benefit. ‘That’s fine, just know I’m here when you’re ready to talk.’
I gaze blankly at nothing across my room. ‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, Eleanor,’ she sighs. ‘Why didn’t you stop me from harping on about Mark? I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t. He’s not an arsehole.’
‘Come home,’ she says softly. ‘We’ll buy a voodoo doll and stick needles in it.’
I smile a little, thankful that I have Lucy, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her. ‘I just need a timeout for a few days while I think about what to do next. And I may as well take care of my father’s store while I’m here.’ I never imagined I would actually look forward to clearing out his shop. It’s going to distract me for a good few days.
‘Okay. Call me if you need me.’
‘I will.’
‘Hey, has your mum really got a new boyfriend, or was that a bare-faced lie?’
‘She really has.’ I fight off flashbacks of Paul in his underpants as Lucy whistles down the line.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘She’s happy, and that’s the most important thing.’ I could never deny her that. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.’
We say our goodbyes and I hang up, snuggling down in my bed, intending on shutting my mind down and finding sleep.
But an hour later, I’ve tossed my body over for the hundredth time and that needed sleep is nowhere close. My restlessness would be easy to put down to being uncomfortable. Except I’m not. I’m just struggling to clear my mind and zone out. And I’m getting distressed as a result, because it isn’t Mum’s bombshell that’s got my mind racing. Neither is it the fact that I’m home and I might have the imminent pleasure of seeing a few old ghosts. It’s the phantom that is Becker Hunt keeping me from finding peace in my darkness.
I close my eyes and see him. I breathe in and smell him. I feel the sheets skimming my skin and imagine it’s his touch. I shut my brain down for a split second and hear his sexy shush. I swallow and taste his tongue in my mouth.
He’s imprinted on every part of me.
Chapter 4
After spending my entire Sunday moping and avoiding my mother so she couldn’t squeeze me for information, I wake on Monday determined not to waste another day. I need to get back to London. I need to be getting myself a new job. The alternative is remaining in Helston at the mercy of my regrets and my past. No. Not today.
I jump up and rummage through the chest of drawers in my room, searching for anything I can wear. I settle on some old leggings and a big jumper. After showering and dressing, I make my way downstairs, finding Mum in the kitchen making tea.
‘Sleep well?’ she asks, handing me a cup.
I hum my answer and take a sip. ‘I’m going to Dad’s store.’ I tell her, and she looks up at me. I can see the fear in her eyes – fear that I’m going to ask her to come. I smile and reach for her hand. ‘I’ve got it,’ I assure her. I know she’s avoided the shop, and I understand why. It’s the same reason I’ve avoided it myself. Yet, in order for me to move forward, I need to clear up the remnants of my past. And Mum seriously needs relieving of the financial strain. It’s time to pull my finger out.