Inconsolable (Love Triumphs 2)

What helped was re-engaging in therapy. In figuring out there were better ways to honour the dead than reciting their names and burying himself with them.

What helped was looking for Foley, finding her online, seeing evidence of her safe existence. Though her footprint was small, she was there. An outdated Facebook page, a Twitter feed last filled with photos of the Kite Festival months ago. He felt relief like the balm he was using on his face take the sting out of his craving for her.

It was on council’s website he learned the most. The new job, Acting General Manager. She’d taken Hugh’s job, she’d leapfrogged the dreaded brown-eyed Gabriella who wasn’t listed at all. Foley was living her life, working her dreams. The ache in his chest on learning that felt like pride. Her contacts were listed. He almost emailed her. He almost called.

But he had no right to disturb her peace of mind.

He made another call that weighed on him. A private number he hadn’t used in years, but still remembered.

“Alan Drummond.” Said neutrally, officially. He wouldn’t recognise the number calling.

“It’s Trick.”

There was silence, thick with anticipation, heavy with trepidation, and then his father said. “Oh thank Christ,” and Drum heard the agony of tension in his voice. “I thought I’d lost you. After I went to the house, I searched. That damn real estate broker, your blasted lawyer, they kept your secrets, but then I suppose you gave them very little to go on. Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

“You looked for me?” He hadn’t expected that.

“Yes, once I knew you hadn’t gone adventuring, but you didn’t leave me any trace and I didn’t know how to contact the woman at the house. She had an unusual name but I was so shocked about you, so worried, it went clear out of my head. Something like Finola or Felicity, but that’s not—”

“Her name is Foley.”

“Are you still with her?”

“No.” His own voice might’ve broken if he’d had to say more.

“You sold the house, like you sold everything you owned. Where are you?”

He was halfway between grief and forgiveness, between blame and acceptance. He was fighting his way back to something more normal. It gave him indigestion and it fed a kernel of something he’d not felt in a long time—excitement. “I’m in the city.”

“Come to my place.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll come to you.”

“No.” He modified that. “Not yet. I need time to acclimatise. I’ve forgotten what all this is about, how I’m supposed to act.”

“Are you, do you…” Alan’s voice broke as his sentence fell apart. “I’m so glad to hear from you. How are you feeling?”

Scared, hopeful, wretched, nervous. Like the first day of school, like his first kiss, like the day he flew solo, like the day they got approval to market Circa, or when they listed NCR on the New York Stock Exchange. Like meeting Foley, like losing her. There was no way to answer that question.

“I’m better.”

“More like yourself?”

“Only in some things. I’m going to be different.” He was different already, more wary, more jaded, more hesitant, more prepared for things to go wrong. Less bulletproof. And under that, so lonely, desperate for attention, for affection from the one woman he’d ever truly loved, who’d ever truly tried to understand him.

“Do you want your job back? We could make that happen if you wanted it, if you were ready. Or anything, really, you wanted to do. It’s still your company, Trick, as much as it is mine, if you want it to be, or does that thought still sicken you?”

Not any longer. Since Melissa, since the train ride, since the kindness and the Anzac biscuits. Since Foley made him hope things could be different and he’d started to see how he could make it so.

“Are you still there, Trick? I’m not sure what you expect from me?”

Only what Alan could give. And he didn’t need a job. He didn’t need forgiveness, or contrition or acceptance either. He didn’t need his guilt assuaged or his ego stroked. All he needed was permission, agreement; the rest he’d do for himself.

“I don’t expect anything from you. The terms of our agreement stand. I can’t sell my shareholding except in the event of your death or a takeover. But I want to talk to you about an idea.”

“Of course. If you’re well enough. If you’re ready. You let me know and I’ll make the time available.”