“Hey, baby. Where are you?”
“At the park.”
“Quincy, sweetheart, there are a gazillion parks in London. You have to be more specific.” I already knew which park she’d be at. She’d always loved to sit at the very top of the hill and watch the bustling city in the background.
“I just need some time alone…to think.” Her already rough and low voice broke slightly before she cleared her throat.
She’s crying. She’s hurting and you aren’t there to make it even slightly better.
“I need to think.” She said again this time a little clearer.
“Are you okay?”
Of course she’s not, moron.
“I don’t know. Jamie, I messed up and I just need to think about things.”
“Okay.” I pressed the ignition button and made my way out of the garage again. “I love you, baby.”
“You too.”
Quincy was in a not so great place, and tonight I was going to make sure that she forgot about the shit storm going on in her head for a while. I was going to do everything I could to make her laugh. I was going to make sure that she knew that even though not everything was perfect, that it would get better.
We were going into a new year, and I was going to do whatever it took to make it a fresh start for her heart. She’d said that her heart was battered and bruised—imperfect—but to me it was the opposite of everything she thought. It was big and encompassing. It loved with every inch and cared with every beat. To me that was as beautifully perfect as a heart could get.
Which was why a part of me felt guilty that I was part of the reason she was struggling. To be truthful, I didn’t just feel guilty—I felt helpless. I knew that she wasn’t great with change. Which was why I tried to make every big step seem insignificant. I tried to downplay everything because her coping mechanisms were beyond stretched at the minute.
I poured another dram of the caramely warmth into my tumbler and took a small sip as I recalled our conversation four days ago at the very top of Primrose Hill.
She hadn’t expected me to go to her and just sit while she found her feet. The reality was that I was scared she’d lose sight of us. I couldn’t let her do that, so I’d somewhat selfishly gone and just sat next to her as a reminder that despite all the chaos going on inside, that I’d always be there just like I’d always been. And now there was nothing stopping me from being everything and anything she needed.
We’d sat for hours in silence whilst every possible emotion in existence fleeted across her face and rippled through her. I painstakingly watched as she silently cried
through a lot of it. Then she’d had this look on her face that had all her delicately beautiful features scrunched up and hardened in anger. Her feelings matching the cold and cloudy afternoon that was darkening.
She turned to me slightly before she laid on her back looking at the blue tinged, dark grey sky. I thought she was going to cry again as she looked up at me, searching my face. She did this really unceremonious sniff-snort thing that was so un-Quincy-like. And then she laughed. She laughed so hard that she did end up crying again…and snorting all at the same time.
What the fuck is going on?
I’d thought that for a couple of minutes before I laid down next to her on the damp grass. My arse numb from sitting on the soggy ground for so long. She turned on her side to face me, her body still wracking with her laughter that was now dying down.
She took a deep breath before she grew serious again.
“I’ve been trying so hard to find some remorse,” she rolled her eyes like it was the most ludicrous endeavour, “But it felt so good, Jamie. So. Fucking. Brilliantly. Good.”
I bet it did.
“I’ve seen her smug bitch face almost every day for the last seven years and I’ve smiled. I’ve been nice. I did the right, professional thing…” She continued as her eyes glassed over with a mixture of pain, sadness and relief. “I’ve carried on like nothing ever happened. Like…like she hadn’t crossed a line. Like I was the wrong one.”
My hands ached to touch her, to soothe her, but I knew that’s not what she needed. Not right then. She’d done the acting and now she was thinking. Although I was worried about the fall out, I was also so fucking proud of her for not running and taking a stand for herself.
“Quincy—”
“No. Listen. Just listen.” She put her finger to my lips. “I was heavily pregnant and she was fucking my husband. He wouldn’t even touch me, but he couldn’t get enough of her.”
She laughed dryly again.
“It wasn’t just her. He didn’t pick her over you in that sense. She was just another woman.”