Bait

“That boy is mine and you know it. You’ve always known it.”

I tip my head. “So Cameron is yours, and Mariana was yours. What about the business? Is that yours too? How about my fucking living room carpet? My fucking cutlery? All fucking yours or what, Jake? Because from what I’m fucking seeing, the only things you’ve ever really been interested in are mine.”

“Bullshit.”

“You want my fucking jacket? My truck?” I take a step forward. “How about my fucking scars too, Jake? Fancy having those? You’d be fucking welcome to them.”

“You got off lightly.”

“Sure I fucking did,” I sneer. “It’s a walk in the fucking park. My life’s a bed of fucking roses.”

He takes a drag. “You may have scars outside.” He taps his head. “But I’ve got scars inside.”

“We’ve all got scars in here, Jake.” I tap my own head. “Cameron still wets the fucking bed half of the fucking week. Serena’s brain’s fucking addled with all this shit.”

He gestures back to Abigail’s building. “Does she know?”

“About what?”

“About the fucking fire, Leo. Does she know what you did to Mariana?” I don’t even grace him with an answer. He grins a sour fucking grin at me. “Oh, she doesn’t. Fucking surprise.”

“Mariana was off the rails.”

“Because of you.”

I shake my head. “Because of her, Jake. She was off the rails long before I came along. Long before we ever had Cam. And you fucking know it.”

“You don’t deserve another shot,” he snarls. “You don’t deserve anything.”

“So you keep fucking telling me. Why don’t you look at yourself instead, Jake? You might fucking learn something.”

“Give me that paternity test, Leo, or I swear you’ll rue the fucking day you turned me down.”

I shoulder him on my way past. “Hold your fucking breath until I call.”

“Next week,” he snarls as he tosses his cigarette away. “You’ve got until next fucking week, Leo, and then I’m coming for what’s mine.”

My voice is low and deadly. I mean every word I say. “If you come anywhere near my son, or my house, or the business, or Abigail, I’ll fucking kill you.”

He fishes his keys from his pocket. I should call the police and have him arrested for his own fucking good, but he’d just do it again tomorrow.

“Abigail,” he says, and I curse my mouth. He hauls himself into his truck and turns the ignition. I find myself hoping he drives into a fucking quarry on his way home. “Next week,” he repeats. “Or you’ll fucking regret it.”

“Sleep it off,” I tell him. “Have a fucking shower. Get your sad life sorted, Jake.”

I stand in the road to watch him away. His truck swerves a little before he speeds out of view.

I call up his tracker on my mobile and assign it to favourites. Even having him in that list is fucking sickening. I wait until he’s long back on the Worcester road before I head back to my own truck.

And I resolve to call my fucking lawyer first thing in the morning.Twenty-EightClouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.

Rabindranath TagoreAbigail“He turned up again, then?” Lauren’s eyes sparkle as she props herself against my desk. I play dumb, my face as impassive as I can make it until she tuts at me. “Leo,” she says. “He turned up, right?”

I can’t stop the grin. “What makes you say that?”

She gestures to the open office. “Uh, hello. You’re beaming across the whole building this morning. Only one thing that gets a girl limping like that on a coffee round.”

She really has no idea how much effort it’s taking to walk at all. I put down my paperwork. “He may have turned up again.”

My very expressive friend raises her hands to the sky. “Halleluiah. I knew he’d be back. The guy looked at you like I look at greasy fries after a night clubbing. Praise be for online dating and the slim odds,” she raises a finger, “and I do mean slim, of finding an actual hottie in the ether.”

“I guess fate threw me a break.” My cheeks are burning up. The urge to laugh at life’s craziness fizzes in my throat.

“Lucky bitch,” Kelly calls in my direction as she heads to the meeting room. “I’d ride that stallion all night long. Yeehaw.”

I doubt that very much. Not if she wanted to be vaguely mobile anytime the week following.

“Did he bring you flowers?” Lauren asks. “Chocolates to soften the blow of radio silence?”

I shake my head. “Somehow I don’t think he’s much of a flowers and chocolates kinda guy.”

She sighs. “He doesn’t need to be. He’s all darkness and brawn and pure, hot man flesh.”

“He’s definitely all of those things, yeah,” I agree. And secrets, and pain, and kisses that taste like thunder.

“Will he be with you at Diva’s on Thursday?”