Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

“Yeah,” Mike said. “And Freddie needs getting to school. I guess I can take him on the way into the yard.”

I shook my head. “Not necessary. I can wait. Work out a time when ever’s suitable.”

Amelia nodded, her expression surprisingly calm for someone so stumbled upon. I expected myself to look like some kind of pale-faced ghost struggling for footing.

“Two hours?” she asked. “On the front? There’s a cafe called The Red Lobster.”

I nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

Her smile lit up a memory, of her in the grounds of my house talking about the posies. “I’ll see you there,” she said.

And she would see me there. I held up a hand in thanks before retreating, stumbling like an idiot back across the street to the safety of my car. I watched their front door close and fought back a retch, consumed with enough shock to see the whole world spinning.

Until I forced myself to get a grip of it.

My breaths were long and steadying, my mantra to myself strong and hard. Calm it the fuck down. Calm it the fuck down. Calm it the fucking fuck down.

I was better than this. Better than to be thrown off course by something so left field.

I was also here for one reason only, and I knew it. My heart was still fucking pounding with it.

I was here for Paige. For material enough to get her back where she fucking belonged in my arms.

And I’d get it. Whatever the hell I needed. With every breath inside me I’d fucking get it.

I was still in my car when the front door opened and Mike stepped on out with his wife and young son in tow. He shot me a look on his way past, but didn’t stall any as they paced along the pavement. They were a harmonious little family as they headed down the street hand in hand, young Freddie singing a silly little tune as his parents looked across at each other with his hand in theirs.

Perfect.

It was really fucking perfect.

Exactly the kind of perfect I thought I’d be having with her all those years ago.

It was a relief to find I didn’t really want it, not anymore. Not with Amelia George.

I wanted it with Paige Emmerson now.

The family were long out of sight when I started up the engine and drove down the hill into the main village. I parked up in the central car park and sat on a bench on the harbour, largely oblivious to the constant drizzle of the rain as it landed. My hair was slick to my scalp, brows misty, but I didn’t make any effort to find shelter, long past giving a shit for the surface. All I did was wonder after the answers I was about to receive, praying to whatever crazy fucking god was up there that things would turn out good enough to come out on top.

I was still awaiting my appointment with Amelia when my phone buzzed with a message from the unrecognised number. My gut tumbled afresh as I soaked in the words.

Time’s running out. Paige’s appointment slots are filling up fast. One of them’s Mr fucking European with his fisting bid. He’s fucking here. Sadist of the fucking sadists is fucking here.

My fingers were a flurry. Politics asshole is fucking there?!

The message ping came through fast. He had a session with Rebecca Lane last night. It wasn’t fucking pretty. I’d have stepped in if I could, but Drake was fucking loving it. Said there was a whole load more coming where that came from. Guy’s here for a week fucking straight.

My chest constricted, crushing tight. Don’t let him anywhere near Paige. Whatever fucking happens. Don’t let any of them near Paige.

The reply was almost instant. I’ll do my best, bro, but you better get here. Fast. Time’s running out.

It was indeed, on all fronts. A glance at my watch confirmed Amelia would be arriving at the cafe in just a few minutes. I sent off a final message. Nothing short of a promise.

I’m coming, brother. Believe me, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

I didn’t bother drying myself off any before pacing across the main street to the Red Lobster cafe. It was a neat little venue, with trademark red plastic chairs and checked tablecloths. I sat myself down at a table in the window, relieved to find the place largely deserted. We’d be out of earshot from the counter, especially with the bubble of kettles and kitchen equipment sounding out loud. We’d also be out of earshot of the other occupied table, down the opposite end of the gangway.

Amelia paused outside for just a beat as she caught my gaze through the window. Her smile was nervous but genuine, and I struggled to imagine what kind of churned up shit of her own she had to deal with on finding me larger than life in her quiet little village.