Broken Chords (Love in London 2)

Max lunges for the teddy. “Da da da,” he babbles.

Alex smiles, his whole face lighting up. “Did he say ‘Dad’?”

For some reason, I don't want to tell him it's only a babble. That he's been doing it for days. There's something about Alex's reaction that makes my heart stutter. So I look at him, and he stares right back, and the tension between us brings goose bumps out on my arms.

It takes Max grabbing the teddy and stuffing the microphone in his mouth to dispel it. Shakily, I laugh, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.

“A microphone eater like his daddy. I'm so proud.”

We go inside and I put the kettle in, unable to shake off how surreal it is to be treating Alex like a guest in his own home. When I carry our coffees back in, he's on the floor, Max climbing over him, big grins splitting both their faces. When Alex pulls him in for a kiss, Max opens his mouth and slobbers on his cheek. He hasn't quite got the hang of closing his mouth yet.

It's one of those moments when you want everything to stop, to freeze time so you can appreciate it. Watching them makes my chest hurt, it's so full. Why can't it always be like this?

Max makes a grab for Alex's hair, curling his tiny fist around a chunk, yanking hard enough to make Alex laugh. Gently, he releases Max's hold, kissing his knuckles as if to show him he isn't angry.

It's too painful to watch them. So I sit down and look out of the window, trying to regulate my breath.

“I thought maybe you could have Max for the day on Sunday,” I say, to cut the tension as much as anything else. “I'm sure your mum would like to see him.” Tina popped around two nights ago, but I pretended to be exhausted. She was asking way too many questions about Alex and me.

Alex sits up, cradling Max to his chest. “You're not coming for lunch?” He looks hurt.

I have to remind myself to breathe. “I can't.” I practically choke on my words.

“Why not?” He frowns. “Everybody wants to see you.”

“Because I can't pretend that everything's okay.” There's no way I can go back into our old routine.

“Then tell me what's wrong. Tell me what to do to make it better. This is killing me.”

Lowering my head into my hands, I can feel my voice shaking. “It's everything. The way you put the band above everything else. The way you lied about smoking. The fact you forgot to sort out your phone before you went. How we hardly talked when you did get around to calling.” I blow out a big breath and my voice lowers. “I waited for you to call me for four days when Max was ill. You didn't even bother.”

I can't bring myself to tell him about the photo, even though I know I should. It still makes me feel sick to think about. I don't want to hear his explanations, his excuses; I'm not ready for them.

“Stuart didn't tell me,” he explains quietly. “I spoke to him yesterday. They knew I'd leave as soon as I heard so they didn't say anything. It's only when I listened to your message that I found out.”

My stomach churns harder. “What?” I drop my hands, looking up at him with red rimmed eyes. “He didn't tell you I called? He didn't tell you about Max?”

Slowly, he shakes his head.

“But I talked to him, he said you weren't coming back. He said you didn't want to talk to me.”

This time, his eyes narrow. “You believed him? You really thought I wouldn't come home?”

His question shocks me. Did I really think so little of Alex that I believed Stuart's lies? That

sounds awful. From the way he's staring at me, I can tell he agrees.

“Why did he lie?”

“He wanted us to finish the tour. He was going to tell me when we made it to New York.”

I laugh bitterly. “That was good of him.”

“I said the same thing, but with a lot more swearing.” Alex kisses the top of Max's head. “If something had happened to Max...”

My heart hammers in my chest. I hate that I doubted him. “It didn't,” I say, thickly. “Thank God.”

Max is starting to get tired; I can tell from the way he keeps shuffling on Alex's lap. He's fighting it, but the exhaustion is winning. Alex settles him on his legs, letting him snuggle in close. “Are we ever going to get back to what we were?”