‘I’ve heard good things.’ Theo straddles the seat opposite me, his dark hair pulled up in a messy bun on top of his head. He hasn’t shaved in at least a week and stubble has turned into a full beard. His Greek heritage is so apparent.
I mull his sentence over, but don’t speak. I guess you could say I’m brooding. I’ve been brooding since I walked out of her hotel room, back to mine and slammed the door so hard a painting slid off the wall.
I flew back here telling myself I’d done the right thing. I flew back here so fucking angry at Grace for taking what we’d agreed to and trying to turn it into something else. I was livid! So fucking angry at her for changing the rules of what we were.
But also so in awe of her.
So in awe of how brave she was to admit how she felt for me, even when her heart was still so raw from that asshole Gareth. She did something I’ve never really been good at in my private life: she went way out on a limb, bracing herself for whatever my response was, knowing she needed to at least be honest with me.
She risked her own heart, even after what Gareth did to her.
And I walked away, just like I told her I would.
‘You getting Samson to run it?’
I drag myself back to this conversation, to Theo, to this moment in time and try not to think about the fact it’s been almost a month since I left Australia.
How is she?
Those words run through my mind every day, like a whispered invocation. How is she? How is she? How is she?
I wake up in the middle of the night, clutching at my chest, feeling like someone’s punched me hard in the gut, winding me, robbing me of breath. And then I remember.
I’m not under attack.
I haven’t been hurt.
I’m just missing Grace.
I’m missing her so much it’s become a physical pain.
‘Dude. What the fuck? You’re miles away.’
‘Samson, yeah.’ I pour a Scotch. ‘You want?’
He shrugs. ‘Sure.’
I slosh some into a tumbler. It’s good. Spiced, aged, heavy. I savour the flavour as it hits my belly.
‘So?’ Theo’s watching me. ‘What’s going on?’
Defensiveness curls around me.
I can’t talk to Theo about this.
About Grace.
I can’t have him tell me I’m being an arse. Or telling me I did the right thing.
I don’t need someone else in my head giving me their opinion on my life.
‘Nothing.’
His laugh is throaty. ‘Yeah, I can see that.’
Fuck. ‘Get out of my head, Theo.’
‘But it’s such a fun place to be.’ Sarcasm trips off his tongue easily.