Buy Me, Sir(63)

"You didn't show me these," he says as he picks up a piece of bloodstone.

"I didn't have them then," I say, and I'm not lying. These additions were all for me.

He holds up the CD case. "Research?"

I shake my head. "I only bought that last week, I wanted the physical copy."

"Fucking hell, Lissa," he snaps. "You changed your whole fucking life for me."

I shake my head. "Only at the beginning. I thought I was playing … " My  smile hurts. "It's funny how pretending to be someone else can help you  find out who you really are."

He stares at me. "You think this is who you really are now? Amy pissing Randall?"

I shake my head. "I think she's just the start. I was nothing after they  died. I was nobody. Being Amy Randall was the best thing in the world."

It really was. Being her was everything I ever dreamed it would be. Loving him was everything I ever dreamed it would be.

And more.

So much more.

"Knowing Amy Randall was the best thing in the world," he says.

He takes a seat on my bed and rubs his temples. "I should go."

"Please don't."

His eyes burn into mine but I don't look away. I'll never look away.

"Then you'd better put the kettle on," he says.



Alexander



Her kitchen is cramped. She nudges me with her hip as she reaches for a  clean mug, and I wonder how they ever fit three people in this place.

I shouldn't be here.

My threats to Claude will be working their way back to my father if they haven't reached him already.

I have no interest in taking them back, which means my window of escape is limited.

He'll be gunning for me, and so will his associates.

I shouldn't be here, I should be planning my exit, packing up the things I want to take with me.

But I still don't want to leave her. Not even after everything she's done.

"I'll be leaving London tomorrow night," I tell her. "Any longer and the chances I'll make it out reduce dramatically."

She tries to hide her fear as she stirs my coffee. It's instant crap and it tastes bitter as shit, but I don't care.

"You think they'll come after you?" she whispers.

"I know they'll come after me. I'm far too much of a liability."

"So what then? You keep running?"

I shake my head. "A few months under the radar and they'll realise I've  no interest in blowing their cover. I'll slip down their target list."

"You're sure?"

No. I'm not sure.

I've become far too fond of this hope novelty recently.

"Would you still have come with me?" I ask her.

"Knowing what you're running from?"

I nod.

Her eyes hide nothing from me. "Yes," she says. "So long as Joseph was safe."         

     



 

Joseph.

I had no idea he'd even existed. No idea she was holding so much  together. A baby, a full-time job, moonlighting with me three times a  week. The soup kitchen.

All of that with a side helping of crushing grief.

At eighteen years old.

She's barely even an adult, and yet she's one of the most mature women I've ever met.

Figures, of course. That's what responsibility does to you.

Melissa Martin impresses me. Learning that comes as a surprise.

Melissa Martin is made of steel. She must be to live through what she's lived through.

I remember her polishing that boardroom table all those weeks ago. I  remember how impressed I'd been with her determination. With her grit.  Her work ethic.

I remember how transfixed I was by her quiet apology. The humbleness in her stance.

I remember how touched I was by her kindness in my house. Her generosity with her cupcake gift for me.

The orchids.

The fact she cared.

I thought I'd fallen in love with Amy Randall, but I'd only paid for Amy  Randall because I was so hung up on Melissa Martin, even though she was  faceless, even though she ran from me when I called.

"You didn't need to be Amy," I tell her. "I already wanted Melissa."

I know my words pain her. She flinches as I say them. "Please don't,"  she whispers. "It hurts enough already. I can't bear to think I lost it  all in vain."

But she hasn't.

She hasn't lost it.

As much as I want to hate her, I can't.

As much as I want to turn my back and leave her here, I can't.

I can't run without her.

I don't want to run without her.

If my father's associates don't put an end to me, I'll put an end to myself.

Today, or tomorrow, or further down the line when Brutus has long breathed his last breath.

When the boys are all grown up and don't even call anymore.

When there is only me.

She made me feel alive again, without her I'll want to die again. It's only a matter of time.

I'm about to say it when a cry sounds through the wall.

It jars my senses, just as it did all those years ago when my boys were so young.

"Shit," she says. "Joseph. He has nightmares sometimes."

"Go," I say, but she's already on her way.

I wander through her living room as the cries continue. I hear her singing and she has such a beautiful voice. Such a sad voice.

I wait ten minutes and the kid's cries are still fraught.

Fifteen minutes go by and I can't hold back. It's instinct.

Parental instinct.

The strength of it takes me aback.

I knock on the door so gently. "Melissa?"

"Come in," she says over his sobs.

I push the door open slowly, and there she is, rocking so gently with  that sweet little thing in her arms. He looks like her. Even with his  face all crumpled with tears, he looks like her.

His little nightlight glows on the nightstand, and this must have been  her parents' room. Their bed is still made up neatly. A piece of floral  fabric still pokes from the wardrobe doors.

It must break her heart every day to come in here.

I know, because my boys' bedrooms broke mine, even though I still saw them every Sunday.

I had to take them apart in the end. They're magnolia now. Empty.

"Matthew used to get night terrors," I tell her. "I used to point out the stars. He liked that."

She smiles. "You did?"

I nod.

"I think he still dreams of them," she tells me. "I do, too. It hurts so bad when I wake up and find they're not there."

She looks so tired. She looks fragile and willowy and lost.

I hold out my arms. "Maybe I could try?" I offer, and she bounces him on her hip before she hands him over.

"This is Alexander," she whispers. "He's very kind. He's going to show you the stars. He showed me them, too."

That little boy's eyes are so wide as they stare into mine. My heart is thumping as I take him.

"Hi, Joseph," I say. "I'm Alex."

"Alex?" Melissa whispers and I nod. "I like Alex."

So do I.

I take that little boy through to the living room and pull back the  curtains. The city glows orange, but you can just about see them, the  little pinpricks of white in the sky.

He forgets to cry as I point them out. His little hand grabs my finger as I gesture to the few constellations I can see.

"Stars," I say. "They're magic."

I'm aware Lissa is at my back. I feel her eyes.

"Can you count them?" I ask, and he laughs at me. His laugh is the sweetest sound.

"You're good with him," Lissa whispers.         

     



 

The triumph thrills me.

"I've had a lot of practice."

"More than me," she says. "I'm still learning."

She's doing a great job and I tell her so.

"Dean does most of it," she says, and I remember he still lives here. I  remember he's coming back soon. "Time for bed now," I say to Joseph, and  he's happy to go back to Lissa when she takes him.

I watch from the doorway as she settles him back down and sets his twinkle mobile playing.

She eases the door closed when he's asleep.

"Thanks," she says. "Sometimes it takes hours."

I don't have hours.

I don't even have minutes.

Every breath takes me closer to disaster.

So I say it. I have to.

"Come with me," I say. "Both of you."

Her eyes fill with tears. "But I can't …  you said you don't even know me,  and you don't know Joe, and what about Dean? Dean's been so good to us,  and he has nobody. His parents are assholes."

I know that feeling.

"Then I guess we get to know each other, Lissa. You, me, Joseph. Dean, too. We'll all go. Fresh start."

She shakes her head, and it's not a refusal it's disbelief. She crumples  to the floor and I head down there with her, and it feels so nice to be  back in her arms.

"It'll be scary for the first few months," I say. "We may need to keep moving."

"I don't care," she says. "We'll go wherever you go, all of us."

I hear the key in the front door, and kiss Lissa's forehead before Dean comes through.

"I need to pack," I say. "You do, too. Come over this afternoon when  you're ready. Pack as light as you can. We'll leave from mine."

She nods. "We'll be there."

And I know she will be.

I'll be waiting.





Chapter Forty-Six





Alexander



I cab it back to mine with my heart in my hands.

Make or break.

Life or death.

And I'm excited.

This rollercoaster isn't done yet.