Page 121 of Worth Every Risk

When they’ve gone, Charlie and I are left alone, and I’m still struggling to hold myself in check. I slam the strawberries down next to the champagne.

“Dad—”

“What?” I snap, all that tightly held anger bursting out. Charlie jerks away, and I’m immediately regretful, covering my eyes with the heels of my hands as I speak, juice and strawberry pulp leaking over my face. “Shit. Sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Charlie. I’m not angry with you. Christ, I’m not angry with—”

“Thank you.”

My frustration fizzles out at the sound of Charlie’s soft voice. I lower my hands to find him, in spite of everything, staring atme with a look I haven’t seen for years. It’s how he used to gaze at me, before he hit double-digits, whenever I did something to help him without being asked, like tied his shoelaces or wiped toothpaste off his face; wide-eyed and worshipful, as though he believed I was an omnipotent saviour in his small world.

Back then, I reveled in it that glorious expression, but now it chokes me, and I see in an instant how much my son has needed me to be that man for him, and I haven’t been there.

I want to hug him, but I don’t dare; not covered in the remains of the strawberries. I hold my hands up. “Let me wash up. Wait here.”

Charlie smiles, a cute, hesitant grin, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed to smile, but he really fucking wants to.

I walk to the cloakroom and wash my hands and face, but when I go back into the boot room, Charlie has disappeared, and Seb is standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” he asks, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I saw the twins leaving. Gemma went with them.”

Of course she fucking did.“Good riddance.” I’m still breathing heavily, aware I must look crazed. “They’re never coming back. Not to this house.”

Seb’s gaze lights upon the crushed strawberries, and I can see him putting the pieces together. “Fuck,” he whispers, looking a little shocked, then he shrugs it off and says, “Whatever happened in here, it must have been good because Charlie’s out there looking pleased as punch. Haven’t seen him smiling like that in an age.”

Thank God. “Where’s Aries?” I need to tell her she was right about the twins, about the strawberries.

“She left,” Seb says.

A horrific sensation occurs in my chest, like a vast hand is clutching my heart, squeezing it the way I just crushed those fucking strawberries. “When?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Fuck. If it hadn’t been for the twins and their actions, I might have caught her. Might have seen her, held her, one last time.

My heart is beating way too fast; it can’t be healthy. I shove past Seb and go back into the drawing room, which is thick with people, but none of them are the person I want. The person I need.How far has she gone? Where is she? Can I still catch her?

I dash out into the hall, not giving a shit that the speed of my movement is attracting attention. I open the front door and trot down the steps. It’s still light. The air is cool, only the mildest trace of the summer heat lingers. I can see Gemma and the twins walking down the street, but they don’t notice me and I don’t fucking care about them.

I still can’t see Aries.

There’s a taxi outside the gates, its orange indicator flicking on and off. I run across the lawn towards it. Press the button to release the pedestrian gate. It clicks open as the taxi pulls away.

I wrench the gate’s heavy weight and pass through the gap into the street. Begin to run again. But the taxi is faster than I am, and it takes a turn at the crossroads ahead. I’m sprinting now. Running like a madman through Kensington. The taxi turns again, disappearing from view.

When I reach the corner, it’s long gone. The street is empty. I double over, hands on my thighs. Breathless. And then I throw up, right there on the pavement, until I’m empty too.

Later, when everyone has gone home and Charlie’s in his room, I go up to the fourth floor. Light-headed. Heartbroken. A mess.

Lucie is asleep. Has been for hours. There’s no strip of light from Aries’ room. I push the door open and immediately wonderwhy I’m here, because the sight of the bare room splits me open: a wound carved right down my torso. I grip the door handle and think about sinking to the floor for a moment, but decide to sit on the bed. If Lucie wakes up, I don’t want her to find me in a crumpled heap on the threshold of Aries’ empty room.

She’s stripped the sheets; the bare duvet is curled up like an over-sized cinnamon roll on the mattress. Her scent lingers in the air. Coconut. Sweet. Like the promise of sun.

On the pillow, there’s a small card with a neat, hand-written note.

Dear Matt,

I knew you’d come up here. I’m sorry.

I wish this could have ended differently.

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