Page 126 of Worth Every Risk

“You can admit it,” he whispers. “I won’t think any less of you.”

“No—” My voice catches. Sounds weak. I hate it. “She left. I can’t—”

“Fuck, Matt.” He pauses and I focus on trying to control the range of emotions that are swirling in my chest. “You love her, don’t you?”

I break right then. Something in the middle of me, shattering like glass, each shard spearing my heart, my lungs.

As though he knows what’s happening inside me, Seb slides a hand over my back and rests it between my shoulder blades. “You gonna cry?” he asks, and when I don’t respond he adds, “Because I might have to film it. Never seen you cry before.”

A strangled groan escapes me, but there’s a hint of laughter under there. “Fuck you.” I rub my eyes. They’re definitely wet. “It’s not just Aries. It’s the whole fucking thing. Gemma cheating on me, the divorce, Charlie, Lucie. I’m failing everyone around me.”

Seb opens and closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure whether he should commit to whatever he intended to say. He pausesfor a moment before he speaks, and when he does, there’s an unfamiliar gravity to his voice. “And the one person who made it all better left you.”

I click my tongue against my teeth and shake my head. “When did you become such a hopeless romantic?”

“I’m not the one who just ran away from a photo album.”

I close my eyes, tears welling right behind my lids, and let out a long exhalation. Pain leaches through every organ in my body until it rises up my throat. Next to me, Seb shuffles, getting something out of his pocket.

“Put your phone away,” I warn him.

He lets out an amused sigh. “Here,” he says, and when I open my eyes, there’s no sign of his phone, but he’s handing me a handkerchief. Neatly pressed, with his monogrammed initials in the corner. Memories of that night with Aries on the balcony at the Hawkston Building rush in and I scrunch the bit of cotton up in my palm.Is every little fucking thing always going to make me think of her?

The sadness crests to a peak, pain surging right beneath it. I can’t fucking hold this back anymore. I have seconds before it breaks me.

“You know what?” I say, so low I can barely hear my own voice.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like you to go inside.”

Seb stills for a moment, as though he’s running through his options. He taps his hand against my back again and leaves without another word.

And then, when I’m certain I’m alone, I fucking weep.

38

MATT

The new nanny is older than I am. Efficient, upright, spine like a steel rod. Her plummy English accent pisses me off. Thinks she’s Mary fucking Poppins.

We’re all in the front hall. Charlie’s back from school for the weekend and we’re ready to play tennis. The nanny is fixing Lucie’s hair. My daughter looks pristine. Little patent Mary Janes, frilly white ankle socks. But she doesn’t look happy; not the way she did when Aries was caring for her.

My heart does that squeezing thing, a numbness spreading over my shoulders that I try to shrug off, but it doesn’t work. It’s been a month since Aries left, and I still think about her all the time. Every minute of every fucking day. I’ve come to accept that maybe it’s not something that’s going to go away.

Apart from the lingering pain of missing her, everything else feels better. Calmer. It’s as though my anger has somehow settled or dissipated since that day the photo album arrived for Lucie. As if facing the pain of it all unlocked something inside me. Aries, I think, would be pleased about this, if she knew.

I’ve noticed that I have more space for the kids, emotionally. The irritation and anger that were so ready to flare up don't rise the way they used to. It takes a lot more to rile me. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I raised my voice. Probably not since Charlie’s birthday.

Aries, I think, would be pleased by this too.

Fuck.It hurts to think about her and yet I do it almost constantly. Can’t fucking help it. Tormenting myself, as if thinking of her might bring her back.Futile.

Every night I take out my phone and write her the same message. Three words. Then I delete it. Pointless. Meaningless. What does it matter how I feel now?

“Daddy, can we come and watch?” Lucie takes my hand, tugging on it a little. Her brown eyes are bright, shining with hope so vivid that it’s almost contagious.Almost.

Beside me, Charlie lifts one foot behind him, knocks his tennis racket against the heel of his shoe, then repeats the motion on the other side. The strings twang against his rubber soles.

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