Page 141 of Every Silent Lie
I want to say, Will you? Please do. Don’t forget about me. But that would be inappropriate. Of course his son comes first. “Okay.” I cup his face with both hands and kiss him square on the lips. “I hope you figure it out.”
He blows out his cheeks. “I’m not hopeful. He’s got his granddad’s stubborn streak, and it’s definitely nature not nurture, because he never fucking sees him.” I press my lips together, not sure if it’s fitting to laugh. “I love you,” he says, our eyes level.
“I love you too.”
Pushing off the bed, he strides to the door but stops on the threshold. It’s a few long seconds before he turns around. “Why don’t you come?” he asks and then bites down on his lip.
I still on the bed, thrown. “What?” I murmur, as if I didn’t hear him. “Oh, I’m not sure . . .” I fade off. That it’s a good idea? “I think—” My eyes drop to the mattress and dart.
“No, fuck, that was a stupid idea.” Dec shakes his head. “Forget I said anything.” Forcing a smile, he backs out, and I feel so fucking awful, like I’ve rejected him but, even worse, rejected the most precious thing in his world.
Again.
Dec disappears, and I sigh, wanting to kick my own arse around the bedroom.
Re-reading my message to Thomas, I click send and then falter from throwing my phone aside in frustration with myself when I see Dec’s messages from last night. I click them open. And my heart slows with every word I read on all of the five messages.
I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.
I love you. I don’t know if it means anything anymore, but I love you.
Please, tell me we can figure this out. I’ll do anything you need me to do.
I love you.
I need to come to you, Camryn, but I’m terrified you’ll reject me.
I stare at his final message, sent at midnight. He was scared, and yet he came anyway.
I jump out of bed and snatch my robe off the chair, pulling it on as I run to the door, throwing it open. I hurry down the corridor and burst out of the building, my bare feet sinking into the slushy snow. “Fuck,” I hiss, quickly stepping back inside. I see Dec up the road getting into the driver’s side of a Defender, this one black. “Dec!”
He looks up, the door open, and frowns. “What are you doing?” He slams the door and paces back to the building. “Camryn?”
“Can I come?” I ask, awkward, treading from foot to foot.
A smile slowly stretches across his face. It’s fucking stunning, and I made it happen. “Hurry up,” he orders softly, coming to me. “I’ve got a prawn to appease.”
“Huh?”
“Just go get dressed.” He takes my shoulders and pushes me into the building. “I’ll wait in the car.”
I rush back to my flat, dry my feet, and throw on my leggings, cropped quarter-zip and trainers, and swing my wool trench coat on as I jog back out, pulling a hairband off my wrist and tying my hair up. Dec’s on the phone again when I get in the car, his head in his hands as April talks over the car speakers. “It’s fine, I’ve pushed back my nine thirty,” she says.
“I’m sorry.” Dec starts the car. “I don’t know what’s got into him.”
“Maybe you,” she says gently. Her tone isn’t accusing. It’s just . . . worried. “He knows you’re not right.”
I freeze in my seat, mortified. Dec’s not right because of me. I’m distracting Albi’s dad from being his dad. Kids are like sponges, I know that. Have experienced that. They soak it all up without you even noticing. Until you do. And then, dumb parent, you ask yourself what’s wrong with them. Dominic and I always hid our disagreements from Noah, but we couldn’t hide our energy. If I wasn’t right, he wasn’t right.
Dec’s gaze is on me, I just know it, and I peek out the corner of my eye confirms it.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth, taking the handle of the door I’ve just closed and opening it. “I should stay here.”
Dec reaches across and pulls it closed again. “I’m on my way.” He cuts the call and pulls out. “Put your seatbelt on,” he orders, focused on the road. I reach back and grab it, seeing a kid’s car seat in the back. As I clip my seatbelt in, I look down in the footwell, finding an empty snack bag that once packaged apples. And when I crane my neck around, I see the telltale signs of sticky fingerprints on the leather seats and the windows. “What?” Dec asks.
“Nothing.” I return my body forward and rest my eyes on his profile as he drives, my stomach swirling madly. Nerves. I’d never have pinned the title dad on Dec, but now it seems to be slapped all over him. “I didn’t get to see Noah in the nativity play,” I say out of the blue, transported back to that week in the run up to Christmas when my life fell apart. “He was the innkeeper. Or supposed to be.”
His hand comes across and lays palm up on my thigh. I put mine in his and watch as his fingers wrap around. “Tell me more,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road.
