Page 19 of Surrender
I look straight at Freya, praying for strength that I know isn’t coming. The mere mention of the day when Sophia happily leaves me to spend seven days with Callum continually brings tears to my eyes. “No,” I croak, disgusted with myself.
I often wonder what kind of mother I would have been to a child who didn’t have cancer. To a normal, healthy child. Would I care if he or she was gone every other week? Would I mind not knowing what they eat or how they’re feeling? If their dad is checking to make sure they don’t run a fever? If they’re taking their vitamins like they should? Or is it only because Sophia was sick that I lose my mind for the entire week she’s away?
“Oh, Sloan,” Freya says with a sigh. “The Zumba class I suggested didn’t help? Those instructors are so cheerful.”
I shake my head. “No, nothing has helped.”
Since the divorce, I’ve tried eleven different kinds of exercise classes to get my mind off the time Sophia is away. I’ve tried yoga. I’ve tried meditating. I’ve tried paint and sip classes, thinking maybe what was missing was alcohol. My doctor even gave me antidepressants, but I couldn’t stick with them. They made me feel like a zombie, and I don’t want to be one of those medicated divorcées who can’t get through a day without popping a pill.
“Blimey, it’s been months of this arrangement. I thought it would be easier by now.”
“Me too,” I murmur, sipping from my mug. The only silver lining is that, despite Callum’s poor parenting skills in the past years, Sophia seems to always enjoy her time with him.
“This probably isn’t the best time to tell you this, but maybe focusing on work is what you need. There’s a new potential client who’s requesting a meeting with you on Monday.”
My ears perk up because new clients mean big, new commissions. “That’s awesome! But why does your face look like that?”
“Well, he called in on a referral from Gareth Harris.” She presses her foot on the pedal of her machine, and the noise of the motor prevents me from responding with an excuse that normally falls out of my mouth so easily.
Freya knows I’ve been avoiding Gareth for many months. Although, last week when I saw him for the first time, it wasn’t nearly as awful as I thought it’d be. I worked myself up into such a state after the night we slept together. It was unprofessional, unladylike, dirty, filthy, kinky, and a million different things. I told myself that what happened between us was because he felt sorry for me. I was crying after all.
I expected Gareth to look at me with pity from the weird night we had together. Instead, he stood in that locker room and smiled that cocky smile. Raised those serious brows. Heflirtedwith me.
He didn’t seem disgusted by me. He certainly didn’t look like he was uncomfortable. I’d been avoiding him because I was certain I had to. But after last week, I’m more embarrassed by the avoidance than I am by the actual sex act we performed.
And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to thinking about him more this past week as a result. Replaying some of the scene in my mind. Recalling the feeling of his firm muscles beneath my hands.
Freya finally stops the machine and watches me curiously. I sit up straight and pray that the heat in my cheeks isn’t noticeable. “Where does this client live?”
“Astbury.”
I roll my eyes. “What are they, neighbours?”
“Next property over,” she replies. “But, good Lord, the estates in Astbury are enormous. It’s not like he’ll see you through the bloody windows,” Freya tuts.
She has lost all patience for the bait-and-switch act we’ve been doing with Gareth. Probably because she has to take all our appointments with him and I won’t give her any inkling as to why.
“Are you refusing to go? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I can’t do consultations anyway, Sloan!” she replies. “I don’t have style, I have skill. You are the lucky lot who has them both.”
Piercing her with a determined look, I ask, “What time does the new client want me out there?”
“It’s a couple actually,” she corrects. “A male and female footy duo.”
“They both play?” I ask, surprised because I never work with female athletes. Mostly because they don’t make enough to hire me. “How adorable. A married soccer couple.”
“They aren’t married,” Freya corrects. “But I double-checked, and the email says the consultation is for both of them.”
“Okay,” I acquiesce. “I suppose I should go prep.”
“I have a suit you need to drop off to Gareth, too, while you’re at it.”
My face falls. “No, Freya. No way.” There’s no way I can go back to his house. I can’t drive onto that property and act like nothing happened.
“You’re driving all the way out there!” she argues.
“I don’t care!”
