Page 60 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

He looked around, wincing when he saw a nearly empty bottle of Scotch with a solitary glass beside it.

Abby.

Memories of the day before came rushing back.

The way they’d argued; the things he’d said.

The threat he’d made.

Her face when he’d told her he would fight her for Raf. He didn’t want to lose his son but, hell, he’d never planned to sue Abby for custody. He’d wanted his cake and to eat it too. Raf, Abby—it was all part of the same equation. He’d wanted to give Raf a family.

And what did he want?

Not this.

He felt the sentiment of what he’d said—he’d been honest with her but, God, he’d also been an ass. She was young and inexperienced and believed herself in love with him; instead of gently reminding her that everything was new and overwhelming, he’d thrown his lack of emotion at her like a trophy. His determination to not become a fool in love had always made sense, but now it seemed childish. Stupid. Pathetic, even.

He answered the phone in a rush, hope flaring inside him.

‘Arantini.’

‘Oh, Gabe?’ The voice on the other end wasn’t Abby’s. His heart dropped.

‘It’s Holly Scott-Leigh. Dr Scott-Leigh,’ she said. Gabe racked his brain and for one moment panic assailed him. Raf? Abby? No. This was the doctor he’d convinced Noah to see, the therapist.

God, he’d let the ball drop there. His best friend was going through hell and, apart from the occasional phone call, Gabe had been so wrapped up in his own life that he hadn’t bothered to so much as think of Noah.

‘Yes, Holly?’ He was unintentionally curt, but he could think only of Abby.

‘I’m worried about Noah,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I think he needs you. Urgently.’

It was, without a doubt, the only possible thing that could momentarily push Abby from his mind.

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘I… I think you should come here. To London. To see him. I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t know what else to do.’

Gabe was already reaching for his jacket. ‘I’ll come subito.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT WAS ONLY right to pack the tree away.

How stupid she’d been to think she could decorate the house into a state of festive merriment and somehow make her heart whole when it had been obliterated into a thousand pieces.

Without Hughie, it would take all her efforts to get the thing down and drag it through the door, but she didn’t care. She would do it because its very presence, two days after Christmas, was mocking her.

She unwrapped the lights with care, placing them on one of the chairs, and then, with a sense of satisfaction born purely of emotional need, she pushed at the tree until it collapsed with a loud, echoing thud to the ground. The scent of pine filled the air; she didn’t breathe it in. She could barely breathe.

Gabe had been gone two nights.

Christmas night had been spent in a state of almost catatonic numbness, unable to comprehend what had happened. Boxing Day had been spent with Raf, and yet her ears had been listening for Gabe the whole time, for any sign of his approach.

There had been none. No helicopter to herald his return.

Was this how he expected their life to go? Would he just run away whenever she disagreed with him?

An angry sob burst from her and she stomped her foot, bending down and grabbing the tree by its narrower end, trying with all her might to drag it towards the door.

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