Page 25 of Heads You Lose (Grim & Beast Duet 2)

“Every time I ask her whether she wants to talk about what’s going on she clams up, saying nothing’s wrong. I’m worried. It’s not like her.”

“You’re so close that she tells you everything?”

“No,” Nancy sighs. “She doesn’t tell me everything. Just call it instinct. Something’s up, something big, but she’s not talking to me about it.”

“What about Hudson? Could he know?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think it’s the King or something to do with the club?” Connall asks, shifting forward in his seat.

He’s been wanting to off the fucker for months now, and whilst I want to do exactly the same thing I ain’t jumping on that until I know we can win. The King is a cunt and deserves to die, but he’s also extremely powerful. We have to play the long game. Line up all the ducks in a nice, easily killable, row.

“No, I don’t,” Nancy says, looking back at me. “Just call her.”

“I’m not sure she’ll answer,” I say, punching the number into my phone and saving it anyway.

“She saw you today, didn’t she…?” Nancy points out.

“Yeah, but if something’s truly bothering her do you really think she’s going to confide in me?”

Nancy’s lips press into a line as she considers what I’ve said. “Honestly, for her sake I hope so because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs you.”

I nod. “Thanks, Nancy, I’ll call her.”

* * *

Of course Kateignores my fucking calls.

I didn’t expect any less. Maybe it’s because I have a different number and she doesn’t know who the fuck’s ringing, or maybe she knows exactly who it is.

Either way it’s bullshit.

Drumming my fingers on my knee I stare at the wall, wondering whether I should bite the fucking bullet and head over to her place. I promised myself I’d take it slow, follow her lead, but now that I’m back I can’t seem to follow my own advice. Dialling her number once more, I wait for her voicemail to kick in and this time I leave a message.

“Kate… Fuck,Grim,” I say, correcting myself. “Would you answer, please? I just wanna talk.”

Stabbing my finger against the screen, I stand and begin pacing back and forth, trying to find some semblance of control, or at the very least get rid of this excess energy I’ve been carrying with me ever since I stepped into Kate’s office two days ago.

Fuck, she’d been a vision, a fucking queen. It’s not that she has changed physically all that much, and apart from the new hairstyle, she’s exactly the same, but it’s her energy that’s different.

Powerful, actually.

Truthfully, I would’ve been less floored if she’d thrown a left hook. Her clothes, her attitude, her confidence, her power. It was ball-breaking in the best possible way.

Shaking out my hands and rolling my shoulders, I continue to pace my living room, trying to figure out what I should do. Connall would tell me to drive over to her place and apologise to her with my hands and my tongue and my dick. Joey would tell me to wait, that I’ve been patient for two years so what’s another week? My mum, God rest her soul, would tell me to write her a love letter and pour out my feelings to her.

That thought has me stopping in my tracks and turning to the bookshelf still filled with my mum’s books, my gaze falling to her favourite,Lady Chatterley's Lover. I pull it free from the shelf, remembering when Kate had done the same thing that night she played with fire, and we both got fucking burned.

Opening the book on a random page, I read a few lines, frowning at the flowery language. My mum ate this shit up. I remember her clutching the book to her chest and sighing like a woman in love, all gooey-eyed and flush-cheeked after reading it for the millionth time. Back then I couldn’t understand her reaction to words on a page, but now I realise that she was so lonely, so badly abused by my prick of a dad, that finding escape in a book was her way of coping. She found peace and happiness, just as much as she found love and romance.

As I turn the book over in my hands, my mum’s voice sounds in my mind, and it’s so clear, so crisp, that I can’t help but be stunned by the feelings of grief it evokes.

“Love isn’t always a straightforward path, son. For some, it’s an easy journey, and for others it’s complicated and filled with obstacles. I wish I could stick around to meet the person you’ll fall for, and I’m sorry that I won’t, but I will impart a little bit of wisdom if you’ll humour a dying woman?”

I remember being so choked up that I’d just nodded, squeezing her hand that little bit tighter as she battled to get the words out between raspy breaths.

“Words are your greatest tool when it comes to love. Speak the truth of your heart and you can’t go wrong. Be honest, even if it hurts, even if it makes you feel like you’ve split open your chest and let the world see the most vulnerable part of yourself. Whoever you love will thank you for it. And if you find it hard to speak the words, then write them. There’s not a woman in the world who doesn’t want to receive a love letter.”

Sitting back on the sofa, I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, trying to figure out where to begin. Just as I’m about to punch out a long text to Kate, my mother’s voice drifts into my thoughts again and I can almost see her shaking her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

A love letter, son. Not a text.

“Alright mum, a love letter it is,” I say to the ghost of her memory, then grab a pen and pad of paper and spill the contents of my heart, being honest just like she’d asked me to be.

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