“I loved her, true. But was it Vic I loved or someone else? Was it all an act?”
He released a heavy breath. Shook his head. “I can’t answer that question, son.”
“Funny thing? She ran away with my best friend. And I should be angry with him. But I can’t. He—”
Charles interrupted, “She was a master manipulator.”
I nodded.
“You feel like she deceived him, too.”
“Yes.” Jesus, the man got it.
“And you’re struggling because you’re angry with her and not him.”
“I hate Martin. Hate that he’s not here. That I can’t tell him how I feel or beat him to a bloody pulp.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
“No?” he asked, leaning forward, arms crossed on the table.
“What she did to your daughter was far worse than what she put me through. And I hurt Natalie, too. More than once.”
“Natalie.” He nodded, knowingly, then hit me with a hard glare. “My girl’s a fighter. Back then, Linda and I offered to move her to another school time and time again, but she wouldn’t leave Lacey behind. She put up with years of torment so she could stay with her best friend.”
Torment. That word struck hard, wrapping around me like a scratchy blanket, then settling, softening, cocooning my soul.
My pain had a name. My illness diagnosed.
“She didn’t have to put up with the harassment this time,” he continued.
“Because she was able to leave,” I concurred, bruised by the brutal honesty of the conversation.
“She had no choice really.”
That statement, paired with his glower, held more meaning than I was able to stomach. Did he know about Natalie and me? Our sinful attraction? Our brief affair?
She’d had a choice. She could have stayed and fought for us. Maybe I had needed her to fight for me. God, was that the root of my anger? If so, that made me a fucking selfish prick.
“Listen, Charles. I said some horrible things to Natalie at Victoria’s funeral, and I need to apologize—”
“I can’t help you, son,” he interrupted before I had the chance to beg.
“Sure. Sure, of course.” Anger rushed through me, and I choked down a slew of profanities. The guy was only protecting his daughter.
Charles studied me, my heated face, my ticking jaw. He knew. A father always knows.
Natalie wanted nothing to do with me. For now, I’d let her believe she was safely hidden away. Because, for the time being, distance was the safer option.
He pushed to stand. “I should head back upstairs.”
I rose, too, and shook his hand with more vigor than necessary. “Great to meet you, Charles.”
“You too, Cole.” His smile was genuine, though cautious. “You coming with?”
“No. No. Would you give my love to Lacey? Let Ellis know I’ll call him later?”
“Sure.” He turned to leave.
My feet rooted.
Five paces away, he turned. “Word of advice?”
I nodded, gnawing my bottom lip.
“Get your heart and head in the right place before you try to see my daughter again. She’s tough, but she loves deep. That means she hurts deep.” He huffed, straightening his shoulders. “I don’t like to see her in pain.”
With that, he left, leaving me with his unspoken threat.
The pastor’s words fell victim to the deafening thump-thump, thump-thump pounding between my ears, the crowded pews a blur of color in my periphery. I focused on the sleepy baby boy and willed my body to stay upright. Unless in the ring, I wasn’t a fan of center stage.
Natalie stood at my side, a fucking statue wearing a painted smile, mile-high nude heels, and black and pink glasses that matched her pretty rose-colored dress.
We hadn’t spoken a word; we’d scarcely exchanged glances. She’d stayed ten feet away from me until we were forced to stand side by side in front of the congregation.
I deserved as much.
When the baptism was over, Ellis and Lacey headed to their seats next to Ellis’s parents to enjoy the rest of the church service. Natalie, I assumed, claimed her spot next to her mother as I fled, leaving the congregation behind, shoving through the back door, where I beelined for my waiting vehicle. Only then did I draw steady breaths. Only then did my racing pulse slow.
Fuck. I wouldn’t make it through lunch. I’d have to bail. Come up with a pathetic excuse.
I wasn’t strong enough to celebrate the happy couple and their newborn. I wasn’t man enough to face Natalie.
A tap, tap on my passenger window pulled me from my harsh introspect.
Natalie offered a shy smile, eyes glistening, so fucking beautiful my chest crumpled.
Shit.
I stared, scrambling for an excuse to bolt.
She held up a glittery pink flask, an icebreaker, a peace offering.
I hit Unlock. She settled into my passenger seat.
The vehicle shrunk around me.
“You ditching the rest of the service?” she asked, breathy and conspiratorial.
Shame choked me, suppressing any response.
Natalie worked off the lid, then passed the bottle my way. “You looked ready to faint in there. Thought this might help.” Her tone held no anger, no bitterness.
“You’ve had this on you the whole time?”
She answered with a wide smile, an enthusiastic nod, and a tap to her oversized handbag.
“You’re drinking…” I sniffed the opening. “Rum. At nine in the morning.”
“I was nervous about seeing you.” She snatched the bottle, downed a swig, then shoved it back into my hand. “It’s the good stuff. And clearly, I’m not the only one who’s a wreck.”
“Was I that obvious?”
She laughed, then sighed and turned to face me, resting her temple against the headrest. “I’m probably the last person you want to talk to right now, but I’m here. I’m a good listener.”
Natalie King was the only person I ever wanted to talk to, and that was a problem because my head was a mess. My ticker?
