Where the Heart Is (Hearts Series Book 1) Page 2

  “The baby was Nate’s Dad? Samuel Junior?”

  She gives me one firm nod, as her lips form a straight line.

  “But Lawry was his Dad, right?”

  “Not by blood, no…” She takes the photo back and carefully places it back in the photo album. “It was a different time back then, and there was no way he would allow his best friend’s child to come into the world fatherless. He married Evie—a marriage of convenience. He needed to make sure they’d both be taken care of, so he raised Sami Junior as his own.”

  I pick at the arm of the garden chair before my eyes find hers.

  “But you said Lawry was your first love?”

  “Yes, he was, and there was a time he was my everything, when I couldn’t see my future without him in it.”

  “You watched him marry your best friend, though. How did you do that?” Call me naïve—I just thought she was only ever with my Papi.

  “It’s quite the story, and I’ll tell you all about it, but not right now. First, I need to ask, are you sure about this…after everything that’s happened?” She takes hold of my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  I chew the inside of my cheek before answering.

  “I’ll be fine. Besides, I want to be there for you, and it’s about time I finally faced Nate. I was never going to be able to put it off forever, especially not now.” Thinking of what he must be going through—losing the closest thing to a father he had—and knowing how Dad and I rarely make time for one another, makes me feel selfish.

  “I never quite understood what happened with you and Nate. You’ve always loved that boy.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Well, things change, and I’m different now.”

  “Not that different.” She gives me a warm smile.

  If only that were true. Reality sends a shiver down my spine. I try to shake it off before it has time to consume me, pulling me into a pit of darkness with no escape.

  It feels like we’ve been at the airport forever.

  I couldn’t sample any more perfumes if I tried—duty-free can only keep you occupied for so long before you end up smelling like a tart’s handbag. I’ve read a magazine, and even tried getting into my latest book…to no avail. When I look up to see our flight is finally boarding, I let out a sigh of relief.

  Despite my nerves, the flight’s been bearable. I even fell asleep long enough to glimpse Nate in my dream—we were in the tree house again, but it was the day the swing seat had been fitted.

  “Now it’s perfect.” I remember Nathaniel saying.

  I felt free and invincible while he pushed me. When he sat next to me, his mum took a photo of us together.

  It’s the one photo I keep on my bedside table. What made it special was he’d always preferred slides. The memory of the swing had my stomach dipping, but it was the flight descending for landing that woke me from my memories.

  The stewardess announces our landing, and my hand grips my Nana’s. I let go, flexing my fingers to get some circulation back.

  “Sorry.” Shit, I probably bruised her, holding on tight like that.

  “Don’t be, how are you feeling?” She moves my hair behind my ear.

  “Fine.” I shrug like this whole scenario is no big deal. I’m about to see my old best friend—the one I walked away from. The thought makes me feel uneasy. This is going to be a flipping catastrophe.

  Chapter Two

  I still can’t get my head around the fact that she’s coming back here with Ana—her Nana. If it weren’t for my Gramps, I doubt she would be at all. So, what? We were two stupid teenagers who got a little hot and heavy one summer—blurring lines between friendship and something else entirely.

  We were practically joined at the hip growing up. We’d do everything together—whether that was digging for worms or riding Laddie. But then it all went to shit. We crossed an invisible line, and there was no going back. It wasn’t like anything really happened anyway.

  But then what?

  She decided to sulk about it and stayed away all because we had a falling out. We were best friends once. Hell, you’d think that would have meant more to her than her stupid pride, for fuck’s sake.

  In my case, curiosity manifested under the social media category of “friends” on Facebook—you know, sending the obligatory Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas post. Just like we’re old acquaintances.

  How bloody pathetic. Facebook is one of the main reasons she kept away for so long, even though I’d bet my life she’d never admit it.

  All I know is, I’m barely managing to keep my shit together as it is, and her coming here, in all honesty, is going to be a complication I don’t flipping well need. A goddamn distraction of a cluster-fuck, if ever there was one.

  I’ve been here for over an hour already, waiting. Regardless of what we might have had or not had, I’m not about to let them get a taxi. One, I wouldn’t do that to Ana—I was brought up better than that. Two, as I said, curiosity is a bitch, and I’m glutton for punishment. I want to see what has become of my estranged, ex-best friend.

  My phone vibrates in my jean pocket. It’s Charlie, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

  “Hey, man,” I say when I answer.

  “You all right, mate?”

  Well if that ain’t a loaded bloody question, I don’t know what is. I chew on the hangnail of my thumb, which is royally pissing me off.

  “Yep, all gravy. Just waiting at arrivals.” I lean back on my stool, trying to relax.

  “What time does their flight get in?”

  Thank God for small talk.

  “About an hour.”

  He laughs, and I pull the phone from my ear, looking up at the girl on the table opposite. She’s smiling at me. I roll my eyes in mock annoyance at his laughter that’s echoing. Bringing the phone back to my ear, I pull—my now third bottle of coke—closer.

  “Shut up, man.”

  I pick at the label to stop myself biting my nails—it’s a nasty habit, and I haven’t done it since I was a kid.

  “You’ve still got feelings for her?”

  “Not like that, no. I mean, she’s practically family.”

  “So, you’d be okay with me asking her out? I’m sure she’s all—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” I try to act like his comment hasn’t bothered me.

  I don’t care who she sees…do I?

  “Just pulling your chain. Honestly, I wanted to check and see how you’re doing…”

  I feel my throat tighten. Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take a long gulp in an attempt to swallow my emotions.

  “I’ve been better, but you know…” If anyone understands, it’s him.

  I don’t know what’s worse: losing someone suddenly, or when someone you love is given a diagnosis that’s terminal. When you don’t know when their time’s up, you have to watch them suffer and deteriorate until death comes for them.

  “Anything you need, just buzz me, yeah? I meant what I said—the food and drink are covered.”

  He wants to pay for the wake, and I know it’s his way of contributing. I won’t insult him by refusing.

  “Thanks, man.” I take another swig of my drink.

  “No worries. And be sure to say hi to Flick for me.”

  “Yeah, will do, catch you later.” Hell. The last thing I want to do is make small talk with her, but it is what it is, nothing I can do about it now.

  I’ve been replaying the last time we were together over in my mind. We were fooling around in the tree house. Damn, that girl used to make me nervous in ways I don’t even want to admit now. Sometimes, it was as though my breath had been sucked right out of me—my heart pounding frantically, like a racehorse. How I even managed to put the brakes on that day, I’ll never know.

  It’s laughable now—how me being the “good guy” would come back to bite me on the arse. She wouldn’t even give me a chance to explain—storming off like a brat out of hell. That girl always could take stubborn to
a whole new level. I mean, who leaves their best friend without even so much as goodbye? Who ignores their calls and texts?

  I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on that for too long—not when I found out about my Gramps. To say I didn’t handle the news well was an understatement. Angry, and with raging hormones, I didn’t know what to do with all my pent-up frustration, or myself. I was so upset, and I couldn’t talk to the one person I needed the most—her. That was the weekend that changed everything.

  I went out on a bender and didn’t come home for two days. I got so wasted, I couldn’t tell my own earhole from my arsehole.

  When I woke up in bed after a one night stand—with someone whose name I couldn’t even recall—my only saving grace was the used condom wrapper I found on the side. Thank goodness for small mercies.

  I threw up as soon as I got home. My phone had died, so I plugged it in to charge as I dealt with my raging headache and churning stomach. When my phone came to life, I was assaulted with pings of missed calls and messages. I was not ready to deal with the shit, but I was being a dick. There my Gramps was—terminally ill—and I’d gone and disappeared for two fucking days.

  Resigning myself to the fact I couldn’t hide any longer, I’d scrolled through my messages, and the one that kicked me straight in the gut was from her—the one person I needed.

  Flick: I’m sorry. I heard about your Gramps, I’m always here if you need me Xx

  She’d sent it the night before—an olive branch—but I was too out of my face to see it. Perhaps my battery had died by then, who knows? All I remember is the bile that rose, causing me to throw up my guilt.

  It was the next text that confused me though. It was sent early hours of the morning.

  Flick: Never mind I can see you’re already taken care of.

  I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, at first. It was only after I booted up my computer and logged into Facebook, that everything made sense.

  I’d been tagged in a photo. A photo with my tongue down the throat of the girl I’d woken up next to. It wasn’t until I saw that post that I’d learned her name—Katie. The worst part? It was liked by Flick.

  Attempting to fix it, I sent her a text.

  Sorry, it wasn’t what it looked like.

  Her response came quick.

  Flick: What it looked like was you sucking face. Did you sleep with her too?

  My hands had never trembled so much as I typed my reply. I had to do the one thing I’d never done before—lie to her.

  I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. It was a stupid drunken mistake.

  It felt like an eternity waiting for her reply.

  Flick: Listen, I am sorry about Lawry. I know what you’re going through must be hard, but I thought I knew you. Obviously, I was wrong.

  I pulled up her number in an attempt to talk to her, but it rung out. Of course, it did. I didn’t leave a message.

  I made a mistake, and I know sorry doesn’t cover it. I wish I could take it back but I can’t.

  I still needed her. Even though what we had didn’t come with a label on it, first and foremost, we were best friends. But I knew. Deep in my gut. We may have been up in the air, but I’d still cheated on her.

  For months afterward, I got lost in other girls. They were a distraction, but only for a while.

  She never did respond to my last text. As the radio silence grew, I honestly couldn’t blame her. Any way you looked at it, I’d fucked up.

  It comes back to Facebook. Months later, I saw her status had changed to “in a relationship” with some twat called Simon. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m a quick learner that social media is a recipe for disaster.

  She’d moved on. I was jealous. I knew I had no right to be—I’d been sleeping around. It’s not like I expected her to pine for me, but I was fucking jealous all the same.

  I didn’t ask after her the first time Ana showed up without her. I was gutted, of course, but in no way was I surprised. After she’d come a number of times without her, though, my willpower cracked, and my curiosity got the best of me.

  My Nan and Ana were all-secret squirrel hush-hush, cloak and dagger when I asked questions. I knew she’d been avoiding me, and the guilt it was my fault has never been lost on me, either. I was far from proud of it.

  How could she go from being part of everything one minute, then to none of it the next?

  Now, I’ve been sitting here, at the airport, twiddling my thumbs like a loser for the past two hours. When the arrivals confirm their flight has finally landed, my hands begin to shake. I’m sweating. Too much caffeine. Wiping the palm of my hands over my thighs, I stand and pop a mint into my mouth. I feel wired as shit. I take a deep breath and make my way over to a pillar to the left of the place they’ll come out.

  Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now. I need to pull myself together. I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it, and then scrub my palm over my face. I should have made more of an effort this morning.

  It’s stupid, but I swear, I feel her before I even see her. My eyes wander until they land on her. With her head down, she’s pushing—no fighting—with a reluctant trolley. Also looks to me like she’s muttering to herself as she veers it one way and it goes the other.

  Holding back my inappropriate smile, I give myself a few seconds to take her in from head to toe. She’s leaner than she used to be. The way she carries herself is far from confident. Her shoulders are hunched, and she barely lifts her gaze from the task at hand while gripping the trolley like a lifeline.

  Ana is next to her, scanning left and right. When she spots me, she scurries towards me.

  Closely followed by Flick.

  Chapter Three

  I shit you not, I want to stomp my feet. This damn trolley has a mind of its own. At least I wore my trainers and not flip-flops, or I would’ve lost a toe by now. I let out a frustrated sigh as I try to avoid crashing into anyone. Following my Nana through the crowd of people, I look at her—picking up speed and shit. Old age pensioner, my arse.

  That’s when I hear his voice.

  “Having trouble, there?”

  Nate. I think my mouth actually falls open. Before I can even gather my thoughts to respond, my Nana is in his arms. That gives me a few seconds, at least, to brace myself. Well, I’ll be damned.

  “Nathaniel, my dear boy,” Nana says.

  He lets out a small laugh, stepping into the hug.

  It takes me a moment to get my breathing under control. He’s still handsome, but not in a GQ magazine kind of way—he’s real.

  I think that’s what also drew me to Simon. He’s quirky, lean yet solid, wears glasses when he doesn’t have his contacts in, and, boy, does he have charisma. But mostly, I was drawn to his sense of humour.

  Same with Nate. He was always funny growing up—it was one of my favourite things about him. He’s filled out since I saw him last. A little rough around the edges, but I like this look on him. I shake my head. Do not go there.

  “Ana, good to see you.” He kisses her on each cheek and leans back, as my Nana looks him up and down. I want to roll my eyes—she saw him, what, a month and a half ago? And here she is appraising him. I clench my fist. It’s not like his ego needs to get any bigger. Now I sound like a bitch, great.

  “Flick?” My name—almost a question—drips off his tongue like honey.

  The trolley between us is a wall, thank God. He leans over, placing his hands to take hold of my shoulders, and his stubble scratches my cheek when his lips place a soft kiss there. My eyes close. My senses are on high alert, his signature scent—familiar—and all Nate.

  I feel him take a step back and open my eyes. I’m met with hazel hues staring back at me. He rakes his hand through his hair—the only tell-tale sign he’s nervous—causing it to stick up all over the place.

  Angry with myself for being caught in his typical Nate web, I react, my words hard.

  “It’s Felicity. I don’t
go by Flick.”

  He raises his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth twitches—almost in amusement. Is he freaking kidding me?

  I could slap him. I’d like to say I don’t know why I’m so pent up, but I do—it’s my anxiety. I force my hand to stay where it is.

  “Let me.” He comes around, motioning for me to move, taking over the trolley—making it look effortless in the process. Bloody typical.

  I lag behind, finding myself staring at his butt. I heat as thoughts rush forward of when I had my hands all over him the last time we were together. What the heck is wrong with me? I feel like I’m on a kamikaze.

  “How are you holding up?” Nana asks, going straight in for the kill as we make our way towards the elevators.

  “Taking it a day at a time, you know?”

  She nods in understanding, patting his hand gently. I never thought it possible to miss someone’s voice. And what were the first words out of my mouth? Oh, that’s right.

  I swallow hard—the thickness of my throat suffocating like a Boa Constrictor. I manage to take in enough air to speak.

  “I am sorry about Lawry,” I say, licking my dry lips.

  He turns to me as I enter the lift behind him. My chest tightens. Being here with him has never felt more unnatural, and that thought scares the hell out of me. He nods, his Adam's apple moves up and down, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes lock with mine.

  I want to look away, but if I do there’s a strong possibility I’ll freak out—this lift is too small. Sweat slicks between my shoulder blades. It’s too hot in here, the air too thick.

  His eyes hold me captive. There’s always been this intensity about him when he looks at you—like you’re all he sees.

  The lift comes to a stop. We break eye contact. The doors have barely opened when I rush through them like my arse is on fire. He looks at me quizzically for a moment but doesn’t say anything, as we follow him across the car park. When we come to a stop, it’s in front of a Lexus RX. Simon and Nate both have a mutual love for cars. He loads the luggage into the boot.