Casual Affair (Timid Souls Book 2) (10 page)

Zane

I missed her call.

I’d been building up the courage to call her myself, but I couldn’t believe that she had beat me to it.

And I’d missed it.

The anger I’d felt when I saw her name pop up on my phone, showing that she had called over three hours prior, was still coursing through me because now I wasn’t sure what to do.

I’d been over at Peter’s house at the time, eating dinner with him, his wife and baby girl, and had left my phone on silent in my coat pocket. We’d been so immersed in conversation—Peter had been right; I had wanted to talk about Bea, desperate for some wisdom on the situation which he gloated about, so I’d told him everything—and then the football game on television that I hadn’t thought about my phone. Since returning to London and having to deal with the near-catastrophe at work, I hadn’t been able to escape the constant phone calls, texts, and emails. So, one night of not having to worry about it was a welcome reprieve.

But I could have talked to her if I’d had it on me.

The last month had been nothing short of torture. I’d been on autopilot since I got home, allowing my dedication to my job to drive my movements. That still hadn’t taken away from the fact that a certain gorgeous brunette half a world away had been fueling my thoughts ever since I walked away from her in the park. Ever since I’d left her there crying. I’d heard that sob she let out before I left and it gutted me. Primarily because I hated seeing Bea cry, but also because that cry proved to me that she felt more than she revealed and for whatever reason, she didn’t want to admit to it.

Whether that was because she didn’t believe in me or trust in me, or she simply didn’t want to have those feelings for me, I wasn’t quite sure. Either way, it felt like I hadn’t returned to London whole. Like I’d left half of me in the States.

I suppose it was because I had.

Bea was everywhere I looked and everything I heard. I couldn’t even escape her in sleep because she invaded all of my dreams. My job had been the one thing holding me together when I came home, but now everything was fixed with our software problem. The situation I was called home to handle had been resolved and work had calmed down considerably.

Which left more time for me to think about Bea.

So many times I had wanted to call her. In the middle of the night when sleep wouldn’t come because I needed to feel her warm body next to mine. First thing in the morning when I woke and missed seeing her face smiling at me as soon as I opened my eyes. Even every time I drank a bloody pint because it would always remind me of our night at the bar, chugging pints and taking disgusting shots.

I completely understood why they called this
lovesick
.

I didn’t yet know what I was going to do, but I very well knew I couldn’t go on like this. I just needed to figure out a plan first.

I hadn’t called Bea back yet because it hadn’t felt right. Not yet, anyway. I was disappointed that I’d missed her call and desperately wanted to know the reason she had phoned in the first place—dying to hear what she was going to say—but three hours later had felt like too large of a time gap. Like if I was the one to call her back, it would somehow cause her to realize that she shouldn’t have called me in the first place and the purpose for her call would be forgotten. That, or she wouldn’t answer my call at all.

I had missed my moment, but if she was willing to call me once, I was confident that there were opportunities for more moments. I just had to wait for the right one and this time, I wouldn’t let it pass me by.

None of these thoughts helped my mood, though. Because while I had a renewed sense of hope where Bea was concerned, I still didn’t know how I was going to sort out our situation. I just missed her and wanted her near me. At that point, I didn’t care if that meant me going to her, her coming to me, or us meeting out on a bloody boat in the middle of the ocean.

Every minute I spent away from Bea was another thread snapping on my patience with life.

And the sink I was currently trying to fix at my father’s house was taking the brunt of that frustration.

“Why don’t you take a break from that, lad, and come into the front room for a minute,” my father said, having to raise his voice over the racket I was making with my wrench. “I need to talk to you.”

Grateful for the distraction, I stood up, grabbed a beer, and followed my father into the other room, both of us falling into the two recliners next to each other. Looking around the room, I soaked in my childhood home as memories accosted my mind, some blissfully happy and some painfully sad. The house was dated and my father could only keep up with so many of the repairs, so I came over as often as I could to do a lot of the work myself. The place felt like home to me, but I hated that my father was alone in it.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked.

He sighed, a weary expression on his face. My first thought at seeing that look was that something had worsened with his back and I tried to prepare myself. “I’m going to sell the house.”

Out of all the things I’d expected him to say, that had been nowhere even near the top five on my list.

“What?” I cringed when I practically yelled it, but the shock of his declaration hit me like a hard kick to the gut.

He showed no reaction to my outburst, though. In fact, he looked as if he’d been expecting it. “I’m selling it. It’s too big for me alone and just too much work to maintain. Not that I don’t appreciate all the work that you do around here because I really do. But you shouldn’t be having to use any of your own money or savings to put toward this place.”

“You know I don’t mind it—” I started but was prevented from saying anything further when he raised his hand, stopping me.

“I know, lad, but that’s the problem. You don’t need to do that because I don’t need to live here anymore. It’s time that I moved on.” A tight knot formed in my throat and I had difficulty swallowing around it. He looked up at me, sympathy and decision lining his features. “It’s time, son. She’s gone and we have to let this part of our lives go. It took me a long time to come to terms with your mother’s death. I loved her more than I can ever say, but we don’t need this house to remember her by. Her memory doesn’t lie within these walls. No matter where we are or where we live, we’ll always have her.”

The loss of my mother hit me so powerfully, it felt like it had just happened yesterday rather than twelve years ago. I let her go a long time ago, but I suppose that I’d always locked away a small part of my heart in this house, thinking that if we remained connected to it that she would never truly feel gone.

“I need to move on with my life,” my father continued. “I’m at peace with your mother’s passing, but sometimes it’s too hard to be around all of these reminders of our life together.”

That was when it really hit me.

I had been selfishly keeping my father here, surrounded by my mother’s possessions, living in the place where they built a future together that was cut short. All because I wasn’t ready to let this part of my mother go. He had been ready to move out years ago, but I had insisted that he stay, thinking that was what he really wanted.

I never thought of how much this pained him.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. So much was going through my head, it was making it hard to speak. “I never realized what it was like for you.”

He waved me off. “No need to apologize. You did what you thought was right, and it makes you a good son. I just want you to understand that I’m not forgetting anything or saying that this place didn’t mean the world to me. Your mother would want me to find happiness again and I can’t if I stay here, living in the past.”

I nodded, appreciating his honesty and feeling big change on the horizon. Change that I hoped I was ready for. “I’ll help you find a place and move everything out.”

He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Well, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.” He cleared his throat and took a drink of his beer. “I’ve met someone.”

It was like he had cracked open the
What Would Shock Zane the Most
book and was reading it chapter-by-chapter. “As in, you’re
seeing
someone?”

He looked back up at me and nodded. “Yes. Her name is Margaret. We met about five months ago, at the doctor’s office of all places. She’s one of the new receptionists there.”

I shouldn’t be shocked but I couldn’t help but be. We lost my mother twelve years ago, but my father hadn’t dated a single woman since then. Sure, I didn’t want him to be alone because I knew how miserable that was. And I’d never lost the love of my life like he had. But I’d never seen, never pictured, him with anyone besides my mother. To see him dating another woman I knew would take some adjusting on my part.

“You’ve been seeing her for five months?” I asked, bewildered. How had I not known? Oh right. Because I was busy falling in love with a beautiful American woman. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now, he looked guilty. “Because I knew how hard it was for you to let this house go. I thought me seeing another woman might be a little too much to handle at once.” He laughed. “I guess that plan didn’t work out so well since you’re hearing everything at once now. But I didn’t want to hide it from you anymore.”

I took several deep breaths and the next thing I knew the rest of my beer was gone. “So, what does she have to do with where you’re going to live? Are you moving in with her?” Dating her was one thing, but I wasn’t sure if I could handle losing the house and getting a new step-mother, of sorts, all in one day.

He shook his head and my shoulders relaxed a little. “No. Her nephew is moving out of his flat and she said she could get me in with the landlord to take over his place.”

One question was flashing brightly in my head. “Do you love her?” I asked it quietly, unsure of whether or not I wanted to hear the answer.

He thought about it for a few seconds and then said, “I think I do, but in a different way from how I loved your mother. I care for her deeply and she’s a wonderful woman, but I’ll never be able to love anyone like I did your mum. Margaret lost her husband, too, about seven years ago. So, she knows what it’s like to lose the person you planned to spend the rest of your life with. I think we love each other as much as we each can after our hearts were broken. She makes me happy and I want to take care of her. That’s more than enough for me.”

His voice hinted of a longing for my mother but also of adoration for the new woman in his life. I waited for the pain of hearing about my father’s new love to hit me, but it never did. I was actually surprised that all I really felt was happiness for him because I hated the fact that he’d been alone all these years.

And I also felt…relief. Like a huge weight had just been lifted off my shoulders and I didn’t know how to deal with that. Was it relief that he had someone to help take care of him now or was it because I wasn’t solely responsible for him anymore?

Because that would make me the worst kind of son.

“That’s great, Dad. I’m happy that you’ve found someone. You’ve been alone too long.”

“Now you don’t have to be alone anymore either.”

My head swung sharply around to face him. “What are you talking about?”

His face softened, making the worry lines around his eyes seem less prominent somehow. “You’ve been alone, too, all this time and I know part of that has been because of me. Because of the obligation you felt to help me.” I started to protest but he wouldn’t let me. “You’re the best son a man could ever ask for, Zane. But you need to start finding your own happiness now, concentrate on your own life. All you’ve been doing for all these years is working and that’s not a life.” Then, he lowered his voice and his tone became grave. “I know there’s someone waiting for you back in the States.”

The hand that had been rubbing the tension from my neck paused its movements. In fact, my whole body froze, paralyzed by his words. “Why do you think that?”

He snickered into his beer bottle. “I know you better than you think. You’ve been different ever since you got back. I have a feeling it’s because you met someone and you didn’t want to leave her. Am I right?”

No point in keeping it a secret since we were confessing all today. “There was someone, yes.”

“And do you love her?”

My throat clogged with emotion and all I could do was nod. “And does she love you?” he asked.

I’d been asking myself that for the past month. I thought back to our conversation at the park that day, the last time I’d seen her. I pictured her pained expression, the confusion and then the acceptance, the wall she immediately erected once she heard I was leaving.

But it was the way she had said “goodbye, Zane” as I walked away and the broken cry afterward that made me believe that she was lying her ass off when she said all we had was casual sex and football.

“I think so,” I replied. “We weren’t exactly on great terms when I left, so it was hard to tell. I don’t think either of us were prepared for it to end so soon.” I knew that I sure as hell wasn’t. Nothing about Bea not being a part of my life would ever be a welcome reality.

“And let me guess. You didn’t tell her how you felt, did you?” His tone was chiding, like he was preparing to give me a lecture.