Geronimo (A Songbird Novel) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jane

Harry and I spent the night celebrating. His older sister made a call, and within the hour every member of Harry’s family had arrived at the pub—even his nan.

She was a fragile woman with keen eyes and a sharp wit. What she lacked in physicality, she made up for in intelligence. Her hands trembled as I chatted with her for most of the evening, figuring out why Harry loved her so much. It wasn’t hard; she was adorable, and the bond between the two was obvious.

The rest of Harry’s family was great too. I got to meet all but Simon, who had already traveled back to Edinburgh after their family reunion the week before.

At around nine, we used Nan as an excuse to get home. Once she was safely upstairs, Harry took me down to his basement bedroom and made love to me. Not the rip-your-clothes-off kind when he’d turned up at my school, but the languid kind. He kissed every inch of my body, pleasuring me until I could barely breathe. When I woke in the early morning, I returned the favor, and the sun rose while I cried out on top of him with my legs wrapped around his waist.

He held me against him and spun us over. I loved the weight of him on top of me. His head flopped down on the pillow as he panted in my ear. “How am I supposed to take you to London today? I can’t say goodbye to this.”

I ran my hand up his back and kissed his shoulder. “It won’t be for long. As soon as you fly into LA, we can go straight to the courthouse. Sarah and Justin can witness, and I’m sure Dad can help me work out any visa complications.” Harry’s eyes glistened as I bit my lips together then smiled. “We’ll be legally bound. They’ll have to let you stay.”

“I like the sound of that.” He covered my mouth with his lips, holding me close as we tried not to think about my impending departure that afternoon.

“So, are you sure you’re happy to move to LA first, at least until I see the school year out?” I went into planning mode, the best way to cope.

“Of course. I can work from anywhere.” He kissed my cheek and rolled off me. Resting his head on his knuckles, he gazed down at my face and started drawing circles around my breasts.

I lightly played with the fine hairs on his forearm. “What about your nan?”

“Renee and Mum can help look after her. She did fine while I was with you last time. If things get close to the edge, I’ll just find the money to fly back. And with you as my wife—” He kissed my nose. “—you’ll have the perfect excuse to come with me.”

I smiled, loving the sound of it. Encouraged by how much it didn’t terrify me.

Harry’s wife. As long as I didn’t think about the time between leaving him and marrying him, I could stay excited. At least it was short. I wouldn’t be worrying about insignificant wedding details, the things that all became worthless the second Blake died.

It would be different.

Heck, I’d get married in jeans and a hoodie if I had to. I just wanted to be with Harry, and marrying him was the best way to do that. I loved him, so spending my life with him sounded like a pretty good plan to me.

Life.

Would we get that?

My stomach knotted as fear nibbled at the corners of my mind. It must have shown through in my gaze because Harry gave me a soft smile and whispered, “You’re not going to lose me.” He then started singing the chorus from “Odds Are,” and I wondered if that would become our song.

I grinned at him with shimmering eyes until he’d finished the song, then kissed him until we were out of breath again.

Harry’s alarm stopped us from taking things to the next level. Lifting his watch, he checked the time and murmured, “Got to go check on Nan, and I may as well get us breakfast while I’m up there, eh?”

“Tea would be wonderful. Thank you.”

He kissed each of my breasts before he slid out of bed, then wiggled his cute butt to make me laugh. I didn’t hide the fact I was checking him out as he pulled on a pair of sweats and headed up the stairs shirtless.

Flopping back onto my pillow, I let out a wistful sigh. He really was gorgeous—inside and out. A warm, giddy sensation twirled through me, that lightheaded buzz that comes with new love. I’d felt it with such intensity when I first started dating Blake. I never thought I’d feel it again.

It was different this time though.

Blake was like a god to me. At first, I felt like a giggling schoolgirl beside him until he’d finally convinced me that I wasn’t playing out of my league.

But with Harry it was so easy. We were in each other’s league, easy banter and conversation from the outset. None of that awkward flirting and worrying that he might not like me. We started as friends, and it just progressed into something more.

Maybe that’s why falling for him was so easy…so natural.

Sitting up, I pushed the covers off me and padded across to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I walked back into the room to get dressed. My little suitcase lay open against Harry’s desk, and it made me sad to think I’d be zipping it up again in a few hours and heading to London.

Thanks to time zones and travel time, I only got one night.

All that way for one night.

A smile touched my lips as I recaptured the look on his face when he saw me standing in the pub…and the joy in his voice when he told everyone he was getting married.

It’d been worth it.

I’d spend the rest of the week exhausted, but it’d be worth it.

That excited, giddy buzz ate away at my fear, reminding me that everything would be okay. I didn’t have to worry. My impulses were making me happy. I had to stop thinking so far ahead.

Life wasn’t going to beat me up like last time.

Pulling on my sweats, I tied the waistband string then slid on a T-shirt before packing my meager belongings and settling on Harry’s couch. Snatching my phone, I opened Spotify and pressed shuffle play on my “favorites” list. “Somebody To You” by The Vamps. I grinned. I loved that song.

I bobbed my head as I scanned the bedroom. Harry’s workspace was neat and organized, a good sign. I never did well with clutter, and if he was going to be working in my tiny studio apartment, he was going to have to be tidy. There was a shirt hanging out from his laundry hamper. I jumped up and put it in properly before spinning and dancing my way back to the couch.

With a satisfied sigh, I flopped back into the plump chair, propping my toes on the edge of the coffee table. A stack of design magazines sat in a crooked pile. I leaned forward and straightened it up, browsing the titles as I did so. They were all website design and artistic magazines. They looked interesting enough, but not as intriguing as the paperback novels on the shelf next to me.

They were old copies of the greats—
Pride and Prejudice
,
Great Expectations
,
Wuthering Heights
…the copy of
The Great Gatsby
that I read while in France and Spain. They must have been his nan’s books.

With a smile, I ran my finger along them until I reached the end of the row.

Jane Austen was obviously a favorite. Pulling
Sense and Sensibility
free, I accidentally unearthed a waterfall of photos and letters that had been tucked at the end of the shelf.

“Whoops,” I murmured, jumping out of the seat and crouching down to tidy them up.

I flipped over the top photo, which was framed in simple white wood, a sad ache ripping through me as I gazed at the young blonde. She had bright eyes and a cheery smile, small dimples in her round cheeks. She was sitting on a park bench, holding one of the old books I’d been admiring. I couldn’t read the title, but I figured it was one from the shelf. I had to assume Harry took the picture and interrupted her reading with one of his charming jokes. Her smile was mid-laughter, open and beautiful.

Swallowing, I tucked the photo back in the shelf and continued gathering the other things. There were a few folded letters with “Harry” inside a love heart drawn on the outside. As tempted as I was, I didn’t read them. Harry and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement that we didn’t delve into each other’s pasts, particularly where our lost loves were concerned. We just wanted to move on. Forward.

No looking back.

I stacked the papers in a neat pile then placed them back on the shelf, glad I hadn’t been caught. I didn’t want our last few hours to be tainted by an awkward conversation.

But then I spotted something I couldn’t ignore.

A picture…a fuzzy black-and-white one that I’d seen before. It was surrounded by words, like a newspaper article.

With a frown, I reached for it, my heart spasming as I read the headline.

“Tragic Road Accident Makes Locals Question Tourist Driver Requirements.”

The paper in my hand began to quiver as I tried to read the article, but I couldn’t. Tears were blinding me, fueled by the black-and-white image of a mangled car askew on the side of the road.

The car that killed Blake.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Harry

With a whistle, I carried the tray back downstairs. Nan was set up with her tea and toast. She’d actually been making it herself when I reached her, and she shooed me away from helping.

So I pottered beside her, keeping half an eye on her shaking hands while she slowly buttered her toast. She managed just fine.

Stealing the marmalade, I spread it over my piece then added strawberry jam to Jane’s. I even spread it right to the edges, just the way she liked it. A triumphant smile spread across my face as I bumped the door open with my butt.

“Breakfast is served,” I announced in a posh voice. I was about to set the tray down with a flourish…but was hindered by the expression on Jane’s face.

Her eyes were gleaming with tears, her bottom lip quivering as she stared at a newspaper article in her hand.

“What is it?” I set the tray on the coffee table, wanting to rush around the couch to hold her.

But she held up her hand.

“Stop! Don’t come near me right now.”

“What’s the matter?” The question came out sharp and urgent. I didn’t like seeing Jane this way—particularly when I didn’t know what it was about. She looked angry and heartbroken…distraught. I needed to hold her, make it better, but she wouldn’t let me come near.

She sniffed and held up the paper in her hand. It flopped over before I could read the headline, but I glimpsed that wretched photo and my heart sank. I thought I’d hidden it well enough.

“I thought we said no pasts,” she snapped.

“I didn’t think you’d find it.” I had to admit, I was a little confused. Her reaction seemed pretty extreme. After all, it was about me…not her.

“This is my story to tell!” she shouted. “I thought we were moving forward. You had no right to go and delve into this. Especially with an article that basically puts all the blame on him! This is
my
history,
my
pain. And I’ll tell you about it when
I’m
ready!”

“What are you talking about?” I snatched the article off her. The bottom corner ripped, but I was too busy trying to justify myself to care. “I didn’t do anything behind your back. This is
my
history,
my
pain. And I…” My voice disappeared as realization hit me like a mallet to the forehead.

Wait. Put all the blame on him?

The paper in my hand began to shake as I held it up and read the headline again.

“Tourist drivers,” I whispered, my heart disintegrating to acidic ash in my stomach.

“This isn’t your history!” Jane pointed at the article, her voice pitching high. “That’s my…my Blake!”

Slumping against the back of the couch, I stared at the carpet, unable to look her in the eye. “My Tammy,” I choked.

“What?” Jane snatched the paper and started scanning the article, her skin paling to a translucent white while her lips began to tremble. The victims weren’t named in the article, as Tammy’s family had yet to be informed. But all the details were accurate—the place, the time, the day…the police’s theory of how it happened. Tammy was referred to as a young woman in her early twenties, and Blake had been named as the American tourist who didn’t understand English road rules.

I rubbed a hand over my face, struggling to think. “You never said he died here. I thought it happened in America.”

“No, we…” Her voice petered out, overtaken by rapid breathing that was turning into sobs. “This can’t be happening. Are you saying that Tammy died in this accident? Was she driving the car that killed Blake?”

My head snapped up at her deep, metallic tone. Staring at her with burning eyes, I shook my head and seethed, “He was on the wrong side of the road. That’s what caused the accident.”

“Oh, please!” Jane dropped the article. “Everyone knows she was speeding!”

“That’s not what killed her!”

“Well, it killed him!”

I stepped back from her venom and shook my head. “He was…”

“Don’t,” she whispered, her eyes flooding with tears. “This is a pointless argument.” Closing her eyes, she turned away from me, but I could still see the tears sliding down her cheeks.

I didn’t know what to say or do. Shock had frozen me to the spot. I felt numb, horrified…hazy.

Jane’s silent tears morphed into whimpering sobs, but I couldn’t move to comfort her. All I could think about was the fact that the guy she was supposed to marry, the one she’d been mourning for the last year, had killed Tammy. I’d spent months hating him, cursing him every time I drove that patch of road.

And now I’d gone and fallen in love with the woman he’d left behind.

With a few loud sniffs, Jane brushed past me and packed the last of her things. The zipper on her bag was loud and obnoxious as she closed her suitcase.

She didn’t say goodbye, and I couldn’t speak either. All I could do was stand there and watch her walk out of my life.