“Your head’s not in the game, Oakley, and I need it back before the season starts. I need the West Oakley who came back and showed us what he’s actually made of. Now, I’m not here to tell you how to run your life. But something’s gotta change. From what I’m seeing, that girl, she was a good look on you, and she made you happy. You came to the game better than ever. All those stresses and worries that you’d been carrying around left. I know it can’t be easy, having your daddy sitting in the White House. But when something makes you as happy as I saw that girl make you, then a man would have to be a damn fool to let that go.”
thirty-three
Dillon
The coffee shop is busy, and the line is long. It’s midday on a busy Saturday. I’ve only been working here a week.
The day after the confrontation with my mum, I decided to drag my arse out of the house and back into the land of the living, and I saw the sign in the window that they were hiring. I’d gone to get a coffee and come back with a job. It’s not forever, but the pay’s okay, and the hours are good. It’ll do me until I figure out what I’m actually going to do with my life.
This isn’t my first busy day. Every day is busy here. People like their coffee. I do too.
I’m only taking the orders and working the till. I’m not making the coffee, thankfully; otherwise, the line would be even longer. I’m slow as shit.
I only get to make the coffee when the shop is quiet—to help me practice and hopefully get quicker.
I’m just glad to have a job and not be moping around Aunt Jenny’s house. And a job means, I’m earning money, so I can look at getting my own place soon. I keep throwing around the idea in my head of investing the money my grandparents left me and buying my own place, so I don’t keep paying rent, but something in my head stops me every time I have the thought of putting actual roots down here.
It’s weird that the thought of marrying Tim didn’t feel as much of a commitment as buying a house does.
If I didn’t already know that I was never meant to be with that guy, then that would tell me.
I heard from an old colleague that Tim is with some other poor, unsuspecting girl who’d started work there. I could send her a message and tell her what he’s like, but she probably wouldn’t believe me. I know I wouldn’t have in the beginning.
My mum hasn’t been back around or in touch with me since I poured my coffee on her. I still can’t believe I did that. Kind of funny that it was coffee that I poured on her, and then I got a job in a coffee shop. Some kind of weird irony or even maybe a joke in there.
I do feel sad that I no longer have a mum. But really, did I ever have one in her? No.
I have Aunt Jenny and my friends, and that’s enough for me right now.
I’ll start work on a new book soon. I was thinking I might write something outside of romance. Maybe crime. Or a good thriller. Get all my residual inner anger with my mum and West out in a book. Kill a few fictional characters to soothe my soul.
Do I still miss West? Of course I do. I miss him as much as I did last week, if not more. But I’m sure the ache of waking up every morning and remembering he’s not there and the loneliness of climbing into bed at night and not having him to hold on to … well, it will get easier. It has to.
I’m sure at some point, my memories of him will fade.
Honestly, the thought of forgetting what he looks and sounds like scares me because memories are all I have. Along with the photos that I took of us and him on my phone, which I really need to get around to deleting or I’ll never begin the process of moving on.
That’s it. Tonight, when I get home from work, I’ll delete them all from my phone.
I’ll also pick up a bottle of wine on my way home to help me get through the process. Maybe two bottles. I’m not working tomorrow, so why the hell not?
“That’ll be four pounds and eighty pence,” I say to the woman I’m currently serving.
She gets her credit card from her purse, so I select Card Payment on the touchscreen till. The receipt prints off with her order details, which I line up on the counter for my colleague Shannon, who’s busy making everyone’s orders, and then I hand over the payment receipt to the woman.
“If you could just wait over to the side, your order will be with you soon,” I tell her.
“What can I get you?” I turn my attention to the next customer, who’s just moved up to the counter.
And my heart nearly falls out of my chest. Actually, I think it might have because I can’t feel it beating in there anymore. I press a hand over it to check.
“Wh-wha-what are you doing here?” I stammer, staring into the face of the man who, the last time I saw, was telling me to have a safe flight.
“Hey, Double D,” West rasps in that voice of his that I’ve missed so much.
Goose bumps explode all over my arms.
He places his hands on the counter and leans in a little closer. I get a whiff of his scent, and longing explodes in my chest.
“How’ve you been?” he asks in a soft voice.
Two weeks of silence, and that’s what he asks me. How the hell does he think I’ve been doing since he tossed me out of his life? Shit. I’ve been shit.
And he’s standing here in a black T-shirt and blue jeans, his hair hidden under a ball cap, looking beautiful.
In this moment, I think I actually hate him.
The longing that was in my chest is shoved out and replaced with anger. “Why are you here?”
“Can we talk?”
“No. I’m working.”
“When’s your break?”
“In an hour.”
“Can we talk then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dillon, please. I just want ten minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking.”
I stare at him for a moment, weakening in his presence. “Okay. Ten minutes. But you’ll have to wait until I’m on my break.”
He smiles. “I’ll wait, and I’ll have a coffee while I do. You know how I take it.”
I fix my jaw. “I’ve forgotten.” Yes, I’m being childish and stubborn, but he doesn’t get to just turn up here, unannounced, at my place of work and ask to talk.
“Americano with milk,” he says softly.
“Medium or large?”
“Large, please.”
“Takeaway or staying in?”
“Staying,” he says, giving me a pointed look.
He’s staying here the whole hour? I was hoping he’d go and come back. For fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to get through the next hour with him here?
I ring his order through on the screen, my damn hand shaking the whole time.
“That’ll be two ninety-five,” I tell him without looking at him.
Using his Apple Pay on his watch—the fancy bastard—he pays for his coffee.
I print off both receipts, sliding one along the counter to Shannon and handing his to him, ensuring not to touch him.
“Wait over to the side, and your coffee will be ready soon,” I tell him before moving on to the next customer.
I can’t concentrate, knowing he’s standing there. I can feel him watching me. But I refuse to look at him.