Quinton withdraws, removing his glasses and cleaning them, watching me too closely. Then he puts them back on and slips a card across to me. “I would love to see her. It’s been too long.” Another air kiss. “And there’s always a Cosmopolitan waiting for her.”
I take the card and wave it, backing away. “Good to see you, Quinton. And thank you.”
He waves off my gratitude. “The valet will bring your car round.”
I make it outside onto the sidewalk and keep close to the wall, scrolling through my contacts, not for the first time. As if a new name might appear. An old colleague who would be willing to help. It makes me miss Nath, not because he was my sounding board, but because he made me feel close to Mom. I have no one to turn to. No one who can help me.
“Beau?”
I look to my left. Oh Jesus. “Dr. Fletcher.” My old therapist approaches, every limb she possesses as perfect as I remember, long and slender, smooth and soft. She smiles, it’s hesitant, and adjusts her purse on her shoulder. I find myself doing the same.
“It’s good to see you.”
Alive. That’s what she’s thinking. It’s good to see me alive. Have you ever thought about ending your life, Beau? I smile, and it’s unstoppable. Smiling suggests someone is amused. “Good to see you too.” I back away before I can get drawn into a conversation I don’t want to have. I went to therapy for one reason and one reason alone. Because it was a better option than a hospital, and that’s where I would have been sent by my father.
“Beau?” she calls, stepping forward, her arm rising. “You stopped coming.” She’s wondering why, since I clearly wasn’t cured. I swallow and nod, and Dr. Fletcher smiles. “You look well, Beau. I hope this means you’ve finally found something to save you.”
I stop in my retreat, her words hitting me like a sledgehammer. The truth is, I have way more demons now than I had when I was seeing Dr. Fletcher.
Something to save me. Have I found it? Or have I found something that will ruin me forever? Not a something, but a someone.
I turn and walk away, asking myself the question on repeat.
29
JAMES
We stopped by Tom Hayley’s place on the way to the boatyard. Also Amber Kendrick’s. Both empty. Both cold. No signs of life. Danny’s right. Amber must know something. She’ll get what she wanted—Tom’s money—and now she’s skipped town?
I pull up and see Danny with his wetsuit around his waist, his arms around Rose, hugging her. I give him a questioning look as I approach, and he gives me one to suggest he needs a moment, so I head inside and get into my wetsuit. A locker closes behind me, and I look back to see the kid in his gear. “Hey, kid,” I say, placing my phone on the bench and standing. He looks proper forlorn. “What’s up?”
Daniel looks at me, his eyes falling to my shoulder where my scars creep onto my front. He’s seen it plenty. Never asked. I think that might change now. Something about the kid seems . . . different today. “How—”
“I got caught up in an explosion,” I say. “Trying to save someone.”
“Who?” His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, his hand reaching for his arm. He’s thinking about Beau’s scars. “Is she back?”
I shake my head, unable to tell him she will be. All I can think about is the trainline near to where we found my car. She could be long gone already. Perhaps she’s done chasing the truth. Maybe she wants to escape.
Escape me?
“So are you going to tell me what’s up?” I ask, jerking my head for him to come. I slip my arm around his shoulder as we walk out of the changing rooms.
“Tank and Fury’s mom died.”
I look down at him. “When?”
“We were out for pizza. Tank got a call and we had to go with him and Fury to the nursing home where their mom lives. She has dementia. Or . . . had. She died a minute before we arrived. Just a minute, and now I feel so bad because I hugged Mom by the car and she dropped the pizza box and it took two whole minutes to pick it up. That means they would have been at the nursing home one whole minute before she died. They would have been able to say goodbye.” He throws his arms up and lets them drops heavily. “So it’s all my fault.”
“Ah, kid.” I pull him into my side. “You can’t blame yourself. There are a million things that happened today that steered the course of history, and you hugging your mum is only one of them. Is that why she’s upset?”
“Yeah. Mister had us picked up so Tank and Fury could stay for a while. Grandma and Lawrence are in the café having tea.”
“Bet it’s not as good as your grandma’s.”
He chuckles and stops, forcing me to stop to. “Do you think we’ll ever go back to St. Lucia?”
“Who knows, kid.”
“Do you think I’ll ever be allowed to go to a regular school?”
Fuck. “Maybe.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to go to college?”
That pizza’s gone to the kid’s head. “I’m not Mister, kid. Do you want to ask me a question I can answer?”
He smiles sadly and walks off, kicking the floor as he goes, head down.
“Hey, kid,” I call, and he looks back. “Ask me if you’re loved. If you have a family. A massive one, full of people who’ll do anything for you. A family you can go out on the water with and race.” While they take delivery of their guns.
Daniel’s mouth lifts at the corner, and he nods as I join him, walking him back out. “You any closer to beating Mister yet?”
“Today’s the day,” he assures me, racing off to help Leon get his jet ski on the water as Otto jogs over.
“She turned her phone on briefly.”
What? “And?”
“And she was across the road from the hotel.”
Again, what? “The car?”
“Moved fifty yards and has been stationary since.”
We both look up when the sound of tires crunching across gravel sounds and see my Range Rover pulling into the boatyard. My heart leaps. It fucking leaps. And then she gets out and it’s an effort to stand steady. Relief. It’s making me wobbly. Beau walks over, and the sight of her is like a salve to my cracked soul.
“What the fuck?” Otto grumbles, going back to his phone, obviously to check the tracker.
Beau holds up said tracker, clicks it on, and places it in Otto’s hand. His phone starts beeping immediately. “I’m here,” she says, looking at me, her dark, dark eyes a storybook of hopelessness.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
Her beautiful face is impassive. Emotionless. “I needed space.”
She needed space? From me? It’s a kick in the fucking teeth when all I’ve ever tried to do is protect her from the world. Keep her in the light. I’ve been tortured all night because she needed space? My relief is short-lived. Hello, irritation. “You didn’t think to let me know you were okay? Alive?”
“You didn’t think to tell me Cartwright had showed up dead?”
So it’ll be like this? Tit for tat? “You fucking shot me.”