Page 70 of Hot Nights in Morocco
Neither of us is willing to give up our ghosts.
“I’m not going to beg you to open up to me, Charlie. Addthatto your epic list of Jake Dalton character flaws.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “It was a mistake to ever let us get this far.”
Please don’t say it. Please don’t—
“I’m done. I’m so fucking done. I wish you all the best, I really do. Let me know if you ever need a job reference.”
And then he’s walking away from me, and he’s not looking back.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
By the time my flight lands in London, Jake’s words are forever imprinted on my mind. Every sentence and implication is as agonizing as a cigarette burn.
I sent Lucy a message when I was boarding, begging her for a lift, but she clearly hasn’t received it. I stand shivering at the back of the arrivals hall of terminal two, gazing at the endless streams of passengers pouring out of the gate like water from a leaky faucet.
I need to go and find the taxicab stand, but my legs are like stone. My hangover kicked up a gear somewhere over the English Channel, and I’ve been exhausting myself with all the what-ifs again. Every so often, I’ll lose my balance, lurch sideways into a heavily laden luggage cart, and let the torrent of abuse wash over me. Everyone seems in such a hurry to live their lives. I just want to reverse mine.
There’s a piercing shriek behind me as another cart claims a victim. Glancing around, I see the familiar spiky blond tips of my best friend’s hair pointing in my direction.
“Fucking airports!” she screeches, barreling up to me. “They’re nothing but a steaming hub of pent-up hostility. Common courtesy is left behind in the short stay car parks and replaced with long delays, crap coffee, and those sodding trolleys! How are you, honey? How was your flight?” She throws her arms around my neck but her grin fades when she steps back to take a better look at me. “Shit. What happened? You’re all skin and bone. Some evil crewmember has put my best friend on a hot wash on repeat.”
“Not just any crewmember,” I rasp, my face crumbling, and I dissolve like pulp into her arms.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Are you sure you’re warm enough? I can switch on the central heating if you like.”
Lucy’s been like this ever since I returned home six days ago, fussing and fretting over me like I’m an old woman. I can’t stop shaking, and it’s driving her nuts. I’m tucked up on the couch under four duvets, two hot water bottles, and a One Direction beach towel.
She can’t seem to settle to anything, either. She keeps cleaning out the fruit bowl and arranging the coasters into shapes. All I want to do is drift away into a dreamless sleep where I’ll never have to think about Jake Dalton again. But I daren’t close my eyes. Not with my nightmares lying in wait for me. Since Jake and I imploded, they’re worse than ever.
I watch Lucy knock the TV remote onto the floor for the third time in a row.
“Aren’t you needed at work, or something?”
“Heartbreak emergency,” she says briskly.
“Well, don’t get fired on my account.”
She glances up at me with a sly grin on her face. “Tom wouldn’t dare, not if he doesn’t want his wife to find out what we got up to backstage at Coldplay last Saturday.”
“Lucy,” I wail. “I thought you were going to end all that?”
She’s been messing around with her editor for months. I wish she’d go and find someone new, preferably a man without a wedding ring, and not a Hollywood media tycoon, either. That’s just asking for trouble.
“I will when I get bored.”
“We can’t both be out of a job at the same time. We’re already the black sheep of our respective families.”
“Rather a poor black sheep than a rich white cliché. Speaking of which, your mother’s called four times already this morning.”
“Please, no!” I howl, covering my face with a cushion.
“Don’t worry, I told her you’d caught the flu from travelling in economy, you’re highly contagious, and you are not to be disturbed. Less money equals more germs. It’s just the sort of nonsense she believes in.”
“Thank you.” I smile at Lucy gratefully before switching to a mock scowl. “And stop sleeping with your boss.”
“I hardly think you’re one to talk,” she says pointedly.
