Page 68 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“You walked up to him in the bar last night and punched him in the face. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“So, that’s how my hand got mashed up.” I examine my bleeding knuckles with a modicum of satisfaction. “I hope I gave him a black eye.”
“He’s mad and confused. Mostly confused. So am I.” Rachel is choosing her words carefully. She knows I’m a ticking emotional time bomb. “We’ve never talked about it, but you guys seemed good together.”
“Just an illusion,” I mutter. “A messed-up, cheating bastard illusion. Go ask him what Cassie was doing in his hotel suite last night.” I duck my head again so she can’t see my tears.
“Are you sure?”
I hate that she doesn’t sound surprised.
“I heard her voice. I heard what they said about me. He boomeranged right on back to her, just like you said he would! Now, if you don’t mind, I have a plane to catch and a life to get on with.”
Though fuck knows what I’m going to do with it.
She nods, accepting this. She doesn’t have a choice. “Will you keep in touch? With me, I mean,” she adds quickly.
I pause. Why am I treating Rachel like a co-conspirator here? None of this is her fault. Not one single thing.
“Oh God, of course I will.” Remorse starts seeping in through the cracks in my voice. “Promise you’ll call next time you’re in London? There’s a great wine bar near my apartment. Thanks again for everything.” I step forward to give her a hug.
“Take care of yourself, Charlie,” she says sadly, slipping her arms around my waist.
I always do.
I pause again in the doorway and stare down at the discarded note on the floor. I know it’s from Jake, but I have no intention of reading it. Instead, I make damn sure that it’s well and truly crushed under the wheels of my suitcase as I exit the room.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
An hour later I’m sat staring blankly at the airport departures board. After eight weeks away, I’m finally on my way home, but I’ve never felt less like celebrating.
Home is bad memories. My mother. No Jake.
Even Lucy’s black dress looks miserable about it. Tears and lipstick are smeared across the fabric, and the zipper broke in the taxicab on the way here, stranding me halfway between demi-slut and brazen. I couldn’t care less, though. Not when I have four words repeating over and over in my head like some reverse Buddhist mantra. The more I think them, the more gutted I feel.
Jake doesn’t want me.
Did he ever?
Sitting opposite me is a skinny blonde, the kind who eats cardboard for breakfast and counts the calories in water. She’s pretending to readVogue,but she can’t stop sneaking glances at me. I know I look a state. My face is smeared with mascara like some gothic nightmare, but I needed to get out of the hotel fast, before Jake caught up with me. If I see him, I’m afraid I’ll crumble, and I’m not ready to lose my dignity along with everything else.
By some terrible quirk of fate, Cassie has been booked on the same flight back to London. Through the glass separating the first class lounge from economy, I can see her fussing over the lack of ice like a spoilt princess. Stupid cow. She and Jake are welcome to each other.
All of a sudden, there’s a commotion at security. The whole place turns to gawp at the spectacle unfolding.
“For fuck’s sake, let me through!” comes an achingly familiar voice.
Jake shakes off the security guard and hurdles the barrier as a second guard starts shouting urgent Arabic into his walkie-talkie. Jake scans the departures lounge until he spots me and then he’s striding up to where I’m sitting, his movements sluiced with rage. His face is pale beneath his tan, there’s a wicked-looking red mark high up on his left cheekbone, and the buttons on his shirt are done up incorrectly. He looks like he hasn’t slept for a week. “Where the hell are you going, Charlie?”
I rise to meet him but my legs are like jelly. I have to grasp the back of my chair to steady myself. “How did you know I was here?”
“I’ve just turned the whole of Morocco upside down looking for you. I literally had to shake the truth out of Rachel. What’s with the hit and run last night? You nearly broke my face.”
“I heard you, Jake.” My voice smacks into his name and then splinters—still, I’m determined to spit the words out somehow. “I was standing outside your suite the whole time. I heardexactlywhat you said to Cassie about me.”
Jake’s whole demeanor changes. “Fuck!” He reels away from me, and curses again.
“You were never straight about anything, were you? Is ittrue Walt Wilson’s your stepfather?”
