Page 8

NYLA

The moment Mason took his last tackle of the charity day, my phone rang.

I picked the call up without looking, and wished I hadn’t.

“Get back to the restaurant,” Stuart snapped into my ear without offering a greeting.

“You need to fix these accounts now.”

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, motioning for Brady to stay where he sat and turned away, keeping my voice low.

“I know there's money missing, Stuart. I just need time to work out who it is, and why.”

“Oh, that’s cute. Like you know who it isn’t.” His voice grew cold.

My blood matched his tone. “Excuse me? ”

“You know what I mean, Nyla. You. Chasing after that football player. Climbing all over him here. It’s pathetic, just like you. If you’re that broke, just ask me for help. I’ll give you money if you need it, for fuck’s sake. Come by the restaurant and I'll give you cash. Just…tell me what I need to do with these accounts so I can fix them with the bank, and?—”

“Stuart,” I interrupted him, my voice remarkably steady for the amount of bullshit that just spewed my way. “Did you just accuse me outright of stealing from your business?”

He had the good sense not to speak for a moment. “Well, I thought you?—”

“Good. because that’s what I thought you said. And all I have to say to you are two words. Please listen carefully. Fuck. Off.”

I pressed the END button gently on my phone and slid it into my bag that hung from my shoulder. A shuddering breath left me, but the visceral response I expected didn't come. Maybe because this was Stuart, and I was all too used to his rubbish after so many years. I breathed in long and slow, and turned back to find my son watching me with a distinct expression of awe and something akin to pride decorating his young face.

“Go, Mum,” he said in a soft voice for once .

“You heard that, huh?” I bit my lip. Damn. I thought I’d been more discreet.

Brady nodded. “Your part. It’s not so hard to guess that Stuart is being an asshole again.”

“You shouldn’t use language like that.” I held my hand out to him.

His face fell. “Sorry. Can’t we stay?”

I glanced down at the grounds to where Mason’s coach was starting his wrap up talk for the end of the charity event. “I think they’re finishing off. You know we’re going to catch up with Mason another time, right?” I added in casually.

“Yeah, I guessed you were going to keep snogging. St– Dad’s going to hate that.” Brady grinned at me.

“Right.” I coughed into my palm and headed toward the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s get you some lunch, huh? What do you want?” My stomach cramped down on nothing at all. I’d only be feeding Brady because I’d essentially just walked out on the only job I had. And while there were some savings in my bank account, with monthly rent and bills that wouldn’t last long. It looked like I’d be job hunting from this afternoon onwards. I didn’t want to worry Brady, and so lunch for him it would be.

I climbed into my car, willing myself not to look back for Mason or check my phone for his messages. There would more than likely be a stack from Stuart, and I didn’t want to have to deal with those anyway, so it was easier to ignore everyone for a bit.

My blood was still icy from Stuart's oh-so-simple accusation of theft as I bought Brady drive through and spoiled myself with a steaming hot coffee. I’d regret that splurge later, I knew, but right now I needed that fortifying hot drink as I drove back toward the restaurant. Another choice I hated, but Chaz was on evening prep and I could leave Brady downstairs safely with him while I sorted this out with Stuart once and for all.

Because there was no way in hell that I wanted him spreading rumours that I stole from the restaurant, or else I'd never get another job at all.

I pulled up in my little rust bucket of a buzz box car and parked beside Stuart’s shiny secondary midlife crisis divorce present to himself. The first being the stripper he cheated on me with while I was still breastfeeding our son. Brady grabbed a fidget toy from the glove compartment and twisted the spiral coil around his wrist over and over in a dizzying pattern as we walked in through the back of the restaurant that had all its lights on, thankfully.

Fixing the fuse the night before hadn’t been a hard job at all. Dealing with Stuart of course, took longer. I poked my head into the cool room and found Chaz belting out the lyrics to Phantom of the Opera to himself—both parts—with a remarkable degree of talent.

I grinned and pointed to Brady. “Can you two keep each other company for a bit? I need to have a chat with the guy upstairs.”

A grimace crossed his face at the mention of Stuart. “Of course. For you, anything.” Chaz frowned as he stared at my shaking coffee cup. Some of the hot liquid dripped over the side onto my hand, but I could barely feel it. “Nyla. What has he done to you?”

I shrugged. “Accused me of taking the top off the till and that's why we’re short, and because he hates that I’m with Mason, and have my own life, and that I’m broke. Oh, and now jobless. The usual, I'm sure.” I pushed the words out as though they meant nothing, despite that we both knew that they did.

Chaz held his silence as I left his kitchen. I missed his rambunctious singing almost immediately as I started up the stairwell that remained brightly lit the whole way up. At least something is working. I sighed and patted the wall. My last time . The promise I made to myself. I waited for the tears to start, and wondered when I would feel anything at all but… I didn’t.

Nothing. It didn’t matter. But it should. Maybe I was numb. I spent more hours within these four walls than I did at home or anywhere else. How many times in the last two weeks had I dropped Brady at football in order to dart back here to complete a shift because someone else hadn’t turned up? I’d left Josie at the till, minding the front door, pulling her off the bar when no one else was around…

When no one else was around to see what she took.

I closed my eyes. “Fuck,” I whispered softly to myself. “Opportunity.”

One of the main ways theft occurred. And worse, an opportunity that I had created because I was too busy in my own life to notice the gap I created.

Damnit, this was my fault.

“Stuart.” I jogged the last few steps into the upper level that housed the event space along with the office and the private shower with its change room built off the side. “I know what’s happening with the accounts. Let me show you before I leave.” I ran out of breath on that last one, knowing I shouldn’t be here but just like when I kicked him out last time, I needed closure .

Which was why I still fought with him, why I still didn’t walk away, and why I let him have time with Brady even though our son—questionable language choices aside—got it right. Stuart was an asshole. He proved that with his shitty line this afternoon about the theft when he knew it wasn't me, but this was my banking and credit rating as well as his that was getting screwed into the ground if he let it run on. And work out a way to talk to Josie because maybe she was a woman in a situation, like mine before I left Suart, that I could help her avoid. I hoped.

Plus, I needed to clear the air.

Air that moaned right as I stepped up onto the mezzanine level. The sound zipped around me. I froze in place, though after a moment my feet kept travelling forward because I had to know, even though I should have turned around and trounced my behind right back down those stairs and stayed right out of my ex’s restaurant forever. Because we had been here before. Maybe not in this space, but the last time I found him with another woman.

The moans continued, growing louder as I turned the corner to face the open end of the office. Right to where Stuart had set up his office chair that he rarely sat in, unless he was drinking on premises. Josie was splayed across his lap, her legs spread wide open so I could see right up underneath her far-too-short-for-work skirt and apron, to where his hand disappeared inside her.

Her head was thrown back onto my ex’s shoulder. She writhed for him in what had to be the best fakest orgasm of her life because both she and I shared a singular truth in that moment:

Stuart wasn’t that good.

Not with any part of his anatomy.

Tongue, hands or dick. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t pay that man to learn how to use anything. He was beyond a selfish lover. Which told me two things straight up.

He knew who was pulling money out of the till before he called me with his little shame charade earlier knowing I’d offer to help him with the cash and banking because I was just that predictable, and…

That this little show was for my benefit alone.

The rage that hasn't hit me before fuelled my veins now. I stared straight into Stuart’s emotionless, dead eyes as Josie reached the peak of her performance and smiled.

“She’s full of shit, Stuart. I won’t be back.”

I turned around, walked steadily down the stairs, gave Chaz the best hug I could offer as Josie started to rant and rage above us to whatever bullshit Stuart didn’t offer her, collected my son, and drove away without mangling my ex’s car, but damn was it a close thing. Not that any of it mattered.

He thought he’d had his revenge. That backfired on him. I got what I wanted when I walked into that office. I found my closure, and I walked out with my son.

Hell, I could even splurge on a milkshake after that. While Brady downed his treat in record time despite having eaten lunch earlier—hello, hollow growing boy stomach—I sent out the message that was long overdue. I prayed I didn't send it too late.

NYLA: Can I still collect on that date?