Page 40 of Parker

“Can we call someone to come and sit with you?” one of them prompts again, but I’m not paying attention. “A friend, perhaps, or a family member?”

Boyd appears in the doorway. The officers turn at the noise of the bell.

“Is everything all right, Nicky?” he asks, looking between the officers and me.

“It’s my mother, Boyd,” I say, stunned. “She’s dead.” He moves toward me and takes a chair from behind the counter, maneuvering me to sit on it. A sickness bubbles in my stomach. “She’s gone.”

He turns to address the men who bore the bad news. “Officers, thank you for your professionalism. I can look after Mrs. Parker from here. I’ll make sure she gets home safe. Here’s my card.” The officers exchange glances at the use of my married name.

Boyd passes them a business card from his breast pocket. “When arrangements need to be made, please contact me directly.”

I nod to the officers in agreement, and Boyd shows them outside.

He has a short conversation with them before shaking their hands, and they walk off.

Pushing the door open, he returns inside and makes his way straight into the back room.

The sound of the kettle turning on tells me he’s making a cup of tea.

A few minutes later, the steaming hot mug is placed in my hands.

“Do you want me to call Sophie?” he asks

I shake my head. “No, she’s miles away with her family. The last thing I want to do is ruin her Christmas.”

“Very well. You drink that, and I’ll make a couple of calls. Then I’ll take you home.” He walks out onto the street and pulls his phone from his pocket. After tapping the screen a few times, he lifts the handset to his ear and starts pacing up and down in front of the shop.

I know who he’s phoning. Telling him not to would be pointless.

For five minutes, I sip the delicious brew and watch him organizing whatever it is he needs to organize.

Finishing the cup, I place it on the counter and finish collecting my belongings.

“Are you ready?” His voice startles me from behind.

“Yes, Boyd. Thank you. I appreciate the lift home. I don’t feel like using public transportation this evening,” I say.

“It’s slippery outside, ma’am,” he advises and holds out his arm for me to take. We walk out the front door, only turning to lock it behind us. Then he leads me down the pedestrianized street to a low-slung red car sitting on the curb waiting for us.

I recognize it at once, and my eyes flick to him in annoyance.

Joel climbs out of the driver’s side and strides toward me. He opens his arms wide and wraps them around me, kissing my forehead as I lay my head on his chest.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispers into my hair. “You’re not on your own. We’ll deal with this together.” Boyd releases me into Joel’s grasp. He leads me to the car and practically lifts me into the passenger seat.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask set off.

“Home,” he states, simply.

“No, Joel. I want to go to my home. Where I live now. Take me there, please.” He huffs audibly.

His fingers flex on the steering wheel in frustration.

“Joel, take me home, or I won’t speak to you again.

” At the next junction, he spins the car around.

Another motorist’s horn blares aggressively at the move.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up outside my apartment block. We haven’t spoken for the entire journey. Occasionally, his hand moved off the wheel to his thigh, almost attempting to take mine. Each time, he thought better of it and replaced it back on the wheel.

The doors of the car unlock, and we both climb out.

I rummage in my bag for the keys. Finally, I find them hidden under a sanitary pad and a women’s magazine.

Joel follows me up the path to the communal door.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask. His eyes search mine for guidance.

My heart swells. The urge to touch him is hard to resist. Fuck, I miss him.

“Just to make sure you’re safe,” he mutters. We climb the stairs past the piles of shoes outside my neighbor’s door and almost trip over a cat lying on the bottom step on the second floor.

“Fucking place is a death trap.” He scowls as he takes in his surroundings.

I stop at the white door to my apartment with the name Parker written on a pink plaque.

He says nothing. Inside, we remove our shoes, and he follows me to the living room.

Our wedding photo is sitting in pride of place on top of the fireplace.

“You still display our photos,” he says, surprise clear in his voice.

I give him a soft smile. “Those were the happiest days of my life. I remember our time together fondly, Joel. I don’t regret a moment.” Shrugging out of my jacket, I throw it over the dining chair crammed in next to my sofa. “Do you want a hot drink?” He nods. “Tea?” He nods again.

“Cozy place you have here,” he says, trying to make conversation.

I chuckle.

“What?” he snaps.

“Yes, it’s cozy. Certainly, compared to where we, well, I used to live.”

His face falls.

“It’s okay, I like it here. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had my own space. Somewhere for just me.”

He follows me through to my cupboard of a kitchen and watches as I prepare two cups. “Your library provided you with that.”

My focus darts to him, then returns to my task.

“I’m sorry for everything, Nicky. For not believing you.

For hiding so much about my family. I want you to know, though, there was never anything between me and Ebony.

” He pauses. “After you left, she moved in for a while.” My eyebrows shoot up, although I know this.

I’m surprised he’s telling me. “It wasn’t like that,” he says.

“Her husband beat her, and she needed somewhere safe to stay. But during her time at the house, she made a move on me.”

I open my mouth to say I told you so, and he holds up his hand to stop me.

“I know,” he says, “you told me what she wanted, and I was too blind to see what was happening. But I rejected her, and she didn’t take it very well.

” He takes the mug of tea from me as he speaks.

“We had a long conversation about Parker Fashion, her marriage, and her treatment of you. I know the emails were forged. I should’ve apologized to you sooner. ”

“Joel, I’m beyond being angry, hurt, and disappointed. I’ve come to terms with what’s happened between us.” He places his mug on the kitchen counter and steps toward me, taking my face in his hands and dropping his lips to mine. I pull back. “Joel,” I stammer. “This can’t happen.”

He stops my protests with his mouth, pressing my back against the counter. “I need you, Nicky,” he whispers. “One last time. Please let me make love to you.”

My heart overrules my head, and I submit to his request. One last time will be closure for both of us. After tonight, we won’t need to see each other again.