Page 28 of Silver Lining (London Love #6)

A week later, we were both exhausted, and I was stabbing myself in the cheek with the toothbrush in my hand. A new one. I’d even bought it myself.

Well, small lie. Jean had scheduled a grocery delivery order—a weekly one that was paid for by the contract fee that had been paid into the company account.

The first time I had been paid as a newly examined lawyer, I’d been so proud of myself.

This time, it wasn’t pride. It was relief.

It felt like something was finally going my way.

I was doing good work, and my sweat, blood and tears—well, mostly my sweat and Jean’s blood and sheer determination, but my tears seemed to have dried up after spending six hours being grilled by a court-appointed psychologist whom Gun Larsen affectionately referred to as The Devil.

I fully understood that moniker and had suitably trembled when Gun had pointed out that he’d delivered his full report, warts and all.

I didn’t want to know.

Gun had laughed and told me I was being ridiculous. I supposed that was a good thing because she’d simply moved on to the next subject without even a swift drag of her cigarette.

That had been days ago, and my children were now supposed to be back at school. The schedule software on my laptop was showing September, and I hadn’t had any further phone calls from Veronica, but I’d had plenty from Constance.

I treasured them, even though she said she hated me and that I was ruining her life, forcing her to go back to school in America when she should have been in the UK. She’d actually even rung her former headteacher to ensure there would be a place for her when she eventually returned.

She had one more year. One more. She’d have to go straight into exam preparation and would require some extra tutoring, and it hurt my whole body to have to tell her that I had no money to pay the fees for the school she’d previously attended. I never would.

She’d laughed in my face.

My daughter was smart. Really so. She had also laughed when I’d asked if she had any ideas where I could sell my body to science to pay for it all. She’d suggested pole dancing at some local club. I could make good tips, she said.

I suddenly agreed with her notion of leaving that American school she was at, if that was what they were teaching. Joking aside, she kept pushing, every night, and it was silly how happy it made me. Our talks. Her laughter. Her absolute conviction that I wasn’t doing enough.

I agreed, and despite not having paid my new legal team a single penny, I would hang up on my daughter and ring and pester Gun Larsen.

Strangely, she didn’t refuse my calls, never told me no, allowed me to ring her and ask questions.

Indeed, she was positively encouraging when I pushed for answers .

“You’re doing well, Dylan. Trust me. I have this. Have I ever lost a case?” She’d blow smoke into the receiver, her gravelly voice making me smile.

“No,” I would agree as she would tut.

“Remember, this isn’t a case, just a small amusement on the side. I love these kinds of challenges. This is me flexing muscle, and I’m enjoying every minute of it. Will we see results? Absolutely. Will they be the results we want? Watch me.”

Then she’d hang up, and I’d sit there, feeling like a fool.

I had no guarantees. No safeguards in place.

Only me and my stupid sofa in my former living room that now resembled some kind of library, where the occasional tables in the corner had been replaced with the bookshelves from the garage and my books and files were neatly organised behind Jean’s computer set-up.

I worked from the sofa, and then each night, I would go downstairs to my stupid guest bed and find Stewart walking through the patio doors, still in a shirt and tie, though usually also wearing a cardigan, since the evenings were a little cooler.

The trains rumbled past like soothing white noise, and this was apparently now my life.

This evening, he’d walked in carrying a basket full of my clothes because he was running a lot of laundry and said he might as well fill the load up and do mine too, my smalls mingled in with his grandchildren’s colourful attire on the washing line outside.

The things I noticed. And didn’t. Once again stabbing myself in the cheek with the toothbrush, I rinsed my mouth and returned to the room, where Stewart had made himself comfortable in the bed, two pillows behind his back as he scrolled on his phone.

“Your phone rang, twice. I couldn’t find it to answer in time, but it’s on the side in the kitchen. Next to your trousers.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Gray got back to LA in one piece. The house already feels wrong without him. I don’t like it when he’s away.”

This was so nice. Him in bed, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. Me pottering around in my boxers, having managed a quick shower.

I smelled nice. He commented on that.

I liked it.

I liked that he slept here. I liked that he was so reliable. That I didn’t even have to ask for him to come. He just would .

I picked up my phone. “Veronica.” I sighed. “I’d better ring her back.” I pressed the screen as I took the stairs up to the main house, not really wanting Stewart to hear the rants she would no doubt deliver.

“Dylan,” she opened, not even offering a greeting. I’d learnt not to expect one.

“Veronica,” I replied.

“I’m in the shit here. Not happy.” She never was.

“How can I help?” Polite. Stay calm. Gun Larsen had not been wrong, and I was following her haphazardly assembled programme here, just as she’d taught me. Stay in control. Say nothing.

“I kicked Brandon out of the house. Not a day too soon, if you ask Constance, but there were complications and…” She made some weird sound before composing herself.

“What happened?” I asked. I didn’t want to know, but she’d started it. I might as well.

“Said I’d put on too much weight, again. The absolute bastard.”

Okay .

“Veronica, you are beautiful. I always thought so. You don’t need to change anything about who you are.”

“Stop the bullshit, Dylan.” That was a compliment, Veronica style.

“You made three wonderful kids with that body. You should remember that.”

I meant it, and I’d always told her. Also, Constance had filled me in, so I knew a few things now.

I’d started to understand parts of Veronica’s insistence on me having no contact with my children.

Because all was not well, and Brandon getting caught with his pants down again had meant no end of amusing anecdotes from my daughter.

I shouldn’t encourage her gossiping, but as much as it concerned me, I had no rights here. No powers to do anything about it. Apart from…

“Anyway, I need a favour.”

“Anything.” I was a doormat, but a polite one. My teeth gritted shut.

“The kids are in New Orleans, at the house. I need to fly to New York tomorrow and then back out to Mexico City. I don’t have time to sort all this out.

Pilar gave notice two months ago and was supposed to have left two weeks ago, hence I’m paying through the nose to get her to stay until I find her replacement. ”

She meant I was paying. My child support payments had already drained everything I’d ever had. I wasn’t sure how much was left in my account. Probably mere pennies.

“And with paying Araminta double rates to try to hold the fort whilst the agency sources me someone else, it’s causing issues with Pilar, and the agency is adamant there is nobody else available.” She ranted on.

“I see.” I wanted to shout. Scream. You leave the kids on their own in another new city with some woman whom you have to pay to keep them safe?

And where are you? I didn’t even know who Araminta was, but there was apparently a Carlos who cleaned and Abraham who did the garden of the mansion where my kids now resided.

I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I just nodded, walking in a circle, my bare feet soundless against the cold tiles.

“You’ve caused enough trouble. I can’t even get hold of Hendrix, but since our custody agreement has been ripped up by your legal team, I believe I can do this.

And it doesn’t mean I agree to anything else, Dylan.

This is a limited arrangement, only because I can’t see any other way, and Constance will kill me if I don’t. ”

Constance had no idea how much I loved her. How her strengths and stubborn ideas were everything. Absolutely everything.

“The threats have to stop, Dylan. I give you this, and you call off the hounds. I have no idea what Gun Larsen is playing at, but it’s not appreciated and is stressing me out. This is me meeting you halfway. Not even halfway. Giving you an inch. Do not attempt to take the mile.”

“What are you suggesting?” My voice held, though my hands were shaking. I wanted to go back downstairs, ask Stewart to just give me a bloody hug.

Too much. Far too much.

“I can get them on a plane tomorrow night. A few weeks. Pilar will take them and then turn around and come straight back on the next plane. I am not paying for her to holiday. She’ll demand triple pay, and it’s annoying me. You’ll need to arrange…the rest.”

“The rest,” I agreed, my heart beating out of my chest.

“Don’t make this harder than it is. Just help me out. Let me concentrate on this case, and then I’ll make arrangements.”

“Reasonable,” I huffed out, trying to swallow the panic. Shit. Fuck .

This was happening. This was absolutely happening. Please let it happen.

“I’ll email Jean the details.”

Very Veronica.

I wanted to cry. Scream. Shout. Beg her. Thank her, over and over again. Instead, I said…

“Good.”

She’d already hung up, and my fingers pressed the screen on autopilot.

“Constance?” My voice cracked as my daughter picked up. “Can you talk?”

“I’m at the mall, Dad. Fucking mall. I hate New Orleans. Well, I hate Miami, but this place? Fucking boring.”

“It’s a historical city. Centre of many world events.”

She snorted.

“Just spoke to your mommy.”

“And?”

“I don’t want to say anything.”

“Wait,” she said, and hung up .

Normal for Constance. I knew how she functioned, and at least she was reliable. She’d ring me back, but for now, I stormed down the stairs, threw myself on the bed and crawled into his arms.

Another new habit. Something I needed more than air. Food. Water. Just to lie here and contain the panic, not scream or cry. My mouth made puffy little sounds that betrayed me.

“You know,” he said, taking those stupid reading glasses away from his nose.

“What?” I asked. God, I felt like I was having a heart attack.

He held me, placing a small kiss at the top of my head.

“We should try something new.”

“You can say the words.” It made me smile. What was this? My life? Surreal. Absurd. Chaotic on a grand scale.

“My son calls it getting laid.” He was blushing. I loved it when he did. His handsome face. The way he bent down and kissed me.

“Your son is not wrong,” I said impatiently. “I have a lot to tell you. I don’t even know where to start. And now you’re telling me you want to get laid? ”

I was joking, but also not.

“Talk,” he said. “Then perhaps after, you’ll get lucky.”

“Lucky?” I smiled. “I already feel lucky.”

“We both are,” he said softly.

“I thought…” I started, then stopped myself. Too much coming out at once. “You’re so easy to talk to,” I confessed. “And you know you said you couldn’t talk to women and couldn’t flirt and all that? You did good with me. Look at us.”

“I forced you to clean your house and get in the shower,” he pointed out.

“And look what that got you.”

“What did it get me?” He smiled. I did too.

“You got yourself a bed partner.”

“More than a bed partner. I got myself a boyfriend.” He grimaced because I knew him now. Too well.

“You can say that too. It’s not a bad word.”

“So you are?” He was stumbling on his words. Smiling. “My boyfriend? ”

“I’m your friend. Your partner. The guy who sleeps next to you in bed. The guy who’s rather fond of you.”

“Sounds nice.”

“And you are probably…most likely…also my boyfriend. If you’ll still have me.”

“You know you are. You don’t have to ever question that. But what have you done now?” He ran his fingers down my face, gave me another kiss.

“Veronica is in a bit of a tiff. I think she’s been…a little overwhelmed and also threw out the douchebag.”

“Bradley.”

“Brandon.” He did it on purpose to make me laugh. “She asked me if I’d take the kids for a few weeks.”

He just stared at me.

“It will be chaotic. I haven’t even had it confirmed. She might just be baiting me or playing a massively cruel trick on me, and I don’t dare to believe it, but she said she’ll have them on a plane tomorrow night.”

“Dylan,” he said, like he was catching his breath.

“Yes. And I realise, and it’s all wrong, and I need to ring Gun Larsen and… Stewart? What am I going to do? ”

“You…” he said softly, gazing at me the way he did, with warmth, with love. I felt it. Warmth on my skin. “You’re going to be busy.”

“I know.”

Help! Just help me. What had I done?

What had Veronica done? And what on earth was Gun Larsen thinking? Was this her doing?

She picked up on the first ring, despite it being more than late.

“I don’t have the time now, Dylan.”

“Apologies,” I huffed out while Stewart stroked my back.

“Has she crumbled? I assume she has, by the excitement in your voice.”

“What did you do?” I whispered.

“Nothing you should trouble that dormouse head with. You just sit back and let her deliver those little brats to you. Then…”

“Then what?”

“Well. You need to speak to those brats and see how you feel about it all, but I have a sneaky feeling, Dylan. ”

“I don’t like to be sneaky.”

“Well, look what honesty brought you. Now we’re playing my game, and I do play a good game.”

She hung up on me. Then rang me straight back.

“The Exchange. Tomorrow. Eight a.m. sharp.”

That told me, then. Fuck. Shit.

“So…” he started again, stroking those wonderful, strong fingers of his down my cheek, against my jawline, down over my throat.

My phone rang. Again.

“Constance,” I said around his kisses. He just smiled and carried on.

“Did you know?” she shouted. “I need to start packing. Are you ready for this?”

“Am I?”

“You’d better be, Dad. Get ready. I need to go, need to pack. And I need to get Marmie sorted. He needs to go pick up his stuff from school and yay!”

“Yay!” I mimicked her. She hung up .

“You’re going to be really bloody busy,” Stewart murmured against my cheek.

“I am.”

“And I suppose I’m not getting laid then. Probably not for a long time.”

He was laughing. Good. I didn’t know if I could take it. It was too much. Too much happiness. All the butterflies in my stomach mixing with that ever-present feeling of doom. Fear.

“Dylan, it doesn’t matter. We have time. We have so much time.”

I kissed him. What else could I do? I was happy. God help me, I was.