17. Thomas

CHAPTER 17

Thomas

Even when we're back in our right minds, neither of us makes any mention of Arlo moving back into his villa now that those Australian boys have been caught and he'd be safe. No matter the circumstances, he's always going to be safer with me anyway. But more than that, I want to spend every second I can with him for the remainder of this trip.

Unfortunately, though, it's like time is determined to speed up on us.

Don't get me wrong, we still make the most of every minute from waking up to going to sleep. Whenever we're alone we're always touching each other, and we've made love so much I've lost count of how many times. We go on a couple more excursions, and we also join in with some more Daddy/boy activities put on by the resort. I'm pleased it gives us a chance to spend a little more time with Andreas and his two boys, Jalen and Colby, who very much enjoy playing with my baby Lolo.

But there's that word again. Time. It's as if it knows the finish line is near and it's rushing, desperate to cross it.

I don't know what the future holds, but I know that I'm not ready to let Arlo slip out of my life without a fight. There are possibilities for us, I'm certain. But as our departure day looms, I can sense Arlo drawing in on himself.

No, not Arlo.

It's Lolo who I feel like I'm losing.

"Do you want to go down to the beach and play pirates?" I suggest on our last afternoon at the resort.

He gives me a sweet smile but shakes his head. "Do you think we could order room service? Maybe get some wine? Then we can watch the sunset from our balcony with Jolly."

"Of course," I agree readily, willing to jump off a bridge if it'll make him happy.

But the truth is that he's going back to a life he hates, and he seems completely resolved to his fate. It makes me sad that he already seems to have put his little self back in the box where he's lived for so many years.

I want to play pirates one more time. But it seems like it would be too painful for him now.

"Tell me how I can help," I say outright later as we sit outside, watching the last of the daylight slip away.

He sighs and reaches for my hand. I immediately link our fingers together and squeeze them tight. "Just be here," he tells me sagely.

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell him stubbornly.

We give Jolly so much food I'm sure he's going to be sick. But I don't reckon he cares, so I don't try and stop Arlo. When we head back inside the villa, I ignore our half-packed suitcases and what they mean for tomorrow.

Instead, I take my time peeling Arlo out of his clothes, spreading him across the bed, and driving him utterly insane with my lips, tongue, and hands until he forgets all about the impending journeys that await us both.

When I call him Lolo, he calls me Daddy, and all is right with the world.

Of course nothing can stop the sun from rising several hours later. I don't ask Arlo if he slept as poorly as I did, not wanting to hear the answer. I'd hoped I tired him out enough that he passed out, but that didn't seem to ease my own insomnia, so it's entirely possible that he stared at the walls and ceiling in the dark just like I did.

We leave the villa without much ceremony. I check under the bed and in all the other nooks and crannies I can think of, but this time, Arlo hasn't left a single thing for me to find. I close the door for the last time, and we make our way down the steps.

Jolly trots beside us the way he always does, glued to Arlo's side like a shadow. Arlo's crying before we even make it into the main building, so I leave him outside the front entrance while I go check us both out. I don't want him to worry about how much we spent on room service as that was my treat. But mostly, I want to give him extra time to say good-bye to his fluffy little friend before we get in the taxi I've booked.

The second I step outside, my heart breaks. He's sitting on the ground, tears streaming down his face as he gently pets the orange beast who is also sitting unusually still beside him.

"Good boy," he's whispering as I sit down beside him on the steps. "You're a good boy, Jolly."

I rub Arlo's back, hating how helpless I feel. "Kirana promised she'll look after him," I remind him, aware that's not much comfort but not knowing what else to say.

He nods but then he shakes his head. "I know, I know. I just…I'm just going to miss him so much."

I don't doubt he's talking about the cat. But I think it's safe to bet he's also talking about this whole place as well. What we've shared. What we had.

It's hard not to feel like it's all slipping away from us. Like a dream that naturally fades as soon as you open your eyes.

"That's our taxi," I say gently as I recognize the logo on the car that's come around the corner.

Arlo screws his face up, holding the back of Jolly's head as he makes a keening noise. "He's going to wait for us, and we're never going to come back," he manages between sobs.

"Oh, baby," I say, wrapping my arm around his back, just holding him as he shakes.

When the cab pulls up, I reluctantly let him go so I can greet the driver and help with putting our luggage in the trunk. Then I have the awful task of telling my baby boy that it's time to leave.

"I know, I know," he whispers again, nodding as he strokes Jolly's back and scratches between his ears one last time. "You're the captain now, Jolly," he tells the cat. "Stay safe."

All of a sudden, he wrenches himself away, jumping up and scrambling into the back of the car. I take a deep breath and reach down to let Jolly sniff my fingers the way Arlo taught me to do so I wouldn't spook him.

"You're all right for a hell beast," I tell the little guy. "Arlo's right. You're in charge now. Kirana will make certain you stay fat, I'm sure. Take care of yourself."

Jolly licks the backs of my fingers with his scratchy tongue. It's the most affection he's ever given me, and my heart swells.

When I get in the taxi, Arlo is hugging himself, trying to keep it together. The driver gives me a sympathetic look, which I appreciate. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and give him a nod.

I don't want to, but it's time for us to go.

Kuta Paradise Resort and Spa vanishes from sight far quicker than I'd like. I hug Arlo to my side for the entire drive back to the airport. He gradually calms himself, blowing his nose on a tissue I give him, and then only sniffling a little by the time we arrive.

"He'll be okay," he whispers more to himself than to me as our driver jumps out to unload our bags.

"He will," I assure my boy. "That cat is a fighter."

We all are.

We're all going to be okay.

My flight is a couple of hours after Arlo's, but there's no way I'm not going to check in with him and stay by his side until the last second before boarding. I also want to make sure there's no trouble for him at passport control after everything he went through. But seeing as he has both his passport back as well as the emergency passport, everything goes through pretty smoothly.

Once we're free of our luggage, I wander through the duty-free shops with him. When I spy a magnet with the temple on it that we visited, I immediately buy two, handing him one without needing to say anything.

Something to remember me by.

Like I could ever forget my sweet boy.

We sit in the lounge for a while, taking advantage of the calmer atmosphere and complimentary food and drink. I only really get him to nibble on a cracker, but it's something at least.

"Arlo," I say, aware that time is still slipping away from us like sand through an hourglass. He looks at me, eyebrows raised. "I would like to still talk to you when we're both home."

He offers me a small smile, but it's sad. "I'd like that, too."

"But?" I say, sensing there is indeed a ‘but.'

He shrugs. "But my parents have their plans, and nothing's going to change that."

I've spent the entire vacation not pushing too hard. But that's over now. "Why?" I ask bluntly. "You're your own person. They shouldn't get any say on how you live your life."

I want to tell him if it's money he's worried about, then he shouldn't because Daddy will take care of him. But a sensible part of my brain clings to the wheel and reminds me that we've only known each other less than two weeks. He shouldn't make massive financial decisions based on something that, in the cold light of day, could have just been a summer fling.

Every cell in my body argues that's bullshit and what we have is the start of something long and beautiful. But I have no way of knowing that.

Only time will tell, the infuriating thing that it is.

"I've been destined to inherit the family business since I was born," he says flatly. "I have my part-time job, but my entire fortune is tied into the business and the estate. I literally don't know how I'd leave or survive on my own. I'm not really good at anything." He gives a rueful chuckle. "Not that I'll be any good at running the bloody business, but at least the family reputation will be intact."

I think that's all a crock, but now ain't the time to press it.

"You're good at lots of things," I insist. "You're kind and funny and good at taking care of people and animals. And with your family business stuff, nothing's set in stone yet. Just promise me you won't be a stranger. That you'll keep in touch so I'm in the loop."

He hums, then glances at one of the displays dotted around the room. "Oh, I'm boarding," he says flatly.

That's not a ‘yes.' I'm anxious as we collect up our things, but I feel like I've already pushed him too far, and I don't want us to part on bad terms.

I don't want us to part at all.

There's not much I can do to fight it, though, as I escort him to his gate. We don't talk, reality hanging heavily between us. When we arrive, people are still sitting around, waiting for their group to be called forward. He's in economy, so he'll be in the last one called. I feel like my heart is in my throat and my feet have pins and needles.

I've never felt so anxious or out of control before in my life. Not before a game or when I got my injury or when I was waiting for the approval to start my charity organization. Nothing has ever felt more important than making sure I cling on to Arlington Hythe-Wandsworth.

My Lolo.

Still, as the voice comes over the intercom calling for the final group to board, it feels like a nasty shock, and my insides lurch.

"Arlo," I say, grabbing his shoulders.

He scoffs fondly, putting his hand in his pocket. "Don't worry. I've got it this time." He waggles his passport at me.

Not knowing what to do with all the emotions overwhelming me, I drag him into a fierce hug. "I'll always be your Daddy," I blurt against his ear.

He squeezes me tighter. "I know," he whispers back.

But then he's pulling away from me and picking up his bag. He's in the line, passport, emergency passport, and boarding pass ready to show. He's speaking to the ground crew. He's moving beyond their desks. He's heading to the gangway.

He turns and gives me a small, sad wave, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

And then he's gone.

My baby boy is gone.