27

27

KADE

The next night, while in a briefing with some of my team – with Barry on a video call – to discuss where Bernadette is and her next steps, I realise a lot of my shit is still at my apartment in Stirling.

Mainly, my laptop and paperwork.

Some of the guys were going to go up, but I refuse. I want to go.

Barry arranges for me to get escorted up, but I tell him I’ll drive up on my motorbike and whoever is shadowing me can follow behind. I doubt Bernadette will try anything. She knows if she targets me, I’ll make it worse for Archie.

She’ll be on alert, yet still smug that she has my dad.

Once everything’s arranged, I stand out on my balcony with a joint. It’s dark out, cold. Winter is fast approaching, and it makes me think about Christmas, though it’s still a few months away.

Will I still be alive then, and if I am, will it be weird to buy Stacey a gift?

My eyes catch a drone flying by. Barry’s great idea – half the team don’t have a clue how to control them. I lean my elbows on the stone wall and glance over, seeing Stacey over at the pool house, talking to someone on the phone.

Her hand is waving around like she’s mad and trying to explain something. Maybe it’s her brother? Or Barry’s called her for something. She’s close with him now too.

She hangs up, and I pull back just as she glances in my direction.

I haven’t spoken to her at all today. She and Luciella stayed in the studio downstairs and tested out all the new aerial equipment. I stood outside the room for a little; I heard my sister crying then Stacey telling her to dance until the tears stopped.

The music played for hours.

I might have stared at a screen for hours watching Stacey stretch and work her way around a pole, twist herself in fabric dangling from the ceiling then do some bendy routine on an aerial hoop after my sister left.

Spending time together yesterday, even if it was only a little while, made me get my first night’s sleep without waking up soaked in sweat or on the bathroom floor, dazed and unsure about what the fuck’s going on.

I open Stacey’s contact and type fifteen messages before settling on one. It’s stupid, considering I just told her I wasn’t fit for a relationship or anything else, but she makes me feel calm, and being around her makes me forget all the shit in my head.

And I really do fucking love her.

I don’t want to confuse her, but I also don’t want to push her away. I’m at a crossroads, in all honesty. I want Stacey. I need her. But I’ll hurt her, both physically and mentally. What if I lose myself during sex and hallucinate? What if I shoot her in my sleep?

Maybe I can ask her to be my friend?

Me: Why aren’t you asleep?

The reply is rapid.

Freckles: Stalker.

Freckles: Kyle called me. Why are you awake?

I put the joint between my lips and use my two thumbs to reply.

Me: I need to head up to my apartment in Stirling. You game?

Fuck, I’m an idiot. An impulsive, idiotic idiot. What am I doing? She deserves way fucking better, and I’m dragging her along with my bullshit. Why would I ask her to come with me? Why? Fucking why?

Freckles: Are you sure? I don’t want you to force this.

Me: We can hang out, Stacey.

Freckles: When are you leaving?

Me: Now. Meet me in the garage. We’re taking the bike up.

Freckles: I’m having flashbacks, and I think I’d rather stub my pinkie toe than have a repeat, but thanks for the horrendous offer.

Me: Shitebag.

Freckles: I hate you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Once I pull on a thick hoodie and sweats, not bothering putting on my leathers, I stare at the material sitting on my dresser for far too long before giving in and fastening it around my mouth.

She’s waiting by my bike when I get to the garage – wearing comfort clothing like I am. She’s even wearing a woolly hat.

I grab the bobble at the top and pull it off, messing her hair. She frowns at me, and I gesture to the helmet. “You’re wearing that.”

It’s big on her, but it’s better than nothing. I keep the visor open as I fasten the clips under her chin, feeling a bout of butterflies hitting me with the way she’s watching my every move.

Being loved by Stacey Rhodes is a dream. Why does my dream need to be a nightmare?

“Can I drive it?”

I laugh and pull my own helmet on, and when she crosses her arms and pops out her hip, I stop laughing. “You’re joking?”

“No. We can go somewhere and you can teach me, like when you taught me how to drive a car.”

“You crashed four times.”

She tuts. “How many cars have you written off?”

I stay silent, narrowing my eyes at her.

There’s a smile on her mouth. I can’t see it, but I can see it in her eyes.

“You can drive it down to the front gate,” I say, moving over to the bike and patting the seat. “Sit in front of me and I’ll hold your hands over the handles and shift our balance to move.”

She climbs on, wobbling a little before I jump on behind her, unsure where to put my hands at first as I point out each part of the bike. She listens, nodding, and when she adjusts herself, she pushes her ass against me.

My hands fist, my teeth gritting at the feel of her entire body pressing against my front, and it only gets worse as I cradle her, placing my hands over her on the handlebars.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready,” she confirms, and the bike stalls.

“You let go of the clutch too fast. Slowly, the same way you do in a car.”

This time, we move forward, and I already regret my decision as we pull out the garage and, very messily, zigzag all the way down the driveway.

My guards watch us, and I know they’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on. The SUV follows behind us, and I slip my fingers between hers to gain more control and drive us to the gate.

“Can I keep going?” she asks through the Bluetooth. “Just to the end of the road.”

“Don’t kill us.”

She giggles, and when the gate opens, her wrist curls, and we jolt forward so hard, my helmet smacks into hers. “Shit,” she blurts. “Sorry, but you are the worst teacher.”

“You’re the worst order-taker. Go fucking slow, or I’ll take over.”

“Yes, sir,” she says sarcastically, and I knock my helmet into hers lightly.

We make it to the end of the road, but only because I take over, with my fingers between hers, my front pressing to her back, leaning left and right as we move. As soon as we hit the main road, I pull in.

“Can we stay like this?” she asks.

I keep the bike up with my feet flat on the ground while she dangles from the seat, pulling back and letting go of the handlebars. She twists her body to look at me, flipping up her visor, and I see the excitement in her eyes.

“It’s a two-hour journey,” I say, pulling my phone out to connect it to our helmets just as the SUV stops behind us. “But we can go for a bit and stop for some food.”

She nods excitedly. “I’d like that.”

I sigh, waiting for my playlist to start. “Hearing Damage” by Thom Yorke plays, and Stacey groans. “I love this song.”

I know. I know everything about you, Freckles.

We take off again, and at some points in the drive, she tries to take control, but I value her being alive, so I make sure I dominate her movements, but only enough so she still thinks she can drive a motorbike.

I like this. It’s calming, hearing her little gasps when we speed up, seeing her hair flying around, feeling the cold air on our skins. The SUV keeps up, even as we swerve between cars on the motorway. We stop for food, eat it in comfortable silence then we’re off again.

The entire way to Stirling, Stacey sits in front of me, and I feel her against me, and I like it. I wish I could stay here.

We pull up on my driveway, and the garage opens as I direct us into it. She lets out a long breath. “That was amazing,” she says, taking the helmet off. “My heart is going so fast. Feel it.” She takes my hand and presses it to her chest, and although I freeze everywhere, I can feel the beating heart that belongs to me.

She uses her free hand to pull up my visor when I stay silent.

“It’s the adrenaline,” I say, holding her eye contact. “Sometimes it can get really overwhelming.”

“My heart’s been pounding in my chest since you asked me to come here with you.”

The corner of my lip curls. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Stacey.”

She smacks my hand away and swings off the bike. I follow, hearing the SUV pulling into the driveway.

“Stay here. I’ll only be a minute.”

She nods, and I leave her in the garage, knowing my guards are right outside, while I hunt for my bag and laptop, finding them both in the office I rarely use. I check for the charger and stuff the laptop in the bag, then riffle through the drawers of my desk for paperwork.

I glance up when I hear movement – Stacey is standing in the doorway with a piece of paper in her hand. “What’s this?”

My eyes don’t stray. “Nothing.”

“You’re addressing everyone in it and apologising for everything as if you’re going to die.” She scans the words, turning the paper over and pausing. “And lastly, the most important person in my life, my girl Stacey Rhodes. My Freckles. My forever. What can I say to make any of this better? I hope my death means you’re free, and that—” She glances up. “Why did the note stop?”

I look down. “It’s nothing.”

“It looks like a suicide note. I…” She pauses again, glancing over her shoulder and gasping. “What happened in there?”

Shit. Fucking shit.

I drop my bag as she walks into my destroyed bedroom, stopping when she covers her mouth on a gasp. Speechlessly, she lowers herself to her knees and picks up the ultrasound picture of our daughter. Her grip on it shakes, my suicide note in the other hand.

“Stacey…”

Her bottom lip trembles as she crawls forward over the broken glass from me punching my mirror, snatching up the princess dress. “Oh God,” she sobs, cuddling it to her chest as she screws her eyes shut. “You had everything. I-I-I-I only had the ultrasound picture. Chris burned it, and after we broke up, I had nothing from when I was pregnant with her.”

I step in slowly, glass crunching beneath my shoes, and lower onto the bed, sitting in silence as Stacey rocks back and forth with tears streaming down her face.

She looks to the left, seeing the drawing of her I did all ripped up then lifting the piece of paper that has my five rules on it. She shakes her head, another sob dropping before she lets it slide from her fingers.

“Why is life so cruel?”

“I wish I knew,” I reply. “I lost control the last time I was here and wrecked the place. I never intended for anyone to see this. I forgot when I asked you. I’m sorry.”

Stacey sniffs, the dress still in her lap as she picks up a picture of us two. She rubs her thumb over our smiling faces. The only worry in the world we had back then was how my sister would react to our relationship.

“We’re never going to be them again, are we?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“I miss how happy we were,” she says, sniffing some more as she rests her head on my knee, cuddling the dress and holding the picture. “I’m sorry Jason jumped in front of me.”

I frown. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I do though. If I’d gone upstairs when your dad told me to, then I wouldn’t have been there. Jason would still be alive.”

My hand shakes, but I manage to lift it and place it on her head, brushing my fingers through her soft hair. I inwardly sigh, our closeness something I need but can’t have. “Jason’s gone,” I say, the words getting twisted in my throat. “There’s no point dwelling.”

We just need to get the funeral out the way. I’ll figure out the next steps once I bury my brother.

The thought alone makes me feel nauseous.

Stacey lifts her head up and moves so she’s sitting beside me on the bed. Then she drops back, holding the picture and dress, staring at the ceiling. I slowly lie back too and fight the urge to talk. To tell her how dark my head is. To ask her to stay by my side. To beg her to make the pain go away.

The crippling grief I’m trying to ignore.

The paranoia about my father’s whereabouts.

The rage I feel towards Archie, still trapped in my basement, starving and in pain from my constant beatings.

Stacey turns her head, looking at me. She lifts her hand, and I take it without hesitation. The contact has butterflies going through me again, and I close my eyes, loving the touch, ignoring the demolished room around us.

If only we could stay like this forever, here, in this position. Together.

Hours later, I wake up to Stacey’s head on my chest, her leg trapped between mine, the dress between us. I inhale, smelling her shampoo. I trace my finger over the mark on her cheek – I did that to her. I didn’t mean to.

When my eyes lift to the guard standing by the doorway, his back turned, I sigh and wake her up.

We pack the box again, even the ripped-up sketches of her I drew, and she makes me take my pencils and sketch pad too before we head back to the manor.