Chapter 61
“Revenge for what? Girls don’t randomly accuse men of raping them.”
Emma blinked. “You’re right; rape is a serious accusation. But in this case, I’m positive that Berky’s accusation is a lie.”
“You didn’t see her face. She was telling the truth.”
Emma rests back in her chair, lips pulled tight. “I’ve known William since we were kids. I know him better than anyone and I feel like I’m losing him.” I look at her sharply.
“I’m not saying this is all you, he was going downhill again before you met. Then, when I saw him the other night when he got back from the States…”
The uptight and stressed William who rear-ended me in the summer springs to mind, but the concerned lines on Emma’s face suggest he’s worse. The thought of the man I fell in love with suffering squeezes my heart. If what Emma says is true, he’s not the monster I thought.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.
It’s Emma’s turn to refuse to meet my eyes, and she sips her coffee looking over my shoulder. “He’s not coping with life.
Even if you don’t want him, at least talk to him and forgive him. If someone like you tells him he isn’t a bad person, then he might be able to forgive himself and move on.”
“I think he needs to do more; he needs to walk away from his current life.”
“I completely agree, and that’s one of the reasons I pushed him to try to make things work with you in the summer.”
“You pushed him?”
“I mean, I told him not to give up on something that filled his empty eyes with hope again.” I widen my eyes at her words. “Sorry, that sounded dramatic but he did come back from Broadbeach ready to move on. Then Berky dragged him backward.”
Broadbeach. I dismiss my memories of William by the sea, playing in the water, happy and free. “Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
“He didn’t ask you to do this?”
“No, he’s holed up in his London place ignoring the world. I think the tour knocked him out.”
I waver, maybe I could see him, but how and where could I speak to him? “I don’t know; he’s had months to contact me himself.”
Emma twirls her coffee cup on the table. “I have a guy in my life who I knew the day I met him would always be in my life. I’d dated other guys but never clicked like I did with Miles.
It’s impossible to explain to someone who has never experienced that connection with another person. You hear people talk about soul mates and it sounds like a bunch of crap but within days of knowing him, I knew I’d never love anyone else.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I say hoarsely, as she describes an uncomfortable similarity to me.
“William told me the idea of soul mates was horseshit in no uncertain terms when I shared how I felt about Miles.
Then he came back from Broadbeach and told me he knew exactly what I meant. And the positive aura around him told me this was true.”
“Yeah, things were pretty intense, but…”
“But you don’t believe in fairy tales?” smiles Emma. “I don’t blame you for being cynical, I’m the same, but I think our hearts win in the end. If in your heart you believe William is a bad person, I’ll go away and not tell him anything about our meeting. But if you’ve got your emotions on lockdown, listen to what your intuition says.”
This strange, softly-spoken woman emanates truth and serenity in a way I’ve never come across before. William’s guardian angel sits across the table, her voice and look imploring me to listen.
The love Emma has for her friend is clear, and I think there’s something very wrong with William for her to take the step of coming to see me.
I know the reason. Nobody else cares about him.
****
William's POV
I stand in the floor-to-ceiling window and stare at the city Sarahscrapers defined against the leaden gray Sarah.
The thick winter clouds threaten snow, and England is in the perpetual dull of winter. I count to ten in my head, so I don’t lose my temper with Emma.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” I ask through gritted teeth, keeping my back to her.
“I want to help you,” she says quietly.
“When? When did you see her?”
“Yesterday.”
Cars crawl along the spider webs of roads, and standing in the penthouse of the huge tower of apartments, I’m looking down on them the way I feel I’m looking down on myself sometimes. The spaced-out times when I’m someone looking in on William Morgan.
“Did she tell you to fuck off?” I ask.
“No.”
Hope. An emotion I’ve not experienced for months pushes away some of the gray and I turn to Emma. Her pale face betrays her fear she’s done the wrong thing.
“What did you say to her?” I ask more gently.
“That you’re not a rapist and she needs to hear the truth.”
I flinch at the word. “Even the truth would be enough to make her hate me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know Sarah.” She never appeared the forgiving kind; the way she spoke about Grant was scathing. I don’t think Sarah is someone who has time for men who treat women the way I treated Berky.
“You’re right, but maybe you’re underestimating her?”
The Christmas tree sparkles with stupid fucking lights and I’m ready to tear the monstrosity down. Emma knows I can’t cope with Christmas and she forced that on me. Now she’s pushing me to see Sarah.
“So she wants to talk to me?” I ask.
Emma picks up her phone. “She gave me her number and said I was okay to pass this to you. But she warned you not to turn up on her doorstep at 3 a.m.”