CHAPTER 68
Sarah's POV
Three days after our meeting William is still firmly stuck in my head. The events he described have buzzed around, as I fluctuate between being disgusted with him and relieved he isn’t a rapist. Anger edges undecided about the decision to walk away for so long before telling me.
William I met in Broadbeach was running away, and he ran again when he had to face this. The fact he came back and spoke to me speaks more to me than the words.
I need to see him again; the half-hour visit isn’t enough after months of silence. His hesitance once he finished his explanation and my stunned reaction didn’t end the meeting the way I hoped.
How did I hope? I’m unsure exactly, despite the fantasist inside wanting us in each other’s arms, everything is solved. There wasn’t any resolution to either the situation or our relationship.
Did he just want to explain? Or did he want to see me? The lost William's eyes held something I recognized from the summer when he looked at me, something I didn’t want to see. I saw how mached I ache for him reflected in his gaze.
When did he write the song? Why did he let me hear the words? Hearing William sing words he wrote about me twisted more pain through my heart. Is he telling me he feels the same as when he wrote the song in the summer?
My phone rings in the night, invading my dreams and when I wake up it stops. Gritting my teeth, I drift off. The phone rings again and I don’t answer. On the third ring, I check the time and guess who’s calling. What is it about William that makes him call or visit me at ungodly hours?
“William,” I mumble as I answer.
“I know, I shouldn't wake you but I wanted to hear your voice, and listening to your voicemail repeatedly wasn’t enough.” His voice is low, slurred but wherever he’s calling from is quiet.
“Are you drunk?” I ask.
“No.”
Right, sure.
“Why are you calling me?”
“You didn’t call me,” he says simply.
Unsure how to respond to this, I don’t.
“Did you open the gift?” he asks.
Instantly, a lump catches in my throat and I can barely answer. “Yes.”
“Did you like the song?”
“It’s a very beautiful song,” I say quietly.
“You don’t like the song?” He sounds disappointed, like a boy whose parents have rejected a painted masterpiece he brought home from school.
“You hurt my heart with the words, William.”
The call falls silent and I wish I could see his face. “Yeah, sorry, but you had to hear.”
“Thank you for sharing.” The late hour and the touching on the raw emotion from the song aren’t helping me keep control.
“Have you thought about our conversation anymore?” he asks quietly.
“A lot. I believe you, but there are gaps, William. Some of what you told me doesn’t make sense “
"Will you let me take you on the date we never had and I can explain anything you need me to?"
I rub my eyes, amazed at how easily he slips back into his insistent behavior. "It's late William; can we talk about this later?"
"So no?"
"I was sleeping, you woke me up. I’m not in a good mood.”
"Sorry, I forgot how late it was when I called. Can I call you tomorrow?"
I can’t help myself, and whisper, “It’s always tomorrow with you.”
“Always, until you’re my today.”
When William ends the call, I lie in bed, listening to my heart whooshing blood through my ears. I try desperately to ignore the surge of hope and desire. Can the real William please be the man I fell in love with—the one I just spoke to?
Two days later, the butterflies swarm around my stomach, as I pace the flat looking out of the window every five minutes expecting William’s arrival. Emma was right. I have to listen to my heart and trust what he’s telling me.
I agree to meet William again and lie to myself that the only reason I want to is because I want to fill in the gaps.
He arrives at the door wearing a leather jacket with a gray scarf wrapped around his neck, strands of his curling hair sticking out of his black beanie. His face is reddened from the short walk from the car to the flat, and the wary look is on his face again.
There’s an awkward moment where we almost hug, but are both too scared of rejection I think, and then we leave.
The snow from the last few days melts in the winter sun, turning to gray slush on the pavements. William’s car is parked a few hundred meters along the road and we tread carefully toward it.
I slide on the slush and William catches my elbow. Even though I’m wearing a thick coat, the sensation of his hand on me sets the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.
“Careful,” he says.
His pale blue eyes search mine as I grab his sleeve to steady myself and I’m seconds away from burying my head into his chest and allowing his familiar arms to hold me. I compose myself and step to one side.
William appears to misread my action. “Do you trust me enough to be alone with me?” asks William, as we climb into the black Audi.
“I told you, I don’t think you’re a rapist, whatever else happened,” I say in a low voice.
A muscle in his cheek twitches and he stares out of the window.
I agreed to go somewhere with William, although neither of us had any real clue where. Public is awkward and there’s no way I’m going to his house.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He grins, brightening his gaunt face. “Fish and chips on the beach.”
I tip my head and look through the window at the gray skies. “You are kidding, right? It’s the middle of a bloody winter.”
“We could go to a restaurant?”
“William, when I met you, you spent several days hiding from the public, and now, you want to take me to a public place? Do you want the paparazzi to join us?”
William shifts to face me, the movement sending the fragrance I associate with the encompassing emotions of the summer into the space between us. “Do you pay much attention to the celebrity news?”