“So what happened then? Why didn’t he turn up? Why didn’t he come to the hospital? Pearce called and called him.”
Now it’s my turn to cry. The ache in my chest travels up through my throat and escapes through my mouth as a sob. “I don’t know… I don’t know, Soph. All these years and I still don’t know why he didn’t come, why he just left me there?”
Her phone goes off and I lean forward and grab a couple of tissues from the box on the coffee table and wipe my eyes while she’s reading her message.
“It’s Josh. The press conference is about to start.”
She comes and sits next to me and turns the sound back up on the television with the remote. The cameras are all pointed at a table that’s empty, apart from some drinking glasses and a jug of water. Suddenly the flashes start going off and there’s movement in the corner of the screen. A man walks out and sits down behind the table, I’ve no idea who he is. He has some pieces of A4 paper in his hand which he shuffles a couple of times before laying them down flat and staring at them. I’m so focused on him and his actions that I don’t at first notice Lawson Knight, Shift’s manager, appear and then take a seat.
And then he’s there.
He’s there.
Alive.
He’s alive!
The noise that escapes me is like nothing I’ve ever heard a human make before. I laugh, cry, sob, choke and try not to vomit all at once. My tears are instant, but I don’t care. In that split-second, the whole world can go fuck itself.
He’s alive.
Conner Reed is alive!
I’m almost overwhelmed by the relief that I feel. Sophie has her arm around my shoulder, our heads are pressed together and we both cry. We listen as Lawson makes a statement, announcing the death of Jet Harrison, but my eyes are unmoving, focused solely on Conner’s face until Dominic Trip, the band guitarist, lets out a loud sob then stands and leaves the table. He’s a big man, but his shoulders shake as he loses control and simply cries unashamedly while trying to escape the glare of the world’s press.
Lawson carries on speaking. I hear his voice, but I don’t take in the actual words that he’s saying. Then I hear a woman’s voice. She’s asking a question and I think it’s aimed at Conner. My heart breaks into tiny pieces and freefalls when I watch the sheer anguish and pain, then panic wash over his beautiful face. He looks from Lawson to Gunner Vance, the band’s bass drummer and then tries to stand, but staggers backward as his knees lift the table. The table, along with the jug of water and the glasses all go flying. Everyone gets up and leaves. The journalists and their cameras are eerily still and silent for a few seconds before the news cuts from the press conference back to the studio.
Sophie mutes the television again and we both sit for a few long minutes in our own silence. I feel exhausted. Emotionally and mentally drained and my heart is aching for Conner. Who’s going to hold him tonight? Who’s going to let him cry and then be there to kiss away his tears?
“That’s just so awful,” Sophie whispers, her voice thick and rough from crying. I nod my head.
“All I can think though Soph, is that at least it wasn’t Conner. What kind of person am I to think that?”
She leans forward and grabs the box of tissues and puts them on the sofa between us. We both grab a couple and blow our noses and wipe at our faces.
“It makes you a normal person, Neen. A normal human being.” I raise my eyes to meet hers as she continues, “You don’t think that Dom and Gunner’s family are sitting at home thinking thank fuck their boys are safe? Of course, they are. You love Conner, of course you want him to be safe over and above everyone else. That’s what love is.”
Despite the fact that my eyes are sore and stinging, I rub at them with the back of my hand.
“Stop saying that I love him. I used to love him. I haven’t seen or heard from him in fifteen years. I care about him, yeah and I’m happy that he’s safe, but I don’t love him. In fact, I’m still pretty pissed off at how he treated me all that time ago.”
I swallow the last of the wine in my glass. It’s gotten a little warm and I shudder as it goes down. Warm white wine is so not pleasant.
“If you weren’t still in love with him, you would’ve moved on from what happened fifteen years ago. You still love him! It was written all over your face while you watched all that unfold. You felt every bit of pain he did because you love him.”
“Fuck off,” I tell her.
“No, I won’t fuck off. Now tell me the truth. Tell me why you married Marcus the prick, and admit to me that you’re still in love with Conner Reed.”
I top up both our glasses and begin telling her the story of how I came to marry Marcus Newman.