He pauses. “You know,” he says quietly. “I feel responsible for you while you’re here.”
I grip the phone tightly, feeling a burst of anger radiate through me, molten and hot. “I’m fucking thirty-two years old, Bram. I’m here to help your arse, not to be babysat. You might think you bloody know me, but you don’t.”
“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “Sorry. Okay? Sorry.”
“That’s fine,” I mutter. “I better go.”
“Wait,” he says. “Just reminding you about tonight.”
I frown. “Tonight?”
“With Justine.”
“Oh, Jesus fucking hell.” I press my fist into my forehead. “That’s tonight?”
“It’s Monday, and it’s the only chance we have, Lachlan. Please do not back out. There’s no way that Nicola will let me take your place and I’m pretty sure Justine won’t want me there either. It’s all you.”
Kayla. I’m thinking of Kayla. Will she care? Is it even worth mentioning?
“I really don’t feel like dealing with people today,” I say, even though I know that it’s futile. “Especially people like that.”
“Lachlan,” Bram says. “You’re leaving next week. Just go, have a few drinks, meet the father and tell him everything. That’s all you can do and it’s our last shot.”
“What about…” I trail off, wiping at my nose.
“What about what?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll go. But as soon as I think it’s done, I’m out of there.”
“Good,” he says. “We’ll be at the Lion so you can come right there afterward.”
“Of course you will.”
I hang up.
And with that troubled energy, I take the dogs for a walk.
I sit by the Giants’ Promenade and watch the boats in the marina, one dog on the bench beside me, the other at my feet. I decide to give them names. The pit bull is Ed. The terrier is Emily. I like giving human names to dogs. It’s more respectable that way. It tells them they’re one of us and reminds us of the same.
I take my phone out of my jacket many times, look at it many times. I think about contacting Kayla. Asking how she is. If she’s okay. I want to mention that I’m going to a function with Justine, that it doesn’t mean anything.
But I don’t. Because I’m afraid her response will be, “So, you can go out with anyone,” or, “It’s fine, you don’t owe me an explanation” or even the biting, “Why are you telling me this?” I want to do right, I do, but I’m not built for this. I’m not even with Kayla and I’m already acting like I am. Not the right trap to fall into right now. Or at any time.
Eventually the dogs and I head back to the flat. I keep busy. I go for a run. I lift at the gym downstairs. I spend time scouring the internet, trying to find rescue agencies in town that might be able to find a foster for Ed.
And I check on my plans with Justine. They’re on. She’ll swing by with a Town Car at seven o’clock. So I shower. Trim my beard down to the bare minimum, slick my hair back, put on a black suit and tie. It feels utterly unnatural, and it’s only the glimpse of a tattoo at my collarbone—nunquam iterum—that reminds me that I’m still me. A big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Thankfully, the evening isn’t as horrendous as I envisioned. I’m still out of my element. I hate socializing with these people, the ones who sit at the top and throw stones down below. But I can have a good poker face from time to time. I make nice. With Justine. With her father’s cronies. With her father himself. In the suit and tie I look just respectable enough to fool them all, and when I talk about Bram’s project, Bram’s vision, it’s convincing. I’m pulling from in deep and it’s working. Because I believe in it, and I want them to believe in it.
It’s just after nine when I pull Justine aside and whisper in her ear. “How do you think I did? Be honest.”
She just smiles coyly and runs her fingers over my tie, pulling me close to her. “I think you sold him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he invests.”