Heart of Stone

Chapter Thirty-Four: Birthday Wishes

We hadn't had closure, and that was my fault. I'd left to protect my dignity, and in doing so I'd ensured that the following weeks would be torture. He didn't try to contact me, which was hardly a surprise.

I wallowed in an endless cycle of rage, hurt, and sadness: the anger at his deception would evolve into aching at the pain he'd caused me, followed by grief from the loss of a friend. And then I'd be furious again that my friend had fucked me over, and the cycle would restart.

Was he experiencing the same emotions, or had he moved on? Did he care that I was upset, or did he think I deserved it? Had he considered contacting me, or had he been serious when he'd claimed it would take much longer for forgiveness to kick in?

Worst of all, though, I tormented myself with what if scenarios. If I'd stood up to Becca sooner, would we still be in this position? If I'd only posted one article, would he have eventually given up trying to expose me or would he have carried on indefinitely, setting trap after trap? And if I hadn't gone ahead with that first article, would he have trusted me from the start having had no reason not to?

After two weeks without talking, I swallowed my pride and sent a message. I couldn't swallow enough of it to reach out without an excuse, so instead I said I'd found a hoodie of his in my suitcase and did he want it back?

It wasn't a lie, but he didn't respond, leaving me to regret making the first—and possibly last—move.

To ease some of the heartache in my life, I committed to a big change: I surrendered my independence and moved out of the cramped-but-private flat into Mum and Steve's spacious-but-suffocating suburban home. I didn't want to, but Becca and I needed a clean break, and it wasn't fair to make Gabby choose.

When my birthday rolled around in late April, Dad came down to visit, and the five of us met for a meal in a local restaurant, my parents once again demonstrating that the end of a relationship did not mean the end of a friendship. Apparently Ed didn't share that outlook; my birthday would have given him the perfect excuse to contact me, but he didn't.

And to rub salt in the wound, Faye spent most of the meal talking about how her boyfriend had scored tickets to his charity concert next month.

"Didn't realise he was a Teddy Stone fan," I said dryly, glancing up at her from across the table.

"He's not, but the company he works for are one of the sponsors," she replied. "He got free tickets. Early access, apparently. I'm hoping for the front row."

"Free?" I raised an eyebrow. "Is that code for stolen?"

Before Faye could hit back, Mum jumped in. With both of her daughters now living under the same roof, she'd become an expert at diffusing any brewing hostility.

"Who is this Teddy Stone? I've never heard of the boy."

Faye's mouth dropped open. "Seriously, Mum? How have you not heard of him?"