Never Summer Again

Chapter Twenty-Nine - I'm Home Now

Score: Coming Home Pt. II - Skylar Grey

Mark

I am too nervous to go home. I feel restless and my mind is racing, going over the possibilities of what may be happening at the flat. I didn't want to leave Lydia alone, but I know too well my presence would only make matters worse.

But my gut is telling me that I should stay close by, and, through all the years of playing poker, I have learned to trust my gut. That's why, I don't move from my spot in front of Lydia's house. I feel that she might need me sooner rather than later.

To pass the time and ease my nerves, I take out my phone. It's Saturday, which means games are on somewhere, today and tomorrow, and I need to know if there's something worth my time.

There's a game in Soho that catches my eye and I sign up for it before all the slots are filled out.

Then, I check my social media, and, of course, there are literally hundreds of photos from yesterday's prom, rolling on my feed. Gloria has uploaded so many, my head hurts. One photo, in particular, catches my eye. It is a shot of Lydia and Patrick, posing for Gloria together in front of the hotel. Lydia looks drunk already, but also happy. Patrick's arm is draped across her shoulders, his gaze locked on her face.

The caption makes me squeeze my phone with enough force to crack the screen.

"The one for the ages: The Future Lady and Lord Casterly, graduating Winterbill."

My heart writhes with pain and anger. It's like everybody thinks they are perfect together. That they are this amazing power couple, gorgeous, and driven, and polished. Like they are meant to be.

No one would say such a thing about us. What could I possibly offer her, apart from my fucked up past and even more fucked up present?

But there is no us...

I shake the unpleasant thoughts away.

Breathe.

I stayed away for two years, thinking that would be best for everyone. For Lydia. For myself. But, after last night, a spark of hope ignited the long latent fire in my heart, which erupted with such great power, it may burn the world down if it means there's the slightest chance for us to be together.

I'm yours, Mark.

Memories of last night flood into my brain, making my skin tingle with electricity.

I walked away once. I'm not doing the same mistake again.

I squeeze my jaw and look out of the window just in time to see Patrick walk out of the building. I lower myself in the seat. He hasn't seen this car before, but he'll definitely recognize me if he sees me.

He's fuming and doesn't so much as glance down the street before he stomps to his car.

Good. If he's mad, then, maybe, Lydia broke up with him.

I straighten up, my gaze stalking him. Patrick's walking down towards his car, frustration emanating from him, palpable even through the distance, and I bask in his anger as if it is the sunshine in Costa del fucking Sol.

He gets into his car and drives away, the tires of the freakin Jag screeching on the wet asphalt.

1:1, wanker!

I'm still high on Patrick's sulky face, when Gloria and Alex rush out of the building, as well.

What's happening up there? Are they having a fucking party?!