Late Love Read online

  My hand stills midair for a moment, my head turning to Owen, and I catch him eyeing the phone with disdain.

  “I, um, I need to take this,” I say quickly, picking up the phone with shaking hands.

  “Hello?” I answer, my heart irregularly fast paced.

  “Hey, Lottie, it’s Beck.”

  I swallow. “Yeah, I know who it is. I’ve got your number, remember?”

  He laughs through the line, and it’s forced and awkward. I hate it. I let out a breath, feeling all too aware of Owen’s presence next to me. I’m practically able to feel the anger coming off him in waves. To say he hates Beck would be the world’s biggest understatement. Being completely transparent, I feel the same as Owen. But I won’t let that cloud my judgment. Despite his cheating and his absence the past few weeks, he deserves a chance to be in his child’s life.

  “Yeah, um, sorry it took me so long to call. It wasn’t exactly easy news to hear over the message bank.”

  I nod, even though he can’t see it.

  “I tried calling you multiple times. I obviously didn’t want to tell you over a voice message, but you didn’t really give me much choice.” There is a burn to my words, little morsels of resentment peeking through.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” His voice is flat, devoid of his usual life and charm. Perhaps I only saw those things when I thought I was helplessly in love with him. What a joke. He was pulling the wool over my eyes the entire time, putting the charm on for me like he did with every other girl. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice it.

  “I know this is a lot to handle. I’m still processing everything myself, but we need to be adults about this and put our feelings for one another, no matter how bad, aside. We have a child coming end of March and even though we are not together, we have a lot to talk about.”

  He’s silent on the other end, and my patience wears thin. “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry, Lottie.” His voice comes through weak, small. And despite saying nothing at all, he tells me the one thing I need to know.

  “No,” I respond instantly. “No, Beck. You don’t get to do this. This child needs a father. You need to pull your shit together and be there for them. I don’t care how I feel about you—I will do anything to make sure this baby has everything it needs.”

  “You don’t need two parents in life, Lottie. Especially not a dad like me. I’ve had weeks to think about it and my mind is made up. There is still so much I want to do. I can’t have a kid—I’m only twenty-eight.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re only twenty-eight? I’m twenty-five, you dickhead. Do you think a child was part of my plan? Fuck no, but it’s here and it’s happening, so you need to pull your shit together.”

  “I’m sorry, Lottie. I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not going to change it. Trust me when I say you’ll be better off without me.”

  My breath is choppy as I process what he’s telling me. In all the scenarios I imagined, never once did I think he wouldn’t show up for his own child. This information only solidifies the fact I never really knew him at all.

  “Have you told her yet?” a female voice whispers in the background of Beck’s call. I can tell from the rustling that he pulls the phone away, but the idiot isn’t smart enough to mute it.

  “I’m doing it now, Francesca. Just give me a minute,” he whispers back, the dickhead forgetting to cover his microphone.

  Francesca.

  At the mention of her name, my spine straightens and my skin goes cold. I mean, who wouldn’t feel this way when they find out their ex is with the girl he cheated on them with?

  “You stupid fucking prick,” I say on impulse, each word low and cold.

  A warm hand covers my own, my attention snapping to Owen. He gives me a reassuring smile and I try not to cry at the warmth from it.

  “Fuck, shit, Lottie,” he pleads, “I didn’t mean for you to hear her. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” He almost whines, like a small child who isn’t getting a dozen new toys for Christmas. Images of Dudley from Harry Potter crowds my mind.

  “I’m sorry my pregnancy is an inconvenience to you, Beck, but it’s also my reality. Yet upon reflection, you’re right. We don’t need you, because there are millions of single mums in the world. In fact, one of the best people I know was raised by one.” I pause, looking over at Owen. “So, you’re right. We don’t need you. I fear you’d only complicate it. Don’t call me again—you had your chance.” As I hang up, I realize whom I’ve been talking to all along: a coward.

  With an extra pep in my movements, I slam my finger against the End button, then return my attention to the man next to me.

  “I think that went well,” I manage to get out before bursting into tears. As usual, Owen is there to catch me as I fall. He pulls me into him and rubs my back in silence, offering me the comfort that Beck should have given.

  “Guy’s a dickhead, Lo. As you said, I’m proof a single mum can raise good humans.”

  I look up at him through watery vision as he gives me his million-dollar smile. I can’t help but laugh, wiping away the mess on my face.

  “A total dickhead,” I confirm, desperately wishing I could have a glass of wine right now.

  Sitting up, I pull out of Owen’s embrace, not wanting to accidentally cross any lines between the two of us. Things are already so complicated, and I don’t have it in me to deal with more.

  “Fuck, puppy. What the hell am I going to do? I’m single and twenty-five with a baby on the way. I’m going to lose my job and won’t be able to support the baby or myself. I’m going to be a huge joke, and everyone will know.” I hiccup, using the end of my jumper to wipe my face.

  “Hey.” His voice cuts through my small sobs, his hand finding my face and turning it toward him. “You’re no joke. You’re intelligent, kind, funny, and beautiful. I have no doubts that all of that will contribute to you being an amazing mother. I’m not saying we can work this out in a night—it will take time—but I promise we will.”

  I turn my entire body to face him, his hand leaving my face in the process.

  “Why are you even here, Owen? I mean, this baby doesn’t belong to you and you barely know me. Why are you being so kind and helpful? I’m not some damsel who needs saving. I can do this. I’m perfectly capable.”

  He looks at me with eyes I’d usually regard as pitying, but having come to know Owen, I know it’s just sympathy and understanding. I’m not sure what I feel is worse.

  “I think you’re the last person on this earth who needs saving, Lottie. But sometimes, even the strongest people need a little help. I don’t want to save you. I want to help you.”

  He’s silent for a few moments, his deep blue eyes connecting with my own, as if some cosmic force is pulling us together. I would try to look away, but the truth is, I don’t want to.

  “When my mum got pregnant with my baby brother, she was all alone. I was the only person who could help her, and even I couldn’t do everything she needed. It crushed me as a kid to hear her crying alone at night when she thought I was sleeping, or her panic to make sure she gave me as much attention as the new baby. It was hard on her, Lottie, really hard, and I never really forgot it.”

  He runs his hand across his mouth before he continues. “I’m not going to lie to you, Lottie. When I first saw you, you captured my attention instantly. You had this wit about you, and our banter just felt so easy. I was interested, but as soon as you shut that shit down, I saw the possibility of a friendship between us. Before Stana came along, Em was the only female friend I’d had. People see me and instantly assume that I’m either an idiot or a player. I’m not saying the latter hasn’t been true, but there is more to me, and I felt like you saw it.

  “So yeah, I was drawn to you. And maybe this whole thing is weird and unconventional because we haven’t known one another for that long, but I don’t care. I don’t care because you’ve become an important person in my life, and I want to be there f
or you. So please, without an ulterior motive at play, let me.”

  Stunned into silence for only the second time in my life, I eye Owen, attempting to process all he’s just said.

  “Okay,” I reply honestly. “You can be here.”

  His lips, which were previously in a line, tilt upward at my response, his tall frame rising up from the couch.

  “Great, because we still have the rest of the Star Wars franchise to watch and I wasn’t going to leave anyway.”

  I toss a pillow at him, just missing as he dips into the kitchen.

  “At least get me some popcorn while you’re up.”

  “As you wish!” he calls back.

  “Thanks, puppy.”

  I chuckle to myself as he groans in the kitchen, my earlier feelings of despair momentarily gone.

  “Darling, are you sure you’re okay?” Joan, the head pharmacist at the chemist, looks me over. Her bright red cat-eye glasses sit at the tip of her nose, her big brown eyes magnified.

  “I swear I’m okay. I just skipped breakfast and it’s made me a little dizzy.” I munch on the muesli bar she handed me, attempting to keep it down. It’s only a little over two months into this pregnancy, but so far I’m going through hell. The morning sickness is unparalleled, and don’t get me started on the dizzy spells.

  Joan looks me over one more time before going to serve a customer. I doubt she’s fully convinced, but I’m not ready to spill the beans. She’s been working here over twenty years and has four children of her own, so I’m sure she’s clued in. But she would never ask, and therefore I don’t have to tell…well, not just yet.

  I scarf down the rest of my bar, feeling a little better before going back to serve the next person in line.

  Henry’s Chemist was the first place I got a job post-uni, and I stayed here until Beck swept me off to Edinburgh earlier this year. Luckily, Joan and I stayed in contact. Otherwise I’d be not only pregnant, but also jobless.

  I quickly check myself over in my compact mirror, thankful my mascara hasn’t smudged and that I don’t look too disheveled. I pull at my sleeves, making sure they cover the tattoos on my arm. It’s not a policy, but I know they prefer a more polished look behind the counter. My feet wiggle in my black combat boots, my only touch of personality in this entire getup.

  I take a deep breath, centering myself, now ready to serve whoever comes my way.

  “So, are you bringing Noel tomorrow?” Stana leans against the brown table at Saint Street, her vision directed at Em. I keep sipping my mineral water, thankful that my stomach hasn’t decided to revolt against this morning’s breakfast.

  “I might be,” Emilia replies, her voice coy in regard to the lad she is dating. Stana wants to cook dinner for all of us, a sort of pre-housewarming for close friends before the party they’re having later in the month.

  “I’m so excited.” Stana beams. “Ali thinks I’m over-catering, but imagine if we didn’t have enough food.” The look of pure horror that crosses her face as she talks about her first dinner party that she’s hosting tomorrow makes me laugh.

  “I think you’re going to be fine,” I tell her.

  “Are you going to bring anyone, Lottie?”

  We’re all quiet for a moment from Em’s question, my mind wanting to yell, “Just bringing my baby!” But I hold off.

  “Nah, just myself. I think it’s going to be a while before I jump into the dating pond again.” I mean it more in regard to the fact I’m pregnant, but since neither of the girls know that, I assume they take it to mean because of Beck.

  “You’ll meet someone extraordinary one day, Lo. I know it can be hard to see the light when you’re used to so much darkness, but it will happen.”

  I smile at Stana and her words of reassurance, taking her hand in mine.

  “I know,” I confirm. “To be completely honest, it’s not even Beck. I’m just not ready to jump into anything.”

  “What about Owen?” Em throws out, the time I’ve been spending with him apparent.

  “We’re just friends, honestly. It’s been nice to be around a bloke who isn’t a total lying snake.”

  They nod.

  “Owen is good people, Lottie. People are quick to judge him because he’s so attractive and chats up the ladies. They just assume there’s no substance underneath,” Em tells me, her voice fierce with the loyalty she holds for her friend. It only makes me love her more.

  I think back to the first time I met Owen. I might have had similar preconceived notions, notions that now make my heart ache, because every word Emilia is saying is correct.

  “I know, Em. He’s probably one of the most compassionate people I know,” I find myself admitting.

  “Plus, he loves his mum!” Emilia adds in, a grin overtaking her face.

  At the mention of his mum, Evie, my heart grows weary. I’ve yet to meet her and I worry she’ll be cautious of me due to my relationship with Owen. From what I know, she’s a surrogate mum to Emilia after the death of both of her parents, plus she has everyone over for Sunday dinners frequently. But she’s been overseas the past year, hence why Stana and I don’t know her yet.

  “Very true,” Stana throws in.

  “Well, you’d know,” I can’t help but reply. When Stana first moved to London, Owen set his sights on her right away. Obviously things didn’t work out romantically, but there must have been something there.

  Stana turns to me, eyes wide. “Owen’s like my brother, Lottie. I know it’s hard to grasp because you only heard my side of it through the phone, but the fact we even considered a romance is laughable now.” She brushes it all off and I know she means every word, but it’s just that little nagging thing that rears its head in my mind every so often.

  “It’s true, Lottie. Everyone knew Ali and Stana were endgame. Owen will be the first to admit that now.”

  I avoid eye contact, trying to seem unaffected before I change the topic to tomorrow’s dinner party, my mind lingering on how Owen rarely brings up Stana, yet I seem to be stuck on that more than usual these days. And it’s I’m thinking about it at all that scares me.

  My head hangs in the toilet as I wait for the rest of my lunch to come up. It’s not long till I’m dry-retching into the loo.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “You just had to go and get knocked up, didn’t you, Charlotte?” I scold myself, hating the morning sickness that just won’t fuck off.

  “I’ve got some tea here.” Owen places the hot mug on the counter, thankfully the scent of chamomile not making my stomach dance.

  “Thanks, puppy. But you really don’t need to be here. Stana and Ali are having their dinner party tonight and you shouldn’t miss it because I can’t keep a meal down.”

  Finally feeling as though I’m not going to puke, I stand up, then rinse my mouth out at the sink before going for my tea.

  Owen stands behind me, my body practically warming to his presence as usual. I stare in the mirror, hoping I don’t look too disgusting. Slight bits of dark brown roots peek out from my head, the absence of my hair appointments already prominent.

  “You look fine.” Owen’s voice is gentle in his attempt to calm me.

  “Fine?” I laugh. “Puppy, word to the wise, no girl wants to be told she looks fine.”

  He grins back at me, giving as good as he gets. “We both know you always look great, Lottie. What are you worried about?”

  I roll my eyes, unable to take his compliment, so I change the subject, something I’ve become quite good at recently.

  “Anyway, enough about that. Back to tonight. I really think you should go.”

  He shakes his head, my gaze going to his freshly cut blond hair.

  “Well, it’s too late. I’ve already texted them saying I have to work.”

  “Owen!” I chastise him. “You didn’t need to do that. You can’t keep putting your social life on hold because some girl you know got pregnant.” I try to push past him, but his warm hand covers my arm.

  “We
both know you’re not just some girl, Lottie.”

  I lock eyes with him, nodding, because we both know it’s true. Our strange relationship has become so much more than acquaintanceship, but it never crosses that invisible line. It’s as if we’ve both acknowledged there could be more with one another, yet at the same time we’ve never actually said it aloud.

  “I need to sit down,” I say, changing the subject. “Want to eat shit and watch crappy TV with me?” I don’t wait for his reply as I pull snacks out of the pantry before throwing myself onto my couch. A fuzzy blanket sits at my feet and my insides warm. Owen must have pulled that out for me earlier. As the month of October moves along, so does the chill that creeps into the air and my flat. London is all fun and games until the cold comes back, and that is most of the time.

  “So?” I call out to him when he emerges from the bathroom and leans against my doorframe. I try not to let my gaze trail over the outline of his biceps against the T-shirt he wears, or the way his jeans meld to his skin without being obnoxiously tight. Or his tan skin against that golden-blond hair. Nope. No, Lottie, pull it together.

  I avert my gaze to Owen’s face, which now holds a smirk as he’s caught me.

  “Please, feel free to stare. I’m here all day.”

  I roll my eyes and throw the nearest pillow at him, then turn back to the TV to pick the newest Real Housewives of OC.

  Owen’s broad frame moves around my room before stopping in front of a photograph of me as a child that’s perched on my mantle.

  “This you?” he asks, staring down at two-year-old me. I’m flashing a big smile and in my favourite yellow dress with pigtails.

  “The one and only,” I confirm. “It was my second birthday and my parents had gone all out—Mum dressed me to the nines. She said I refused to take that dress off all week, and she had to wash it daily.”

  “You still have it?”

  “The dress?”

  He nods.