Page 62 of Love Beyond Repair
The night after Kelsey and I filed the paperwork, I called the pretty bartender who’d given me her number. We met on Friday evening for a drink. Her name’s Felicity, and she’s only twenty-four years old. She’s bright and bubbly, with a skin-tight red dress and bedroom eyes. I knew she wasn’t looking for anything serious and was brazen about what she wanted from me.
After hearing about her past sex parties with men and women, she invited me along to the next one. As free and exciting as it sounded, and even though my cock was in full agreement of taking advantage of the situation, I declined the invite politely and scuttled off home to bed.
Maybe I missed my window to be reckless. Or maybe I was never that guy to begin with. Her offer had little appeal. I’ve always been a romantic at heart, and fleeting relationships with no connection don’t do it for me.
When I’m with a woman, I long to be consumed by her. The thought of performing in front of multiple partners sent chills down my spine. But Felicity was refreshing, and the way she kissed me when she left reawakened something long dead as the blood rushed through my veins. I realized I wanted to try again.
***
Ollie won’t stop talking about his friend, Liam. They’re joined at the hip in school and play constantly together. When I go to collect Ollie each afternoon, I can’t get over how alike they are with baby-blue eyes and jet-black hair. The way Liam grins, the glint in his eye… it’s like looking into a memory I didn’t know I had. I shake the thought off as ridiculous.
Their teacher tells me it’s as if they are old souls that have known each other forever. I ponder idly that I should try to introduce myself to his family. I’ve never seen him get picked up, so I don’t know who his parents are. Ollie tells me that Liam only has a mummy, and she looks like Barbie.
I hide at the back of the group of parents waiting for their children at the gate, listening to some idle chitchat about the price of milk or what hair salon they use.
When the mothers discovered my separation, they cornered me at every school pick up for six months. Being single and a doctor in your late thirties has its advantages with women. I enjoyed the attention, but the advances became too blatant. I stopped turning up so early.
Spring is well underway, and most of the women are wearing some sort of dress, legs on show. The last few days have been lovely, warmer-than-normalspring days. The cloud of winter has disappeared, along with the cold weather.
A tall redhead named Kelly Winston approaches me. She lost her husband in a car accident a few years ago. Left with two kids and spiraling debt, she’s been hunting for a replacement for a while. It’s a position I have no intention of filling.
“Ben,” her voice purrs, and I freeze. The most effective defense is to react with sounds, not words.
“Kelsey tells me you’re getting divorced now. Her new man seems like a keeper.” The information she possesses surprises me, and I blink at her, lost for a second. Perhaps I should be offended, but I’m not. Hearing positivity about this mystery man is comforting. I need to be realistic; if Kelsey moves on, whoever she’s with will be around my kids. And I’d rather someone I can trust than someone I hate.
“Maybe now you will take me for that drink?” she whispers in my ear. “We would be so good together.”
Without a word, I make my way to the other side of the standing parents. She huffs angrily in the background. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” I mutter under my breath.
It’s then I notice the small black-haired boy, Liam, skipping toward a woman standing by the fence. Her back is to me, but she’s tall and wearing fitted black fitness leggings with a long t-shirt that finishes at her butt.Platinum-blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail and slid through a black baseball cap. She looks as if she’s been running or at the gym.
Liam runs to her, and she kneels to scoop him up. Her arms wrap around his tiny body, his nose in her neck. The show of affection is beautiful to watch. Then she turns, and I see her in profile. The turn of her head, the angle of her cheekbone, the exact shade of her ponytail catching the sun. It’s her.
I forget how to breathe. My past, my guilt, my worst regret, is standing ten feet away in a baseball cap.
“Bex,” I call before I can stop myself. I feel the other mothers’ eyes snap my way, watching. “Bex, it’s me.”
She turns, and her face drops on sight. Ollie spots me from the gate and runs up to join our little group. The boys fall into a game they’ve obviously been playing on and off all day, morphing into character easily. Bex’s face looks as if she has seen a ghost; there’s horror there. Her eyes dart to the little black-haired boy playing with my son.
“How are you?” I ask carefully. “It has been a long time. Five years? Six?” She nods, but no words come forth. “Have you just moved here? Terry said nothing, and I only spoke to him last week.” Her eyes keep moving from my face to the children and back again. She looks as if she is getting ready to run.
“The boys have become friends. For weeks, all Ollie has talked about is Liam this, Liam that.” Her mouth opens,then closes again. Like she’s debating whether to run or lie. Or both. Then, when she speaks eventually, it’s too bright, too polished. As if she’s squeezing every syllable of happiness into each word.
“Yes,” she says with a smile. “Liam is quite infatuated with Oliver, too.”
My eyes hold hers. There’s so much I want to say, to ask. So many apologies I need to make. But instead, I opt to focus on the children. It seems the safest topic of conversation.
“So, what brings you here? Is he your friend’s? Are you helping on the school run?”
She looks at me blankly, cocking her head to the side. “Liam?” she asks. I nod, but she sighs deeply and takes the little boy by the hand.
“No, Ben, he’s mine.” She snaps her eyes away. “Come on, honey, time to go home. See you tomorrow, Ollie.”
My brain misfires, thrown by the unexpected explanation. He’s mine, she said. The boy with my eyes and smile. She looks at me one last time. Not angry. Not even sad. Just… empty. Lost. Then she turns, her hand tightening on her son’s as they walk away toward town.
***
Sitting in my living room with the children in bed is probably the loneliest time of the day. This is the point where I would love to have a partner to chew the day over with, moan about the crap times and celebrate the good ones.
