Page 33 of Fool Me Twice

Things had been awkward at first, their conversations stilted, and Evie refused to be drawn on anything that didn’t relate to the work they were doing. But Peter had persisted, asking her to tell him stories about Jaxon. The first time he’d asked her, she’d replied in a snippy tone that it was a bit late for all of that now. One thing led to another, and they’d had an almighty row – things were said, accusations were thrown and tears shed. Both had stormed off in opposite directions, swearing, raging, and cursing about the other. But they got over it, moved past it, and perhaps it was what they needed to enable them to move forward. And as the weeks passed, Evie began to let her guard down and let him in.

A couple of weeks into their regimen, Peter noticed that not only was he enjoying the physical benefits, but it had also afforded him more mental clarity. He was sleeping better, allowing him to think clearly for the first time in a very long while.

After Cathy had passed, every day had felt like a battle for survival, with life his battleground. A thick, dense fog had invaded every cell of his being, clinging to him until, sometimes, he felt like he’d never escape the swathes of misery sucking him down into the quagmire that had become his existence.

At first, he’d put it down to grief, that all-consuming sea of pain he could barely break the surface of most days. He willed the misery to end, prayed for it, but when the end came, it was replaced by something far worse: guilt.

What happened to Cathy had been his fault.

He’d always been the good guy, the one who did the right thing, played by the rules.

Until he hadn’t.

When he’d made that deal with God, where he’d promised that if He’d end Cathy’s suffering, he’d never contact or think about Evie again, he’d lied.

“Maybe another two or three sessions,” Peter mumbled sleepily, his eyes heavy. “Then you can finally be rid of me.” He gave a contented sigh as her hands caressed his skin, working their magic on his weary soul. He knew he didn’t need any more sessions – just like he’d known he hadn’t needed the previous four sessions that Evie had insisted upon when he’d made a pretence at reluctance – but that didn’t stop him from wanting them.

And who was he to argue? Evie was the expert.

Peter’s last therapy session was cause for a double celebration, as it coincided with Jaxon’s birthday. Jaxon was still away touring with ORTS, so Anya, who had flown out to meet him after her shoot was over, had set up a Zoom lunch-cum-dinner date for the four of them.

Co-ordinating everything hadn’t been easy because of the band’s hectic schedule and the time difference, but Anya had been insistent, arranging for a friend, whose restaurant had recently gained a second Michelin star, to cook for Evie and Peter at Evie’s house.

The plan was for Evie and Peter to eat lunch at one in the afternoon, while at the same time, Jaxon and Anya would join them for dinner. Both Evie and Peter had suggested postponing the celebrations until Jaxon had finished touring and returned home, but Anya wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Before the start of his therapy session with Evie that morning, Peter had sneaked out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean and set up the large television that was usually in the family room, to enable them to see Jaxon and Anya on the big screen as opposed to Evie’s old laptop. He knew how much she missed Jaxon. They both did, and placing the screen next to the dining table was the closest they could get to the real thing right now.

Keeping Evie away from the terrace hadn’t been easy, especially since he also had to keep her away from the family room and Chef Andre had banished everyone from the kitchen area. Evie hadn’t been happy, complaining about prima donnas and wasting money. Then, right on cue, Reeva developed a sudden migraine, forcing Evie to take over her classes for the rest of the morning.

“Rather them than me,” Reeva whispered out of the corner of her mouth as Evie stomped down the passageway toward the studio.

With Evie tied up taking Reeva’s classes, and having a couple of hours to kill until lunch, Peter took out his phone and dialed his lawyer’s office in LA. Peter and Leland went way back; Peter was even godfather to Leland’s daughter.

“Leland Barton’s office. How may I help you?” The young woman’s voice caught him off guard.

“Er... Grace?”

“Grace left to get married,” the woman said in a bored voice.

“Right, then can you put me through to—“

“Uncle Peter? It’s me, Regan.” She sounded offended that he hadn’t recognised her.

“Regan, sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to answer the phone.”

“Yeah, I know, it sucks, right? Dad’s making me work in this hellhole to pay off my car loan.” He could just imagine the eye roll that accompanied her exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know why he has to be so mean. It’s so unfair. All my friends’ parents bought them cars, and it’s not like my dad can’t afford it. He’s loaded.” She paused for a nanosecond before starting up again. “But he says I need to learn the value of money, that it doesn’t grow on trees and all that BS. So now instead of enjoying what’s left of the summer with my friends, I’m stuck photocopying pages and pages of useless stuff that no one will even bother reading because it’s so stupid and boring. So, you see, Uncle Peter” – her tone changed from stroppy, hard-done-by teenager to sweet little girl – “you have to come home soon to make my dad see sense, tell him how unreasonable he’s being. He’ll listen to you,” she implored.

“I... er...”

Hushed mumbles down the phone told him Regan was no longer alone. “Daddy,” she continued in a stage whisper. “Uncle Peter agrees with me.”

“Is that Peter?” he heard Leland ask. “Put him through to my direct line, please.”

“But—“

“Now.”

“Peter, I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost my number.” Leland chuckled down the line a few seconds later.

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