Page 29 of Fool Me Twice

“Why didn’t you ever try to contact me . . . after Cathy passed?”

“I don’t know, maybe it was the guilt? I thought that somehow Cathy’s illness was my fault. It was because of our-my . . .” He paused, struggling to find the right word. “Behaviour,” he said, not wanting to make Evie complicit in his own culpability. She had nothing to feel bad about. The guilt was his alone to bear. “I blamed myself. And I thought that if I forgot about you, then maybe she’d be okay.”

“Guilt?” Evie snorted. “You couldn’t have felt that guilty since you’d already moved onto wife number two before wife number one was even cold.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he snapped. “I know what it looks like, but-”

“Did you know that that bitch threatened to take my child away from me if I didn’t back off?”

“Who? Shari?”

“Yes, of course Shari,” she said, her face contorted in ugliness, as if even mentioning her name was repugnant to her. “Who else would I be talking about? She called me after one of the girls at the record label passed on my messages, wanting to know why I’d kept calling. Then she called me back a few days later, saying that if I persisted with my accusations, your legal team would have no alternative but to instigate legal proceedings against me and should the child turn out to be yours, you would consider applying for full custody.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, letting out a long sigh, but after being on the receiving end of Shari’s sharp tongue and cruelty more than once, he wouldn’t put anything past her. “You know that I’d never have done that, don’t you? I would never have taken the child from you.”

Evie cocked her head. “Do I?” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “Because until she called me, I’d never have believed you’d have treated me like that. So why should I have doubted her when she threatened me with lawyers and a custody hearing? I mean, you’d told me plenty of times how desperate Cathy had been to have kids, and at least this one would have been half yours. So, of course I believed her.”

“Is that why you never tried to contact me again? Because you thought I’d try to take the child off you?”

“What do you think?” she stared at him with eyes like saucers. “Of course, that’s why. What chance did I have against you and all your money? And I would have died rather than give up my child,” she murmured, her voice cracking with emotion as turned to face the window.

Peter slumped back in his chair. “I’m so sorry, Evie.” But, after everything she’d been through and all the pain he’d caused her, the words felt so inadequate.

No wonder she hated him.

Chapter sixteen

When Bex arrived, she suggested they move their session to the gym because of the rain. Peter was relieved to take a break from the pool and Bex’s seemingly endless supply of barely there swimwear, but felt a little concerned when she told him to take a seat on one of the weights machines. He voiced his concerns to Bex, surely, it was too soon to be using weights yet? But Bex, who appeared more interested in how her hair looked in the floor to ceiling mirror, dismissed his concerns and assured him he was ready.

He pushed on, counting down the reps, desperately hoping each set was the last, but despite his obvious discomfort, she continued to push him. He could have cried with relief when the session was over. Although Bex didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, hanging around and making small talk. What was she waiting for? An invitation to stay for dinner?

Yeah, right? He could just imagine Evie’s face if he announced Bex would be joining them for dinner.

Peter stayed a little while out of politeness. He smiled and nodded in what he hoped were all the right places, but all he wanted to do was escape. Finally, she paused for breath and Peter jumped right in with an excuse about a prior appointment before limping away as fast as the pain ricocheting around his body would allow him.

Once out of sight, he stopped for a breather. Leaning back against the wall for support, he placed most of his weight on his right leg while trying to control the pain with some deep-breathing exercises. He waited for several minutes, hoping the pain would subside, but every time he put any weight on his left leg, agony ripped through him like molten steel cutting through his flesh.

Hopping only made the pain worse, but what could he do? He couldn’t stay there all afternoon, and it wasn’t like he could crawl on his belly, like a beached whale trying to make its way across the sand back to the safety of the open sea. And there was absolutely no way he was letting the Lycra King toss him over his shoulder like a some noble warrior rescuing a princess.

Realising he’d just have to suck it up and push through the pain if he wanted to get back to his room, he forced himself to carry on. But the journey was slow and painful – he shuffled along the passageways, leaning on any piece of furniture or wall space he could, just to make it a few steps closer. And every one of them hurt like hell.

As he approached one of the studios, he shrank back against the wall when the door flew open and sent a stream of women pouring out into the corridor, their faces glowing, their high spirits fuelled by feel-good endorphins and adrenaline. Peter pulled himself up to his full height, trying to look nonchalant as he leaned casually against the wall. Forcing a smile, he nodded politely as they passed him, but they barely noticed him and continued to chat animatedly amongst themselves.

And just when he thought his humiliation couldn’t get any worse, Evie appeared. Great.

“What happened?” she demanded, taking in his dishevelled state, and the pain etched on his face.

“I’m fine.” He tried to brush her off with a wave of his hand.

“You are not fine.” She looped his left arm around her shoulder and instructed him to put his weight on her.

They walked slowly and carefully back to Peter’s room, Evie filling him in on the news from her latest call from Jaxon. When they eventually arrived at Peter’s door, he felt like he’d been walking for hours, days even, and he almost cried with relief when Evie steered him toward the bed and lowered him gently onto the mattress.

“I need to take a look at your knee.” She gingerly rolled up the leg of his loose-fitting joggers. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can,” she said reassuringly.

Peter gasped when she reached his kneecap.

“Sorry.” She grimaced at the red, angry swelling covering his knee. “What on earth have you been doing? Stay there,” she instructed, without giving him time to answer. “I’ll be right back with some ice packs.”

---