Public Display of Everything (16 page)

Guilt weighs heavy on me, and I gotta hand it to Flynn. For not being Catholic, he plays that card very well.

"
The Gold of the Thracians
?" I mutter, and he nods in my periphery.

"It sounds very fascinating," he says conversationally. Turning around, I lean against the counter and narrow my eyes at him, sure he's up to something. "What is Thracia, really? Did I say that right?"

"It was a province. Doesn’t exist anymore." My answer is automatic. "What are you doing, Flynn?"

"Hmm?" He's the picture of innocence. "Me? Nothing. I'm making conversation." He smiles as if nothing's wrong. "I waited patiently while you asked for time to process. Three days passed and you still didn’t want to talk about Luke's messages. Then I pressed the matter, at which you got defensive and cantankerous."

I
think
I know that last word. "I knew you didn’t wanna talk about Thracia." Too good to be true.

"
Au contraire
." He holds up a finger. "It's been a week now, and I miss my boyfriend." Another pang of guilt right there. "So, I'm going a different route. You're like a scared animal. The more I push, the more you retreat—"

"Are you comparing me to an animal?" I fold my arms across my chest, half-amused, half-ticked off.

"That’s what I said," he replies frankly. "Anyway, I've done some research, and I think I know what will work on you." I raise a brow. Now I'm an experiment? Flynn looks proud and triumphant. "Acting like I don’t care." He nods. "That’ll do the trick. Soon enough, you'll feel wounded and annoyed because I've stopped asking."

What the fuck. I can't help but laugh. "You're not supposed to explain your schemes."

"Well…" His eyes flicker to the tablet. "I don’t want you to actually believe I don’t care. You claim there's nothing to talk about—"

"There isn't." I'm so sick of this topic. "It changes nothing."

"It changes
everything
." He widens his eyes at me, incredulous. "Cory, you pretend not to care, but you
do
. Luke is your
family
, and he's very sorry—"

"Did you wanna talk about Thracia or not?" Fuck subtle. I'm done with this. I've made it without family for seven years; admitting now to missing them, or one of them, feels like I'm betraying the progress I've made. I have a good life. I don’t need Luke.

No matter how genuine and remorseful he sounded.

Flynn stares at me for several seconds, and how he's put up with my shit this last week, I don’t know. I do admit to acting like a child at times, but I honestly don’t believe there's anything worth discussing. Well, I mean—fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There's shit to talk about, but it'll lead to no good, so that’s why I'm adamant about sweeping this under the rug.

"Okay." Flynn's face goes blank. Then he smiles that smile, the one saying it's just another day. "I saw an alert for an unread message on your tablet, but since you don’t care, we can go right on ahead and watch that documentary now."

I swallow hard and lock my expression, feigning casual.
Do not look at the tablet.
Another message? From Luke? "Yeah…yeah, okay." I throw the dishrag on the counter and follow Flynn into the living room, dazed and anxious. What if Luke is in the area? It's still hard to believe he actually lives here.

"So, what's Thracia today?"

Sitting down on the couch, I stare unseeingly at the TV and wonder—not for the first time—where exactly Luke lives. He mentioned "waterside," but that doesn’t narrow it down much. And he works here? He wrote about meeting with a client here in the city. Translator gig? He did that sometimes, took on jobs from publishing houses and magazines.

It wouldn’t surprise me. The man's fluent in six languages.

"Cory?"

My eyes snap to Flynn, who's logging in to Netflix. "Yeah."

He appears to be hiding amusement. "Where was Thracia?"

"Oh." I frown at my lap.
Thracia, Thracia, Thracia
. Right. "Uh, mainly in today's Bulgaria."

Flynn settles close to me, smiles, and pushes play on the documentary. "Interesting."

Usually, I'd agree.

Throughout the day, he puts on documentary after documentary, throwing out questions about everything from the Roman emperors to the Battle of Hastings. I answer on autopilot, my mind swimming. For a moment, I consider going out job-hunting instead, which proves just how fucked-up I am. Never in my life have I shied away from my favorite subjects, but now…? I can't focus to save my life.

"I didn’t know Portugal has a Celtic heritage. Isn't that fascinating, Cory?"

I stifle a sigh and force myself to watch the screen.

An hour later, it's something about religion in ancient Rome.

"Interesting," Flynn muses. "So, they didn’t exactly call out 'Oh, God' in the throes of passion, but rather 'Oh, Jupiter.' Interesting indeed."

I shoot him a look. "I'm getting sick of your use of 'interesting' and 'fascinating,' sweetheart."

He grabs my chin and steals a kiss. "Interesting."

Fuck it. His theory is wrong. He won't get me to talk about Luke by ignoring the topic. He'll succeed because he's wearing me down with his running commentary.

If I were alone right now, I'd run out to the kitchen and get my tablet, and Flynn knows it.

"Which documentary should we watch next—"

"That’s it." I stand up abruptly and grab the remote to turn off the TV. I've had it. He wins. Sitting down on the coffee table, I rest my elbows on my thighs and face Flynn fully. "Ask me what you really wanna know."

"Thank Jupiter!" He beams in victory, the little shit. "One second, please. I have a list." That said, he hurries out of the room.

I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. Later, I'll have to make it up to him for being asshole, but right this moment…goddammit, I'm tired. I wanna move
forward
, not take steps back into my past. Again. I thought we were done with that. Then again, I can't lie to myself. I miss Luke. I missed him even before I read the messages. I realize that now.

"Okay, I'm back." Flynn sits down again and flips open a notebook. "My first observation: when you read the messages, I could practically see you forgiving him, yet you won't talk about it now. You don’t want anything to do with him…?"

Jesus, he really launched right into it. "Uh." Forgiveness might be too strong, but yeah. I mean…God, what do I mean? "He seemed sincere, but…" Luke
was
sincere. It radiated off the damn screen. "What Luke did fucking hurt." I fold my arms over my chest, defensive to cover up vulnerability. "I can forgive and forget—all that shit—but
should
I?"

Flynn shrugs vaguely and traces the lines on the page before him. "That’s why they're called second chances." He glances up at me. "When it's family, it often extends to third and fourth chances, too. But Luke's only made one mistake. It was a horrid one, but he's sorry."

I frown at my lap, Flynn's words sinking in. "I…" I let out a heavy breath. "I can accept that, but it doesn’t explain why I missed him before. Before I read the messages, I mean."

There's a pause before he replies. "Nor can I, but it might be one of those situations you chalk up to
family
. Lines blur easier. They matter more, they can hurt more, and they can get away with more."

I can't find a good answer—or argument—for that. What he said sounds logical. "All right. Next question."

His finger ghosts down the list until he finds what he's looking for. "A quick one. This Jennifer woman isn't Dylan's mother?"

I shake my head no. "Luke wasn’t really dating Dylan's mom. A one-nighter with a broken condom. I've forgotten her name, but the woman died when Dylan was a year old. Motorcycle accident."

"Oh." Flynn's face shows nothing but concern. "And Jennifer doesn’t seem like she's in the picture much, either." I'm not surprised about that, though. I only met her a few times, but she was one frigid bitch. "Okay, moving on." He scans the list for a beat before looking up at me with a smile. "Luke middle-named his son after you."

I avert my eyes and hide my grin. I'm not gonna lie; that’s a huge honor. My chest constricts for all the damn wistfulness. The few times I saw Dylan, he was like Luke—contemplative, an old soul, and down-to-earth—and I wonder if Jayden is similar.

Dylan takes after his dad in appearance, too. Whereas Luke kept his dark hair short because he didn’t like how wavy it was, Dylan had his longer and was constantly pushing it away from his face. Same brown eyes, angular bone structure, and light skin. Luke's a tall fucker, too—six foot four or something—and I always thought Dylan was tall and grown-up for his age. At four, people used to wonder what grade he was in. 

"You like that." Flynn smirks at me and shakes his head fondly. "I see through your façade, Mr. Matthews." At my scowl, he merely refocuses on the damn list. "Oh, this one: what does Luke do for a living?"

"A question without a simple answer." I chuckle wryly, casting a glance in the direction of the kitchen. "He does a lot of things. Or, at least he used to. I mentioned he has a master's in linguistics, right?" Flynn nods, and so do I. "Right. Well, he does a little bit of everything. He's a writer, a translator, he holds seminars at universities…" I'm sure that’s why he was at Oxford a few years ago. "He's worked at museums, and one time, he went on an excavation in Greece to create a log or whatever of what happened."

"Another history nut." Flynn flashes a grin. "Last question for now. When are you going to read his last message?"

Finally
.

"Right fucking now." I stand up and move toward the kitchen, my fingers itching for my damn tablet. Flynn follows, and we sit down at the table. "So, I just press on this F-button, right?" I click it before he can answer, and Facebook pops up.

Angling the tablet so we can both see clearly, I read through the message twice before I sit back with a grimace.
That motherfucker
.

"May I…?" Flynn asks if he can move the tablet closer to him, and I wave a hand in okay. He can throw the fucking tablet against a wall for all I care. Or he can slam it against Luke's head. After a couple beats, Flynn looks up with a frown. "Why are you mad?"

I scoff and shake my head. "Luke's an asshole."

"What…um." Flynn's frown deepens, and he glances between the tablet and me. "Did we read the same message?" He points to the screen. "He's once again apologizing, and he's happy that you're happy."

"He makes me feel guilty, that’s what!" I kick my chair back, angry and fucking sad. I pace the kitchen and tug at my hair, then stop to address Flynn and gesture at the tablet. "He's been all alone. I feel like shit, and I'm not supposed to!" Idly, I wonder if this is what chicks go through, what they refer to as PMS. My emotions are all over the place. "I didn’t do anything wrong." I point to my chest. "
I
was the one who got hurt, but now I'm pissed that I didn’t log in to that crap sooner."

Knowing what Luke's been going through, it's impossible to stay indifferent. It doesn’t matter that he hurt me, betrayed me, because no one should have to go through years of confusion, denial, and regret all alone. Not only that, but Luke's done it while being a father to two boys.

I drop my chin to my chest and close my eyes. A heavy sigh escapes me.

Maybe I'm reading too much into things—I actually wish I am—but Luke's messages have reeked of rejection and loneliness.

I hope he's had
someone
to talk to, but I have my doubts. Luke's always been…I wouldn’t call him a loner, but he doesn’t seek out interaction, either.

"Are you okay?"

Another sigh slips through my lips, and I scrub my hands down my face. "Yeah. I think so." I walk over to the table again and slump down. "I should write back to him." I search Flynn's face for a reaction.

He tilts his head. "Are you looking for my opinion?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck. "No." No, I gotta do it. And deciding to do so makes my stomach tighten. The thought of having Luke in my life is no longer a suppressed wish; it's a real possibility. "I've made up my mind, but what do you think?"

He smiles. "I think it's a very good decision."

Okay. Good. Yeah, okay. But what the hell do I write?

"I think I know where he'll be on Sunday, by the way." Flynn slides the tablet across the table and shows me the screen. It's Luke's profile, and I see that someone has written on his page. An old colleague, it seems. She says she misses Luke at work and wonders what he's doing for Dylan's birthday on Sunday.

I read Luke's response.

Dylan requested a day in Dover, mainly to see the castle and the cliffs, so that’s what we'll be doing.

I raise my gaze to Flynn, skeptical. "You're thinking we should go to Dover?" It doesn’t compare to London in size, but even if we know exactly where they're going, it's impossible to know when and where we can run in to them.

Flynn shrugs slightly, appearing on board with this idea. "It could be nice to have a weekend away." His eyes flick away from me, as they often do when he's uncertain of my reaction. "It was only a thought. Like, if you don’t know how to approach him in a message… Some find it easier to talk in person."

Well, I'm definitely one of those people, but more than that, a weekend away sounds like a dream come true right about now. I don’t even know when I last left London. Probably last spring when I couchsurfed in Scotland for a week. Plus, it would…hmm, now I'm curious. Without saying another word, I quickly pull up Google maps, and I gotta grin at my good fortune.

The town that has the perfect hotel for my Public Display plan is practically on the way to Dover, not counting a small detour of about twenty minutes to the west.

This could work. It would also give me time to think about what to say to Luke if we run into him in Dover. If I want it bad enough, which I think I do, I wouldn’t mind staying near one of those sights all Sunday. That should give us better odds of catching the Rowes.

In the meantime, hammering out all the details of my plan will distract me from getting too nervous until Sunday is here.