Chapter 29: Drawn to Mr. King: Chapter 29

I TUCK THE PHOTOGRAPH of Dad and me from the bookcase inside the cardboard box and put the lid on.

The apartment looks strange now I’ve packed most things away.

I head to the fridge and grab a green juice bottle out, unscrewing the cap and downing half in one go, letting out a thirst-quenching sigh as I look around.

I already feel lighter, more energised from getting back to my healthy eating and drinking. Or maybe it’s the hope of new beginnings that this move may bring.

I’ve not heard from Megan in two weeks. It’s been torture; there’s no other way to describe it. I’ve picked up my phone and brought up her number every single day, desperate to call her. But it’s not what she wants. She asked for time, and I must respect that if I am to stand any hope of her forgiving me.

I snap a quick picture of the half-empty room on my phone and send it to Christopher with the words ‘moving day is nearly here’.

It’s strange. I’m not sad about leaving this place behind. It holds no memories for me. I’ve always lived here alone; it’s been a base, a place to come back to after work and sleep. I won’t even miss the view of London from the window.

You can be surrounded by people and yet feel lonelier than ever.

I drink the rest of my juice as I look at the floor to ceiling windows. The only thing I will miss is the memory of Megan being here with me. Not that she spent much time here. But she still showered in the en-suite, sat at this breakfast bar, and ate brunch. She still slept in my bedroom, her copper curls spread around the pillow underneath her, making her look magical—too beautiful for this world.

I’m fortunate this place sold so fast to a cash buyer. It’s the London market though, it’s to be expected. And it meant I could move quickly to the new place.

I look around again as my phone buzzes.

Christopher: It’s a new start, Dad. Love you.

I smile as I send a reply.

We had a long, emotional video call, and I told him all about the cancer.

All about Megan.

All about the baby.

He couldn’t have been more supportive. I don’t know how Pen and I got so lucky. He’s grown into a fine young man—kind, understanding. He’s coming up to help me decorate this weekend. Not that the new house needs it, with it being newly renovated, but there’s one room that must change before Megan sees it.

If she sees it.

I can’t give up hope.

If it weren’t for Martin feeding me updates from Abigail, then I couldn’t have survived this long without seeing her or hearing her voice. She’s doing well at work. I knew she would. Anyone who underestimates her is a fool.

“Hey, open up, old man!” a voice calls as the front door vibrates with loud banging.

I open the door, and Martin bounds in.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I joke.

“She said yes!”

His eyes are bright as he grabs me in a hug, his breath coming shallow and fast like he’s just run up the stairs. I pat his back as we embrace. He’s filled out since his treatment finished. He’s looking stronger and healthier every time I see him.

“Abigail?”

“Yes! She said, yes! Can you believe it?” He pulls back and looks at me.

“She must be mad.” I chuckle before grabbing his hand and shaking it. “Congratulations. You deserve it. I’m happy for the two of you.”

“Thanks.” Martin grins like he can’t believe it. “It was crazy. I was shaking when I asked her. Can you believe that?”

My mind drifts to Megan and the way my head spun when she visited my office a fortnight ago. I felt like I’d consumed an entire plantation of coffee the way my hands were shaking as I watched her leave in the lift, not knowing when I would see her again.

“Yes. I can believe that,” I say.

“I can’t believe she said yes. Even the day I finished treatment can’t top this feeling.”

“You deserve it. You really do.”

I pat him on the back again, so pleased to see him this happy. It’s taken ten years of friendship to see this look of utter joy on his face. It’s a complete contrast to the grieving sixteen-year-old young man I first met.

“Hey, looks like you’re making good progress with the packing,” Martin comments as he looks around the room.

“Yes, getting there.”

“Have you still not heard from her?” His voice slows down as his eyes come back to rest on my face.

I shake my head and head to the fridge to get Martin a green juice out.

“It’s got kale in it. Drink up.” I arch an eyebrow at him as he smirks in response.

“Back on the power foods, huh? At least I know you aren’t trying to kill yourself with takeaway pizzas and an overload of coffee anymore.”

My lips curl. “I don’t know how people eat like that all the time. I felt terrible.”

Martin shrugs. “You were feeling lost, but now you’re back on track. You can do the whole ‘my body is a temple’ thing again.”

I chuckle. “You make me sound like a monk.”

He looks me up and down. “I could imagine it. The robe, the chanting.” He chuckles to himself before growing quiet. “I’m sorry to hear about you and Megan.”

My eyes meet his, and I know he means it.

He gave me a lot of home truths the day that I told him about the baby and pushing her away. A lot of home truths I needed to hear.

I just wish I’d listened earlier.

“Thank you.”

“There’s still time. She could come around, change her mind.”

I look at his hopeful face. “You’re trying to make me feel better. Don’t. I don’t deserve it,” I mutter, dropping my eyes.

“Hey. If anyone deserves a second chance, it’s you. You’re the best guy I know, Jax.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m on at least my third chance by now. She’s not going to forgive me, Martin.” My shoulders sag as I rub a hand over my eyes. “It’ll take a miracle.”

“Well, you and I have both kicked cancer’s arse this year. So, looks like miracles exist.” He tilts his head as he looks at me. “Don’t give up. Not yet. Abigail said she asked after you the other day.”

I drop my hand and snap my eyes up to his.

“Megan?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, the Queen. Yes, Megan! She wanted to know how you are. Asked if Abigail had seen you.”

My body feels like it’s tingling all over. Except my stomach. That’s fluttering around like a moth to a flame. Only time will tell if it gets burned.

“She asked after me?”

Martin nods. “She did. Don’t give up. She may not want to see your face right now, but she doesn’t hate you.”

Martin stays a while, and we catch up on how his work meetings went. How Abigail’s mother has already turned herself into a wedding coordinator and started ordering stationary samples, and how they’re planning to visit his parents over Easter.

I listen, but my mind keeps wandering back to his words; I can’t forget them.

She asked after me. Megan asked after me.

It may not be her forgiveness, but it’s a start. She’s not pretending I don’t exist, at least.

She’s curious.

I just hope she’s curious enough to want to speak to me or see me herself.

I must hold on to that hope.

“How was your weekend, Mr King?” Veronica asks.

“It was productive, thank you, Veronica. How was yours?” I ask as I stop by her desk.

“Lovely, thank you…” she pauses, her brows lifting, “did you get everything moved in?”

I smile at her. “I did. Thank you for organising all those deliveries here this last couple of weeks.”

She waves a hand at me. “Oh, it was nothing. They all needed signatures. What else could you have done when you’re not at home during the day? Besides, I enjoyed it. Makes a difference from books,” she replies warmly.

“Yes. Not our usual type of delivery.”

Her eyes twinkle as she leans forward over her desk. “It reminded me of when I was doing it all. Many years ago, I might add.” She chuckles.

“I’m sure it wasn’t many at all.” I smile at her.

“Oh, charmer,” she tuts.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and my heart stalls in my chest.

“I have to take this,” I say to Veronica, heading into my office and closing the door.

I take a deep breath and press answer.

“Megan?”

“Hi… hi, Jaxon.”

The sound of her voice brings an instant lump to my throat, and my heart starts up again, going into overdrive.

“It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” I walk over to one sofa and perch on the edge, staring at the shiny tips of my shoes.

“I’m good. I’m… it’s been busy at work. The new role… it’s been a lot to take on. It doesn’t look like Phil is coming back, so…” she trails off.

“That’s understandable. It’s like that for anyone with something new. I’m sure you’re doing an incredible job.” I speak too fast, my words trying to match the rushing of my heart.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I meant to call before; it’s just… well, it’s been busy.”

“Of course, of course. I understand.” I nod as she speaks, then I stop abruptly, realising how stupid I’m being. She can’t see me.

“How are you? How have you been since…?”

Since I messed my life up by pushing you away? The woman I love more than life itself, who’s pregnant with my baby?

“I’m better for hearing from you.” I can’t help the eagerness in my voice.

“I still don’t know how I feel, Jaxon. This call wasn’t to—”

“I know,” I cut in softly, afraid of scaring her away when she’s taken the step to call me. “I know. And I will not pressure you, Megan. I meant what I said. I will wait as long as it takes.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

She sounds so unsure, so confused. Knowing that I planted this seed of doubt in her—planted it until it spread like a weed and wrapped itself around us both—makes bile rise in my throat. I would give anything to go back in time and undo all the pain I’ve caused her.

“Abigail said you’ve sold your apartment?” Megan says, her voice lifting.

I stare down at the carpet. “Yes, I have. It was time for a new start.”

“Oh,” she sighs, sounding deflated.

I don’t mean from her, never from her. God, I don’t want that kind of new start. Not one that doesn’t involve her. The idea makes my blood run cold.

“I’d very much like to show you the new house. One day. When you’re ready. If you’d like to, that is?” I screw my eyes shut and silently curse myself.

I’m pushing her. Doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t do.

She’s going to pull back, and I’ll have lost her again.

“I’d like that.”

My eyes pop open. “You would?”

“Yes. How about this weekend? Saturday?” Her voice is steady. Steadier than my hands, which are shaking as I grip the phone to my ear.

I swallow. “Yes, that would be… that sounds wonderful. I can collect you.”

She clears her throat. “No, that’s okay, thank you. Send me the address, and I will come to you. Is four okay? I have some plans in the morning.”

“Of course, absolutely, four is perfect.” I fight to keep my voice even.

“Great. See you then,” she says, and then she’s gone.

I fall back into the sofa, my eyes travelling up to the ceiling.

She called me.

She called, and she wants to see me.

I feel like I’m floating—the anticipation of the last two weeks lifting right out of my body.

Gone. Just like that.

She hasn’t ruled us having a future out.

I’ve still got a chance.

This time I won’t screw it up.