: Chapter 25

“Hi.” Hayden smiles as we walk into the kitchen.

“Hello.” Valerie smiles as she stirs something on the hot plate. “Dinner in ten.”

“Hmm, something smells delicious,” I say. I’m not even joking; it really does smell delicious in here.

“Only the best for my loves,” Valerie replies. “Your father is in the living room.”

Hayden disappears into the living room, and I hang back, and I watch Valerie for a moment. She’s the epitome of country loving. I know where Hayden gets her warm and happy disposition from.

Valerie has it in spades. It oozes out of her, and I felt it the moment we met, and I feel like I know her already.

The exact opposite of her prickly husband. I’m dreading that Harvey and I are not going to get along and it’s going to screw everything up.

Hayden worships the ground her parents walk on. If I fuck it with them, I fuck it with her.

I hang in the kitchen for a bit. “How was your day?” I ask Valerie.

“It was good, love.” She smiles warmly as her knowing eyes hold mine. “He’s not as scary as he looks, darling.”

“Good to know.”

I loiter a little longer. “Any advice?” I ask.

“To deal with Harvey?”

I nod.

“Be yourself.”

I frown.

“More than anything, Harvey respects honesty.”

“Me too.”

“You do.” She rubs my arm. “I know.”

“You know?”

“Darling, I speak to Hayden every day. I feel like you and I are already close friends.”

I smile, feeling a little better. “Well . . . your daughter is a credit to you, Mrs. Whitmore. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Tears fill her eyes as she gets emotional. “I know.”

“What are you guys doing in here?” Hayden comes around the corner.

“Just talking.” Valerie smiles.

“This is the best night.” Hayden slides her arms around my waist to hug me. “My favorite people all in the one house.”

I kiss her temple.

“Come see Dad.” She grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room to see Harvey sitting in his recliner chair in the corner of the living room.

“Hello, Mr. Whitmore.” I smile.

His eyes hold mine, and he gestures to the couch. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks.” I sit on the couch.

“You two chat between yourselves. I’m going to help Mom,” Hayden says.

Don’t leave me here with him.

“Okay,” I reply.

Harvey keeps watching television with the remote in his hand.

I twist my lips. I look between him and the television. I should make conversation or something.

“It’s good to be back on American soil,” I say.

He nods and keeps watching television as if uninterested. I wait for him to say something . . . he doesn’t.

Rude prick.

“A farm this big must be a lot of work,” I say.

“We have Hayden home to help us now,” he says as his eyes stay fixed on the television.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Walked straight into that one.

I stay silent, unsure what to say next. He’s going to hit the roof when he finds out she’s coming to London with me.

I roll my fingers on the armrest of the couch as I troll my brain for an attack plan.

“Dinner’s ready,” Hayden calls.

Harvey gets up and walks past me out of the room, and I glare after him.

Seriously?

Could he be any less hospitable?

Thank fuck Hayden takes after her mother and not this rude prick.

I walk in to find a spread on the dining table, plate after plate of delicious food.

Jeez . . . has she been cooking for a week? I don’t know if my mother has cooked this much food in my entire life.

“Are there others coming?” I ask.

“No.” Hayden smiles as she gestures to my chair. “Just us.”

“Wow.” I sit down. “Looks delicious.”

Hayden sits down beside me and takes my hand in hers and smiles over at me.

It’s fine. This is for her.

We dish out our plates in silence. “What do you do for a living, boy?” Harvey asks.

“Christopher,” I correct him. “Don’t call me boy.”

Hayden steps on my foot under the table.

Behave.

His eyes hold mine, and I take a mouthful of food off my fork.

Oh shit, I forgot to check . . . is this offal? I study my plate as I chew. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m in advertising,” I reply curtly.

Hayden reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh to remind me to shut up.

I need to change the subject. “Where’s that jaguar?” I ask.

“Oh, Bryan?” Valerie smiles. “He’ll be home for dinner soon.”

“Where does he go throughout the day?”

“Who knows,” Harvey replies. “Mousing, probably.”

Right, just keep the conversation off me. “How long have you owned the farm?” I ask.

“We’re third generation on this land,” Harvey says. “Soon to be fourth.” He winks at Hayden.

Hayden smiles over at her father, and my stomach twists.

Fuck.

It’s like a cult.

“Where do you live, Christopher?” Harvey asks.

He called me Christopher. I chalk up a small victory. “I live . . .” I pause. Oh shit, how do I answer this? “I live between New York and London.”

Harvey frowns. His eyes flick to meet Valerie’s.

“Christopher’s family is very successful,” Hayden says.

“Like how?” Harvey replies dryly.

“You know the big company Miles Media?” she replies.

“Nope.”

“The one that makes the newspapers?”

“What about it?” he replies.

“That’s Christopher’s family business.”

His eyes meet mine. “So . . . you’re a pen pusher?”

I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Don’t piss me off, old man.

“I work in advertising for a successful company, and I don’t appreciate your lack of respect, Mr. Whitmore.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face as his eyes hold mine.

“I use a computer, not a pen. Wrong decade,” I mutter as I take a bite of food off my fork.

Harvey chuckles, clearly amused with himself at my expense.

Fucker.

Hayden taps my thigh under the table in a subtle calm down signal.

“So . . . how do you think this”—he gestures to the air between us—“will last with you two living in different countries?”

I stay silent and glance over to Hayden. I raise my eyebrow.

Tell him. Tell him now.

“Well . . . I have some news.” Hayden pauses. “I’m moving to London to live with Christopher.”

The clang of knives and forks hitting the plates sounds through the room.

Valerie gasps.

I begin to perspire. Fuck me dead.

Harvey’s cold eyes hold mine, and he chews the food in his mouth as he processes the information.

“It will be a . . . new adventure,” Hayden says as she looks between them nervously.

“Where do you live in London?” Harvey directs the conversation at me.

“I have an apartment in the city.”

“An apartment?” He frowns. “You really expect Hayden to live in a box with no fresh air in the middle of the city?”

“Dad,” Hayden whispers.

He holds his hand up to her in a stop sign. “Now, baby girl, you need to think about this long and good. There are no cows in the middle of London, Hayden.”

Hayden stays silent.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit,” Harvey says.

“It’s a trial.”

“A trial?” Harvey explodes.

“For Hayden,” I correct myself. “If she doesn’t like city living . . . then . . .” I shrug.

“Then what?” he snaps.

“I don’t know, but please know, Mr. Whitmore, I love Hayden,” I announce. “I would never trade her happiness for mine.”

Hayden takes my hand as it sits on my lap.

“And I am going to marry her one day. With or without your permission.”

He narrows his eyes as he glares at me.

“If Hayden doesn’t like living in London, I would never keep her there against her will.”

“And if she wants to live here?”

“Then I will.” I shrug.

“What’s the fucking shrug mean?” he barks. “A shrug isn’t enough to bank my daughter’s entire future on.”

“It means . . . I will understand,” I snap.

“As long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy.” Hayden smiles over at me.

I lean over and kiss her. “Me too, baby.”

“Give me a break,” Harvey snaps. He throws his napkin on the table in disgust and storms from the room.

“You not going to eat this?” Valerie asks him.

“I just lost my appetite,” he calls. We hear him march up the hall, and the bedroom door slams.

Hayden exhales, and her mother sits still, seemingly in shock.

“I love him, Mom,” she whispers.

“I know.” Valerie smiles sadly.

“I just have to—”

Valerie cuts her off. “I know.”

The cat walks in and lies on the floor, all cute-like, as if purposely trying to distract us, and I roll my eyes.

Where were you ten minutes ago, stupid cat?

You’re fucking late, Bryan.

Two hours later we lie in bed watching television. Hayden is quiet and has hardly said two words since her dad stormed off.

My hand is on her hip as she lies on her side facing away from me.

“He’ll come around,” I say. “Once he gets to know me, I’m sure—”

She cuts me off. “I know.”

But in all honesty, I really don’t know if he will.

We couldn’t be more different.

Hayden switches off her bedside lamp. “Good night,” she says.

“Do I get a good-night kiss?” I ask.

She sits up and kisses me. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I smile. She lies down and puts her back to me again.

Hmm . . . I guess it’s no country loving for me, then.

“Did I eat an organ tonight?” I ask.

Hayden giggles. “I was pulling your leg, you idiot.”

“Oh.” I smile. “Thank the lord.” I completely fell for it.

I turn the television and my side lamp off, and we lie in the darkness.

“Mooooo” sounds in the distance. “Mooo.”

I listen to the symphony of cows for over half an hour.

“Why is that cow doing that?” I ask. “Doesn’t it get a sore throat?”

“We have a few calves coming. I would say someone’s in labor.”

“Oh.” I frown. How odd. “How do you know when they’re pregnant?”

She giggles. “You’re an idiot.”

“But . . .”

“Oh my god, Christopher.” She laughs. “You’re hysterical.”

Hysterical?

I lie in the dark, pondering why I’m a hysterical idiot for not knowing the answer to a legitimate question.

But seriously . . . how do they fucking know?

I wake to the sound of a large engine roaring, and I frown.

What the hell is that?

Hayden isn’t in bed with me.

It’s dawn, early. The sun is just coming up, and I get up and walk to the window and narrow my eyes . . . huh?

Am I seeing this right?

Mist is rolling around on the ground, and Hayden is driving a huge-ass tractor across a paddock and into the distance. There’s a dog sitting on her lap.

What the fuck?

She drives a tractor? And . . . dogs ride on tractors?

Fucking hell, what next?

I go downstairs and make myself a cup of coffee and take a shower. The sun is fully up now, and Hayden still isn’t back.

I open the front door, and another huge dog is lying across the front of the doorway.

“You’re a log of a dog,” I mutter as I step over it. “What’s wrong with you, too fat to climb on the tractor?” I walk out into the paddock and look around; the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping. Even I have to admit it is pretty beautiful out here. I walk in the direction that Hayden drove to. I wonder where she is.

Fifteen minutes later I come over the top of the hill to see the tractor stopped and Hayden and a bit of a fuss going on.

What are they doing up there?

I narrow my eyes to try to focus. I think that’s Harvey too . . . hmm, I can’t turn around now. They’ve seen me already.

Oh well. If he hates me, he hates me.

I walk closer and closer, and I have no idea what’s going on up here.

A cow is lying on its side, leg up in the air, and all the cows in the paddock are crying out as they watch.

This is so strange . . . I keep walking, and as I get closer, I see Hayden is down on her knee beside the cow.

What’s she doing?

Oh . . .

My eyes widen in horror.

Hayden has her arm up a cow’s ass to the armpit . . . or is it a vagina . . . or is it . . .

I feel the blood drain out of my face as my knees go woozy.

I don’t feel so . . .

HAYDEN

Thump . . .

“For fuck’s sake,” Dad moans.

I glance up to see Christopher hit the ground hard as he faints.

I get the giggles as I try to turn the calf. “Go help him.”

“No, Hayden,” he replies dryly.

“Dad, I’m kind of busy here.”

“I don’t have time for his pretty boy bullshit,” he mutters as he walks toward Christopher, who is still out cold.

“Whoa, girl,” I whisper as I get the calf in position. “This will help you.”

I watch as Dad bends to Christopher, and I smile as I watch him gently slap his face.

I’m going to hang back and see what happens.

Christopher comes to and sits up. “You okay, babe?” I call.

He nods, embarrassed.

“He’s fine,” Dad calls. He grabs Christopher’s head and looks in his hair and says something that I can’t hear.

Christopher shrugs him off. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he scoffs.

I roll my lips to hide my smile.

“This damn fool needs stitches in his head,” Dad calls.

“Oh no.” I stand.

“You stay there,” Dad calls as he helps Christopher to his feet. “I’ll take him into town.”

I stare at them for a moment as I do an internal risk assessment. Okay . . . I need to let them do this. If they fight it out, they fight it out. I have faith that they will come to appreciate each other.

“Is that all right?” I call. “I can’t leave her.”

Christopher nods, and I jog over to him. He has a trickle of blood dripping down onto his shirt from the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.” He shrugs.

My dad throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I try not to laugh, I really do, but I fail miserably.

“I’m glad you two think this is so funny,” Christopher snaps. “I have internal bleeding. Perhaps an aneurysm is coming on.”

“Dad will look after you.” I smile.

“Will he, though?” Christopher widens his eyes.

“Come back in the house, boy. I’ll stitch you up,” Dad teases. “Got a needle and thread in the first aid box.”

I bite my lip to stop myself laughing out loud.

“There is no way in hell you are touching my fucking head, you maniac. I need a specialist plastic surgeon. And don’t call me boy!” Christopher yells.

Dad laughs harder as he holds Christopher up by the arm. He’s still woozy and maybe a little concussed. “You’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.”

I go back to the cow and kneel down beside her. Everything should progress with her as planned now that the calf has been turned.

I could take Christopher to the hospital myself . . . but I won’t.

They need this.

It’s 11:00 a.m., and I am freshly showered. I’ve done a load of washing and am waiting for Christopher to get back from the hospital. Dad called me while he was getting his stitches put in. He’s fine, and they should be home soon.

I have one week to make Dad see in Christopher what I do. I’m just not sure exactly how to do that. It took me living with Christopher for three months to finally see his true colors.

And what beautiful colors they are.

Knock, knock sounds on the door.

Why is he knocking? “It’s open,” I call. I pull the clothes out of the dryer and into the basket and walk out into the living area and stop in my tracks.

Regi is standing there.

The air leaves my lungs. This is the first time I’ve seen him since he broke my heart three years ago.

He’s older, broader . . .

“Hello, Haze.” He smiles hopefully.

I frown, too shocked to speak.

He steps toward me. “You look . . .” He swallows a lump in his throat. “Beautiful.”

“What are you doing here?” I frown.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“I think about you all the time.”

I hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. “Don’t.”

“Do you ever think of me?”

“No,” I spit.

I mean, I did . . . every damn day, until I met Christopher.

Not anymore.

“I miss you . . . ,” he whispers.

“What?” I screw up my face.

“I was young, Haze.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know what I had.”

The door bangs, and Christopher walks in. My heart does stop this time.

Fuck.

He looks between Regi and me. “Hello.”

“Hi, babe.” I smile. “This is Regi. Regi, this is Christopher, my fiancé.”

A frown flashes across Christopher’s face before he catches it. “Who are you?” he asks Regi.

Regi tilts his chin, angered by my introduction. “I’m Hayden’s childhood sweetheart. Her first love.”

Oh no.

Christopher raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got a fucking hide, coming here.”

“What does that mean?” Regi frowns.

“I think you owe Hayden an apology.”

“For what?”

Christopher glares at him and steps forward. “You want me to kick your ass to remind you, you gutless prick?”

Regi steps back.

My heart swells with love for Christopher, my knight in shining armor.

“I’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Regi spits.

“One,” Christopher says calmly.

My eyes widen . . . what the hell? He’s counting him down?

“Two . . .”

“Christopher,” I stammer, “just leave it.”

“He owes you an apology, Hayden,” he snaps. “I want to fucking hear it.”

“I’m not apologizing for being young,” Regi snaps. “It’s none of your business.”

“Hayden is my only business.” Christopher grabs him by the shirt and hurls him out the door. He throws him down the five steps. “You had your fucking chance, and you blew it,” he yells. “Don’t try and ruin mine. You stay the fuck away from her, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

Regi looks up at the house in shock. His chest is rising and falling as he struggles for air.

“Do you fucking hear me?” Christopher warns him.

Regi nods, and with one last look, he marches off toward his car as he acts tough.

I walk out the front, shocked, and I turn to see my father standing beside the door. He’s heard the entire thing.

My eyes are wide. I’m shocked to my core. “Dad . . .”

A trace of a smile crosses Dad’s face, and he winks. Without a word he turns and walks off toward the house. “Dinner is at six,” he calls.

I look to my man, all pumped up and angry, and I smile down at him. “You are going to get so lucky tonight.”

“About time,” he huffs as he marches past me into the house. “I fucking hate that guy.”

The screen door bangs hard, and I smile proudly.

That’s my man.

A week later

We sit in the boarding lounge of the airport. We had the best week, and although my parents aren’t happy with me moving, I think they understand what I see in Christopher.

His smart-ass mouth had my dad smirking a lot more than he would like to admit.

And my mom . . . well, she’s practically half in love with him too.

Christopher’s reading a book, and we’re catching a commercial plane; his family planes are already in use.

“I’m going to buy a magazine,” I say.

“Okay, babe.”

I go to the newsstand and look through the choices, and I stop still as I see a headline on a paper.

Christopher Miles Finally out of Hiding

What the hell?

Is that my Christopher? I pick up the paper. “I’ll take this one, please.” I pay the cashier and sit down and flick through the paper until I get to the story.

My eyes widen. There’s a half-page photo of me and him. It’s the morning after we arrived in New York, when I’d been crying all night.

We’re holding hands as we cross the street on Madison Avenue. I’m wearing scruffy clothes, and the way the light shines on me, my leg looks like it’s all cellulite right to my ankle.

My face is puffy from crying. I look utterly hideous.

I read the story.

Christopher Miles has returned from a sabbatical with Miss Average.