Page 98 of The Long Way Home

He spots me the same time I spot him.

“Oh, shit!” He stands, grinning down at me. “Here she is!”

He folds himself around me in a hug and then pulls me down into the seat next to him.

“You’re here. What’s going on?” His eyes are, as always, busy like bees. “What are you up to?”

“Escaping an ex-boyfriend.” I gesture in BJ’s direction before glancing around cautiously. “Is my other one here?”

He gives me a look. “Which one?”

I smack his arm.

It probably wasn’t worth it for how much it hurt Tom when he eventually found out. We were in Cannes and someone took a photo of us that was very hard to explain away. The papers ate it up, it was very dramatic and the entire thing — or at least a great deal of it — was unfortunately caught on various cameras. That story followed Rush and me around for a long while and even still, Rush and I didn’t stop. I don’t know if that makes it worse — it probably does.

I could excuse it away in my mind because Tom left me, and Rush just does what Rush wants, and he wanted me. I think he wanted me more because he knew he shouldn’t. The secrecy of it made it more fun, though it wasn’t really all that secretive. Rush gets photographed all the time; we were everywhere.

Tom had asked him about it before, too. I know that he did because he called Rush once to ask him if any of the rumours were true and Rush said it was all bullshit and we were just friends, and I didn’t know many people here, so he was just showing me around, but I was lying next to him naked in his bed as he said it.

The friends thing — it wasn’t totally untrue. We were just friends, but we also did very, very friendly things to one another’s body.

Rush paid a heavy price to do them though.

“Is Tom talking to you yet?” I ask, eyebrows up.

Rush shakes his head, looks a bit sad. “Not yet.”

I purse my lips in a way that implies I’m as guilty as I am sorry, and he flicks his blue eyes up at me.

“So, were you ever going to tell me you were moving back to London or were you just going to dip out?”

I poke him in the arm. “It was sudden.”

“Yeah.” He gives me a look. “So I heard.”

“Does he hate me?” I grimace.

“No.” Rush scowls a bit. “Fucking adores you, even when you pull shit like this.”

“Well, that makes me feel bad.” I pout.

“It should.” He puts his arm around me. “Tells you he loves you and you break up with him on the spot.”

“Not on the spot.” I sigh.

He gives me another look. “Within the day.”

I sigh again.

“Same old?” he asks without asking and our eyes catch because, actually, for all the mistakes we made together, Rush Evans became a very safe person for me while I was in New York.

I’d call him on my way home from my midnight park walks if I felt a bit afraid. He’d come and pick me up sometimes. From bad dates too. If I felt things were going sour, he’d just show up. He fought for me in a bar one time.

“How are you doing with that, by the way?” He cocks his head at BJ. “Your boy’s got a girl...”

He looks sorry for me. I hate that.

“He does.” I nod solemnly.