Trust (London Love #5)

Gobsmacked, I drove away. He didn’t even ask for my name yet still gave me all this private mail. Not good. And I’d be having words with Gray so he could speak to whoever managed this place. As the owner, he should…

Hang on.

Wasn’t I also an owner? Or maybe Gray had been kidding. Even if he hadn’t, he’d have taken my name off any contract, since I’d thrown him out. Wasn’t that how it worked? I grunted in frustration, banging my hands against the steering wheel.

“Sorry, car,” I muttered. She didn’t deserve my anger. And angry I was. I just wasn’t sure at what, but after I jumped a red light, I did the sensible thing and parked in a side street, wrote out a quick text.

I have your clothes and some mail. Let me know what to do with it. I went to the house, but apparently you’re not there.

I sent it. Blew out air. Grunted some more.

No response.

Let me know that you’re ok.

I shouldn’t have sent that last bit and stared at the phone, trying to remember how to unsend stuff. Poked at the text and swore under my breath.

I’m sorry, came back.

My heart wanted to melt. It didn’t. I wouldn’t let it.

Where are you?

He didn’t reply, which was probably for the best. I didn’t want to see him again.

I missed him. I missed having him around. Mostly, I missed…

“Argh!” More frustration shot through my body. I fired up the engine and drove back home, where I flopped down on the sofa and sat there, staring at the blank screen. A behaviour that had somehow become the norm. My life was back to being dull. Bland. Boring. Very much me.

The days did roll on, though, and I was once again grateful for work. The mundane hours where I wasn’t required to think. I just did what I needed to, took orders and fixed things. Solving small dilemmas and dealing with regular humans occasionally put a small smile on my face. Those smiles didn’t last, though and before long, I was back on that sofa.

I’d stopped sleeping in my room. I couldn’t even explain why, not that I needed to. My dad did little more than grunt at me and spent all his time in his room.

But then one morning, I was sitting nursing a cup of tea watching breakfast telly with the sound muted so I didn’t have to hear the over-cheery news anchors interviewing people they pretended to find interesting. People I usually had no interest in. Until…

I knew the guy on the sofa. The one with the polite smile. I lunged for the remote to get the sound up so I could hear what he was saying.

“Of course, it seemed like a dream life from the outside, but in reality, it was almost ten years of constant bullying,” he said. Lee. I was well pleased with myself. He was the one whose name I could never remember.

“So what went so horribly wrong?” the interviewer asked, her expression all sad and concerned. I leaned forward. What the hell was going on now?

“The management clearly favoured The Dieter, and everything was always about him. The rest of us barely mattered, as long as The Dieter was happy. There were six of us in that band, but only The Dieter was allowed to contribute to the writing process, even if there were other far superior songwriters. I mean, The Dieter can’t even play an instrument. I’ve got a degree in music and play several, yet I couldn’t be trusted to write a simple lyric.”

What the fuck?

I grabbed my phone and shot off a message to Gray before I could stop myself.

You watching this?

The little dots danced around on my screen almost immediately.

Yep.

Did you know? I typed while Lee continued hurling disturbing statements at the sympathetic interviewer, who shook her head in fake disbelief. I did it myself. Pretended to care deeply about someone’s lost baggage when I knew it would turn up on the next flight and get delivered straight to their door. No need for melodramatics.

“The Dieter destroyed this band, and The Dieter, alone, destroyed my career. If there had been any fairness within this whole project, we would have received an equal share. Instead, he took home huge royalties, while I struggled to look after my family. I’ve spent the last eighteen months constantly touring, with no support for my well-being, my mental health, and no stability or concern for the family I was forced to leave at home.”

That last part might’ve been correct. And I knew Gray. Yes, he liked to be the centre of attention and get his own way, and he was pushy. But the rest of it?