Junkyard Heart (Porthkennack Book 7) by Garrett Leigh

Author:Garrett Leigh [Leigh, Garrett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2017-12-01T18:30:00+00:00

Kim didn’t call. And I didn’t call him, which meant we were back in the silent phase of our never-ending cycle of bullshit and miscommunication.

I blamed myself. How could I not? Everything Kim had said to me was true. I’d asked to be friends, and then screwed him on the floor of my old flat, then I’d asked him to be a friend I could fuck, only to drive him home with no more than a snog on the doorstep, all the while letting on no indication that I gave a shit what became of us.

The Red thing wasn’t quite as he saw it, though, but it would take a hell of a conversation for him to believe that. Despite what Rich had put me through, I truly had no problem with the bond Kim and Red had forged long before I knew them. How could I, when he’d been so honest about it? Because it wasn’t Rich’s wife who had hurt me so much, it had been the lies, the deception . . . the hidden side of a man I’d believed I would spend the rest of my life with. I didn’t know Kim as well as I wanted to, and I didn’t know Red at all, but somehow I believed in them, a notion that made little sense as I threw myself into my work in an effort to give Kim some space.

Space. Ha. Would I never fucking learn? When a week of silence turned into ten long days, it appeared not. Tail between my legs, I got in my car one Saturday afternoon and drove to the commune, but there was no one there, and no sign of Red’s pink car.

Deflated and slightly desperate, I wound up at the farm, seeking shelter in Laura’s kitchen while the others were all out painting the barn to match the new doors Kim had apparently delivered the day before.

“We honestly didn’t expect him to have them finished so soon.” Laura set her gigantic teapot on the table. “He surprised us when he turned up last night.”

“Was he okay?”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “Okay? Yes, he seemed to be, not that he said much. We couldn’t even tempt him in with a glass of your dad’s blackberry wine.”

“He doesn’t drink, Ma. He’s an alcoholic.”

“Oh.” For once, my wonderful stepmother appeared lost for words. “Well, he doesn’t look like one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Who does?”

“Is he a functioning alcoholic? I’ve read about those.”

“Ma, I have no idea what you read about in those daft magazines of yours.”

“Cheeky.” Laura cuffed my ear as she claimed the seat beside me, softening the blow with a plate of jam-filled shortbread. “But I’m sorry if I’ve put my foot in my mouth. Us old fogies have to work hard to keep up.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Old enough to know better than to talk when I should be listening.”

Knowing that resistance was futile, I took my cue. Besides, I couldn’t stand any more silence. “I think I’ve fucked up.

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