Lost And Found: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 7

  I can’t tell her any of that. Not in that way.

  It would hurt her even more than any lie I could tell. Make it sound like I was trying to paint her dad as crazy so she’d choose me over him.

  “Just stay awhile, Rachel. I’ll explain everything in time but I just want you here right now,” I tell her, knowing already it won’t be enough.

  “I can’t just stay here forever, Conor,” she reminds me. “I told you, my dad and I are moving. Tomorrow! I can’t just throw all that away because you want to…”

  Her voice breaks off and we both know it’s not just me who wants it.

  Not just me who wants her to stay.

  “I just can’t,” she says finally, her lower lip trembling as she wraps herself in that blanket and swishes out of my office.

  Valentine whines and wants to follow her, but I give him a firm look to stay.

  I can hear her going down to the kitchen, finding her clothes I folded from the dryer, next to her boots and jacket.

  I didn’t do that so she would leave.

  I laid her clothes out so she could get dressed once we’d had breakfast.

  Once we’d…?

  Once we’d… I don’t even know anymore.

  It’s like hearing her dad has broken a spell or something like she doesn’t seem like she even wants me anymore.

  Maybe I’m just not supposed to find happiness. Seems everything I try just blows up in my face.

  I sit stunned for a while, patting Valentine once he rests his own worried look against my knee.

  “It’s alright boy,” I tell him, stroking his fur and squeezing his ear.

  But it’s not alright.

  I can hear her voice a few minutes later, on the phone in the kitchen, dialing a cab.

  The address is no secret, my cards are all over the place with all my details on them.

  She’s not going anywhere. You can’t just let her walk out like this.

  Meeting her halfway down the hall once she’s hung up, I tell her so.

  “You can’t just leave, Rachel,” I try to reason, without actually giving one.

  “I’m sorry, Conor. I really am,” she sniffs, holding back tears. “But I can’t just abandon my dad, not ever go home again just because we-”

  She moves to get past me and I put myself between her and the front door.

  “Rachel, please. Let’s just calm down and talk about this, alright?”

  “You can’t make me stay, I’m going home now, Conor,” she says loudly, her voice rising at the end. Telling me, not asking me to get out of her way.

  I move to one side.

  I can’t make her stay, can’t seem to do anything to persuade her right now.

  I can smell her hair as she brushes past me, feel the warmth from her body as it passes close to mine.

  “I… Rachel, I...” I stammer, trying to say it. Trying to tell her.

  She turns to face me, her eyes flashing as she shakes her head. There’s the honk outside from her cab and I take a couple of steps towards her, my hand out for her to take.

  “Don’t,” she whispers. “Just. Don’t.”

  It’s all over in a flash, the light from outside throwing a huge bright triangle down the hallway before she pulls the door shut.

  Leaving me standing there alone, in the cold she’s let in.

  In the cold, she’s left behind.

  Valentine trots to the door, whining and looking back at me.

  Once he hears the cab pulling away he lets out a bark that echoes through the whole house.

  I take a deep breath, feeling my hands shake and my legs go weak as it all sinks in.

  I sit down again, holding my head in my hands, and wait for a thought to come.

  An idea or reason for things being the way they are all of a sudden.

  “She’ll come back, V. I know she will. She has to.” It’s all I can say after a while.

  But Valentine’s not by my side like he usually would be, he’s parked himself by the front door, his chin on his paws and his ears up, listening and waiting for Rachel to come back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rachel

  What am I doing?

  The same question I asked myself half of yesterday is replaying all over again in my mind.

  But for very different reasons.

  Conor’s perfect, he hasn’t done anything wrong. I’ve still got the pleasant ache down there to prove it.

  He’s been nothing but kind, tender and loving towards me. He doesn’t want me to go, so why am I going?

  Yesterday, following his dog it was all ‘Where am I going?’ and today it’s ‘Why am I going?’

  Everything was fine until I heard my dad, that’s why.

  I know it.

  Hearing how upset he is, knowing he hasn’t slept a wink and him having to arrange all the last minute stuff by himself.

  It all makes me feel so terrible, so selfish. Even though I know how great Conor’s been, how much he-

  There it is again.

  Was he really gonna tell me? Was he really gonna say it, those three magic words?

  I don’t know if it would have made me stay if he did, probably would have made it all harder than all this already is.

  Oh, and dear sweet Valentine! God, I love that dog already. To think I was scared of him for a moment yesterday.

  Yesterday feels like a thousand years ago.

  Looking up from my hands, I hear the cab driver mumbling something and I’m about to answer when I realize he’s talking to someone else.

  His friend or someone on his Bluetooth.

  His eyes meet mine for a second in the rearview, but they don’t register how I’m feeling. They don’t offer me any consolation.

  Once I get home, I realize I don’t have any cash and ask the driver to wait while I go inside. He rolls his eyes and gives me a suspicious look, but once he sees my dad in the front doorway he eases up.

  I explain this much to my dad, who makes a face and slips the guy some cash before he bundles me inside.

  It’s started raining again, with what looks like snow on the way too it’s so cold.

  Once inside, I expect my dad to give me the third degree, but he’s unusually quiet, only asking me if I had breakfast, which I haven’t.

  I nod and pretend I have but he knows me better than that.

  “C’mon,” he says, putting his arm around me and walking me to the kitchen. “We should use up all this food anyway,” he adds, opening the refrigerator and pulling out some bacon and some eggs.

  He sets to work in silence and taking off my jacket I put some coffee on and sit at the table, not wanting to mention that it doesn’t look like he hasn’t packed a whole lot since yesterday.

  In fact, it doesn’t look like he’s packed anything.

  We’re both last minute people, but yesterday he was so determined that we’d be all set and ready to go a day ahead.

  I’m not gonna give him a hard time about it, and cringe inside when I think about my closet that I’ve yet to sort out.

  But I can’t stop thinking about Conor either, the pain in my gut is too much for me to even stand the thought of food right now.

  “I changed things around a little,” he finally says, cracking an egg and speaking louder over it sizzling in the pan.

  “Huh?” I ask, pulled back to our kitchen again, away from Conor’s couch. Away from his hands as they squeeze me in time with his tongue dancing inside me.

  “The truck,” my dad explains, “I called the moving company and changed the plan. It’ll cost extra, but I’m getting them to do the packing today and move the rest of our stuff tomorrow as well. I need some sleep right now,” he exclaims, making me feel ten times worse already.

  The original plan was to pack it all ourselves and even load the truck, then dad would drive up and I’d follow. We were gonna try for one trip but gave ourselves Sunday as well to make sure we had everything gone by Monday when the lease officially ended.

/>   “Two people and a slightly bigger truck, we can just drive up tomorrow, let them do all the heavy lifting,” he adds, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.

  “You okay?” he asks me, making sure not to press the point any further. For now.

  I stab a little nod and poke at my food for a while, watching dad eat heartily before I offer to clean up.

  “I’d rather you talked to me,” he says sheepishly, creasing a frown and raising his eyes, making himself look like a puppy dog.

  As if I need reminding.

  “Talk about what?” I ask, trying to get up to clear the plates but he grabs me gently and sits me on his knee like when I was a little girl, taking all my weight which I can tell is too much for him now that I’m grown up.

  “I just want you to know you can tell me stuff, Rachel. Whatever’s going on in your life? Things you think I might not understand,” he explains softly.

  Oh man, if you only knew.

  “I know it’s a big deal, moving and all. But you made it through college, hardly even missed this old place after a few weeks,” he reminds me.

  I feel myself squirming and casually peck his cheek before getting up.

  “I may as well tell you, Dad. Nothing gets past you,” I hear myself saying.

  He gets a knowing look and leans back, relieved I’m gonna give him something to make up for his night of worry.

  “I kinda… met someone,” I tell him, turning my back and pretending to sort dishes when in reality I’m having yet another ‘What are you doing?’ moment.

  He starts excited, “Honey, that’s great!” But then I can feel him frowning, long before I finally turn around and see his face.

  “But, we’re moving,” he says flatly, poking a hole in my good news that I already know isn’t that good.

  “I know,” I sigh and think of Conor straight away again. His house, Valentine. How perfect he is and everything else in his world.

  “It’s nothing serious,” I lie, hoping it might at least stop my dad from reminding me that I don’t have anyone for a change. But it has the opposite effect.

  He wants to know everything, I can tell.

  I’ve gone from the girl nobody wanted yesterday to the girl who stayed out all night.

  “Well it sure sounds serious,” he says firmly, his voice getting darker. “Serious enough for you to be out all night the day before we’re due to move, Rachel. That sounds pretty serious to me.”

  Straight away it feels like yesterday morning all over again, before I walked out and went for a walk instead of arguing.

  Yesterday dad apologized straight away and I kinda punished him by walking out.

  Today he’s not saying sorry, he’s fuming all of a sudden. Wanting answers I can’t give him.

  Answers I can’t even give myself.

  I wish there was someone I could tell all this to, someone who could listen to my being torn between wanting to stay with Conor and wanting to stay with my dad.

  Family over my feelings, but now it feels like I’ve blown both chances, made one angry, and walked away from the one man who wanted me to stay.

  Can’t walk out again today, I just got home. And I don’t feel like arguing either, I feel low enough as it is.

  “Why don’t you go lay down for a while, Dad?” I suggest. “I don’t feel like fighting. I met someone, it was no big deal and I know it won’t work with the move, so…?” I shrug, relieved when he silently agrees with me.

  He’s worse than I am when I’m tired, grouchy as hell, and totally unreasonable.

  “I guess I should get some rest,” he admits.

  “I’ll wash up, and then pack up some more dad, you go rest,” I tell him, grateful when he’s gone because I don’t have to keep up the front anymore.

  I sink down into the kitchen chair and cover my face with my hands, silently crying for what I’ve left behind.

  Crying for what I’m moving away from and most of all, crying because I know I’ve made the wrong choices already.

  After a time, I’m convinced I can hear Valentine barking, I get up and rush to the front door but there’s nothing outside.

  I strain to hear him, but it’s just the wind and the cold.

  The snow that’s starting to fall.

  Conor? If I could take it back, I would. I hope you don’t hate me for this, but I didn’t know what else to do. If you can fix this, then fix it. One more hour without you is too much.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Conor

  I can’t decide which feels worse. Missing her the moment I hear the cab pull away, or not having Valentine near me while he sits at the front door pining for her too.

  I call him from my office but he only whines and growls, telling me what I already know.

  I messed up somehow. I blew the one chance I had.

  Valentine doesn’t bear a grudge though, and after a while, he feels my emotions enough to come try and cheer me up.

  I’ve been staring at my open laptop for an hour, vacantly assessing some digital floor plans but having no real plans of my own.

  No idea how I could even try to get Rachel to come back.

  I didn’t even get to ask where she was moving to. It occurs to me that I could and would definitely move in a heartbeat if it meant I could be closer to her.

  They’re not moving to another country as far as I can tell. I could take Valentine with me, move anywhere. I work mostly from home anyways.

  The thought pleases me, I even feel my mouth twitching into a smile.

  The old Conor Fox thinking is starting to come around again.

  I always get what I want in the end, and I don’t plan on letting someone as special as Rachel slip through my fingers just because she’s moving.

  If she won’t move in with me straight away, there are always other ways and means for me to be closer to her.

  I’ve certainly got the means. I just need to find the way.

  Fixing Valentine and me some breakfast and watching him tiptoe through the fresh snow before I give him his privacy afterward, I sip coffee until it hits me.

  The smile on my face is a strong one, and I can feel my head nodding.

  I leave the back door open a little and head back to my office.

  If they’re moving, the house or wherever they live must be coming up for lease or sale, surely.

  A standard online search reveals Rachel’s dad, David Beckett.

  I grimace slightly, feeling a pang in my stomach at the sight of his profile picture.

  He hasn’t aged well.

  But I don’t care about that, I need to know where he lives.

  Nothing.

  It’s Friday morning, and probably still too early to start making calls, but I try a few of my close contacts. People who I know will pick up the phone if it’s me.

  “Did you try the phone book?” My third attempt asks, sounding more than a little pissed at being woken up in the middle of the night. On speed dial, I forgot he’s in another country.

  It’s so simple, and I laugh at myself for being so shortsighted.

  I’m so wrapped up in thinking about Rachel I don’t even think to look her dad up in the phone book.

  I don’t even remember if I even have a phone book.

  Checking the kitchen drawers by the phone, I find one.

  I also notice Valentine’s taking his sweet time too and stand by the open door calling out for him, feeling that same sense of dread coming back over me.

  Ah Jesus, not again!

  Running out into the snow in my bare feet, I get to the end of my limit tolerating frozen ground when I hear his familiar bark behind me.

  He’s by the back door, giving me another of his looks before he trots back inside.

  Well played, Valentine. Well played.

  Cold feet and a cheeky dog aren’t enough to dampen my spirits though, and I rush back to the phone book, snapping at the thin sheets with my fingers until I find the page I think should be the one.


  A trembling finger scans down the tiny print, and there it is in black and white.

  D. Beckett. 17 Riverside Drive.

  It’s the only name that matches, and although the book’s a few years old I tell myself it just has to be the one.

  It’s my only way back to Rachel.

  The phone’s in my hand in a second, but I stop myself.

  I have one piece of the puzzle, now I need to join the dots and see what’s actually available.

  The address yields a realtor who does answer their phone early and is more than interested when she hears my idea.

  “Basically, I heard the place was gonna be empty starting Monday and I wanna buy it,” I tell her. “So, if you can tell me how much, I can pay you,” I add impatiently.

  Even though I know it is, turns out buying a house is a little more complicated than ordering a pizza.

  But I set the groundwork in motion, giving the agent a backstory about my motivation.

  “It’s the current tenant, Dave Beckett. I went to college with him, we studied architecture together. I heard he was moving and I’m actually trying to think of a way to make him stay. To get him to come work with me again…” I hear myself telling her.

  She aww’s a little, and I realize it’s a way better story than telling her it’s all a cleverly designed scheme to keep his daughter in the state long enough so I can not only claim her but keep her all to myself.

  But then she takes a deeper breath in, I can hear her over the phone. The kind of air needed when you’re about to brush someone off but in a nice way.

  “Mr. Uhhh?” she starts.

  “Fox. I’m Conor Fox, architect,” I tell her, figuring dropping my own name should explain enough. It usually does.

  “Mmm hmm,” she says softly, and I can hear the tap of a keyboard, probably a search engine.

  I reach down for Valentine, but he’s not there. Probably parked by the front door again.

  “Mister Fox. I do appreciate your call, but the property in question isn’t scheduled for lease or sale with my agency. I’d love to help you, I really would. But I just can’t right now.”