Broken (23 page)

So where does that leave us?

“…James?”

My name snaps me back into the room and I look up to Tom. “Sorry, what was that?” Feeling awkward, I feign a smile before popping my last piece of roast potato in my mouth.

“Tess was saying how she enjoys working with Lucy. Do you find Theodore working with you a good thing?”

“Theodore works
for
, not
with
me.”

When Tom’s eyes grow a little wider I realise
that
right there is the arsehole side of me Theodore talks about, and I immediately laugh in an attempt to brush it off as a joke. “We work in different parts of the building so we don’t spend much of our time together but, yes, I enjoy
all
time spent with Theodore, both in
and
out of the office.”

“Ugh, pass me a bucket,” Tess says, pulling a face.

Mrs Davenport presses a hand to her chest and sighs. “That’s lovely to hear, James.”

It’s the first time she’s looked at me like I haven’t been scraped off the bottom of her shoe and I smile with relief. “Your son is very important to me, Mrs Davenport.” It’s the best I have to offer.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, with what looks like a genuine smile plastered on her weathered face.

The rest of the afternoon passes fairly smoothly. We eat lemon meringue pie for pudding, we listen to Tom talk about some of the more unusual cases he’s had to deal with at the hospital, and somehow, I end up talking for over twenty minutes about my father and the good times we shared together.

My eyes rarely leave Theodore as he interacts with his family. The relationship between them is so natural, effortless. Everyone in the room, bar me, feels comfortable whining, laughing, or even poking fun at each other, and I find myself grieving for an atmosphere I’ve never experienced in my own life.

Being around
my
family has always felt forced and uneasy. I’ve always felt this need to
act,
pretend to be the man they
expect
me to be. The only exception to this was my father, and that was only during the last few years of his life. When Max and I were children, our father worked eighty-hour weeks, trying to compete with the bigger publishing houses. It was only when we became adults, the business grew and my father sought out a silent business partner and executives to share the workload, that he had time to really get to know his children.

My father understood me. He didn’t fall for my bullshit attitude and, somehow, could always tell when something troubled me, if I was struggling, even when nobody else did. One Friday night he took me away on a golfing weekend to celebrate my third novel hitting the New York Times bestseller list, an achievement I owe completely to him, to his encouragement, his faith in me. I’m sure luck played a generous part, too. Publishing was different then. Until several years ago, before indie authors found success, the market was much less saturated, giving a good story an easier chance to shine.

I can’t swing a club for shit, but I enjoyed spending time alone with him. That was the weekend I told him about my diagnosis. I expected him to be shocked, tell me I needed to tell my mother…but instead, he enveloped me in a bear-hug, patted my back, and took me straight back out onto the course.

We talked about it in more detail when we got home, but for that weekend I wasn’t a writer or a businessman, I wasn’t an actor, and I
wasn’t
bipolar…I was just a boy hanging out with his dad.

I miss him
.

**********

Back at my house, I toss my keys into the glass bowl on the table in the long hallway. “You have a great family,” I say to Theodore, who’s making his way through to the kitchen. I overtake him and fill a glass with water at the sink. “Although I’m still not sure your mother likes me very much.”

Theodore’s body presses flush against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder. “She’s just making sure you’re good enough for her boy.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

Resting my head against his, I close my eyes, the warmth of his skin travelling through my body. “And am I?” I whisper. “Am I good enough for you?”

You know you’re not
.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

He sounds almost frustrated and, honestly, I can’t blame him. I’m not only fucked in the head, I’m insecure, too, and it’s something I only learned about myself after meeting Theodore. I’ve never been afraid of losing anything before because I’ve never allowed myself to become attached. The funny thing is I didn’t
allow
myself to get attached to Theodore. I was simply powerless to stop it.

“Are you okay, James?” he asks, gripping my waist and slowly turning me around. “You seem a little distracted lately.”

Am I?
I must try harder. “It’s just the business. I need to let some people go.”

“Why?” His eyes widen.

“The deal I lost has cost us. I’ve been left with no choice but to close the design department and sub-contract out to freelancers.”

My explanation is partly true. The magazine deal
has
lost us money – something which Gerard, my father’s, and subsequently
my
, business partner is
not
happy about. He’s a silent partner who doesn’t deal with the day-to-day running and decision making, but he owns forty percent, and so in situations like this, I’m forced to validate his opinion. But truthfully, my reckless spending is responsible for pushing Holden House to almost breaking point.

When I met with my accountant last week he presented me with a mountain of invoices and contracts that I don’t even remember ordering, yet there’s no denying the signatures on the documents are mine. Agreements for office furniture, building work, and a new Beemer, which is arriving next week, stared me in the face and I have no recollection whatsoever of arranging
any
of them. Worst of all, profit figures for the last quarter are the lowest we’ve seen in six years and I didn’t even notice.

My personal accounts show I’m not poor, by any means, but the balance is no longer growing which means I need to make some drastic changes before I’m, eventually, left with nothing.

My father must be so disappointed with me.

“I had no idea,” Theodore says.

I shrug. “It doesn’t affect you. Your department is safe.”
For now…

“It affects
you
, and you affect me.”

Silence follows and I start to feel nervous…or is it guilt? I can’t decide. All I know is that I’m, suddenly, acutely aware of every breath I take.

My fringe, usually swept to the side and held in place with wax, has fallen slightly. Reaching up, Theodore combs it back into place with his fingers. “And this is what’s getting you down?”

“I’m not down. A little stressed, but I’m fine. I promise.” I’m a lying bastard and I hate myself for it. We’ve had a few similar conversations over the last couple of months, where Theodore asks how I’m feeling and I lie through my worthless fucking teeth. A relationship shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t be constantly worrying about me. It’s a burden he doesn’t deserve.

I miss his smile. It’s radiant, it
heals
me, yet I’ve barely seen it in a couple of weeks. He’s a fun person, positive, and I’m sucking it out of him. I
want
to romance him, take him to dinner, on adventures, repeat the magic of the funfair…but, right now, leaving the house, even to go to work, fills me with dread. The fact I can’t do that for him is testament to how selfish I am.

It’s time to see the doctor. You know it is.

I can beat this on my own. I’ll start taking my meds again.

It’s too late for that. Talk to someone. Max, Theodore…just open your mouth and be honest.

“I’m okay, Theodore,” I say,
lie
, palming his cheek. “Come to bed with me. Help me forget about the real world for a few hours.”

Smiling, he presses his lips to mine. “Lead the way.”

**********

Two weeks later…

“…uncertainty. I demand to know what your plans are!”

Mike has been chewing my arse off for half an hour now, and I switched off about twenty-five minutes ago. I’m rarely in the mood for Mike, but today my patience is wearing especially thin since my mother’s impromptu visit this morning. Gerard, my business partner, has found out about the financial mistakes I’ve made and, instead of being an adult and discussing it with me, he tattletaled to my mother.

‘Why are you so irresponsible?’

‘Your father trusted you. What do you think he’d say?’

‘If you’re not cut out for this, then I’ll get Gerard in full time.’

Those are just a snippet of the things she had to say while I did nothing but stare at the light switch over her shoulder and pretend to listen. On another day I might worry about the points she raised, especially the one about my father, but today…today I’m too tired to give a shit. She has no shares in this business, something I
know
pissed her off when my father decided to leave his entire stake to me, so it’s none of her fucking business.

Briefly, I look up from the document I’m reading and make eye-contact with Mike. “You’re not in a position to demand anything. You work
for
me, not with me. Your department is safe. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Well that’s all you’re getting. Now, is there anything else? I’m busy.” I’m not, I just want him to fuck off. I want
everyone
to fuck off. I don’t know how much longer I can
pretend
for. I’ve tried the breathing exercises that are supposed to quell anxiety…and they do nothing. They don’t take away the boulder in my stomach, the nervous flutter in my chest, or the feeling that everyone can
see
that I’m losing it. All they do is make me feel fucking stupid.

I need to be alone.

“Fine, but I’ll be seeing a union rep over this.”

Shaking in my boots over here. Twat.
“That’s your right.”

With a frustrated huff, Mike straightens his tie and stomps out of my office like a spoilt child. The door has barely closed before another knock sounds and I slam the pen I’m holding onto the desk in temper. “
What?
” I bark.

“Bad time?” Theodore asks, popping his head around the door.

I gesture toward the chair opposite my desk. “Not anymore.”

He tries to be subtle, but I still notice him scan Helen’s office to see if she’s there before he walks past the chair and perches himself on the edge of my desk. We haven’t officially announced our relationship, but I’m pretty certain most people here know regardless. I don’t employ stupid people.

“Have you eaten yet? You missed breakfast again,” he asks, stroking along my cheek with the back of his hand. I fake a smile and slowly shift in my seat, distancing myself. I don’t want him to touch me. It takes all my effort to tolerate it when he does. We haven’t had sex for over a week and it makes no sense because Theodore means so much to me…yet his touch feels like ants crawling over my skin.

“Yes,” I lie. “I grabbed a sandwich earlier.”

“Did you drink the Lemsip’s I bought you?”

Right
. I have a ‘cold’. That’s the excuse I gave Theodore for being a little withdrawn lately. I
hate
that he believed me so easily. Sometimes I think I
want
him to push me, force me to
talk
to him, but he doesn’t. And why would he? He trusts me. He doesn’t know what a lying piece of scum I am.

“Yes. I feel much better.”

“You still look rough. I’ll get you some energy drinks on my way home from work. You’ve lost weight.” His fingers wander to my chin, stroking my thick stubble. “And you need to shave.”

“Did you just come here to insult me?” I snap.

“I’m worried about you. Your eyes are dark. Didn’t you sleep well?”

“I slept fine.” If anything I slept for too long. I have no energy lately. My bones ache and my head hurts. Sleep is the only thing that takes it all away.

Until I wake up.

“Get to the point, Theodore.”

“Tess called. She’s just taken a delivery for a new bed and a sofa.” He sounds angry instead of grateful.

“Oh good.” I check my watch. “They were earlier than expected.”

“You can’t do this shit without consulting me, James. I don’t need your charity.”

My eyes roll dramatically into the back of my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re a couple. I’m not
donating
them to you. I bought them for
us
.”

“You don’t even live there.”