That One Moment (Lost in London #2)
Read That One Moment (Lost in London #2) Online
Authors: Amy Daws
Copyright © 2016 Amy Daws
All rights reserved.
Published by: Stars Hollow Publishing
ISBN 13: 978-1-944565-02-2
ISBN 10: 1-944565-02-7
Editing:
Stephanie Rose
Formatting:
Champagne Formatting
Cover Design: Amy Daws
Cover Photography: Megan Daws
Cover Models: Tyler Kilgore and Madisen Schany
This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. The only exception is by quoting short excerpts in a review. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please go to www.amydawsauthor.com to find where you can purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
A special note from the author:
Every one of my London love stories features Americans as the main characters, hence, American English spelling. The characters in this novel are British, so I honored (honoured) proper British spelling. This will feel slightly different from my previous novels, but I hope you can see that I do this out of respect for the British language and a place that I’ve called home in many books.
Thanks for understanding. ~Amy
Dedicated to Maverick:
My own four-legged fur buddy who passed away during the writing of this novel. I always told people I hated you.
But I was lying. I freaking loved you, mutt.
The end of the couch doesn’t look the same without you.
E
very moment in life has a ripple.
Every day has twenty-four hours.
That’s one thousand, four hundred forty different chances per day that can affect the course of your life.
Watching a ripple that you caused and immediately wishing you could take back is a devastatingly powerless feeling. You have to sit there and witness it grow and spread…like an infection.
And once it starts, there’s not much you can do to change its path or pattern of movement.
Unless, of course, you decide to make a splash.
CHALLENGER
“H
ayden Clarke. Good to see you again.” The doctor rises from behind his desk and extends his hand to me. He’s a tall, robust man with a grey beard. Dressed in khaki trousers and a navy jumper, he is the perfect cliché shrink.
I give him a firm, confident shake, trying to portray my entire state of mind with one simple gesture. “Hiya, Doc.”
“Please sit. I’ve been looking forward to this appointment for weeks.” He gestures to one of the maroon leather armchairs and takes the one seated directly across from it.
I drop down onto the familiar seat and rest my ankle on my knee. “You probably say that to all your patients.”
“I wish I could, Hayden. I wish I could.” He peers at me, and instead of grabbing his notepad like he normally does, he crosses his arms over his chest and eyes me speculatively. “Tell me, how are you feeling with your one-year anniversary approaching?”
He just dives right in. Every time. “I’m feeling fine. I’m focusing on preparing my speech for the charity gala, as you well know.”
“Yes, that’s right. Are you still confident about speaking? It’s a sensitive subject matter.” He cocks his head to the side, like he can see the answer if he looks at me hard enough.
Glimpses of the night I wish like hell I could forget flash through my mind. I straighten my posture and mindlessly touch my brown leather cuffs on each of my wrists. “Definitely confident. I can handle it,” I answer pragmatically.
A look of fondness lights up his features. “I think it will be a big turning point for you, Hayden. I really do.”
“That’s sort of the point.” I release my cuffs and rub my hands down my denim-clad thighs. “I’m ready to get on with my life. The last few days, I can’t seem to stop thinking about the days leading up to that night.”
He nods thoughtfully. “That is expected, given the timeline and the fact that the anniversary is only days away. What are you doing to continue progressing in your recovery beyond the charity gala? Who are you spending your days with?”
I shrug my shoulders and frown. “Leslie, Theo, and Baby Marisa mostly.”
His brows lift archly. “Anyone outside of your family?”
I clench my jaw because I can tell he’s asking a question he already knows the answer to and it irks me. “Not really. I help out with the baby a lot. And I’m back working with my brother again. We’re busy.” The truth is I don’t have many friends left after spending the last four years drinking my life away.
And eventually trying to take my life.
“Any word from Reyna?”
My eyes cloud over at the mention of her name. “She texts occasionally. I don’t really engage much with her.”
He simply nods and I let out an exasperated laugh. “We’ve already established that she’s not a good friend for me to lean on. Now you want me to go out and make new friends? How am I supposed to know what kind of friends are safe?” I challenge him.
“Hayden, it’s not about making friends. It’s about putting yourself out there. There are lots of people you can converse with who wouldn’t be anything like what Reyna was to you. I’m just noticing a pattern here. You’ve lived with your brother, his fiancé, and their new baby for three months now. You don’t appear to be showing an effort to intermingle with people outside of your family, to become a part of society once again.”
“I disagree with you,” I jeer, slicing my hand through my hair. “I’m getting up in front of hundreds of people to tell my entire bloody story. That seems like the definition of putting myself out there.”
The doctor smirks and nods again, which only further frustrates me. I stand up and stride over to the window to gaze down at the busy west end London traffic. A red double-decker bus full of tourists passes by. I’d give anything to be out there as a foreigner on holiday and oblivious to the shite that goes on in here.
“So what then? You don’t think my speech will be much of a challenge?” I snap, looking over my shoulder at him.
“I didn’t say that.” He sighs heavily and narrows his eyes at me, obviously gauging my temper.
“I’m reading between the lines.” I like Doc because he doesn’t bullshit me. But I get tired of having to find all the answers myself. Him questioning my recovery like this makes me feel insecure at a time when I’m desperate to prove to everyone that I’m not the same person. “Come on now. Out with it, Doc. Tell me one thing that could be more challenging.”
“Look, Hayden, you’ve done the twelve steps. You’ve told your story in group therapy. You’re staying clean. These are all good things, so let’s focus on those.”
I walk back over to my seat. “Don’t hold back on me now, Doc. Come on! Challenge me,” I dare, tossing my hands out wide as I sit back down. I always did love a challenge.
He shrugs his shoulders like he was expecting my reaction. “I just wonder how you would react if I asked you to tell your story to a single person. Not a room full of others in therapy. Not a ballroom full of people. Telling your story to an audience full of strangers is one thing. Finding someone whom you can sit down with and look in the eyes and tell your story to is completely another. Not a family member or a close friend. Rather, an acquaintance. The point is you’re not just talking at them, you’re engaging with them. They’ll likely have questions and comments. You’d have to field them all with an open mind.”
“And you think that’s the ultimate challenge,” I scoff arrogantly, but feel a churning in my abdomen over the idea.