Unplugged (Blue Phoenix, #3)(32)

This sucker punch to the head prevents me thinking about anything else all day. Four months ago, she contacted me and I never responded because I never got the f-ucking letter. Why didn’t Cerys ask Louise for my real address instead of sending c/o Blue Phoenix? Did Cerys make any decisions based on me not contacting her? I shake away the ‘what ifs’. What if everything fizzled, that the spark of our kiss was nothing more than the lonely need Cerys spoke about.

Fate made the decision for us with a little help from our own stupidity.

I stick the crayon picture on the fridge with a magnet. Isn’t that what you do with kids drawings? After kicking round the house obsessing about Cerys, I head out to my meeting with Tate Stephens. Music has been part of my life for eight years and despite Blue Phoenix being on a break, I have the need to keep working. So, I have session work lined up with Tate’s band, Landlocked, and I need to discuss the details. Honey’s pissed off because it means delaying the honeymoon; but our whole life is a luxurious holiday, so I fail to see the need for another. I guess the romantic in me is hidden too.

I’m on a high when I get back to the house in the evening. The meeting was awesome. Getting involved with Landlocked is a breath of fresh air, a meeting of musical minds. Their music isn’t as heavy as Phoenix’s, but my signature bass flows perfectly into their sound. I f-ucking love my job.

“Hey, babe!” I call as I walk across the granite floor into the tiled kitchen. Honey doesn’t reply; she’s not exactly the domestic type so I don’t expect her in the kitchen. Her red sports car is on the drive so she’s around somewhere. Maybe she’s in the pool. I head to the fridge to grab a beer before looking for Honey. I’m psyched about the session work and want to chat about my plans.

Ella’s picture is missing from the fridge.

I check the floor and kitchen counter but everything gleams, the stainless steel utensils carefully arranged in a stand on the marble counter, the show home look maintained. I open the cupboard where Honey shoves things that taint her perfect house and search through the pile of papers. Nothing.

Resting against the counter, I swig my beer, my scalp prickling with irritation. I want the f-ucking picture. The fact I feel so strongly edges Cerys back into my mind, and is another wake up call.

Honey appears, dressed down in black yoga pants and a tight pink tank top. Well, as dressed down as Honey gets, which basically, means minimal make-up and no hair extensions. Like this, Honey is as attractive as when she’s had make-up artists working on her for an hour, or wearing the designer clothes she fills the house with. I tell her she shouldn’t hide behind the fake, that to accept herself she needs to let people see who she really is.

We’re both aware of the perception the public has about us thanks to the picture the media have painted. Bryn says I’m fooling myself when I say she’s not a gold-digger. Perhaps she’s smarter than she makes out, but under it all she’s a frightened girl escaping a past that left her with nothing, including knowing who she really is. So yeah, big-hearted Liam gets sucked in again.

She’s on the phone and crosses to kiss my cheek before continuing her conversation; some shit about bridesmaids’ dresses. Wedding. My scalp prickles further.

“Really doesn’t help when Jewel crash diets and loses a dress size so close to the wedding,” remarks Honey as she ends the call. “Now her dress has to be remade.”

“She lost weight? Jesus, is there anything left apart from her bones?” I reply.

Honey kisses my nose. “She wants to look her best on the wedding day. As long as she doesn’t outshine me, I’m good.”

Honey is half-serious. I already got the brunt of her fury when Dylan got engaged to Sky, as if they deliberately chose to do this purely to overshadow her. Honey’s insecurity controls her life, expensive sessions with psychologists make no difference; her head is screwed.

“How was your day?” I ask, eager for a subject change.

“Yeah, busy, so much to organise.” She launches into one of her dizzying rambles about her meetings with the wedding planner. So much for a subject change, this is her sole topic of conversation recently. Add that to my uncertainty, and I’m bored.

Honey doesn’t ask about my day.

“Where did the picture go?” I ask her, indicating the fridge.

“The trash.” Honey’s stance changes and she crosses her arms across her ample chest, squashing her tits together in a distracting way. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Who sent it?”

“My sister’s friend’s daughter.”

“I read the back. Why did Cerys put a kiss?” Honey’s cutesy voice has hardened.

I wince at the tone she uses when she says ‘Cerys’. Oh, f-uck, here we go. “I doubt Cerys meant anything, it’s just a greeting. I bought the kid a Christmas present...”

“...and her a present,” interrupts Honey. “Why?”

“Because she was staying at my parents’ house and it seemed rude not to! Wow, Honey, why the questions?”

Honey’s tone rises and I brace myself in case we’re heading for Honey hysterics. “You put a picture on the fridge from some kid I don’t know and expect me to just ignore it? What if you’re having an affair? Or this is your kid.” She pauses, blue eyes widening. “Oh, my God! Is it your kid?”