Unseen Messages(6)

His boarding pass went through without complaint.

His eyes met mine.

He paused, lips twitching into a small smile. A bolt of interested attraction sparked from me to him. My mouth responded against my will, parting beneath his attention.

Who is he?

Sunlight reflected off his glasses, blinding me for a moment.

“Have a nice flight, Mr. Oak.” The blonde agent returned his pass.

The connection between us vanished as he pinched it from her fingers and hoisted the bag strap up his shoulder. “Cheers.”

An accent. English, by the sounds of it. Before I could conjure more tales of fancy, he disappeared down the air-bridge.

A moment later, the supervisor clapped his hands. “Hurrah. All done.” Giving me a new boarding pass, he grinned. “All sorted, Ms. Evermore. You’re free to board. Sorry for the delay.”

Taking the documentation, I put one foot in front of the other.

I ignored every warning bell in my blood.

I followed the Evermore family, the enticing Mr. Oak, and willingly gave my life to fate.

I put my previous fear down to overwork and stress.

I convinced myself I was reading into things, that disasters happened to other people; that life didn’t send messages to those about to die.

I didn’t listen.

I ignored the signs.

I got on the plane.





Chapter Two


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G A L L O W A Y

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I HATED FLYING.

The only reason I agreed to fly halfway across the bloody world was to complete my apprenticeship under one of the best builders in the style of architecture I wanted to specialise in.

For the past six months, I’d lived on his estate. I’d listened to my mentor by night. I’d worked beside him by day. He taught me how little I knew and how much I needed to learn if I wanted to excel in the profession I’d chosen (not to mention reminding me how close I was to throwing it all away).

To work with wood, to build and create with a natural resource—first, you had to understand how it worked. My teacher had come from a long line of craftsmen from furniture makers to sky-scraper designers.

The fact he had Inuit blood and could trace his family tree back to the natives on his mother’s side was a plus for learning, not just about how to hammer a nail or finesse a dovetail joint, but how to nurture the trees we used. How to take a wooden plank and turn it into a home.

I’d learned more living with his wife and two sons, absorbing every lesson, than I ever did at university (or at my more recent abode). Then again, that education had been of a different nature.

You promised you wouldn’t think about it.

For the hundredth time, I gritted my teeth and pushed away thoughts that only pissed me off and hurt. Clenching my fists, I followed the herd down the air-bridge and onto the plane.

I was sad to leave.

But eager to put a stamp on my new career. My new life. A life I was eternally thankful for after everything I’d done to screw it up.

I didn’t deserve it, but my father had agreed to help fund me. Acting as guarantor for the business loan I’d applied for: Opulent Oak Construction. Not to mention, he’d been fundamental for me securing the work permit for entry into the USA. Without him...well, my second chance wouldn’t have mattered.

He’d given me my world back. He trusted I wouldn’t let him down.

I had no intention of doing that. Ever again.

He’d granted endless support and fatherly devotion, even after everything I’d done. However, he had a condition—completely adamant with no concessions.

So, I did the only thing I could.

I gave in.

I agreed to fly to Fiji (the one place I’d always wanted to visit as a kid) and live a little before burying myself in my new company in England. He wanted me to sample freedom before I shackled myself to a long-term commitment.

He wanted me to have fun.

Ha!

After everything that’d happened, he thought I knew what that word meant.

I have no bloody clue.

How could he expect me to be an average twenty-seven-year old bloke after the history I’d already clocked up? Even now, he still looked at me like the golden son...not the black stain I’d become. I didn’t deserve fun. Not after what I’d done; especially at a time he needed me the most.

Fun.

I hated the word.

And even if I did remember how to indulge, I wouldn’t waste my time on girls and booze because I had a driving need to create something from nothing after I’d destroyed everything. I had a lot of sins to make up for, and if my father wouldn’t let me start atoning at home, well, I would have to find another way.

I’m a bastard, pure and simple.

I hated that I’d lied when conceding to his terms. I’d looked him in the eye and agreed to go to Fiji under the proviso of sunbaking, drinking, and having a one-night stand or ten. However, instead of reserving a bed in a gross backpackers with other self-centred idiots, I volunteered my skills to a local firm who built homes for under privileged locals.

I needed to find redemption before I drove myself insane with sickening memories and overflowing self-hatred.

Only thing was, the company expected me to start work first thing tomorrow. Otherwise, they’d give the contract to another applicant. No tardiness. No excuses. Be there or miss out.