I hang up and walk back into the bedroom in a daze, my heart beating hard and fast.
Is this the sign I’ve been waiting for?
I climb into bed beside Kate and I take her into my arms as sadness fills me.
“El,” she murmurs in her sleep.
I hold her tighter.
“I love you,” she whispers.
I close my eyes in regret.
Fuck.
I let out a deep exhale as I watch the game on the screen. I’m at a bar, sitting at a high bench seat near the back, waiting for my brothers. I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and fuck, I need to hash it out.
I see them amble through the front doors, deep in conversation, and then make their way over to me. Jameson heads straight to the bar.
“Here he is.” Tristan slaps me hard three times on the back as he falls onto the seat beside me. “What is so damn important that we have to meet you in a bar at”—he glances at his watch—“eleven-fifty in the fucking morning?”
I roll my eyes. “Everything.”
Christopher frowns across the table. “What’s wrong?”
“Destiny is fucking me up the ass, that’s what.”
Tristan raises an eyebrow. “Strap-on, or cock?”
Christopher chuckles as he turns his phone off and puts it on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up,” I snap. “Trust you to make a joke of my life.”
“It is comical,” he says dryly. “And you are a clown.”
Jameson arrives with a tray of beers, places them in front of us and falls into a seat, looks over at me. “What?”
“My life is a fucking disaster,” I scoff.
He rolls his eyes. “So dramatic.”
“What now?” Christopher says.
“Well, I’m happy.”
They nod.
“And you know that I’m obsessed with Harriet Boucher and have had a private investigator searching for her for over six months?”
“Yes,” they all reply.
“And you know how I’ve seen that beautiful blonde woman at her auctions for years and have never been able to find her afterwards? And that I’ve felt a connection to her as if she is someone I should know?”
“The ballerina?” Tristan asks.
“That’s her.” I take a gulp of my beer; this story is nothing short of horrifying.
They all sit back as they listen.
“I got an email from the private investigator last night, he found Harriet.”
“That’s great.” Christopher smiles.
“The ballerina is her.” Their faces fall. “I’m supposed to meet her in France next week.”
Jameson slumps back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be fucked.”
“And Kate told me that she loved me last night.”
They all blink, shocked.
“So, all along I’ve been waiting for a sign from the universe. I believed I would have that destined meeting or whatever that was. I’ve been obsessed with one woman, and searching for another woman’s paintings. And I find out that they are the same person on the night that my new girlfriend . . . there, I said it . . .” I hold my fingers up and air-quote the word “。 . . girlfriend . . . tells me that she loves me.”