HOURS OF HEAVEN.
Days of happiness.
Months of paradise.
Four months of sailing wherever we pleased, exploring whatever we fancied, and enjoying everything I could ever want while fearing it would all be taken away.
I had everything.
I was so fucking happy, but something niggled my mind, slowly growing more and more persistent.
I’d never been one for trusting in good things. It didn’t matter I’d paid my final sum for the lottery ticket I’d stolen or that Oliver Gold had received the exact amount he’d won. It didn’t matter I’d signed over fifty percent of my company to Selix and he’d grudgingly accepted what he deserved. And it didn’t matter I woke every morning to Pim and Spot, safe and happy beside me.
I was too used to everything being ruined whenever I let down my guard.
Yet it never happened.
My habits were kept at bay with the occasional joint, and Pim kept me centred with her affection. Ever since she’d given me the two cellos, my OCD had once again become manageable.
Some days, I played the black cello, pouring the last of my grief into my music. Its strings lived for death metal, dark punk, or a brutal blend of the two. Some days, I played the white cello, strumming with newfound happiness and love, creating classical and pop and pieces my father would’ve been proud of. And some days, Pim sat between my legs and I taught her anything she wanted to know, slowly taking back, note by note, the past that was stolen from her.
A couple of weeks ago, after chasing the summer, we’d sailed into the Fijian archipelago. Surrounded by beautiful islands, I spent my mornings working, afternoons swimming with Pim, and evenings in tropical hotels.
Pim had taken to caring after little Spot as if he was more than just a dog but a child. I couldn’t deny I’d done the same thing, both of us doting on the little critter.
I’d never had a pet growing up, but Pim taught me to let go and live voraciously through the eyes of a canine. Simplistic joy and wholehearted connection in everything he did from napping to playing to hanging out with us while we watched a movie in bed.
Pim laughed louder, smiled wider, and had so much life compared to a year ago when I’d carried her bleeding and unconscious from that bastard’s house.
I had to admit, having another little soul on board—a soul that was so grateful for every scratch and ball throw, a soul that thrived under our nurturing love—helped my untrusting heart believe that maybe, just maybe, I finally deserved to find some happiness.
My fear at losing Pim might never go away, but I slowly stopped searching the skies for chasing ships or new enemies.
The niggle in the back of my mind would hopefully quieten in time, and the greed for more perfection, more happiness, more everything would hopefully be satisfied with everything we already had.
That was what I hoped.
However, that was before the niggle turned into a craving.
It happened suddenly.
It happened sharply.
It happened while overlooking an island called the Seven Turtles where four helicopter-crash victims had struggled to survive.
I looked up from amending a blueprint while Pim read beside me. She absentmindedly threw Spot’s favourite ball for him to fetch, and an overwhelming punch of emotion crippled me.
It sank in claws and made me beg for this.
All of this.
Pim and me and Spot and freedom.
Forever.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t imagine another day of my life without this woman beside me.
All I could do was suffocate at how perfect she was—how perfect she made me.
I’d earned something I never thought possible but in some horrible, awful twist, it wasn’t enough.
With the setting sun tangling in Pim’s chocolate hair, I couldn’t ignore the pain of never being able to bring a son or daughter into this world. I couldn’t stop picturing more. Of a precious child who would never know the meaning of hate.
What good was my wealth if I couldn’t use it to make others happy?
I’d already given a few million to each of my family members. I’d already paid my debts and ensured Selix would be set for life. I’d called my lawyer and updated my will to ensure Pim had my fortune if I passed far too early. I’d taken care of everything I could think of, yet sitting there in that idyllic simple moment…something fundamental was missing.
Something I couldn’t buy or steal.
Something I couldn’t bribe or manufacture.
Something that could only be saved…as I’d saved Pim and she’d saved Spot.
I supposed it was karma’s way of completing a full three sixty—the circle of life and all that bullshit.
Adoption.
Pim hadn’t uttered the word since we’d left France, but I’d read the email from Tess a couple of times, wanting to bring up the subject but never knowing how.
At the time, I only wanted to know if Pim was okay with her body’s limitations. I didn’t care if she’d never need more than a dog to fill that need to tend and care.