A/N: 100000x sorry for letting you wait for sooo long. Life in general threw me some curveballs, but order has been restored, so I can pick up my story again. Thanks for baring with me. So this is for the loyal readers out there.
This chapter is a bit different from the others. I decided to give Matt a penny for his thoughts and he took me up on it. So here's his side of the story so far.
Disclaimer: I toy with their minds on paper, with Matt's body in my wild fantasies (which I won't share with you), but at the end of the day, a legal document will prove they're not mine…oh well…on with the story…
Interlude: Matt
You can't believe your eyes. Whatever is in the rum you've been drinking, it's causing you to hallucinate, because you could have sworn that the lady on the stool at the bar is Alesha Phillips.
But why would she be here and why the hell are you even thinking about the possibility? And why oh why does your heart start to slam faster in your chest at the mere thought?
You had thought it would have stopped by now, this constant, aching need to be close to her. Stopped because she has betrayed you, left you to dry after a case that should never have gone haywire in the first place. And though you could never blame her as much as you blame James Steel, you can't seem to shake the anger you feel altogether. If only she would have informed you, prepared you somehow...
It was the unexpectedness of it all. You'd never thought her capable of using you as means to an end, as collateral damage, a pawn in her game. After all you've meant for each other, helping and supporting the other one through her rape and your friend's suicide; you'd expected more from her. Instead you got stabbed in the back. Twice. First by your partner and friend. And then by the woman you openly regard as a friend but secretly love as so very much more.
When you arrived here three days ago, it was in the high hopes that the tropical surroundings, the sun, the ocean and the laid back attitude of the people here would somehow lull your senses, so that you would stop thinking of every single event that had led you to your current desolate state of mind. And for a while, it did. You managed to erase James's look of contempt from your mind, Ronnie's pathetic attempt at cheering you up. And the total absence of any comment, any kind of support from Alesha.
What you couldn't get out of your mind were images of the woman herself. Many, many times, while you were trying to relax by the pool, or taking a dive in the clear water of the Caribbean Sea, your thoughts would irrevocably drift back to her...her petite, slender body you've always secretly appreciated, even if she is modest in her choice of clothing; always appropriate for the office...her full lips, slightly pouty and always ready to be kissed...her big black eyes which convey so much warmth and compassion, but which can suddenly sparkle with good humour or burn with flashes of anger and determination too...her thick silky hair you simply want to run your hands through...she, to you is a vision to behold.
And you would never mistake any local beauty, as pretty as they were, for her.
Still, no, it can't be her. It would be preposterous to think she would care enough about you to follow you this far just to...to what exactly? Apologize? Proclaim her love for you? You sigh again, you really should stop the drinking if this is what it does to you. After all, there's still this pretty brunette you're dancing with who might just be into more than a little dancing if you play your cards right. And if you can stop the thoughts from drifting to the image of a beautiful woman with bee stung lips, doe eyes and honey soft skin.
Besides, the only one who knows where you are (always knows where you are; that's the deal the two of you made even as children, the one deal you'll never get yourself to break) is Niamh and you carefully instructed your sister not to tell a soul. You refuse to believe she's broken that promise.
Firmly shaking any thoughts about home and work and betrayal and pain away, you turn on the charm again and send the guaranteed to work smile to Crissy...Holly...Candy...eh...the brunette. No, you're not deliberately forgetting her name, but tonight you simply don't want to care. Knowing this lady by name makes her more real and you need the dream more than the reality of a woman with actual feelings and demands. It's Jamaica, it's far away from home and you're a free man. You can do whatever the hell you want with any girl as long as she's an adult and it's consensual. And there's no reason to assume it's not, even if her judgement is partly clouded by her one too many Cosmopolitan. Not with the way she looks at you, gyrates her hips against yours in an attempt to excite you.
Only...you're not excited. Not even close.
The image of the Alesha lookalike is still firmly imprinted on your mind and you can't shake the thought there's more to it. And like picking on a scab of an old wound, you know you shouldn't, but can't help yourself. So with an excuse, you turn away from Crissy, Holly, whatshername and glance in the general direction of the bar, where the girl was spotted last.
She's not there and you didn't expect her to be. Still wanting to make sure you're not going stark raving mad (if that's not too late already), you push a way to the throng of people on the crowded dance floor. As you reach the place you've seen her last, you bump into someone. On instinct you grab the woman's shoulder and look down...
It's her.
"Alesha?"
You're not going insane. You're really not.
Now what to do? How do you address the last person you expected to see here, except maybe for Ronnie? What do you say to the woman you're so angry with you can hardly see straight, yet so in love with you can't just move away from her?
Her demeanour shows uncertainty and pain. Her face is ashen underneath her naturally tan skin, her eyes are wide and panicky. Like an innocent animal about to be slaughtered. It almost kills you to realize that right now, you scare her. That she's looking at you the same way she looked at Merrick after that fateful day in his practice. Yet, before your very eyes she transforms, calming herself with a cool, admirable determination.
"Lesh...what are you doing here?"
Even if you're not sure you want to hear the answer, even if you can tell she won't just fall into your arms and break down, you have to know if there's even the slightest possibility she hasn't come as a messenger of James or Ronnie, conveying their apologies as some kind of negotiator. You won't be fooled by that.
You just want her to be here for you.
"Making a mistake. Sorry Matt, go back to your date. Just...just pretend you've never seen me."
Sure, because you've just gone half mad making yourself believe you only HAD pretended to see her. Can this get any more confusing?
"But...what..."
"Goodbye, Matt Devlin."
With that sudden...finality she shrugs off your hand and walks away, pride in her motions, like some kind of African Goddess. For one moment, you don't want anything more than to follow her, stop her, gather her in your arms and promise her you'll never leave her behind again.
But your mother tried to raise you as a gentleman and so you make your way back to the brunette, only to find out she's already chatting up some other bloke. Oh well so much for your mum's correct upbringing; at least it saves you from the ultimate humiliation of not being able to perform on a one night stand you never planned to have in the first place. Looking closely, she's not all that pretty anyway, not to you. Your standards are a lot different these days, thanks to the one lady you are desperate to find.
Yet, she's nowhere to be found and when you ask for her cabin number at the reception desk, they're not really cooperating, valuing their guest's privacy. And you don't have your badge to flash to force their hand.
In an attempt to at least do something, you take a run back to your cabin, snatch up your mobile phone, switch it on for the first time in days and call your sister.
The phone goes to voicemail after five rings and you wince as you realize it's only five AM back in Birmingham. But damn it; there's no way you can wait another two hours for her to get up. You have to talk to her. This is an emergency and you're sure she'll pick up eventually and agree with you that it really is.
You try again. Five rings and the voicemail. Again...She answers on the second ring, sounding groggy and annoyed.
"This better be important, Matthew. As in life threatening. Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Hi Niamh dear, I'm sorry, I know, but I'm having a bit of a crisis here...I just saw Alesha..."
She sighs, but gives you no more time to ask the questions you feel you need to ask. Instead, she immediately confirms her involvement in Alesha's presence on this island and blatantly refuses to apologize for breaking her promise to you.
"Look, Niamh, I'm not mad about that. In fact, I think I could use your help. I mean...what has she told you, why is she here? To apologize?"
"Eh...no. She doesn't need to."
Suddenly angry again, you snap. "She bloody well does!"
Yes, you both use the same swear words when you're angry. In fact, you think you taught her that.
"Do not fly off the handle with me Matthew Devlin! You wanted my help? At bloody five AM in the bloody morning? Then you might as well listen when I bloody well offer it!"
You wince at her tone. Even if she's your junior, she has always had a way of admonishing you that left you feeling slightly emasculated.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Just explain why you seem to think she doesn't owe me an apology. Like they all do."
"Bloody hell, brother, you can be a right wanker sometimes, you know that? Has it ever, even once, occurred to you that she might not have known about it? That this brilliant mister Steel of yours just ploughed ahead without ever informing her?"
Truth be told, it hadn't, convinced as you were that the two prosecutors worked too closely together to have any secrets. But then again...what if Niamh's right? What if your anger at her is unfounded and as a result, she's still the sweet wonderful lady you always knew she was?
Well, that means, you idiot, that you hurt her more than the other way around! Dear bloody Lord, what a mess. How to ever fix it? But first...
"How can you be so sure about that?"
"Because she showed up on my doorstep the day before yesterday, frantic, tearful and desperate. Believe it or not Matty boy, but she loves you and misses you. And I won't apologize for telling her where you were and helping her buy a ticket for the first flight to Kingston. She didn't care about the hours, the costs, the last-minute vaccinations, anything...she just wanted to do whatever it takes to get you back. Now you get your thick head out of your even thicker arse and get your girl. And I for one think it's you who needs to be sorry. No matter what happened and I'm not saying I don't understand your feelings, but you hurt a lot of people by pulling this disappearance act and Alesha worst of all."
For a moment, you both remain silent as you let the words of your sister sink in. Frantic. Tearful. Desperate. Love. A combination of factors that made her pack her bags and spend a fortune on a whim, just to find you.
Because she does love you.
Alesha Phillips is here on the island. And she loves you.
The possibilities and the overwhelming need to explore them, right here and now, grip you firmly and after a hasty goodbye and another apology to your beloved and oh so helpful, insightful baby sister, you leave your cabin without a doubt in your mind about what you have to do.
After a few minutes of uncertainty, you spot a forlorn looking, solitary figure sitting in the sand, close to the water's edge, unmoving except for a slight heaving of the shoulders, indicating she's crying.
The crashing of the waves and the sound of her own tears must have made her deaf for any other sounds, because she doesn't look up when you gingerly set yourself down next to her. On a whim, you press a tiny, barely there kiss on her shoulder, before softly saying the words that you wanted to hear from her, but now know you must offer yourself.
"Forgive me, Alesha. I'm so sorry..."
