Forgiven

by Garrett Leigh

  He cut me off with the most chaste kiss we’d ever shared, then pressed his finger to my lips. “Don’t. I don’t want that.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to know I love you, and tell me you love me back.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is. We’re halfway there with that sentence. The tough part is meaning it.”

  “I do mean it.”

  “Do you?”

  He squeezed my fingers so hard my bones protested. “Yes.”

  “I love you too. Just in case you hadn’t figured it out yet.”

  “I’ll never figure you out.”

  I laughed softly. “Perhaps you’re not meant to.”

  A companionable silence fell over us for a while. I leaned against him and absorbed the first certainty I’d had in a decade that he really did love me. But pessimism was an evil mistress, and the reality that love had never been enough was hard to ignore.

  I shifted on the bed, turning to face him. “You really hurt me.”

  “I—”

  I covered his mouth with my hand. “It’s not enough that you know...you have to let me say it.”

  He nodded.

  I let my hand drop and sucked in a shaky breath. “You didn’t just leave me, you broke my heart. And your promises. You said you’d always be there for me, that I’d never have to go through what you did with your dad on my own, but that’s exactly what happened—”

  My heart constricted, and I gripped his hand tighter the way he had mine.

  “Go on,” he whispered. “Don’t stop...please.”

  I shook my head. “I woke up and you were gone. The only reason I knew where was because Billy told me, and it shattered me, Luke, even though I so nearly understood why you’d done it.”

  “No one understood. Not even me.”

  “Don’t. I can’t feel sorry for you.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “But you are, don’t you see? Every time I think about how horrific those weeks and months were for you, I push aside what it did to me, and that’s what I can’t keep doing...because it was awful for me too. I’d just about got over you leaving when my mum got ill, and then she died, and you still weren’t here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I barely heard him. Didn’t need to, because I believed him. But that didn’t change anything. Didn’t heal the wounds we’d both carried for so long. I took another deep breath, willing it to cleanse my soul. “I understand why you had to go—all the reasons, not just the money—but I will never understand why you didn’t tell me...not even after. You could’ve sent that letter any time in the last ten years, and you didn’t. Because you didn’t need to. I just—” I stopped. Just what? “I just can’t imagine ever hurting you like that, and that’s why I’ve been so angry with you.”

  Luke said nothing. Just turned our hands over and studied my palm. I wanted to shake him, but if the last few months had taught me anything, it was that grown-up Luke sometimes needed a little time.

  Something we had now no one was dying and we had nowhere else to be.

  He let go of my hand and stood. I wondered if he would leave me again, but he drifted to the window and opened the curtains just enough to stare out at the quiet street. At least I hoped it was quiet. I wasn’t in the mood to watch him play chicken with that car again. The car I’d spent an hour describing, among other things, to the police.

  “Luke.”

  He didn’t turn.

  “Luke.”

  “What?”

  I got up and came up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Whatever you’re beating yourself with, don’t, okay? I said that stuff because I’ve been carrying it for so long, not to punish you. I’m not blaming you for things that happened when we were teenagers. I just—I just needed you to know how I’d felt, so you understood why I am who I am now.”

  “I don’t know who you are now.”

  “Liar. If you didn’t know me, we wouldn’t be here.”

  He chucked dryly. “I never know what to say.”

  “Try the truth.”

  He finally turned to face me. “The truth is I love you, always have, and I don’t know if I can live with how much I’ve hurt you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Luke

  We talked until dawn about everything and nothing, and by the time we fell asleep, not much had changed. Except everything had. We loved each other. It hadn’t been enough in the past, but perhaps it was now.

  Mia’s alarm woke me an hour after we’d knocked out. I rolled over to a face full of her hair, and the never-ending night we’d spent together came flooding back in reverse order.

  I opened my eyes to the memory of her broken expression when she’d come outside with the policewoman, and reached for her before comprehending the fierce urge to cage her in my arms and never let go. Her body moulded to mine, her curves fitting to my harder muscle, and I held her tight, breathing her in until she squirmed to turn off her alarm.

  “Shit. I have to go.”

  I nodded and didn’t try to stop her as she rose from the bed still dressed in last night’s clothes. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Seriously? To spend your morning delivering flowers all over the county?”

  “Yup.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  I absolutely fucking did. Even without the threat to her safety, the thought of being away from her for even a second did odd things to my heart rate. “Shut it, Amour. I’m coming.”

  She smirked and left the room to use the bathroom while I changed my clothes.

  When she came back, she had wet hair, and damn if my good intentions didn’t fly out the window. Since the night I’d slid my fingers inside her all those weeks ago, barely an hour passed when I didn’t think about how much I wanted her, even when we hadn’t been on speaking terms. Now things were kind of resolved between us, I was hotter for her than ever. I craved her.

  Mia laughed and wagged her finger. “Don’t go looking at me like that, matey boy. I’ve got work to do.”

  “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

  “No? So why do I feel like I’m naked already?”

  Answering the question would’ve involved contemplating what I’d do if the situation was different. How I’d throw her down and make her scream. I didn’t have the self-control for those images right now, so I settled for a shrug. “That’s your imagination, not mine.”

  “Whatever. Get in the bathroom. We need to go.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we got in the scarred van and drove out of town to a stately home that had been repurposed as a swanky wedding venue. Sweeping driveway, landscaped grounds, it was the stuff of dreams if you cared about shit like that.

  I didn’t, and the Mia I’d grown up with hadn’t either. As we pulled up at the entrance, I wondered if that had changed.

  “Still awake?”

  “Huh?”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “You’re such a zombie without your eight hours.”

  “Four, actually. I’m militarily trained to function on fuck all sleep.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Is it?”

  She opened her door. “Yes. I want to know more about that part of your life.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was serious, and she was out of the van before I could ask. I got out too and trailed her to the back, thankful we’d thought to spray the board blocking the broken window the same colour as the rest of the van. God knew what anyone around these parts would’ve made of us rocking up sporting a chipboard bodge job. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Carry stuff.”

  I could do that. I loaded up with boxes and fol
lowed Mia into the venue. We ditched our haul in the grand hall and went back for a second run.

  “Stop snagging all the heavy stuff.” Mia kicked my ankle. “I’d be doing this on my own if you weren’t here, like I’ve done dozens of times. I don’t need a white knight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I’m here, why not make use of me?”

  “Dick.”

  We went back inside, and after two more runs, were ready to set up.

  Mia tasked me with the simple job of placing a modified lampshade in the middle of each round table, and scattering dried rose petals around them. I eyed my handiwork on the first table and decided there was a reason I’d been kicked off my GCSE art course.

  “Not bad,” Mia said when I was done. “I don’t think you missed your calling, though.”

  “Come roofing with me and we’ll talk.”

  “Don’t say shit like that. You know I’d do it.”

  I did. Her mother had been almost entirely self-sufficient, even down to repaving their garden by hand. If a fraction of that had rubbed off on Mia, she could roof me under the table.

  The backwards turn of phrase made me chuckle. Mia glared at me like I was an annoying child and flitted away to work her own magic.

  Two hours later, and the venue was done. I glanced around, awed. “You do all this by yourself every weekend?”

  She shrugged. “Depends on the wedding. Sometimes the bride’s family do some of it. And it’s only a spring and summer thing. I won’t have as many weddings in the winter.”

  My mind instantly imagined lazy Saturday mornings, waking up together, fucking, cooking breakfast, and taking it back to bed. I’d never had that with anyone. Never wanted it. But fuck, I wanted it now. I wanted everything.

  The speed at which my entire outlook on life had flipped should’ve been frightening, but I hadn’t fallen in love with Mia in the space of a few volatile months. I’d always loved her.

  We returned to the van and drove back to Rushmere. The bride’s house was on the opposite side of town to my mine, but the groom’s family turned out to live just around the corner.

  I hovered outside while Mia delivered the buttonholes. Lack of sleep was starting to catch up with me, but it was a nice day, and the sun on my face felt good. So good, in fact, I was pretty much asleep on my feet when I sensed eyes on me.

  Expecting Mia, I straightened up from where I’d been slouched against her van, a grin automatically forming on my lips, but it wasn’t her. Instead some plum dressed in a seriously bad suit was staring at me. It took me a moment to realise it was the Benson brother who liked to eyeball me in the gym.

  If I’d been stood beside a van with my own name plastered all over it, I’d have told him to fuck off, but this was Mia’s van, and her livelihood.

  I found a bland smile from somewhere and plastered it on my face. “All right, mate?”

  “Did you come with Mia from the flower shop?”

  “I did. Why? Does she need something?”

  Benson shrugged and continued to gaze at me with an expression I couldn’t read. It wasn’t overtly hostile, but it wasn’t friendly either.

  I searched for something pleasant to say to break the weird silence and scoured my limited knowledge of weddings. “Who’s getting married today? Friend of yours?”

  “My brother. I’m his best man.”

  “Sound. Send my regards, yeah? I haven’t spoken to him since school.”

  Benson shoved his hands in his pockets and opened his mouth, but I was saved from further painful conversation by Mia emerging from the house.

  She slipped past the man on the pathway without seeming to notice him, but his gaze tracked her as she strode to the gate, and possessiveness swept over me. A growl formed in my throat and it took everything I had to swallow it down. Jesus. She was fucking beautiful. Could I blame him or anyone else for looking at her?

  I couldn’t think of a sensible reason why I could, but something about him set me on edge and I wanted to rip his throat out.

  “Wow.” Mia nudged me. “You really do get grumpy when you’re tired these days, old man. I thought Gus was exaggerating.”

  With considerable effort, I tore my gaze from the suit still loitering on the path. “Gus talks shit. And I’m not grumpy.” I pulled her close, and despite the rest of the groom’s party spilling out of the house, kissed her, just for a moment. A taste. “I am eager to get home, though. How about you?”

  Mia kissed me back, darting her tongue into my mouth for a blissful split second. “Sold.”

  We drove the fifteen seconds back to my house and she parked on my driveway in the space where my van should’ve been. Safely inside the house, she stretched like a cat. “Do you mind if I have a bath?”

  “Only if you shut the door.”

  “Perv.”

  “If you say so.”

  She laughed and disappeared upstairs. I watched her go, seriously considering trailing after her like a horny dog, but my phone rang before I could move, and Billy’s name flashed up on the screen—the only person in the world who could distract me from Mia right now.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” Billy answered, distant and woozy. If he hadn’t been in hospital, I’d have assumed he was drunk. “You told me to call when I got out of surgery, so here I am.”

  My heart dropped through the floor. I’d forgotten. That was impossible. I lurched towards the calendar on the back of the kitchen door and scanned the days for Billy’s surgery, but today was blank. “Fuck. I thought that was happening on Tuesday. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry, man. I must’ve got the dates wrong.”

  “Calm your tits.” Billy laughed quietly. “I told you the wrong date so you wouldn’t stress. Thought I’d get it over with without you having a guilt meltdown.”

  “The fuck?” Despite my fatigue, I was instantly awake. “Why would you do that?”

  “I just told you.”

  “What if something had happened? Fran was going to drive up to you on Monday so she’d be there when you woke up. What if you hadn’t?”

  “Hadn’t what? Woken up? Don’t be so fucking dramatic, bro.”

  I drove the heel of my spare hand into my forehead. “It’s not being dramatic when I had to find out in some shit waiting room that you’d flatlined the first time round.”

  Silence. Then a drug-heavy sigh. “Whatever. I’m still here. Tell Fran I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “Dude, I’m fucked. I’m dribbling down myself as it is, and some drill sergeant nurse is about to take my phone off me.”

  I leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, picturing him as I’d left him—alone in a hospital bed. “I love you, man.”

  “I know. I love you too. Call me tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  Billy hung up, leaving me staring at the phone like an idiot, but that was nothing new. What was unusual was the yearning pull in my gut for my pain-in-the-arse little brother. Hospital aside, it had been years since we’d spent any quality time together. For so long I’d been numb to it, angry with him for bringing trouble home, and a fucking expert at convincing myself our dilapidated relationship didn’t matter. But it did matter. He mattered. And now perspective had returned for good, I missed him so much it hurt.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mia

  “You want to what?” I sat up on my elbows, unsure if I’d heard Luke right.

  He laughed, and the shadows that too often haunted his gorgeous face were fleetingly gone. “Don’t sound so surprised. We used to ride up the beacon all the time.”

  “Yeah, when I was a teenager. I haven’t ridden a push bike in years.”

  Luke gave me a filthy look that sent heat roiling through my blood, but he didn’t voice the joke. Just rolled over and out of bed. “Fran
has one you can borrow. Come on, it’s too nice a day to stay indoors.”

  I begged to differ. After a few days of hell, I’d kind of counted on spending the entire day in his bed, napping, fucking, and ordering in food to make up for his empty fridge. Riding his mum’s bike up a giant hill was the last thing I wanted to do.

  But his enthusiasm was too endearing to ignore. Grumbling, I claimed the first shower, then met him downstairs to find he’d magicked up the breakfast of dreams. Crisp bacon stuffed into soft white rolls, dripping with butter and fruity HP sauce. Damn. After that, there was probably wasn’t much he couldn’t convince me to do.

  He settled for taking a shower, then hustling me out of the house. After swinging by his mother’s house to fetch her fucking pink bike, we hit the road. And God, if it didn’t feel incredible. We cycled out of town, my virgin legs wobbly at first until the gym time I’d spent on my thighs kicked in. Then I was flying, the sun in my face, the wind in my hair, my gaze fixed on Luke’s muscled, lean frame as he led the way. Thankfully, Sunday traffic was minimal.

  We rode two miles to the beacon, a steep, craggy hill that you could see the whole county from. In the car park, Luke stopped and offered me water from the bag I hadn’t noticed strapped to his back because I’d been too busy ogling his arse.

  “Surviving?”

  I swatted him, pointing at my mouth full of water to let him know I wouldn’t hesitate to spray him. When I’d swallowed, I shrugged. “Okay, you win. This is fun. I don’t fancy that hill, though. It’s huge.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “What is?”

  He tilted his head to one side, the sun glinting on his hair. “That when everything seems too much, there’s always a mountain you can climb.”

  Oakenhoe Beacon was hardly a mountain, but I took his point. What had happened over the weekend was still hovering at the edge of my consciousness—as though as long as I kept myself busy, I wouldn’t have to deal with it—but riding up a steep hill on my borrowed bike, trailing in Luke’s strong wake...yeah, I could do that.