Chasing Alys

by Morgana Bevan

  “We did. It was a bad example,” he said, wincing. “We could have danced more or redo our Winter Wonderland date without the Ferris Wheel. I could have taken you to some gigs and helped you see the error of your ways.”

  I laughed, patting his arm. “I’m not sure you’ll win that last one, but keep dreaming, music man.”

  “They’re not all bad.”

  “Sure. There’s no reason we can’t do the first two.”

  Ryan was shaking his head before the words even left my mouth.

  “Between James and Matt, we’re booked to play almost every night in the next week. I tried to stop them, but I was out voted.”

  His eyes pleaded with me to understand, and I did. I sat up, taking his hand. This felt like a conversation best had in an upright position.

  “It’s fine, Ryan. We’ll find moments through the week.” I pressed my palm to his cheek, smiling at his serious face. “It’ll be good practice for us anyway. Neither of us are going to have loads of time free. We should get used to grabbing spare minutes when they come.”

  Relief softened his features, and he caught my hand, holding it to his face.

  “How about I bring lunch later?” I trailed my fingers along his jaw. His stubble scratching at my skin felt too divine.

  “That would be great.”

  “Fab.” I flopped back down and covered my eyes. “Now let me sleep, please.”

  Ryan chuckled, but he turned the light off and left me to sleep.

  “What are you doing for Christmas?” I asked Ryan the next day over lunch.

  Rhiannon had booked out rehearsal space at Axel’s. It wasn’t much, just a room in the back with a concrete floor covered in rugs and amps, but it served their purpose.

  Without a word from Ryan, the boys had taken themselves out for burgers and left us alone. We sat on the floor, our backs against a wall decorated with signatures from past bands and a picnic of sorts laid out before us. I chuckled, remembering our failed picnic in the park. This is a much better place for one.

  “I usually go to Jared’s,” Ryan said before taking a bite of a sandwich. His twinkling eyes remained fixed on me. “Why?”

  There was something nerve-racking about asking your new boyfriend to go home with you for a holiday. Other than school, I’d never had to do it, and this felt more serious, more meaningful.

  “My dad always makes too much food. I’m sure he’d welcome the addition if you wanted to come home with me.”

  Ryan grinned. “Just so I’m clear, you’re asking me to come home to meet your dad?”

  I nodded. “He’ll be there, so yes. I also didn’t want you to be alone.” In a rush, I added, “But if you’d rather go to Jared’s, it’s fine.”

  Ryan nudged me playfully. “I’d love to come home with you, Red.”

  “Alys, your phone’s ringing,” Ryan shouted through the bathroom door.

  I shut the water off. My hair was still a soapy mess, but I couldn’t hear him all that well with the shower on.

  “Who is it?”

  “Your dad. Do you want me to answer it?”

  “No!” I toned down the desperation and tried again. “Just let it go to voicemail. I’ll call him back later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I could have imagined it, but I swear I heard doubt in his tone.

  “Yeah, I’ll call him as soon as I get out.”

  “Did you call your dad back?” Ryan asked when we got home from their third open-mic night of the week.

  I wasn’t sure how he found the energy, but they sounded great, smoother even, thanks to all of their practice sessions.

  “I didn’t get a chance,” I said, more focused on pouring myself a glass of water.

  Ryan leant against the counter and fixed me with a disbelieving look. He crossed his arms and watched me.

  “What? It slipped my mind. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “You said that on Monday too.”

  I sipped my water, my gaze dropping to the floor.

  “What’s going on, Red? Why are you avoiding your dad?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Say that while you’re looking at me and I might believe you.”

  I already knew I was a terrible daughter. I didn’t need someone else pointing it out, but he’d been so open with me. I couldn’t expect him to share with me and then lock him out.

  Pacing the room, I tried to figure out how to share my biggest regret without seeming like an awful person. I did my best, but that didn’t mean it was good enough. My dad certainly deserved better.

  “I told you a little about my childhood. My parents liked their quiet, and that sleepy place was perfect for their work. It was too sedate for me or Emily, though, so the moment we could, we moved to Cardiff and I went home less and less.” My words were hurried, matching my determined pace around the small room.

  “What does this have to do with avoiding your dad?” He watched me with a frown.

  “I’m getting to that part. It got to the point where I’d only come back twice a year for very short visits.” I forced the words that never failed to tear open old wounds. “I was on my year abroad in Canada when my mother passed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan whispered, snagging me as I passed. His arms held me close and his chin nestled in the curve of my neck. It was a comfort I didn’t deserve. I pushed away from him and continued pacing.

  “I was ready to jump on a plane there and then, but that volcano in Iceland erupted and grounded all the flights. I missed the funeral. I hadn’t seen her in nearly eight months, and my father was left to deal with her loss alone because I wanted to experience more than our tiny village.” My eyes burned and my face flushed, but still, I forced the words out, somewhere between agitated and resolute.

  “I make a point of visiting between each job now, but I dread doing it every time, and sometimes I still put it off. Something about the house just gets to me, drags it all up and I can’t hide. I’ve tried to get him to move to Cardiff, but despite my nagging, he’s happy there.”

  “But why avoid him now? It’s just a phone call.”

  I paused, swinging around to meet Ryan’s perplexed gaze.

  “It’s not just a phone call. He’s calling because he wants me to go home early. He does it every year, and I feel terrible saying no.” I swallowed, my eyes welling up. “It’s like locking myself in a room with no escape from the guilt and regret.”

  Ryan nodded, reaching out. This time I let him pull me into his embrace.

  “I get it, but you’re not responsible for your mother dying. It would have happened whether you were home or not.”

  “I know,” I whispered, my voice rough with emotion. “Logic doesn’t help. I should look forward to seeing my dad, but I can’t, and that makes me feel shit, so rather than have to say no, I dodge his calls until I’m out of time. I’m a shit daughter and he deserves better.”

  “I don’t think you are, and I doubt he agrees. Just do me a favour,” he said, using the tip of his finger to lift my chin. He stared at me without judgement. “If you feel overwhelmed when we visit, tell me.”

  I nodded, my eyes filling with unshed tears. “I will.”

  “Good. You know he probably already knows, right?”

  I thought back to Dad’s reaction when I got pulled back for work. He’d taken it well, but there had still been disappointment there. I was fairly certain he had his suspicions, but bringing Mam up was a sure way to dampen his mood, and I wasn’t going to take his jolly at Christmas.

  I got home from a ballroom social late Saturday night to find Ryan sat in the dark with his acoustic guitar. The flat was silent but for his scattered strums. I flipped on the living room light and he blinked owlishly at me.

  “Is this some rock star thing I need to be aware of?” I joked, kicking off my shoes.

  “It helps me see the song sometimes.”

  He rested his guitar on his lap and held out his hand to me. I dropped onto the sofa next
to him and rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Interesting choice of words there, music man.”

  Ryan chuckled. “It blocks everything else out and helps me focus on the music.”

  “Ah, so I’m going to regularly find you in the dark?”

  “It’s possible.” He twisted his body towards me. “How was ballroom?”

  I sighed. “So good. My muscles are going to ache tomorrow.”

  “Is that how you measure a successful session?”

  I nodded. “How was the gig?”

  “Good,” he said, absently plucking at the guitar strings again. “My voice is ready for a break, though.”

  “I bet. Five days of practice and five nights of gigs seems a lot.”

  Ryan shrugged. “It was a good warmup for the tour. We’ll be doing six days straight without breaks, and it’s been a while since we had to play for that long.” Ryan leant back, wrapping his arm around me so that I was cuddled into his chest. “I still wish we’d had more time together.”

  “It’s okay. It was practice,” I said, tapping his chest in reassurance. “We did a pretty good job of staying in touch, I thought.”

  Ryan squeezed me. “Still wanted more.”

  I laughed. “Did you misrepresent yourself with all that chasing? Have I gained myself a needy boyfriend?”

  “Don’t forget insecure artist. I’m going to need all the reassurance.”

  I stared up at him, my eyebrows raised. “I’m not believing that for a second.”

  “Not even if I desperately needed your opinion on a new song?”

  “Depends. Is the song about me?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “Then I could be persuaded to pretend.” I sat up and turned myself towards him, crossing my legs. I stared back at him, expectation written across my face.

  “I didn’t mean right now.”

  I crossed my arms and kept my mouth shut.

  “Fine,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “But only because I feel guilty about this week.”

  Ryan sat forward, positioning the guitar on his lap. Then he started to play a soft tune, his foot bouncing with the beat. His eyes fell shut as he sang, absorbed in the melody. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. There was a raw quality to the emotion in his voice, and it reflected on his face, tugging at my heartstrings in a way his other songs hadn’t.

  He glanced towards me as the final chord faded. Moisture shimmered in his eyes, matching my own.

  “It was beautiful,” I said, choked with emotion. “When did you write that one?”

  I’d heard him sing so many times in the last few weeks, but I’d been hyper aware of other people then. This was something else, completely private and personal.

  “Finished it this morning.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal that he could produce a brand-new song so quickly. He placed the guitar on the floor and settled back into the sofa, combing a hand through his hair. “What did you think?”

  “Will you add more production to it or keep it acoustic?”

  Dodging the question, I know, but I didn’t know how I felt. There were too many conflicting feelings, too many feelings full stop. It was beautiful and it felt perfect as it was. I couldn’t imagine it scaled up for more instruments. It almost felt like it would lose something.

  “Probably. Acoustic isn’t really our style unless it’s a small stripped-back VIP gig.” He studied me as I bit my lip. He smiled, understanding in eyes. “Why? Are you attached already?”

  I tilted my head, considering. “I’m not sure ‘attached’ is the right word. I just really liked it as is.”

  “Or did you just like the venue?”

  I glanced around my empty living room. But for the lamp, we sat almost in darkness, an absolute contradiction to his song’s plea for us not to hide and to give in to our desires in the light of day.

  “I guess it felt more personal like this.”

  Ryan gathered me to him. “I’ll happily play for you like this every night,” he whispered, his lips brushing feather light against mine.

  I pursed my lips. “Does that mean I’d get regular previews of new songs?”

  “You could be my sounding board and my muse.”

  “Do I get an opinion as your official sounding board?”

  Ryan’s fingers caressed my cheek. “Yes, you can be my harshest critic.”

  “I don’t know about harsh, but I definitely like the idea of vetting the things you’re planning to share with the world.” I leaned into his fingers. “The song was beautiful… and I reserve the right to change my mind when you put all the extra sound to it.”

  “Duly noted.” Ryan pressed his lips to mine in a gentle kiss.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “What’s this?” I asked as Ryan placed a tray of breakfast foods on my lap.

  “Thought it would be nice to have breakfast in bed for a change.” He shrugged, settling down beside me.

  “Does this have anything to do with all the early mornings?”

  Ryan looked away. “Maybe a little.”

  “I told you I didn’t mind.”

  “I know, so consider this a thank you for putting up with my absence and all the early morning interviews.”

  “Thank you. This is really sweet of you.”

  Ryan grinned. “I’m a sweet guy.”

  I considered the options. Prominent were the blueberry pancakes. I couldn’t help but chuckle. A mug of steaming chai tea and an assortment of toast and breakfast toppings sat on various plates.

  “Have you been taking pointers from Emily again?”

  Ryan’s eyes dropped to the tray. He frowned at the options. “No. Should I have?”

  I shook my head. “Blueberry pancakes are her specialty.”

  Ryan’s face fell. “You’re telling me I could have had her give me a recipe?”

  I nodded, and he swore. “I wasted so much flour trying to get the consistency right.”

  “I’ll savour them,” I said, my lips twitching. “Please tell me you’re sharing this with me?”

  “Happily.” Ryan picked up a slice of avocado toast and took a bite. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine?”

  “About going to your dad’s?”

  The day caught up with me. It was Monday. We were driving to St Osian today. I’d been so focused on snatching moments with Ryan, I’d completely lost track of days. I’d finally returned Dad’s call. It took me a couple of days and I’d kept it brief, but he was appeased and excited for me to go home for longer than a night.

  “I haven’t really thought about it.”

  Ryan nodded. “Well, I’m here to talk whenever you feel like you need it. Even if you need to drag me into a cupboard for a break.”

  I laughed. “A cupboard?”

  “Don’t laugh at me. I don’t know what your Dad’s house is like. It could have lots of cupboards and tiny rooms.”

  “It does. Doesn’t mean I’ll be dragging you into them.”

  Ryan pouted. “Damn. I was looking forward to it.”

  “Maybe if you wish on a star,” I whispered, leaning towards him as much as the tray would allow.

  Ryan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Seriously, though, I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

  His sincerity warmed me. I’d expected him to shrug it off as pointless emotion, which I knew wasn’t fair to him. He’d never given the impression that he’d tut at my irrational concerns, but it was nice to feel supported. I hadn’t really experienced it before. How had I gotten so lucky?

  By the time we reached St Osian, Emily was belting out Christmas songs. I’d never seen her so excited to return to the site of our childhood boredom. She bounced out of the car and right into the waiting arms of my father.

  “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

  “There wasn’t much traffic, for once,” I said while Ryan removed our bags from the boot and I shut the lid.

  “Is this the one you told me about?” M
y father asked Emily, tipping his head towards Ryan. Emily nodded before taking her bag and escaping into the house.

  Dad looked Ryan up and down, his face stern. “Well, let’s not stand about chatting in the cold. Wouldn’t want you to catch ill before you prove you’re worthy of my daughter.”

  With those parting words, William Morgan followed Emily into the house. Ryan’s eyes were saucer wide when they met mine.

  “Come on. His bark is worse than his bite. Promise.”

  Taking his hand, we walked into the ridiculously ornate foyer stuck between times. And then, for some reason, the lack of Mam’s voice filtering from the kitchen struck me harder than it ever had before. The regret stuck in my throat as I watched Ryan admire the entryway’s original restored red tiles and wood panelling – a space I paid very little attention to usually. She’ll never get to meet him.

  Swallowing my sadness, I pulled Ryan up the open dark wood stairs, desperate to escape the moment.

  To his credit, Ryan didn’t stop me. He went along with my mad rush up the stairs, down a narrow hall with similarly faded and peeling wallpaper, past photos of family and my time at school, all embarrassingly old. I may have pulled a little harder by that point.

  My parents had the house restored room by room, but it was showing its age now. It was a bright space, but the floors were scratched, and the wallpaper faded in places.

  I let out a relieved sigh when I kicked the door open to my old bedroom and discovered that the bed was made and there wasn’t a teenage boy band poster in sight. I must have done a sweep on one of my previous trips.

  Ryan placed our bags at the foot of the bed while I paced. Then he shut the door, drowning out the murmurs of Emily and my dad catching up downstairs.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, his concern creasing his eyes. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms.

  “Coming home is always tough, but it’s never felt like this,” I said, shrugging towards the door.

  Ryan frowned. He didn’t understand, and I buried my head in his shoulder, groaning. How did I explain without making it sound serious? Simple, I couldn’t. He wasn’t stupid; he’d see right through any attempt to lessen the urge I’d felt downstairs.