“No, it’s not. It’s worse. Because he’s a decent person, and he’s honest, and he’s nothing to be ashamed of, and he makes you smile. And I had to find that out on my own, because you didn’t tell me. You knew I would be worried, you knew I would hear things—”
“Right,” Ruth snapped. “Because what you hear is so important. Why should I bother saying anything if gossip is all you need?”
“Why do you force people to look for it?” Hannah asked, exasperation in her every word. “I’m your sister. I would love to stop relying on strangers to tell me what you’re up to, but I have to. And if you don’t blame me--”
“I don’t,” Ruth insisted, because she never had and never would.
“If you don’t blame me, then why are we so far apart?” Hannah’s words were whisper-soft. She gave a rueful twist of the lips that was almost a smile, holding up her hands as if to say, Answer that.
“Because I don’t deserve you.” It felt like a shout, but it came to her own ears as a whisper. Across the room, Hannah froze. And Ruth forced herself to say the words again, properly this time. “I love you, and I don’t deserve you. Sometimes I can’t bear to look at you because I feel so guilty it chokes me.”
Hannah’s face crumpled. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted. You should never feel guilty, Ruth. Not ever.”
“I started this whole mess.”
“Daniel started this whole mess.” Hannah came forward, held out a hand. She was hesitant, Ruth could tell, but she was fearless too.
No; not fearless. Rather, she chose to spit in fear’s face.
Ruth caught her sister’s hand and released a locked-up truth. “I admire you more than anyone in the world.”
Hannah choked out a laugh that was perilously close to a sob. “I wish nursery managers around here were so open-minded.”
“Fuck that and fuck them.” Ruth pulled her sister into a hug. It felt immediately alien, and then, after a breath, wonderful. Like purest childhood reclaimed. She breathed in deep and felt her sister do the same. When they were young, very young, they’d talked about being twins. Imagined, and sometimes pretended, that they were. It had never been hard to convince people.
But, while they looked the same, they’d always been very different. Opposites, even.
Which was fine, Ruth realised. Good, in fact. Because identical puzzle pieces wouldn’t fit together like this.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Zach: Everything okay with you?
Evan stared at those words blankly for a solid few minutes before they sunk into his tired brain.
It wasn’t especially late, but it was late enough for him to be lying in bed, wishing for sleep. He should be happy. He was happy, in a way; Shirley’s tests had returned, and her prognosis wasn’t quite as bad as doctors had initially feared.
To celebrate, Evan had attempted to make a fancy dessert from scratch; mille-feuille. Shirley had doubled-over laughing at how awfully wrong it had gone, and then they’d all eaten the store-bought apple pie he’d brought along.
And he’d been happy. But, underneath the happiness, he’d still been regretful and hurt and confused and frustrated, and unsurprisingly, Zach had picked up on that. Evan was beginning to realise that Zach watched people more closely than he let on.
After a moment’s thought, Evan managed a reply that wasn’t quite false, but also wouldn’t worry a man with more than enough problems of his own.
Evan: Can’t complain
The phone beeped in reply, its display flashing bright in the dark.
Zach: Anymore trouble with Daniel?
None. Maybe the prospect of an actual fight had scared some sense into Daniel; he did seem fond of his pretty face. Or maybe Mr. Burne had said something to his son. Mr. Burne, who’d come out of Ruth’s flat as if it were nothing.
And truthfully, Evan still didn’t know why, exactly. Every time he tried to figure it out, he felt both guilty and childishly furious. So he’d given up.
A familiar noise sounded through the thin, stud wall behind his headboard, and he froze in the middle of typing out a negative.
Ruth. Ruth was in her room.
He’d never really minded hearing Ruth bumble about all night; not until Friday. God, Friday. He’d had heaven within his reach, and then it had all gone sour. And now he minded.
He minded recognising the clumsy tread of her footsteps, and he minded that damned creak every time she got into bed. He minded the memory of her mouth on his cock because he couldn’t enjoy it when she wasn’t even talking to him, and he minded the fact that he was thinking about it now. That he’d thought about it every hour on the hour since the last time he’d seen her, and thought about her pain twice as often.
Swallowing down his feelings before they could choke him, Evan turned his attention back to the phone.
Evan: No more trouble. I’ll see you tomorrow.
He propped himself up on one elbow, opened his bedside drawer, and threw the phone in there. Then he settled down to get some sleep.
You should’ve kept your mouth shut.
That would be lying.
And you told her for honesty’s sake? What a joke. You told her to speed up a process that should’ve been at her pace.
Evan thrust a pillow over his head as if that would silence the warring opinions in his skull. None of it mattered. He would apologise to her—he had to—but it seemed better to give her space first. So that’s what he’d do.
Eventually, he almost managed to drift off to sleep. So of course, a booming thud sounded through the wall and woke him right up.
His tired brain leapt into wakefulness immediately, because old habits died hard. Evan was out of bed with his ear pressed to the wall in seconds. After that enormous crash, louder than any he’d heard from Ruth’s flat, there came nothing but silence.
He held his breath for a moment before giving in to the twist of worry in his gut. “Ruth?” He shouted. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing in the world would ever sound as good as Ruth shouting back. “Of course I can hear you.”
Despite his concern, and his confusion, and the fact that words from Ruth were as painful as they were perfect right now, he chuckled. “So you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she called back. And then, after a beat, she added, “Thank you.”
Evan raised his brows at the wall.
“How are you?” She continued.
And now he was worried again. “Did you hit your head?”
“You know,” she called, “that’s not the first time you’ve asked me that.”
“But did you?”
“No. I’m simply making conversation.”
“Through a wall in the middle of the night?”
“You started it,” she pointed out. And then she said, not exactly quietly, since they were shouting, but hesitantly… “If you come over, we could make conversation without the wall.”
It was probably pathetic, how his heart leapt at that. It was definitely pathetic how quickly he threw a pair of tracksuit bottoms over his nudity and called, “On my way.”
He didn’t care.
Ruth opened her door just as quickly as he opened his, and that bolstered Evan’s resolve. She wanted to see him. He knew it, and yet he wasn’t completely sure until they were face to face. She stood in the doorway and he stood on her doormat.
He blurted out, “I’m sorry.”
She blinked. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t mean to, and it was selfish, and I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry.” Huh. He was babbling. He’d never babbled before. But this apology had been trying to burst from his lips for two days, and he found that being at odds with Ruth did not suit him. Not at all.
“Okay,” she said, and he relaxed. Because her lips were tilted in that almost-smile, the one he’d worried he might never see again. Then she said, “I’m sorry too.”
This was a night full of surprises.
> Evan came in, trying not to focus on the door he’d leant against when she’d—well. “You are?”
“Yes. For waking you up.”
He bit his lip, felt a smile spread slowly over his face. “You didn’t wake me up.”
“I didn’t?”
“No. You didn’t. Still sorry?”
She shut the door behind them and stood there, fiddling with a loose thread at the end of her pyjamas. He saw the moment she steeled herself, saw the moment she straightened her spine and took a fortifying breath. “Yes. I’m still sorry.”
“Okay.” He studied her, drinking in everything he’d missed. Her wide, brown eyes, her lips and her too-big front teeth. But he kept his voice neutral as he said, “For what?”
“For the other day. I lost my temper and I said some things that just… aren’t true. I know you’re not a malicious person, and I’m sure you weren’t… gossiping about me, and… I ‘d like to talk. To you. About things.”
Evan tried to tamp down his optimism. It felt like trying to fight the dawning sun. “Things?”
Ruth nodded. “Things. I, um… I had decided to tell you, actually. To tell you everything. On Friday.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself. I had decided to tell you. And he’d fucked it up and taken away that choice—or attempted to.
“Really?” He managed.
“Really. And I shouldn’t have gotten so angry—”
“There’s no should or shouldn’t when it comes to anger.” He wanted to touch her, purely because she looked so stiff and alone standing before him. But he rather thought she should make the first move, break the imaginary barrier. “You feel how you feel and that’s fine. The important thing is talking through it.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I know that. I mean, I’m going to do that. I realise I’m kind of… prickly. I’m, um… trying not to be.”
Evan smiled slightly. “I don’t know about that. I like prickly.”
Ruth blinked. She actually looked surprised—not just surprised, but really, truly shocked.
Which bothered Evan beyond reason, because she shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t want her to change. Or rather, she shouldn’t be surprised that anyone wouldn’t want her to change. “I like you,” he explained. “A lot. And you’re prickly, so I like prickly. That’s it.”
After a moment, Ruth’s tentative smile returned. “Well, okay. I suppose I like you too.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “You love me. I bet you knocked over a mountain of comics just to get my attention.”
“I certainly did not! No man is worth that disorganisation.”
“Really?” He arched a brow.
She managed to hold back her laughter for a second or two before a rogue giggle escaped. And then she kicked him, very gently, which was almost her version of a hug.
So Evan gave in to the urgings of his heart and pulled her in for an actual hug. She gave a strangled little noise, but she came, and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight.
“I don’t want to argue,” Evan murmured, burying his face in her hair. He had to bend at an awkward angle to do it, but it was worth it to breath in that coconut scent. “Ever.”
Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he still heard the humour there. “I think arguments are a necessary part of—” Abruptly, she broke off. But then, after a moment, she continued: “A necessary part of any relationship.”
Evan pulled back slightly, grasping her shoulders. He looked down at her carefully impassive face and said, “By relationship, you mean…”
Ruth shrugged.
With a slow smile, he said, “So what you’re saying is, Evan, we’re in a relationship.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you want me to be your girlfriend, you should just ask. Don’t be shy.” She reached up on her tiptoes and patted his head. Then, eyes dancing, she hurried off down the hall.
He followed. Of course he followed.
Ruth couldn’t quite believe her own daring, but she wasn’t complaining about it. Turned out, everything was easier when you opened your mouth and words came out, and you didn’t cut them off halfway.
Evan followed her into the bedroom, probably thinking that they were about to have riotous reunion sex or some such nonsense. They weren’t, of course. She wasn’t quite that far gone.
Although… He stood in the doorway, and Ruth eyed the thick outline of his dick against his thigh, visible thanks to the soft, jersey material of his clothes.
Maybe she was that far gone.
He squinted over at her bed and said, “What the hell happened?”
Oh, yes. Now she remembered why she’d actually brought him in here.
“My bed collapsed.”
He walked over to the pile of wood, dislodged mattress and rumpled bedding, his brows raised. “Yeah. I can see that.”
“So why’d you ask?”
He shot her a wry smile, reaching out to tug on her braid. “Quiet, you.” Then he crouched down and lifted the mattress with one powerful arm, which should not have made her core tighten or her pulse spike, but did. Maybe because he was shirtless and she could see every muscle in his back shift as he did it. Maybe because she was quite pathetically in love with him.
What?
Nothing. Look at the muscles.
Ruth obeyed the more sensible of the two voices in her head and moved on. “Can you fix it?”
“Is that what you think?” He threw a grin over her shoulder. “That I can fix it?”
“Are you saying you can’t? Because I’d really hoped to sleep in a bed tonight.”
For a moment, he was silent. Then he stood, dusting off his hands, and said, “You could sleep in mine.”
Ruth gave him a look. “Oh I could, could I? How chivalrous.”
“I’m not being chivalrous. Who put that bed together, by the way?”
She said, “Daniel.” Then she thought, Oops.
But nothing bad happened. Lightning didn’t strike, and Evan didn’t stop moving towards her. He slid an arm around her waist and said, “Daniel did a very poor job.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s bad at following instructions.”
“I bet.” His lips quirked, and then he raised a hand to Ruth’s face and stroked her cheek. Soft, slow, reverent. He said, “I’d like to sleep with you. And I do mean sleep.”
She licked her lips. “Why?”
“Because I want to hold you, and I want to know how you look when you wake up in the morning.”
That, Ruth thought, was quite adorable. The sort of simple romance that she’d never experienced and, judging by the butterflies in her stomach, really wanted.
But it wasn’t all she wanted.
Ruth held his gaze and murmured, “I don’t wear pyjamas all the time, you know.”
His brow furrowed. “Uh… you kind of do.”
“No. Not when I sleep.”
His gaze heated, achingly intense. “I see.”
“Shall we go?”
“Yes.” As quickly as the word shot from his lips, Evans shook his head. “Wait. Come here.” But she didn’t have to move, because he grabbed her, pulled her closer, and kissed her. Oh.
Ruth couldn’t stifle the moan that gathered in her throat as his mouth claimed hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lower lip. He began with soft, nibbling kisses that mirrored the gentle touch of his hands at her waist—but slowly, bit by bit, the kiss transformed. Heated. Went nuclear.
She slid her palms over his bare chest, feeling every inch of soft, hair-dusted skin and taut muscle, before moving lower. As she neared his waistband, Evan growled against her lips. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her arse with firm hands and hauled her up against his body, kissing her harder. His tongue plunged into her mouth, his lips insistent, devouring, and she took all of his passion and returned it with a fire of her own.
Ruth wrapped her thighs around his waist and felt the growing length of his erection press firmly between her leg
s. She whispered his name, and he swallowed the sound.
With reluctance, Ruth broke the kiss. He opened his eyes slowly, pupils blown, and murmured, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she panted. Nothing’s ever been so right. “Hurry up and take me to bed.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ruth tore off her clothes as soon as she stepped foot in Evan’s room. No underwear, because she really had been naked when her bed had collapsed beneath her. But she hadn’t wanted to apologise with her tits bouncing around between them, because that seemed undignified.
She had wanted to apologise, though. Turned out, once you started talking about things, it got way, way easier. And Ruth had discovered there were few people in the world she wanted to talk to as much Evan.
She was completely naked and tucked under his boring, blue covers before she realised that Evan was still standing in the doorway as if frozen. She propped herself up on one elbow and asked, “Are you coming?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “You do realise the most I’ve ever seen of your body is… copious forearm. And some ankle. I’m particularly fond of the dimples above your elbows.”
“How scandalous.”
Slowly, he came towards the bed. “What’s scandalous is you in my bed, naked, and completely hidden from view.” He came to stand beside her, staring at the outline of her body beneath the quilt as if he might suddenly develop X-ray vision. “Do you need me to… turn the light off?”
“Oh,” Ruth said. “You think I’m shy.”
He arched a brow.
She smiled, feeling quite smug, and said, “I’m not shy.” Then she sat up completely and pushed back the blanket.
Evan sank slowly to his knees beside the bed, his eyes traversing all the hills and valleys of her body—and then repeating the journey again, slower, as if to savour certain parts. She wondered if she should’ve done this lying down, to minimise the roll situation, but then decided that rolls were fine. If they were going to do anything interesting, rolls would eventually occur. She couldn’t lie down constantly whenever they were naked.
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