If We Were Young: A Romance

by Bloom, Anna

  This trip would be long.

  I needed to get my head in the game.

  So, him and Amanda…

  What did he mean he hated the thought of me being in love with someone else? Surely he must know? I’d had written it all over my face for eighteen years.

  With a deep shudder, I thought back to the previous night and us standing out in the rain. His half-promised kiss pressed to the edge of my mouth.

  He was my Matthew last night.

  Time had suspended and we’d been just as we always were. More maybe. We were us, but with a kiss.

  Today, once again, he was a man I didn’t know. I had no clue how to contend with that. I didn’t know how to sleep in this cabin with him on the bed below and how for it not to ache in dark and desperate places.

  I jumped as the door opened again and he walked back in. “Here, I got us some sandwiches.” He thrust a bag at me. “I’m going to get changed. I can’t sit in a suit all night.” His gaze drifted across my face, but I was too busy opening and shutting my mouth to come up with a response.

  He’s going to get changed?

  What into?

  Pyjamas?

  My cheeks warmed.

  Matthew in a tracksuit, soft and comfortable, with that fabric softener scent, was one of my most favourite memories. My body still remembered that firm cushion he used to make as I snuggled into his side and watched movies. He never knew that I’d be sitting there fitting myself into his muscles and angles trying to work out how well we would slot together.

  It was a good job he went to the bathroom. That memory had taken me to some fantastical places over the years, and the flush on my cheeks painted a vivid reminder of them.

  Oh Lord.

  While I could hear the water running from within the bathroom cupboard I jumped down from the bunk and yanked open my case. A-ha! There was my hairbrush. I pulled out the yoga pants I’d rolled into one side of the case and then cocked my head to listen to how long he might be in the bathroom for.

  Too slow.

  He opened the door and then smiled faintly as he found me frozen with my clothes in my hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  His clothes were impeccably folded, but I only gave them a cursory glance as I greedily absorbed the sight of him in grey sweats and a tight black t-shirt.

  Oh my. Fantasy Matthew in the living flesh.

  I had to breathe out, and it took all I had not to bend down and put my head between my knees.

  “Are you okay?” The frown slipped back, but softer now, his lips questioning with a quirk.

  “Uh, yeah. I’ll get changed too.”

  “Right.” We edged past one another in the tight space. Once I was past him and locked in the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror.

  What was happening here?

  It wasn’t a rhetorical question. I needed someone to tell me what was happening here.

  Not finding the answer in the mirror, I ended up splashing some water on my face, changing my clothes and tying my hair up into a ponytail. It wasn’t really long enough, but it was better than having it hanging around my neck and getting tangled in my necklace.

  I walked back out and nearly keeled over on the spot. He lay stretched out on his bunk, his feet hanging off the end.

  Oh fuck.

  That T-shirt knew how to hug him in ways I could only dream of.

  “Here.” He rolled over and reached for the floor. I saw flesh. I saw actual Matthew flesh.

  Another mind snap moment.

  Smooth and pale and beyond lickable. I wanted to feel it. Trail my fingers along that sliver of a strip and see where it would take me.

  “I have some paracetamol in my bag.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Engage brain—reboot. Couldn’t. It was dead in fantasy land.

  “For your headache?” His brows narrowed together, that handsome face with the high cheekbones marring. “Are you okay? You seem flustered.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” I reached over and took the packet, ignoring the way his gaze lazily drifted over me, and the touch of our fingers that made my body sing.

  “I left you a cheese and pickle sandwich. You still like that, yes?”

  “Uh. Yes.”

  I giggled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I had one.”

  “Oh sorry. That was presumptive of me.”

  “Bit like when you assumed at that first meeting that I still liked my tea out of builder mugs?”

  “You do though, right?” His expression slipped into pensive again.

  “Yes. It drives my mother mad.” I made myself sound like her, wishing it were harder to achieve.

  “Phew. It would be hard to be friends with you if you liked fine china.”

  The man constantly stunned me with painful whiplash. “Matthew, we aren’t friends. You’ve made that very clear.”

  He nodded, his eyes darkening and then he fell back onto his bed, pushing his hands through his hair.

  God, I wanted to climb on there next to him, hitch my leg around his hips and try to crawl inside his skin.

  “You’re staring at me funny.”

  “Oh. Uh.” I had no answer. I blatantly stared at the way his chest fell, his belly tightening with every breath. Well. It didn’t leave many words left.

  I pulled myself up on the bunk trying to not make it look like a miniature person doing a pole vault and picked up the sandwich and crisps he’d left on the mattress. As soon as I pulled at the cellophane wrapper, I got that wave of hunger-based nausea and my mouth filled with saliva. I couldn’t be sick now; it would drop down onto his bed. The rock of the train made the sensation worse, back and forth, back and forth, unrelenting.

  Yanking the sandwich free, I shoved a massive mouthful in and chewed hard, trying to get some food into my system.

  “Better?” His voice drifted up from down below.

  Too busy chewing to answer I moaned an, “Mm.”

  “Still making little sex noises when you eat, I hear.”

  The bread lodged in my throat and I swallowed hard. “I do not,” I mumbled when it had sunk halfway down.

  “I beg to differ.”

  I took another bite and then waited to see if I was about to groan. Bloody hell. I nearly did.

  Had I been doing that my entire life, and no one had told me? I swallowed again.

  “How do you remember I make sex noises when I eat?”

  “I remember all sorts of things.”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. It was easier that way. The white walls of the cabin were riveting. “I remember things too.”

  “Do you remember I’m an arsehole?”

  “You never used to be.”

  “I never used to be so battered by life.”

  “Are you talking about your divorce?”

  A pause stretched until I thought he might not answer. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for—” He broke off.

  “But?”

  “The fact you are sorry my marriage ended burns.”

  “Oh.” I took another mouthful of sandwich and opened the crisps. Our conversations didn’t seem normal. Our words were a smoked mirror of what we were both thinking.

  “It’s so hard now.” I almost jumped when he spoke again.

  “What is?”

  “Life. Being old. I hate the fact I can see an end now, that whatever this life is I’m almost halfway done. It’s all vanished, and I have nothing to show for it.”

  His declaration gnawed at the edges of my heart, pulling on strands and fibres until the ends wept with hurt.

  I needed to see him. I always needed to see his face. Putting down my food, I leant over the bunk, my short ponytail loosening as the rubber band slipped. “You’ve got your children, your company. You’re only thirty-five.”

  “It’s not the same.” His fingers pinched the bridge to his nose lik
e it hurt to speak.

  It hurt to hear.

  “It’s not what I thought it would be.”

  “I know. I get it. Sometimes I feel like life has just seeped out of me. I remember the girl I used to be, but I can’t find her anymore. Every time I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognise myself.”

  He dropped his hand from his face and stared up at where I hung with the blood rushing to my head. “Ronnie. You are just as beautiful now as the first day I met you.”

  My grip on the bed loosened.

  He sighed and for a long moment our eyes met. “Can you please come down here so we can talk without you impersonating a monkey?”

  “Talk?”

  “Just come down, will you?”

  Memories

  I crawled along his side, like pulling your car up on the driveway of your childhood family home. Everything about it screamed homecoming.

  It reminded me of the one time we went camping when I was young. It was so cold at night I crept into the sleeping bag with all my clothes and then zipped it right up, my head settled deep in the hood, so only my face was showing.

  That’s what crawling into his arms felt like. Strong and firm, they cinched around my waist tucking me tight into him, so my face pressed against his T-shirt and I was inhaling that scent of his like it was a perfume priced at a million pounds per ounce.

  His deep sigh pushed against my chest and I shivered.

  He held me in a way I’d dreamed of too many times.

  “God.” He groaned. “I’ve thought far too often about you lying in my arms. I can say they were not pure thoughts.”

  “You have?” My throat thickened. “We used to do this all the time. With hindsight we probably shouldn’t have done.”

  “Hindsight is right up there at the top of my list of things to despise. Along with being a grown-up.”

  I didn’t move as his lips pressed against my temple. I’m sure he inhaled me the same way I did him, sharp and desperate. “It used to be hell,” he murmured.

  I struggled to wiggle free, utilising my elbows.

  “Nope.” His arms tightened more, holding me in place.

  “Hell?”

  “Ronnie, having you as hot as hell lying in my arms like a giant fucking marshmallow of goodness while watching a movie, will probably remain of the most painful things I’ve gone through. Having my dick sawn off would have been better.”

  I sighed at those words. I remembered the ache of having him next to me all too well. “You should have turned to kiss me.”

  “What would you have done?”

  “Kissed you back, probably.” I breathed in deep again, filling my chest cavity with Matthew.

  “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

  “Because of her.” I pressed myself into the warmth of his neck. I was hot and tingly all over. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

  “Because of her.” Another press of his lips to my temple. I could have died, right now, and wouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care. “Not in the way you think. I never wanted you to be the other woman.”

  “You were eighteen; how could there even be a ‘woman’?” It’s a stupid question really because if I’d had the chance, or rather if I’d been brave enough when the moment came, I would have taken him for my own. Without hesitation.

  “My life was so complicated.”

  “You never talked about it. Not ever.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to talk about it with you, every moment with you was magic. If I’d brought my reality into that then I would have ruined it.”

  I didn’t want to ruin this now. “What’s going on with your mum tomorrow?”

  He sighed, deep and low. “Just this thing she does every year.”

  He turned slightly and then I felt it. A prodding stiffness against my thigh. Oh, so that changed things a bit. Actually, a lot. A desperate wild ache clawed inside me. My legs grew heavy, while a deep heat settled in the pit of my stomach.

  I pushed against him.

  “What would you do? If we were young again?”

  He shifted back to look at me. A serious silence echoed along with the wheels of the train on the tracks. “I’d tell you every day how I felt. From the first moment we met.”

  “What do you wish you’d told me?” Our tentative conversation began to tread on dangerous ground. I might not want to hear his answer.

  “I wish I’d told you that I loved you.”

  The snap in my brain was audible. The sound rang around me as my connection with the reality I’d always known broke and then reconnected together again, lighting fuses and sparks.

  I opened my mouth, closed it again, and then took a deep breath as I pitched myself down into the chasm of truth. “I wish I’d told you yes that day when you knocked on my door.” The words bubbled and built. “I wish I’d opened the door and dragged you inside. Wish I’d kissed you and never let you go.”

  He nodded, and a tear trickled down my cheek, rolling off my lashes and then splatting itself onto his T-shirt.

  “You married her even though you broke up with her that day? You said the other night in the car that you broke up with her because you knew I had trouble saying what I wanted, and you were giving me time to get to the right answer.” My chest hollowed. “But then later that night you saw what you thought was me kissing someone else. What happened then? Did you go back to Julie, go back to what you knew?” The words stung, with eye watering intensity. “You sure as hell didn’t come and find me for an explanation.”

  He tightened beneath me, freezing into stone.

  When his gaze rested on mine it burned. He lifted a hand and wiped at my cheek with his thumb. “I need to ask you a question.” He dodged my question with one of his own. Sneaky.

  “Okay…”

  “At dinner, you said you were angry with your husband. Then this morning your staff were talking, and I know I acted like a shit. But, Ronnie. Why are you so angry with him? Is it because he broke your heart? I get the feeling he was the big love of your life.”

  I ducked my head, pushing it into his chest so I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see the rugged beauty that breathed Scottish hillsides and fresh air.

  “Please?” His major chord rumbled into my heart. “I can’t bear not knowing.”

  “I’m worried if I tell you, you will judge me.”

  “I just told you that I wished I’d always said I loved you, even though it would have been wrong for me to do so.”

  “But you never did. You were honourable, even as a teenager and a young man you were honourable.”

  “Ronnie. I wasn’t. I’ve coveted you since the moment we met. You’ve been one of the few things I’ve ever wanted, and when I say wanted, I mean it in the basest of ways. Every damn bit of you. I’ve wanted it craved it, imagined it. Too much.”

  I couldn’t take it. My palms slicked. My chest wrapped tight like ribbons on a present.

  He was saying everything I’d ever wanted to hear. Right then in the dark, on a train to places I’d never been, he said the things I’d always wanted.

  “My first date with Paul.” He tensed beside me and I lifted a hand and placed it on his cheek. “I was a mess. You broke my heart, and I was so cross. Cross that I’d allowed myself to feel all this stuff that seemed so one-sided once we were apart. Cross that I hadn’t been able to speak when I should have done. I blamed myself for the fact you turned on me that night in the club.” I gave a rueful laugh. “If I’d known it was bloody Angela, I could have done something about it. I thought I’d broken your trust with my inability to say what I wanted.”

  “You’re talking now.”

  I laughed and slid my hand along his face. “Not easily.” He didn’t flinch from the sweaty trail I left on his cheek.

  “I thought it had all been in my head. I’d been stupidly in love with my best friend.” I heaved a breath. “So I went on the date with Paul. Ma introduced me, said he was a good guy. She’d been trying to get me out of my funk since I l
eft uni.”

  He nodded but remained silent.

  “So, I went. And he was nothing like you. Blonde, kinda short. Nice. He was a nice guy.”

  “You fell in love?” His hand smoothed my hair, his palm so big it fit half my head easily in his grasp.

  “No. I told him about you. I told him how much you hurt me, how stupid I felt and that I didn’t know how to move on.”

  Matthew’s breath fanned my face as he exhaled steadily.

  “And he told me not to worry. That he’d make me forget and keep me distracted so I’d never think of you again.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes and no.” I kept my eyes down. “He kept me distracted, the plans for the wedding just seemed to come out of nowhere and I figured, well…” My chest tightened, cranking tighter and tighter until I no longer wanted to breathe. “I figured, well, hell, who cares? He’s fun, and I don’t think I’m ever going to find someone who makes me feel the way Matthew does, so maybe this will do. Maybe this is good.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “Apart from at night when I dreamed of you… so many times. So many times, I’d wake up and not know where I was. I’d be half-tangled in the past with you. Normally the same dream over and over again.”

  Matthew stayed still. His chest hardly moving.

  “Then he died and broke his promise. As soon as he went all I could think of was you. Everyone kept tiptoeing around me, thinking I was grieving but I wasn’t. Well I was, but I wasn’t. I was grieving the ten years I’d accidentally lived a lie. A foolish promise to make me forget, but it never had.”

  “Is that why you came to the reunion?”

  “I needed to see you so I could tell myself to move on. I couldn’t allow myself to waste more of my life on something that had never been.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I put my finger on his lips.

  “But really, I just needed to see you. Just one last time. Then I could carry on. Another fifteen years, another twenty, thirty, then it would be over.”

  “What would?”

  “Life.”

  Tears trickled down my lashes, running across the hot skin of my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry I make you cry.”