by E. S. Carter
“I’m not just talking about this weekend and today. You guys used to be thick as thieves. In fact, when we were younger I sometimes felt left out, but I get why. I took longer to adjust to stuff than you did. But you guys were always more like best friends than siblings, so, I’ll ask again, what happened to change that?”
I don’t have a suitable answer for him, so instead of being deceitful, I remain silent.
He sighs and twists back around to pick up his drink. He looks down into the amber liquid and swirls it around in the glass. As if confessing one of his own sins, he lowers his voice and murmurs, “There was a time I even thought that you guys were—” He stops, not finishing his sentence and I stupidly push him, wanting to know if he ever saw what Galen and I were to each other.
“Were what?”
“More,” he says simply. “More than friends.”
My fingers tremble as I wipe condensation from my glass.
“And if we were, what then? What would you say and feel about that?”
He slugs back his drink before turning to face me.
“Why does it matter? Do you need my validation to say what your heart feels is okay?”
I blink, my eyes locked on my drink. If I look at him, he’ll see everything.
“I wouldn’t care, Fflur,” he says and places his hand on mine to still my shaking fingers. “Our family isn’t average. There are no two-point-four kids, a dog and a white picket fence. So why should anything that you guys felt for each other be classed as average either?”
What we had was never average.
My throat constricts, and I close my eyes briefly to breathe through all the emotions flooding my system. Rhys tightens his hold and then links our fingers.
“What you fail to see, what both of you fail to see, is how you guys are with each other doesn’t just affect you. It affects us all.”
He stands before leaning over to kiss the side of my brow.
“Think about that. Because when you come from a family like ours, why would you think any one of us would judge you for having something beyond average? How you and Gal were together could never ever be classed as anything other than extraordinary. And there is nothing wrong with that.”
Chapter Forty-Two
A slice of wedding cake is placed on the bar top before me—double chocolate with white chocolate icing, a compromise between Mum and Max to have both of their favourite flavours.
I don’t need to turn my head to know who slides into the seat next to me. My body will always know his, and I will always be aware of him when he’s near.
I pick up the small fork and twist the plate to cut into the cake but stop when I see a tiny daisy resting along the side of icing.
“I went outside for some fresh air.” He laughs to himself, and I can feel rather than see him shake his head. “No matter where I go, you follow. I’ve travelled the world these last few years, and you’re still in every flower I see.”
My heart stutters, wanting to fill itself with his words, but feeling the hurt in them. I know how he feels. He’s everywhere for to me, too. Everywhere and yet nowhere for such a long time.
We were never average.
“I’ve been to around ten of your gigs,” I offer up a whispered confession of my own. “Stood in the crowds, sang along to every song.”
I swear I feel the echo of his heart stuttering much like mine just did.
“I thought— I didn’t—”
“Nobody knew I went.”
“Why did you?”
I turn to look at him then. At his too handsome profile, his almost white blond hair that is now a touch darker—more like his father’s— and his long lashes that I know frame lawn green eyes that always saw too much of me.
“Because seeing you live your dream meant more to me than the heartache of not living it with you.”
His eyes close, and he inhales a shaky breath.
“I wish—” he begins, but I stop him.
“Wishing is for naïve kids that blew on dandelions and whispered their dreams to the breeze. Wishing is for a boy and a girl who picked buttercups with glowing yellow skin. We aren’t kids anymore, Gal. We don’t get to wish.”
Minutes pass as he absorbs my words, and I pick up my fork to give my hands something to do, stabbing into the cake until it becomes a crumbly mess.
“Take a walk with me?”
His question is whispered so hoarsely that I almost miss it beneath the noise of the people around us.
I don’t reply with words. Instead, I stand and wait for him to follow my lead. Then, I carefully weave my way through the guests—smiling at some, saying hello to others—until I’m stood outside in the landscaped gardens with the wide expanse of the Brecon Beacons stretched out across the horizon.
I don’t turn when I feel him approach, but walk towards a shaded arbour tucked away in a copse of apple trees.
He sits next to me, the seat narrow enough that the fabric of his trousers brushes against my thigh.
“They picked a beautiful place to get married.” His voice is low and a little unsure. He’s making small talk, and it only serves to highlight how far apart we’ve become.
“Why did we let this happen?”
My question stills him.
“Tell me, Gal. Why did we let it get this wrong?”
“Because—”
“I swear, if you say anything about what we did being wrong or what we had being dirty, I’ll walk away and stay away. It wasn’t wrong. But this—” I motion between us with angry hands. “—this is.”
He clears his throat, his eyes begging mine to listen yet he still stutters when he replies, “W—we were young.” He looks away across the distant peaks. “And I was stupid. I’m sorry for the way I handled us. I was supposed to be the older one, the one who protected you. Instead, I just kept hurting you over and over again.”
“Do you regret it?”
Do you regret us?
He swallows, then leans forward and takes both my hands in his. “Every single day.”
I snatch my hands back and move to stand.
“No, wait!” he flusters. “I regret my actions. I regret every time I pushed you away. I regret every guy I brought home and paraded in your face. But I don’t regret us. I don’t regret a second of us.”
I stare at him. Take in his features—ones I know better than my own—and I see his truth just as easily as he sees mine, so when he confesses, “There’s never been another girl, another woman, since you. I chose to have brief, uncommitted relationships with men because it was easier. My heart could never confuse messing around with them with what I had with you.”
My whole world shakes on its already crumbly foundations.
“I don’t get it?” I whisper, untangling one of my hands and bringing it to my mouth. “You only slept with men because they weren’t me?”
“Yes, No,” he groans as if realising how bad what he’s saying sounds. “Not like that. I’ve always been attracted to both sexes, and I have no preference sexually, but I don’t know—” He stands and begins to pace. His hands tugging at his perfectly styled hair, making it stick out at all angles.
“I thought I couldn’t be with you. I found it easier to hook up with guys that didn’t expect anything from me, and if they began to get too close, I ended it. I never wanted another woman, only you.”
“And now?” I stand, and he stops his pacing to look at me. “What do you want now, Gal?”
“What I want hasn’t changed.”
“And neither have we,” I say, even though this truth hurts to confess.
His eyes flit briefly from mine to my lips and back again, his voice unsure when he asks, “And what do you want, Fflur?”
You. Always you. Only you.
I lick my lips, straighten my back and take a step towards him feigning a confidence that’s built on the fear that we’ll never get to be this close again.
“I want to make love to a man who has owned my heart f
or almost half my life. I want to know what it finally feels like to give myself to him, and for him not to push me away, if only for this one night.”
“One night?” he asks tremulously. “What if he wants more? What if he can’t only do one night?”
“She can.”
He hesitates for only a brief second before he takes the step that eliminates the space between us and then he kisses me. His lips are careful at first, swiftly becoming bold as I melt into his touch. His arms draw tight around me, and I moan brazenly when he sucks on my bottom lip before deepening our kiss with his tongue. He shifts, and his thigh slips between my legs to press against the apex of my thighs, and reflexively I arch into the touch, ramping up the pressure on a place that yearns for him and only him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Fflur,” he says against my lips, pulling back slightly to stare into my eyes, before diving back into my mouth like he’d die if we stopped.
Gradually the kiss slows, both of us becoming aware of our surroundings, and I feel him pull away emotionally before I even lose the heat of his body.
“I don’t think we should do this. I don’t want to hurt you again,” he says into the crook of my neck, his arms loosening as if he’s about to pull away.
I hold him tighter.
“I’m a woman now, Gal. I’m not a naïve, young girl. I know what a one night stand is, so don’t pull away from me because you think I’ll break. You of all people should know I’m stronger than that.”
“Fflur—”
“Don’t. Don’t make me beg.”
Early evening sunlight bathes the room in a warm haze that beckons us in. The door shuts behind Gal, and I turn to look at him. His beauty takes my breath away. No wonder men and women throw themselves at his feet. Who am I to compete with all that?
Insecurity has my fingers trembling as I reach behind me to the zipper of my dress. As it slides over my breasts and catches on my hips, I instinctively cover myself, feeling vulnerable.
“Don’t, don’t ever hide from me,” he begs, taking the few steps between us until his hands can reach out and slowly grasp mine, leaving me unable to hide from his perusal.
“You. Are. Fucking. Beautiful.”
His words are a declaration and an oath. A promise that no matter what happens tomorrow, he will always want me, just like I will always want him.
His eyes roam over me, drinking in every curve and every freckle that probably seem new to his eyes. I can see him memorising, locking this moment up tight to remain his forever.
With a steady hand, he reaches out and places his fingers on my lips, tracing the plump flesh and the curve of my Cupid’s bow. Down, down, down his fingers trail, between my breasts, over my heart, until both his hands are on my hips, helping my silk dress to slide down my legs until it pools like buttercream at my feet.
I’m naked but for a scrap of white lace.
His hands smooth, and stroke learning every part of me but never straying towards the places that yearn for his touch.
With shaking fingers, I reach out and unbutton his waistcoat and then his shirt, slipping those and his jacket over his wide shoulders.
He’s broader than he was years ago, more defined, and with a trail of dark blond hair that leads from his belly button to disappear under the waistband of his trousers.
They have to go next, and my hands become more confident as he stands and lets me unbuckle his belt, unfasten his button and tug down the zip. He toes off his shoes and pushes the trousers off smoothly, kicking them away when they get to his feet.
Lawn green meets bright blue before something crackles between us and we both pounce.
Hungry. Greedy. Ravenous.
Voracious hands pull and grip.
Insatiable mouths lick and nip.
We stumble to the bed. All scraps of clothing gone, and I can finally feel him hot and hard between my thighs.
“Please,” I beg as he slides his cock over my sex, slipping through my folds, and dragging the wetness up to the part of me that seems to have its own heartbeat.
Galen. Galen. Galen.
“Please,” I plead through sawing breaths as he grinds me into ecstasy.
“More,” I cry as he slides all the way in and I clutch at his hips, arching my back and taking him even deeper.
He stills, buried to the root, his mouth at my ear, his panting breaths tickling my sensitive skin
“Fflur,” he exhales. My name the only word he can find in his lust, and the one thing anchoring him to the ground.
I’m full of him. Filled to bursting with all that is Galen. Stretched deliciously and desperate for him to move.
I dig my nails into his hips, and he jerks, thrusting deep and hitting a spot inside that sends zings through my body.
“Yes.” Another plea. One that he acknowledges with a swivel of his hips.
Thrust. Ah.
Grind. More.
Thrust. Grind. Rock. Swivel.
Ah. More. Yes. Galen.
Our bodies move to a beat of their making. The music between us intoxicating, addictive, and life-giving. Sending us closer and closer to the crescendo we both crave, yet both know will be the beginning of the end.
One night will never be enough.
One night will have to last us a lifetime.
He kisses me again and again, slowing his thrusts and making us cling to the edge.
When he lifts his head to look into my eyes, I fight the urge to close mine. To block out what he can see there. To stop the wetness that pools on my lashes from falling, not wanting it to wash away any of our time together.
His eyes blaze with restraint and adoration, and his lips part with my name on the tip of his tongue.
“Fflur.”
I come apart with Galen following soon after, my name a chorus on his lips.
Fflur. Fflur. Fflur. Fflur.
His name forever burnt into my soul.
Galen.
Chapter Forty-Three
I’m a certified university graduate—first class honours.
And I have no idea what I want to do with my life.
As a young girl, I wanted to be a horticulturist. I could think of nothing better than spending my days surrounded by plants and flowers, but now… now I feel teaching beckoning me.
I volunteered a few days here and there with disadvantaged kids while undertaking my studies. At the time, it was a way to fill empty days and keep loneliness at bay, but I slowly replaced my love of flowers with a love of making a difference, and of being a positive influence on a kid’s life.
I feel like I’m at a crossroads. Which road do I take?
It doesn’t help that I’m antsy. Have been for months. My mind is restless. Like I know I’ve lost something but can’t remember what.
It doesn’t help that my restlessness, stress over my finals and worries about the future have contributed to my loss of appetite. My weight loss a current cause of concern for my mother.
Ever since I moved back home a week or so ago, she’s tried her best to fatten me up.
“Did I overcook it again?” she asks as I aimlessly push meat and potatoes around my plate.
“No, just not hungry.”
I don’t miss the look she gives Max.
“Have you signed up for a P.G.S.E course for next year yet?”
I grit my teeth. I know she means well, but the twenty questions are getting on my nerves.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come back here. After so long living away from home, I can’t say I’m enjoying the adjustment.
“Not yet.”
“What about if—”
“Mum, please, stop. I know you mean well, but I can’t do this with you right now.”
Guilt twinges in my chest as I watch her face fall, but I can’t deal with that either right now.
“Thanks for dinner. I’ll go and tidy up. Leave the dishes for me.”
I stand, take my plate to the kitchen and scrape my uneaten meal into the food r
ecycling. If Galen were home, he’d finish my leftovers. But he’s not. He’s off overseas somewhere.
Australia, my hearts whispers. And I can’t even fool myself. I check his Instagram feed daily. Multiple times daily. I know where he is practically every hour of every day.
And that’s what I’m doing outside on a lawn chair when Mum comes out to check on me.
“I know you miss him,” she says as she takes a seat on the chair beside mine.
“Yeah, I do. It’s weird here without Rhys,” I try and deflect.
“Not Rhys, Galen. I know you miss him. I know things are… complicated between you two.”
I swallow thickly, my lips forming words of denial while my heart screams at me to come clean.
“It’s more than that.”
“It’s whatever you make it,” she says knowingly. “After all, he’s not your blood brother, and we are not a normal family.”
Her head twists to look at me, her eyes finding mine.
“We love you more than anything, Fflur. We want you both to be happy because whatever you are now is worse than miserable.”
She takes one of my hands in hers and begins to fiddle with the charms on my bracelet.
“We both know that had you and Galen met under other circumstances things would be different. But you didn’t, and they’re not.”
Here’s where she tells me we disgust her. That me and Galen are forbidden from ever being more than what we are now.
“We’ve checked the law. Nothing about you two is classed as wrong. It’s not ideal, but then life and love rarely are, and we all know how precious love is, and how fragile life can be.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Ornithogalum — The Star of Bethlehem is said to bring comfort to those in great distress, particularly in situations which bring grief and great sorrow.
I wish there were some planted nearby.
I wish I could fill the house with it.
I wish I could pick one of the white blooms and tell it that Max’s cancer has come back.
I’d confess to each petal how it’s not only returned, but has done so with a vengeance. Spreading throughout his body, and even into his bones.