by L. S. Pullen
“Hey, mate,” he says. He pulls off his lid, stuffs his gloves inside, and leaves it on his seat. He comes into the garage, takes off his leather jacket, and grabs my hand, pulling me in for a pat on the back.
“How are you holding up?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow.
I grab him a bottle of water from the fridge and toss it in the air. He catches it with one hand.
“Fuck knows it’s hard, that’s for sure.”
“It will be. He was great man.”
“True.”
“Is there anything I can help with?” he says before downing half the bottle of water in one huge gulp.
“No, you’re already doing enough with covering the wake.”
I still don’t feel comfortable—him paying out of his own pocket—but I’m not going to argue with him about it. It’ll be a losing battle anyway.
“So, where’s Felicity?” he asks, looking around like she’s hiding behind one of the cars or something.
“She had an emergency. She had to rush off to Simon’s.”
He raises his eyebrows with a smirk. “Dude, you’re going through a lot. Are you sure she was even here, and she wasn’t just a figment of your pretty imagination?”
I punch his arm. “Very funny. If I hadn’t kissed her, I might have questioned that myself.”
“Come again? You kissed her?”
“Yeah…it’s fucked up, right? My gramps just died, and I’m hitting on Flick,” I say, scrubbing my hand over my face. My chin is scratchy. I need a shave.
He shakes his head. “Nah, mate, there’s always been unfinished business there.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and walks around the car, eyeing it up.
“It will never be finished.”
“What?” he asks.
I’ve never admitted my feelings about her to him, but he’s not stupid. I need a drink.
“Hey, do you fancy a beer?” I ask, grabbing a bottle and twisting off the cap.
He holds his hand out, so I pass him one. “Cheers,” we say in unison and clink our bottles. I take a long, hard pull, and sit down in one of the chairs.
Charlie follows suit.
“Is it safe to say she’s the one?” he asks, hanging his leg over his other knee.
I shrug. “I can’t speak for her, but if I had my way she would be… But she’s different. I can’t explain it…it’s like she’s holding back. Could be this guy Simon, but she said they’re not ‘together-together’,” I say, using air quotes.
“Are they in an open relationship?” he asks.
See, I should have asked that instead of saying fuck buddies. I’m a grade A arsehole.
“I wish I was more like you, man.”
He coughs, choking back his beer. “What, why?”
“You at least have a filter… I should have said that instead of asking if they were fuck buddies.”
One of his eyebrows shoots up, and then he lets out a gruff of a laugh. I kick the leg of his chair, but he doesn’t budge.
“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” he says around a sarcastic smirk. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Come on, I have issues, too.”
Now it’s my turn to grin. “Yeah, well your commitment issues are your own, but at least you’re upfront—they know the score.”
“The last thing I need is to end up like my dad. No. Thank. You.”
I squirm in my seat. True. He doesn’t need to go through the same bullshit his dad has gone through where women are concerned.
“Don’t you ever see yourself settling down? You know, have the kind of relationship my grandparents had?” I ask, leaning forward, my arms hanging between my legs as I roll the bottle between my palms.
“No disrespect to your grandparents, but what was right for them, isn’t necessarily right for everybody. I just can’t see it for myself.”
“I’ve only imagined spending my life with one girl…and she just so happens to be at her boyfriend’s as we speak.”
“Casual sex partner,” he interjects.
I nearly choke on my beer. “Don’t say that, man. The thought of her being with him, or anyone else, riles me up the wrong way.”
“That’s a bit strong coming from you. You’re hardly celibate—how do you reckon she feels about the girls you’ve been with?”
“Shut up, man. That’s just sex. Don’t make me out to be worse than what I actually am. I’m not that bad, am I?”
“Depends what our perception of bad is. I can’t really talk, but at least I think I can still keep count. Can you?”
Of course, I can. I’m pretty sure I can count on both hands, but I refrain from answering as I see Ana approaching.
“Charlie,” she says. He stands to greet her, and she looks him up and down, a huge grin on her face.
“Hi, Ana,” Charlie says, pulling her into a big, gentle hug. Soft bastard.
“Well aren’t you as dashing as ever?” she says as she cups his cheek.
A blush creeps over his face. I cover my mouth with my fist to stifle a laugh.
“Nathaniel, I just wanted to let you know Felicity rang. She’ll be back later. Her friend, Sophie, wasn’t in a good way, and those three are as tight as a lid on a pickle jar.”
“No problem. As long as she’s okay, that’s all that matters.”
She pats my shoulder with a wink.
“Charlie, you’re staying for dinner?” It’s a question that leaves no answer as she heads back towards the house.
We crank up the radio, and Charlie helps me work on the Impala. I still can’t believe this is her favourite car. I must ask her about that. I’m distracted, I keep replaying the kiss from this morning—the look of unbridled passion as she came hot and heavy around my waist. How I shot my load pretty much as soon as I stood under my shower when I made it back to my room. I move from one foot to the other, now uncomfortably tight in my jeans.
All I know is, if I only ever kissed one woman for the rest of my life, it would be her. Gramps always said when you know, you know—you can’t choose how you feel.
I look at the dashboard. A quarter after twelve, no wonder I’m so tired. I take it slow as I hit the gravelled driveway, which is lit by LED solar-powered lanterns. I haven’t seen them before, but they look marvellous.
I come to a stop and switch off the engine, resting my head against the headrest. Yawning, I think of what Simon said about letting go of my insecurities. I’m the kind of broken that can’t be fixed—no matter how much counselling I have, fragments will always remain fractured.
Nate has a way with the ladies. Facebook is testament to that. Could I really trust him with my body? With my heart? I’m over-analysing—I know this.
I shake my head as I unclip my seatbelt and step out of the car. I feel Nate before I see him sitting in silence on the steps.
“Hey, I was starting to think you were going to spend the night in the car,” he says with a soft smile.
“No. Just trying to get my head together.”
Is it possible to miss him for only a few hours?
“You came back,” he says, matter of fact.
“Yeah, I wanted to get your car back.” And I wanted to see you.
He raises his eyebrows. “You do know I have more than one car, right?”
“I know that…I don’t…know.”
I’m rattled with guilt now for leaving Soph so I could see him. Maybe I should’ve stayed. I wrap my arm around my middle.
“Didn’t Simon want you to stay?” he asks.
“It’s complicated,” I say, and sit beside him.
“He’s a better man than me. I wouldn’t have let you go.”
My stomach flutters with a new sense of life, the dread from moments ago gone.
“He understood why I wanted to get back.”
“And that is?” he asks.
“We have no secrets,” I say like that will explain it all.
“Your friend, Sophie…is she okay?”
I nod but then shake my head
. “She’s been better…I’m worried about her. I should have stayed—I feel guilty for leaving.”
I hand him back his keys, and his fingertips brush mine, causing goosebumps to appear over my arms.
“If you need to go back, I’d understand.”
He doesn’t though—that’s the thing. I shake my head.
“What were you doing out here anyway?” I ask in hopes of changing the subject.
“I lost my film buddy, so I worked in the garage…lost track of time, I guess. And then I heard you pull up,” he says, spinning his keys.
“How are Evie and my Nana?”
“We kept busy. You missed Charlie, by the way. He stayed for dinner and asked after you.”
“It’s been too long. I remember when I thought you made him up, that he was your invisible friend.”
He lets out a laugh. Who knew laughing could be sexy?
“He asked if you were even really here or if I made it up, so you two kind of have that in common.”
“What can I say? You have good choice in friends.”
“That I do,” he says with a genuine smile.
“I wish I was a better friend. Me leaving Soph…it’s hard because I know how she feels—what she’s going through. At least Simon took off work tomorrow to be with her.”
“He sounds like a good guy. Not many boyfriends would be there like that for their other half’s friends.
“Nate, there’s something I need to tell you about Simon and me.”
He stands abruptly.
“Please don’t tell me you’re engaged…or something like that. I couldn’t deal with that right now.”
I’m so surprised by his words. I can’t contain my laughter as I get to my feet.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, giving me a dirty look.
“You’re overacting. We’re not engaged.”
He wipes his sleeve across his forehead. “Sorry, of course, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for you…”
He couldn’t be further from the truth if he tried.
“Do you fancy a walk?” I ask. I talk better when I’m moving. I don’t wait for him as I walk off. When I hear his feet connect with the gravel, I start talking.
“I’m not with Simon. He isn’t my boyfriend. What we had…it’s ancient history. We’re best friends, that’s all.”
“I’m confused. When you said you weren’t together-together, I thought you meant you were in an open relationship.”
Well, that’s an improvement from fuck buddies—I’ll give him that.
“No, he’s gay,” I say, and come to a stop once we hit the grass.
“But Facebook says you’re in a relationship.”
I push my head back looking at the clear night sky.
“Do you believe everything you see online? We never changed it, that’s all. It was just easier that way.”
“Why? Because he’s gay?”
It’s only part of the reason. I take a deep breath as I pick up my speed and answer his question.
“No, because of what happened to Sophie and me.”
I need him to understand why I am the way I am.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand in his.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls me along beside him.
“You’ll see.”
We come to a stop at the foot of the tree house. I look up. It seems bigger if that’s even possible.
“Are you coming up or what?” he asks as he climbs the ladder.
I shake my head, is he serious?
“Come on, get your cute butt up here.”
I begin to blush so hard, even my earlobes begin to heat. Before he can embarrass me further, I grab hold of the ladder and climb.
“Sit with me,” he says from the balcony, patting the floor beside him.
I join him. “It’s even more beautiful up here than I remember.”
“I come up here a lot—I imagine what it would be like watching my children play down there on the grass. Like we used to.”
I turn to look at him. “I didn’t know you wanted kids.”
Children, who would have thought it?
“Of course. One day. What about you?”
I swing my legs back and forth. “I don’t know, maybe. Never say never, right?”
I don’t know how easy it would be to bring children into the world, even more so with how messed up my life is. I shiver, but it’s not from the breeze of the cool, night air.
“Talk to me. You’re holding back.”
“I’m afraid when I do, you’ll see me differently…you’ll see me for the broken person I really am.”
“Not going to happen. Listen, we may have been out of touch, but I see you for exactly who you are…which is a beautiful person—both inside and out.”
His words stroke my ego, but it only makes what I need to tell him that much harder.
“A drink wouldn’t go amiss right about now,” I say.
“Hold that thought.” He jumps to his feet, heads back inside, then reappears with a bottle in hand. “Ta-Dah.”
Vodka. In his other hand, between his thumb and forefinger, he has two glasses.
I shake my head.
He nods his head over his shoulder. “Renovations…mini fridge.” He pours us each a small shot. He hands me one and clinks his glass with mine. Before I can chicken out, I bring it to my lips and knock it back.
“Shit,” I choke out, the afterburn of the liquid attacking my throat.
“You okay?”
“Yep, just not big on spirits. I don’t know how Sophie can drink this shit.”
He laughs, but it dissipates when I hold out my glass again.
“Really, you sure?”
“No,” I say, but he pours me another. When I swallow this one, it’s not as bad as the first one.
Dutch courage running through my veins, I know it’s now or never—flight or fight—I need to tell him, I need to fight.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter Fifteen
Two years earlier
The tempo from below pulses through my body as we descend the poorly lit stairwell. People pass us from the opposite direction—some looking worse for wear, others laughing as they talk over one another.
Chloe grabs hold of our hands, leading us in the direction of the nearest toilets. She’s been busting to go the whole cab ride over. I told her to go before we left, but she never listens to me.
She pushes through the large door. The lighting in here doesn’t fare any better than the dim hallway we just walked through. Probably a ploy, an attempt to keep people from spending too much time in here.
A woman sits over by the end basin, head down as she reads, paying no attention to us what so ever. Laid out beside her, is an array of stuff. I move closer to get a better look—there’s everything from tights, to plasters. A girl exits a cubicle and washes her hands. It’s only now the woman looks up and passes her some hand towels. She makes quick work of drying off the excess water and then tosses them in the bin. She eyes the contents laid out in front of her before grabbing a bottle of perfume, giving herself an overzealous squirt, and almost blinding herself in the process. Dropping a couple of quid in the bowl, she prepares to leave while the other woman nods her thanks, then goes back to the Woman’s Weekly in her lap.
“I can’t believe we all got in,” Sophie says as she smacks her lips together. That shade really suits her.
“It’s all right for the two of you. You’re old enough, but if they asked me for ID, I’d be on my way home right about now,” I whisper, eyeing the woman.
Sophie spins to look at me and shakes her head. “Never, we came together, we leave together. Besides, you’re eighteen in a week.”
Chloe reappears from the toilet and washes her hands. “Who’s up for a drink?” she asks over her shoulder, already half-cut. The two bottles of wine we shared before we got here are clearly kicking in. The woman holds out some hand towels for Chloe, but she declines, shaking her hands
in front of her.
“Why not,” I say with a shrug. I look in the full-length mirror one last time—here we go.
The dance floor calls to me. The more I drink, the more I want to be free. Bass pumps through my veins—an iridescent wave coursing through a crowd of nameless faces. Raising my arms in the air, I let myself go and get lost in the rhythm.
I bump into something hard, and stumble, turning my head—dark eyes smile back at me.
“Easy, tiger,” he says, holding onto my elbow to steady me.
“Sorry,” I reply, my ears beginning to burn. I’m not sure if it’s from all of the dancing or falling over a complete stranger.
He says something else, but the tempo of the song playing drowns it out. I wave in the direction of my ears and shake my head. Smiling, he leans in close, cheek to cheek
“I said, my name’s John.” He holds out his hand.
I wipe mine before taking his. “Felicity,” I reply, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Sophie says, handing me my drink.
John introduces himself to Sophie and Chloe and then invites us to go join him and his friends in the VIP area. He introduces us all, but I know I’ll never remember their names. The girls are sweet from the off, asking where we got our shoes or about Sophie’s hair. The guys are loud, a little rowdy, but otherwise entertaining as they make up some dance moves and the complementary drinks flow freely.
John hasn’t removed his hand from my lower back. My body tingles with appreciation and is flattered by the attention. I watch him as he watches Sophie with his friends. He catches me, and his lip tilts up.
I shake my head, and his arm wraps around my waist as he pulls me into his body.
“What?” he says loud enough so I can hear.
“She’s taken,” I say, feeling deflated from moments before.
“Well, I’m not interested in her. I was just making sure to keep my boys in check.”
I pull back to look at him, his eyes smile back at me.
“Please, tell me the same doesn’t go for you?”