by JC Harroway
‘I was drunk, furious with myself for being foolish enough to go to him for advice, humiliated and belittled. My heart was shredded, confused, uncertain what to believe but sick that what Slay told me might be true. When I slammed into the kitchen, in search of more beer to numb the pain and stupidity I felt, Slay’s third wife, Aubrey, was there.’
The growing horror in her eyes should warn me off. But I’m too far gone, and ruining this for good is the only way to protect me from the pain of knowing I’ve lost her faith.
‘She came on to me, right there in the kitchen of my father’s house,’ I continue. ‘She was only a few years older than me, perhaps twenty-three. When she kissed me, I felt appalled, disgusted and euphoric all at once. It was as if I could exact revenge on Slay for a lifetime of being a shitty role model. For subjecting my teenage years to a string of stepmothers barely older than me. For caring more about fame and his rock-and-roll lifestyle than his only son. And most of all for kicking me when I was down, as if my feelings meant nothing.’
My fists clench at my sides and I stare deep into Neve’s eyes.
‘I kissed her back. Angry.’ My words fall into the distasteful silence of the room. ‘I knew it was wrong, we both did, but she didn’t stop, and neither did I. I hated my life so much in that moment that hating myself for my actions seemed inconsequential.’
Neve shifts, her hands jerking in my direction as if to touch me, but I still her with a single quelling look. I need to finish the whole tale, because if she didn’t want me before she’ll definitely reject me after. At least then I’ll know where I stand.
‘After we’d finished, when I came to my senses, my head spinning drunk, I ran to the bathroom and threw up my disgust into the toilet until I could barely move. But the damage was already done. She’d wanted out of the marriage anyway, so she told Slay we’d slept together as a parting gesture.’ A humourless snort blasts free. ‘He wasn’t even angry. He simply shrugged, as if I’d finally become what he expected.’
My stomach roils. ‘I left that night, sickened by the fact that I’d become just like him, and burning from the humiliation that I might have been used in some sort of sick marital game.’
The filthy feeling returns now, coating me in its oily grasp. I stare hard at Neve, hating the unspoken judgment blaring from her hurt stare.
‘That’s what Slay meant by “sharing”. His reminder to me that the apple never falls far from the tree, and that sex is just another form of currency.’ But for a while, with her, I’d believed it could be different...
‘So, don’t worry,’ I finish. ‘You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear and, as you now know, you’re right about me. I’m not good enough for you. I never was.’
I turn my back on her, swish the curtains aside and leave.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Neve
THE SPREADSHEET SWIMS before my eyes, the columns of numbers spinning like dials. I press my glasses to the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, hoping that when I reopen them the world will make sense once more.
It’s my first day back at work since returning alone from the Maldives. Oliver’s plane flew the entire wedding party back to London, minus our host, who, Shelley informed me, flew to Japan the day of our confrontation to run damage limitation on the Kimoto deal.
They had been long days since Oliver and I parted ways. Angry. Resentful. And, for my part, shattered into a million grains like sand.
How can we have gone so wrong? And why did I risk it all, risk what I had? Risk losing him.
It aches. My entire body. My mind. My soul.
I abandon my computer screen and open my phone. I’ve composed and deleted hundreds of texts without sending a single message.
I’ve communicated with Oliver one way or another every day for the past nine years, and now, when I feel like I’m splitting in two, I need him more than ever. He’s always been there to mop tears, hug me or tell me a stupid joke to cheer me up. But now there’s radio silence. Mutual silence. Because I don’t know how to reach out to him. I don’t know what to say that he’ll believe. All I know is that I fell in love with him all over again. Stronger, deeper, without hope of redemption. Because, where before my love for him was a puddle, this is the deepest fathom of the ocean.
And then I let him down. I didn’t see what he tried to show me. I hurt him—an unforgivable act from a woman who’s supposed to be his best friend, and in love with him to boot.
My phone pings, and my heart bangs against my ribs until I see it’s from my friend Grace. She’s replied to my SOS: I’m working a late shift today so can meet you for a cuppa in fifteen. Usual place?
I type out a reply and save my work, although there’s not much point in being at the office today, I’m that ineffective. I tell my assistant I’ll be back in an hour and then I wrap up in my coat and scarf and head out into a frigid London day.
The fresh, brisk walk should clear my head. But all I can see is Oliver’s face swimming in front of my eyes, streaked with pain and betrayal. He opened himself to me and I ran from him, scared I’d never truly get what I want. Terrified that I’d never stack up, because Oliver’s proposal, his solution to the photograph, had resounded with panic. And I couldn’t trust it. I couldn’t trust myself to be objective—something I’ve never been with my feelings for Oliver.
But of course he’d try to distance himself from his father, distance me from association. He’s been doing it most of his adult life. Could it be that protecting me all these years might also have held him back from exploring us...?
And the rest... Slay, his stepmother... I only care that Oliver’s punishing himself.
Grace sits at our usual table in the little tea shop not far from my office. Her tan from her holiday in Fiji last month has mostly faded, but there’s joy shining in her eyes that not even my plea for help and my current expression can diminish.
She’s in love.
The wind is knocked from me and it’s hard to breathe.
‘I’ve ordered our usual,’ she says, although I doubt I’ll be able to swallow anything past my constricted throat.
‘Thanks,’ I mutter, unwinding my scarf and draping my coat over the back of the chair. ‘I wouldn’t have texted on your afternoon off, except—’
‘Except you needed a friend. And here I am.’ Her sympathetic stare floods my stinging eyes with moisture. I blink it away and slump into a chair in defeat.
‘Tell me,’ she orders.
I drag in a shuddering breath. ‘I messed up.’
‘You told Oliver how you feel.’ It’s not a question and it makes me wince, because that’s what I should have done. Right from the start. Instead I slept with him, ruined our friendship and then I still didn’t tell him. I just turned him down and stamped on his feelings.
‘Not exactly...’ I hedge, dread rolling through me, because Grace will need all the details, which means reliving every wonderful and then disastrous moment.
She waits patiently. Grace is good at patience, and I need the breathing space, because I’m light-headed with regret.
‘We slept together and it was great,’ I say, holding up a hand to ward off any wise interruption. ‘I know what you’re going to say, and I didn’t let it go to my head. But...somehow I ended up hurting him. Because I got scared...and I didn’t trust in us...and now I don’t know how to make it right. I don’t know where he is or if he ever wants to talk to me again. I think I’ve killed our friendship. Lost him for ever.’ I sag back in my seat, drained.
Sympathy hovers in her compassionate stare. ‘Tell me everything,’ she says, pouring tea into delicate floral cups.
So I do.
When I finish my rambling tale, my tea is cold, my scone is untouched and Grace’s brows are pinched in a frown.
‘So he actually proposed?’ Her eyes flick to my bare left hand.
I n
od. ‘Yes, but you know what Oliver is like. It was an impulse, almost a joke... No.’ I throw myself back in the seat, because I’m all over the place, my words as jumbled as my thoughts. ‘Not a joke.’
‘And you said no?’
I nod, my eyes stinging. ‘It wasn’t real. Tourist marriages in the Maldives are ceremonial only.’
‘Did it feel real?’ Grace asks tentatively. ‘Because why would he ask if he doesn’t love you and want to make a serious commitment?’
Good question. I open my mouth to answer. No words. My jaw hangs while my mind kick-starts and races for the first time in three days.
Could it be that simple...?
‘Sounds to me like he’s in love with you, sweetie,’ says Grace when I remain stunned silent.
‘No...’ But...could Oliver really be in love with me? Could he want a real relationship? Have I been so desperate to protect myself from heartache, so convinced he wasn’t ready for more, that I ignored the signs?
‘And you’re definitely in love with him.’
I nod, tears building in my aching throat.
Grace signals the waitress, who miraculously brings a fresh pot of tea for me along with a clean cup and saucer. ‘Of course Oliver would doubt that he had anything to offer you after what you’ve just told me about his relationship with his father.’ She covers my numb hand with hers. ‘But you need to tell him how you feel. That you love him, more than a friend.’ She pours me a fresh cup of tea, and this time I take a grateful sip, because tea makes everything better, so maybe it will infuse my mind with logic and clarity.
‘What are you afraid of?’ she asks, cutting right to the core of the issue.
I drag in a deep breath, steeling myself. ‘That I’m not enough for him, or that I’m too much because he’s avoided relationships all of his adult life. I’ll be his experimental case. What if he decides it’s too hard? Relationships take work. He’ll tire of us and move on and I’ll risk everything but still lose him.’
Grace nods, her face serious, so I feel marginally appeased for my rambling thoughts. ‘Well, there are certainly no guarantees in any relationship, but you and Oliver have a better chance than most. You know each other better than anyone else. You have a long and solid friendship on which to build a relationship. And, if you don’t tell him how you feel now, it might be too late.’
I nod, almost unconsciously. She’s right. I do know him. I know everything about him, because he’s always shown me that he values me. That he cares. He’s capable of the kind of commitment I’m looking for, because he’s given me that from day one. With his friendship. I have to trust that he can move past his insecurities over Slay and extend that commitment to our romantic relationship.
Perhaps I’m the one holding back.
I wince, because where he’s confessed his deepest shame, making himself vulnerable like never before, I didn’t fight for him. I allowed him to assume that I’d judged him. I didn’t chase after him and explain myself. I’ve been the worst friend, too scared to put myself out there like he did, lay myself open and say the words.
Because he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know everything. In order to guard my heart, I’ve fooled myself that all I want is the pretence of him, when really, I want it all. I don’t need to cling to my fears, not when there’s so much at stake. The ultimate prize. Oliver.
I stand so suddenly, my chair scrapes and several pairs of eyes look our way.
‘Where are you going?’ Grace asks, as with trembling hands I tug the end of my scarf from under the leg of the chair.
‘I have to go and tell him that I love him. Because I don’t think he knows.’
I flick her a wobbly grin, too panicked to say anything further, but she’s a good friend. She understands.
Grace smiles widely. ‘Of course he doesn’t, otherwise he’d never have let you go.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Oliver
MY VIEW OF London from my Canary Wharf office holds none of its usual charm. I disconnect the call to a member of my legal team. The good news that Kimoto Corp finally purchased my artificial intelligence software for a nine-figure sum falls hollow. I stare blindly out of my window, frozen with inertia.
I’ll probably make the business news tomorrow, for all the right reasons. But the victory means less—nothing, in fact—when I can’t celebrate with Neve.
I scrub a hand over my face, closing my eyes for a brief moment. I see her face, her look of horror when I told her how much like Slay I’d behaved in the past. I wrench my eyes open. I don’t need to see that expression to recall it, because that’s the moment I knew I’d lost her for good. Both any feelings she had for me and her friendship.
So how the hell do I move on now?
My indiscretion is in the past. Teenage years are the time to make mistakes and grow up. The point is to outgrow that propensity. Some of us do, and some of us don’t—like Slay. But I made another mistake back then. A worse one, with longer reaching consequences.
I hid my feelings for Neve. I told myself I didn’t deserve her, and denied my attraction, and that’s the thing I’d change if I had one time-travelling wish.
Because I love her and there’s nothing more real, more deserving.
I don’t want to move on. I don’t have to. I just need to convince her that no one will ever love her more.
I jolt to my feet, energised into action. At that moment a message arrives from my assistant.
‘I have Neve Grayson here. She says it’s urgent.’
I fumble to fasten my jacket buttons as I stride to the door. I swing it open, my heart in my throat. And there she is.
Her cheeks are ruddy, perhaps from the cold outside, and she’s huffing, as if she took the stairs all the way to the fortieth floor.
‘Hi,’ I say, stunned by the wonderful, beautiful sight of her, an automatic smile tugging my mouth. ‘I was just on my way to find you. Come in.’ I step aside, gesture her into the office and close the door.
I don’t think my heart could beat any faster.
She turns to face me and for several endless seconds we stand and stare.
I snap to my senses. ‘Would you like a drink?’ I ask, not sure what to do with my hands short of touching her, so I stuff them in my pockets.
‘No, thanks.’ She fidgets with the scarf in her hand.
‘Can I take your coat?’ Why is this so awkward? And how can I make it right? Because I need to make it right. I refuse to lose her. I’ll do whatever it takes, be whatever she wants. But her absence from my life is not an option I can tolerate.
She shrugs out of the coat and tosses it on the leather sofa nearby. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you’re busy.’
‘I’m not too busy for you,’ I say, my mouth full to bursting with all the other things I want to say. ‘You look great, by the way.’ Her tan still glows, bringing out the flecks of moss-green in her eyes. ‘I missed you.’
Fuck it. I don’t care if she hates me now. I don’t care that I might be repulsive in her eyes. I need to tell her all the things crushing me, because I should have said them nine years ago and I have nothing else to lose.
‘Oliver...’ Her hesitation sickens me, but I’m past caring, because I’m less without her, and I want to be whole. To be worthy of her, even if I can’t be with her.
‘I need to tell you something,’ I say. ‘I should have told you this nine years ago. I love you, Neve. I should have said it sooner.’
My voice catches and I make a fist inside my pocket. ‘Perhaps you can’t think of me that way, after...everything...but I still want you to know how I feel. Because you were never second best. I chose you the day we met. You were a breath of fresh air in my life. You rescued me from the destructive, self-loathing path I’d gone down. I wanted you in my life but I wasn’t ready, wasn’t mature enough to handle you back then, to dese
rve you. You mattered to me more than anyone else. You still do. And you always will.’
She swallows hard, her big eyes round.
‘And you were right about me.’ I rush on, saying it all before she decides to leave. ‘Everything you said was true. I’m not Slay. Nothing like him. I don’t care what other people say or think. Because all I really care about is you. Your happiness. And, if you’re happier without me in your life, or if you want to just go back to being friends, then I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this, because you make me a better man. You always have. And I absolutely cannot lose you.’ I take a half-step closer. ‘I can’t.’
Her hands flinch at her sides, the only move she makes. I swallow down the crushing trepidation that feels like acid and force my features into some sort of neutral smile, while every emotion roars in my head, warp-factor ten.
‘I don’t want to be your friend,’ she says.
I exhale a part of me I know I’ll never get back.
‘I understand.’ I hate the flatness of my voice, because I’m a liar. I just told her whatever she wanted would be okay with me. But it’s not okay. It will never be okay that she’s not mine.
‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think you do, because I’ve always hidden how I feel about you.’ She steps closer too, so we’re only a couple of feet apart. One move and I could touch her, but instead I force myself to focus on her words.
‘I lied and pretended and denied my feelings so I could be your friend. I told myself I stood no chance with you, so what was the point of risking your friendship?’ she says. ‘Because that was the only way I could handle my feelings for you and keep them a secret. I took any part of you I could get rather than being nothing to you.’
‘You were never nothing,’ I bite out, pressure building in my head. ‘You’re everything.’
She wrings her hands. ‘But I deceived you. Because a part of me has always loved you from the start, and now I’m so desperately in love with you that I messed everything up.’
