Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
NICK
I stepped out of the shower, avoiding Cerys’s gaze. The cool air hit my damp skin like a slap of reality. What the fuck had I done?
Steam curled around us, dissipating along with the heat of passion and the scent of sex, leaving…what, exactly? Guilt? Regret? The bitter taste of betrayal?
“You okay?” Cerys brushed past me, reaching for a towel. Even that brief contact sent electricity through me.
“Fine.”
She raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. But she didn’t push, focusing instead on wrapping the towel around herself. I grabbed mine, scrubbing it over my skin with more force than necessary, trying to ground myself in the coarse texture rather than the memory of her lips.
“Looks like we both need a fresh set of clothes,” I said, trying to keep my tone light despite the guilt eating me alive.
Cerys nodded, adjusting her towel. “I keep spares for when cheesemaking gets messy. You, on the other hand…” She paused, a wry glint in her eyes as she raked them over me. “Well, you can borrow some of Gareth’s old things. Unless you’d prefer to stay naked, which for the record, I have no issue with at all.”
I forced a laugh, though it felt hollow. Wearing Gareth’s clothes made my skin crawl.
“I’ll, uh, go see what I can find.”
She scooped up the dirty clothes, and we shuffled awkwardly into the hallway. I turned towards the stairs and Gareth’s room, while Cerys headed for the kitchen.
“Nick.” Her voice was soft, hesitant.
I paused, but didn’t turn. I couldn’t face her. It was too much. I had to get out of there, had to escape the suffocating weight of my own shame.
“I don’t regret it.”
My eyes squeezed shut. A part of me soared at her confession, while another part recoiled in disbelief. How could she not?
She hated me. This had to be some cruel joke or a moment of confused feelings. I couldn’t let myself believe otherwise.
I fled upstairs without answering, like the coward she accused me of being. My pace slowed when I reached Gareth’s old bedroom door. Eight years had passed since I’d last stood in that room, but I knew what I’d find inside. A shrine. Well, not in the literal sense. But the room had been frozen in time.
Meinir never had the heart to clear it out. Each time I suggested it, her eyes filled with tears, and I apologised, dropping the subject.
I braced myself, then pushed it open. If only it had squeaked, giving me some warning, some reason to hesitate. I hovered in the doorway, my gaze sweeping over the familiar space.
His band posters still papered the walls. The guitar his dad had bought him from the pawn shop was propped in the corner. Even his bed was unmade, though Meins had picked up all his dirty clothes that once littered the floor.
My chest ached and my feet refused to move, to spoil the snapshot of time by rifling through his drawers.
But the alternative was far worse.
So I gave in and rushed in, my gaze fixed on the dresser like tunnel vision would hold the memories at bay. My hands shook as I yanked open the dresser drawer, desperate for something to cover up my shame. I sifted through the options, catching very faint whiffs of Gareth’s aftershave as I disturbed the forgotten fabric. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
Each shirt, each pair of jeans, carried memories of a time when we were inseparable. A time before guilt and regret became my constant companions.
I pulled out the first faded T-shirt my fingers settled on. My heart lurched at the sight of the stupid slogan — I’m with the band — the one he’d worn on his first date with Cerys. She’d laughed so hard when she saw it, she’d snorted. I’d had to listen to her gush about how adorable and funny he was for weeks after.
I dropped the T-shirt. No way could I wear that shirt after I’d just...
Christ. What kind of friend was I?
I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat and I grabbed a pair of jeans and a plain, nondescript T-shirt and bolted from the room.
Funny how karma works, isn’t it? I’d spent years running from this place, from the memories, from the guilt. Now I was literally trapped by a flood, forced to face everything I’d been avoiding.
And what did I do?
I slept with my dead best friend’s girl.
Fucking brilliant, Nick. Real stellar work there, mate.
As I slipped the clothes on, I couldn’t escape the truth. I’d betrayed my best friend, even if he was no longer here to see it.
The hallway mirror reflected a stranger — a man wearing another man’s clothes, another man’s life. I turned away, unable to face the accusation in my own eyes. I needed to get out of this house, away from these ghosts.
I trudged back downstairs and glanced out of the window, stupid hope taking root in my chest. The downpour hadn’t stopped, which meant I had to go into the kitchen and pretend nothing had happened. That she hadn’t blown my mind and given me a glimpse of a dream I’d long ago buried.
“Did you find something?” Cerys asked when I stepped into the kitchen. She stood at the counter, pouring steaming water into mugs.
“Yeah.” I tugged at the collar. “Though the faster my clothes dry the happier I’ll be.”
She glanced over her shoulder and chuckled at the sight of my pained expression. I pulled out a chair and sank into it, glaring at her all the while.
“They’re just clothes.”
I grunted in acknowledgement. Yes, they were just clothes. But they were the second thing of his I’d taken in less than an hour.
“What do you want to do during our captivity?” Cerys placed a steaming mug of builder’s tea on the table in front of me. “No sugar. Splash of milk. Brewed until you could stand a spoon up in it.”
She took a seat while I stared at it, even more perplexed. She remembered how I took my tea?
This sudden shift in her demeanour threw me for a loop.
She chattered away, her tone light and friendly. I nodded along, munching on a biscuit, struggling to keep up with this bizarre turn of events.
“I can’t believe I slept with my best friend’s girl,” I muttered to myself. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Excuse me?” Cerys’s mug clattered against the table, her eyes narrowing. “Is that all I am to you? Just ‘your best friend’s girl’?”
I winced. “No, I didn’t mean?—”
“Oh, spare me,” she snapped. “Men are all the same — reducing women to possessions, like we don’t get a say.”
“You’re twisting my words.” I tried to keep calm, but her fury tore through me.
She leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Am I? Or are you more worried about some ‘bro code’ than the fact we just shared something meaningful?”
I sighed, running a hand through my damp hair. “I can’t shake the feeling I betrayed him. Gareth deserved better.”
“Gareth is dead,” Cerys said, her voice cold. “And we’re still here.”
The blunt statement crushed the air from my lungs, leaving me stunned and breathless. I knew he was gone. How could I ever forget?
Still I stumbled back, needing something solid to hold on to, and sank into a kitchen chair. My elbows dug into the table as I buried my face in my hands. A familiar, gnawing guilt clawed at my insides, threatening to swallow me whole.
She didn’t get it. How could she? I’d never told her, or anyone for that matter, that I blamed myself.
I should have been there. If I’d been home, if I’d gone with him that night, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Gareth would still be here, laughing, living, making plans with Cerys. Instead, I was the one left standing.
I rubbed my temples, trying to push back the tide of regret that threatened to pull me under. Survivor’s guilt, my therapist called it. But it felt more like a life sentence.
“Yeah.” I forced out a whisper, each word scraping my throat. “And whose fault is that?”
I gestured wildly at the photo. “He deserved better than me for a best friend.”
“Don’t make this all about you.” Cerys rose, her expression hardening.
I spun, fists clenched at my sides. “What do you want? An apology? I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I wasn’t there that night. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry I’m such a screw up that I slept with my dead best friend’s girlfriend!”
Silence fell, heavy as a stone. Cerys just looked at me, her disappointment flickering beneath the anger.
“You want to know what I really blame you for?” she asked softly.
My heart pounded. Here it comes. “What?”
Her answer gutted me. “You left,” she said, each word hitting me like a punch to the gut. “I needed you, and you left.”