Terms of Agreement

61. Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Aiden

I was an idiot for thinking that Uber would be faster than the train. On a Friday night? In central London? My sides burned as I raced up the stairs to the venue, taking them two at a time. I’d ended up running the last few blocks, unable to sit in the traffic and desperate to get here—to her.

It was all I’d been able to think about for the past hour. Getting dressed. Getting a ride. Showing up. But now, as my chest heaved with exertion and I strode towards the seating chart, the uncomfortable sheen of guilt that I’d been battling all week thickened into a suffocating layer of shame.

Pushing a hand through my sweat-slicked hair, I raked a shaky finger down the list of tables. This was not how I’d wanted tonight to go, but here we were. My eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar set of curls. Most of the tables were empty—I’d missed dinner. Shit.

What if I was too late? I knew how much Charlotte had been dreading this event. What if she’d already left? Gaze snapping back to the list of tables, I continued my search with renewed determination. I had to find her. I had to try.

There!

My finger halted its descent, tracing over the embossed lettering of her name.

Charlotte Hall

And, just below that:

Aiden Walsh

The erratic thumping of my heart soothed at the sight of our names and, not for the first time this week, I realised what an idiot I’d been.

Louise was right to call me a coward. I’d spent most of our eight weeks together holding my breath, waiting for the bubble to burst and so, when we ran into Bridget, I’d torpedoed the fucking thing. Because what I felt for Charlotte? That was about so much more than sex. And in the face of the woman who’d wrecked me, I’d panicked and hurt the woman I couldn’t admit I was falling for.

I hadn’t realised it. At the time, I thought I’d been doing the right thing, protecting Charlotte as well as myself by ending things before either of us got hurt. It was only later that evening that I’d realised what a crock of horseshit that was. Because the realisation that it was over? That I no longer had an excuse to see her? To make her smile? To wake up with her body curled against mine? That fucking hurt.

I’d wanted to go to her right away. But I’d had no idea how to articulate what I was feeling—something that my little walk down memory lane with Bridget had only confirmed. I was shit at expressing myself, at putting feelings into words. So, most of the time I let my actions speak for me. And my actions had shouted all the wrong things.

Two emergency therapy sessions later, and my had therapist confirmed what I already knew. That I was a git. And then she helped me unpack my conversation with Bridget, and figure out what to say to Charlotte. I just… hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to say it yet.

But I was ready to say it now. Taking a step back from the seating list, I double checked our table number before turning on my heel and setting off. I’m coming, Cupcake.

***

‘Have you seen, Charlotte?’ My question, aimed at the only two people still at the table, had the pair jerking in their seats and whirling towards me. The woman studied my face, her brow pinched in concentration as she tried to place me.

‘Oh!’ She snapped her fingers and pointed at me. ‘You must be the boyfriend.’

Pleasure thrummed within my chest at the term that had become all too familiar these past few months—the title I hadn’t expected to hear ever again. An underserved feeling of contentment spread across my skin as I straightened, puffing up with pride.

‘She was here a little while ago,’ the woman said, her head swivelling from side to side as she scanned the room before turning back to me. ‘Maybe check the loo?’ She let go of her date’s hand to point towards the sign at the back of the hall.

‘Thanks.’ I nodded, offering her a genuine smile.

Weaving my way around the tables and dodging the discarded purses, shoes, and other paraphernalia that littered the floor like landmines, I made my way towards the bathroom. Pushing open double doors beneath the sign, I turned down the long hallway, following the signs towards the restrooms.

God, I hoped she was in there. I could have waited at the table—I probably should have. But I needed to see her. It couldn’t wait.

I let out a confused grunt as someone shouldered past me, so consumed by my thoughts that I hadn’t seen them coming. Following my body’s momentum, I turned to face the man who’d all but walked into me.

He was looking at me, face flushed and an accusatory glare in his eyes. I cocked my head to one side, watching as he took staggered steps away from me. Didn’t I know him? I squinted, but the lights were too dim, and he had moved too far away for me to get a proper look at him. Shaking the niggling sensation from my mind and continued towards the restroom.

The word “Ladies” was stencilled in a soft cream colour across a tall wooden door at the end of the hallway. I’d made it. Glancing at my surroundings—an empty hallway and a potted fiddle-leaf fig tree—I realised I couldn’t just stand there, looming in front of the door to the women’s bathroom. What if someone saw me? I frowned at the potted plant beside me. They’d swap “boyfriend” for “perverted loiterer” in a heartbeat, and then what chance would I have with Charlotte?

I couldn’t just leave. Well, I could, but I didn’t want to. Going back out into the hall felt very much like moving backwards—like regressing. So, with few other alternatives, I began walking a path back and forth in front of the door, deciding that pacing was less threatening than looming—even if only a little. My heart and mind raced with nervous apprehension as I completed turn after turn in front of the door.

What if she didn’t want to see me? My stomach spasmed painfully at the thought and I turned on my heel, retracing my steps, thinking.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled, breathing so deeply that the painful expansion of my lungs burned away the doubt and cleared my thoughts. I had to focus.

I’d go in, apologise and make good on my promise. I’d see out the rest of the evening—if she wanted me to. And if she didn’t… My throat tightened at the thought. Well, I’d figure that out if it came to it.

Curling my fingers into a fist, I raised my hand and, after a quick check that the coast was clear, rapped my knuckles against the door.

The sound, which felt so loud in the empty hallway, was met with silence. Fuck. A prickle of doubt crept up my spine. What if she’d left already?

‘In for a penny—’ I mumbled, cracking open the door and peering inside. ‘Charlotte?’ My voice carried through the restroom, and I took a hesitant step forward, the sound of my shoes echoing against the tiled floors.

Stepping forward and allowing the door to swing shut behind me, my gaze drifted to the bathroom stalls and paused at the sight of the little red chip above the lock—Someone was in there.

With my hands raised, I moved slowly towards the door, praying to God that it was Charlotte, and that I wasn’t about to scare the crap out of some stranger.

I was just about to knock on the door when the sound of ragged breathing reached me. I frowned, moving close enough to press my ear to the door. Whoever it was was crying. My head reared back, and I studied the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

‘Charlotte?’ Please don’t be her.

‘Aiden?’ My name came out tremulously, drifting through the door, and I took a hasty step closer, my fingers splaying against the wood.

‘I’m here, Cupcake,’ I answered. Relief buoyed in my chest. I’d found her. I didn’t try to restrain the smile that pulled at my lips. But, as silence stretched, broken only by the sounds of quiet sniffling on the other side of the door, worry churned in my stomach.

‘Are you alright?’ I asked, my tone soft but pleading as anxiety charged through my veins and my thoughts raced through dozens of what ifs—each one more catastrophic than the next. But none of my imaginings could have prepared me for the pain that twisted like a knife in my chest when her tearful voice whispered a quiet “no.”

‘Can you open the door?’ I could hear movement behind the door, but not the kind of movement that gave me any hope of the door being unlocked.

The sound of her panicked breathing was my only answer. Screwing my eyes shut, I forced out my next words.

‘I can go…’ I whispered, straightening in front of the door.

‘No!’ Her desperate cry echoed across the marble countertops, cutting through the silence of the room.

‘Okay,’ I said, a bud of hope unfurling beneath my ribs. Slowly, I lowered into a squat, my back resting against the door and my elbows atop my knees. ‘I’ll just wait here until you’re ready, okay?’

She didn’t reply, and for a while the only sound was her breathing—her panting, gulping for air as if she couldn’t get enough. Each of her broken breaths was like a physical blow, but I forced myself to be still and be silent. Fighting myself and that innermost part of me that wanted to break the door down and gather her in my arms.

‘I want to go home,’ she whispered at last, her voice cracking on the last word.

I straightened. I was ready.

‘I know, Cupcake. I know,’ I soothed, studying the lock from the outside but unable to find a way in. ‘I’m here.’ Something shifted behind the door, and I continued, coaxingly, ‘I’ll get you home.’