12. April
Chapter 12
April
G emma’s car rolls to a stop at the kerb in front of my townhouse. We all hop out, and I hug each of them goodbye before they speed off down the street. As I turn and head for the door, my heart drums in my ears and a knot tightens in my stomach—I’m nervous to see James again. The state the house and I were in when we left. God, what must he have thought?
I really hope Basil didn’t shit on the floor.
I rummage through my handbag, searching for my keys, but before I can find them, the front door swings open. James stands there in the doorway, dangling my keys in one hand, a playful grin on his face.
“Oh, right,” I mumble, shaking my head, trying to appear nonchalant. Of course I didn’t take them with me.
I follow him inside, heading to kick off my shoes—but am stopped dead in my tracks. I blink, taking in the room, struggling to make sense of what I’m seeing. The kitchen countertops are bare, free of the clutter of takeaway containers and used mugs. The coffee table is wiped clean, not a trace of the mess I left behind. The floors gleam, spotless and freshly mopped, and a subtle scent of mint lingers in the air.
He cleaned the whole bloody house .
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I take in his appearance. He’s still in his work clothes. His vest is grimy, his chest sweaty—I assume from work and scrubbing this shit-heap—he’s forgone his jacket today, showcasing his tattoos, winding from his left pectoral down to his wrist. I can’t quite believe it. He worked all day, and then stopped by to not only feed Basil, but clean my entire townhouse.
“James, you cleaned? This … this is too much—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“It’s not,” he says with a simple shrug. “I just swung by after work each day to feed Basil and sort out his water and tray. I did a load of washing and cleaned the en suite too.”
Shit. I hope there weren’t any skid marks.
A lump rises in my throat. His unexpected kindness hits me harder than I thought possible.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
I start crying.
My bag slips from my shoulder, landing on the floor as I wipe my eyes. It’s such a thoughtful gesture—so unlike the man I’ve known him to be. Quiet, reserved, broody. Lucas rarely cleaned anything, yet here James is, doing all of this without a word.
He steps closer. “Hey,” he says. “Please don’t cry.”
He bends down until we’re eye level, his hands moving over my shoulders in long, soothing strokes. The steady rhythm of his touch works its way through me, and slowly, the tears subside. Our gazes catch. His throat bobs as he swallows, his jaw tightening for just a second.
Up close, I take in more detail than ever before—the subtle gold and brown flecks scattered through his green eyes, like sunlight breaking through leaves. There’s a tiny scar just above his left eyebrow, so faint it’s almost invisible. His lips press into a thin line as he studies me. I don’t know how long we stand there, staring at each other, before he whispers, “Hey, April.”
“Hey, James,” I whisper back.
His attention shifts from my eyes to my lips, then back again. His gaze feels gravitational, pulling me in. Instinctively, I shift closer. I’m not sure why; I just do. As if he’s magnetic. Then, abruptly, he clears his throat and steps back, as though my touch might burn him.
My cheeks heat, unsure of what that was, self-conscious that I made him uncomfortable.
My thoughts are interrupted by the rapid pitter-patter of tiny paws as Basil bounds down the stairs, making his grand appearance. I swivel towards him with a smile. “Hey, baby!” I coo, squatting to meet him.
Trotting towards me, he leans into my hand, arching his back and purring like a little engine, the sound rumbling through him. I run my fingers along his soft fur, giving him all the scratches he demands. I glance up at James. “Thank you so much for looking after him. It really means a lot to me,” I say.
He gives me a small smile. “I’m happy to. I’m glad the girls could take you away for a bit. Did you have fun?”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m not sure I’d call it fun , exactly. But it was … interesting.” I try to inject positivity into my voice. “It was nice to get out of the house, at least. We had some laughs.”
The room falls quiet, and I fidget nervously as he frowns.
“What?” I ask, unsure what to make of his reaction.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says simply.
My brows knit in confusion and he adds quietly, “It’s okay if you’re not okay.”
My eyes drift to the hall table, cluttered with framed photographs—pictures of Lucas and me, snapshots of happy moments I once thought we’d carry with us forever. I’ve avoided these photos since Lucas left. I can’t bear the reminder that they represent a life I thought we’d still be living. Instead, James is here, looking after Basil and cleaning my house. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The finality of it hits me like a punch to the chest.
“I’m not okay,” I admit.
James’s expression sharpens. He watches as if he’s trying to read me, to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.
“Do you hate me?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“What? Why the fuck would I hate you?”
“Because I asked him to leave. I—” I swallow hard. “I told him to go.”
James’s jaw tightens. “I think we both know he deserved it. He didn’t have to walk out that door, but he did,” he says, his voice even and firm.
I shift on my feet. “He told you everything?”
James scoffs, the sound dry, tinged with bitterness. “Mum did. But we both know he didn’t tell her the whole story. I’m sure I can fill in the blanks.”
“Oh,” I murmur, unsure what else to say.
He gives a small nod.
“How do you know?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
His expression hardens. “I just know.”
I want to ask more, but his tone tells me not to push, so I leave it be.
“I should probably get going,” James says, moving towards the front door.
“Right, of course. Thanks again.” I pause, rocking back on my heels. “I’m sorry the girls dragged you into this. You didn’t have to come, but … I’m glad you did.” I offer him a grateful smile.
James glances back at me, softening just enough to stir something in my chest. “It was no trouble,” he replies with a wave of dismissal, followed by a quick kiss to my cheek before turning to leave.
The gesture surprises me, leaving me stunned.
He’s never so much as hugged me before.
I grip the door-frame as he descends the front steps. When he reaches the pavement, he turns, tucking his hands into his front pockets, his shoulders hitching slightly in the cool air. He gives me one last sharp nod.
“Bye, April,” he says.
“Bye, James,” I reply softly.
I watch as he retreats down the footpath. My eyes trail after him until he reaches his car and disappears from sight. Only then do my shoulders deflate, and I let out a long, shaky breath.
Closing the door behind me, exhaustion finally settles in, and I drag myself upstairs. I kick off my shoes by the bed, pull back the covers, and slip beneath the fresh, cool sheets. Reaching for my phone, I open Instagram and type Lucas’s name into the search bar.
User not found.
The realisation hits and it feels like I’ve torn stitches—Lucas blocked me. He actually blocked me. He’s only been gone a week. I drop the phone onto the bedside table with a hollow thud as grief takes hold.
Just when I thought I couldn’t feel worse, he’s landed one final blow.
Curling into a ball underneath the duvet, I squeeze my eyes shut, mute and numb as the darkness creeps in, taking hold and pulling me under.