33. April
Chapter 33
April
B asil hops up beside me on the bed, headbutting my face as I bury it into the pillows. His soft fur brushes against my cheek and I give him a scratch underneath his chin. He leans into me and I kiss his chubby little cheeks.
I release a long sigh. Thinking back to the woman I was months ago, I can’t help but mourn the version of myself I used to be. That woman was so broken. If only I could go back and tell her everything would be okay—that things would get better, that she would heal and move on. That there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
Sometimes life steers you in a new direction, but it’s better to view it as an opportunity to step onto a different path.
And I like where this one has led me.
Seeing Lucas again today stirred something completely unexpected: pride. I’m proud that I made it through such a dark, uncertain time, when the future felt overwhelming and intimidating. Proud that I faced it head-on and kept going. And above all, I’m grateful—for the incredible friends who stood by me, who never gave up on me, and who nurtured my light when I couldn’t see it myself.
I roll over and stretch my arms out. I close my eyes for a moment, processing everything that’s happened over the last couple of days.
I feel like I’ve broken through the water’s surface and I can breathe again.
I peel myself off the bed and traipse to the kitchen drawer to grab a lighter. One by one, I light the scented candles dotting various surfaces, casting the room in a soft, ambient glow as the flickering flames dance across the walls. The warm, comforting scents of vanilla, chai, tobacco, and caramel weave through the air, wrapping around me in a warm hug.
Then, I turn to the photographs still sitting on the hall table, their frames holding snapshots of a life I’m finally ready to leave in the past. Memories of a person who once was but isn’t anymore. One by one, I slide the pictures free, leaving the frames empty. I stack the photos in a pile before plucking his worn work satchel and old red scarf off the coat stand, exactly where he left them. With my arms full, I head outside to the wheelie bin, toss them in, and shut the lid.
Finally, once inside, I grab the last of his books from the entertainment unit and stack them by the front door, ready to donate to a charity shop.
I feel nothing.
They’re nothing.
For the longest time, I thought getting rid of these things would mean losing a part of myself, like tearing out the final chapter of a story I believed shaped me. But as I stand here now, throwing away the remnants of a life that no longer fits, I realise it’s not the end of my story. Not anymore.
It’s just the beginning of something new.
Something exciting.
James.
I draw the blinds, shutting out the rest of the world. I trudge upstairs to my bathroom, pausing briefly to run my fingers through my hair. Anna’s handiwork is flawless. I love the curls, so I make the executive decision to gather then into a silk scrunchie on top of my head, preserving the style and skipping the shampoo.
I freshen up and release my waves, watching them bounce perfectly back into place. I change into a pair of fluffy bed socks, tartan pyjama pants, and a plain top. Basil scampers after me downstairs, the sound of his little paws quick on the steps. I almost drool when I reach the lounge, encased with all the glorious scents.
I’m poking through the pantry in search of crisps when my phone pings. I spin and I grab it off the counter, glancing at the messages.
Gemma: Well? How did it go?
Anna: Are you okay?
I smile widely upon seeing their names and quickly type a reply: Surprisingly well. I feel so much better. I’ll tell you guys about it when I see you this week. I’m wrecked. Thanks so much for last night. Love you both, xx
Setting my phone back on the counter, I pluck my crisps from the cupboard and tear the packet open. I’m tits-deep in a new TV series when the doorbell rings. Reluctantly, I toss my crisp packet aside and, with a groan, I stand to open the door.
“Swear to God, if this is some Jehovah’s Witness bullshit …,” I mutter under my breath as I shuffle towards the front door. I swing it open and freeze.
He swallows, shifting on his feet, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. Fuck , he looks so good my ovaries almost explode.
He’s in plain black joggers that cling to his thick thighs, his top stretching across his broad chest. And—Jesus Christ—a beanie.
A fucking beanie.
If there’s one thing in the world that could bring me to my knees, it’s a man in a beanie. His sandy waves peek out from underneath, just enough to make me weak. His cheeks are flushed—I suspect from rushing in the heat—and I can’t stop staring.
Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them as shame barrels through me, reminding me of my behaviour from yesterday morning.
“James,” I say, my voice desperate. He lifts a hand to my cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion. The warmth of his touch makes my breath catch.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his left dimple deepening.
“I’m so sorry …” My voice cracks.
He cradles my head in his hands. “Hey, hey …” He bends so we’re eye-to-eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers, leaning in to rest his forehead against mine. He kisses the tip of my nose, and butterflies erupt wildly in my stomach.
“Is it okay that I’m here?” he asks gently, and I nod.
“Good,” he says. “Because it would have been extremely humiliating if you rejected me,” he adds with a smirk.
I close my eyes with a chuckle, stepping aside to let him in. He slips past me, and even with the candles burning, I catch the scent of him drifting through the room.
I follow him to the sofa and plop down, crossing my legs underneath me. James casually throws his arm over the back of the sofa as he sinks into the cushions. Basil jumps up, nuzzling against James’s arm. James gives him a gentle pat, a smile ghosting over his lips as Basil purrs madly.
He turns his gaze to me, his expression tender. “I’m sorry I didn’t call or text yesterday or this morning. I thought you might have wanted some space.”
This thoughtful, beautiful man.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I whisper, leaning in to place my hand gently on his thigh.
I need him to understand. His gaze falls to where my fingers rest, and I can’t resist the urge to study him. The dancing candlelight contrasts the sharp angle of his jaw, his plump, kissable mouth, and the shadow of stubble on his face.
His green eyes connect with mine, covering my hand with his own.
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
He’s so kind, which is far more than I deserve after what I said.
I need to tell him why I freaked out, why I pushed him away. I need to tell him about Lucas’s message, and that I’m ready to move on. With him. He deserves to know everything. “I have a lot to say, if that’s alright?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says, gesturing between us. “This only works if we communicate.”
And he’s right. I nod in agreement before continuing.
“Lucas messaged me,” I say, watching as James’s brows crease. His expression shifts and I rush to ease whatever worry might be stirring.
“Yesterday morning, before you got home. I woke up to a text from him.”
His nostrils flare. “What did he say?”
“He said he wanted to talk.”
James glances away, his lips pressing into a thin line before he turns back to me. “Did you talk to him? Is that why you left?” he asks, his tone worried.
“I did talk to him, yes.” I squeeze his hand. “But I didn’t talk to him before I left.” I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to find the right words. “However, I did met with him this morning.”
His jaw tenses, and I rush to clarify. “It’s not what you think. I promise. Nothing happened. We met for a coffee.” I pause, taking a deep breath before revealing the next part. “He wanted to get back together. He said he made a mistake and that he wanted to try again.”
“I see,” he says, dropping his gaze.
“I don’t want him back, James … I want you ,” I tell him.
His eyes dart to mine.
“We had the most amazing night together.” I thread my fingers through his. “Truly, I’ve never enjoyed or wanted something more.” He gives me a reluctant smile, and his eyes fill with a mix of hope and hurt. “I freaked out because I opened the message, and I panicked. I didn’t know what he wanted, and it caught me off guard. Then you came back with breakfast from my favourite café, which was so thoughtful. It made me realise how much I care about you. But I felt guilty. I kept thinking, ‘does this make me no better than Lucas? Sleeping with you, his brother … am I a terrible person?’” His expression softens as he processes my words, and I continue. “I was thinking about Lucas’s feelings when I should’ve been thinking about yours—about us . I don’t want to hurt anyone, least of all you.”
He gently cups my face, kissing each cheek. His fingers weave through my hair, cradling the back of my head and drawing me closer. His touch sends my heart into a wild dance.
“I understand,” he says. “It’s natural to worry. We’re not in an easy situation. But April,” he says, his eyes searching mine, “you’re not alone in this. I’m right here with you. I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you needed when you asked me what spending the night together meant for us. It meant everything. When I said there’s something between us, I meant it. We’re not imagining this. It’s real, and I want to explore that with you. I think we deserve to explore it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Okay, that’s good,” he says. “While we’re laying everything on the line … There is something else that we need to talk about …”
“What is it?”
“I need to know that you’re okay with this … with us,” he says, rubbing my hand with his own. “Even if Atlas Veil ends up touring next year. It’s not a quick thing, April—it’d be seven months that I’m gone. I just—I need you to be sure.”
My brow furrows. “Are you asking if I can handle it? Or are you asking whether I’ll wait for you?”
“Both,” he replies. “I don’t want to drag you into something that might ruin what we have. I want to land that tour. But I also want you. Seven months is a long time, and I can’t ask you to put your life on hold for me. But at the same time, I’m selfish enough to want you to.”
So am I. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to frame his potential tour as a reason to question whether we should let ourselves enjoy this, to see where it goes. I want him to win this audition—I want the world to see the man in front of me. And if this does continue, then seven months isn’t that long in the scheme of things. If he’s brave enough to face his brother for us, then the least I can do is stand by him through this.
I tilt my head. “James, if you think touring is going to scare me off, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“It’ll be hard. The distance, the schedules. It’s not just about missing each other—it’s about wondering if this thing we’re building can survive that kind of pressure.”
I kiss his hand. “I’m not saying it won’t be hard. But what’s the alternative? Walking away now, before we’ve even tried? I’m not willing to do that. Not now. Are you?”
He shakes his head. “No. God, no. But I also don’t want you to feel like you have to?—”
“Stop,” I interrupt. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle. I’m in this, James. And I’m willing to try, if you are.”
He pulls me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I am. I’m all in, April. I just … I needed to hear it from you.”
“I’m all in.”
“Good,” he says, dissolving the space between us.