25. Rosy
TWENTY-FIVE
ROSY
I knock on their front door, and my lip unconsciously slips between my teeth.
Max had messaged this afternoon whilst I was at work, asking if I could pop over as he needed to talk about something with me.
After the bad day with Brett and Peter, I hadn’t had the chance to check any messages.
I’d only seen it just as I was leaving to drive home, and I was a nervous wreck the entire journey back.
Has there ever been a positive “we need to talk” message?
No, because they don’t exist.
It’s always for something bad, and it’s throwing my mind completely trying to figure out what he wants to say.
Did I upset him by something I did or didn’t say? We had fun at the farm yesterday, but maybe I somehow did something wrong. I’ve started relaxing and not second-guessing what to say when I’m around Max, but now I’m regretting letting that part of me drop my guard.
It was stupid, careless.
So here I am, still in the teal silk wraparound dress I wore to work, hands clammy and feeling a little unsteady, wondering what he wants to discuss. It feels like no matter how you phrase those words, they’re always daunting and a clear sign something you don’t want to hear is going to be said.
The door swoops open, and the man himself is standing there, a strained smile gracing his boyish face.
It’s definitely not good news then.
That’s okay. I can apologise and learn from whatever mistake I’ve made. It can’t have been unforgivable, otherwise he would’ve reacted at the time.
Right?
Or perhaps he was just too nice at the time, and he held it in.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“Hey, you, thanks for coming over. I know you’re tired, so I really appreciate it. Did you want a drink? Anything to eat?”
My brows crinkle at his understanding words. Perhaps he’s just disappointed rather than angry at me. A sliver of hope rekindles.
“Sure, no worries. No, I’m good, thank you,” I reply, stepping over the threshold and waiting as he shuts the door behind me.
“Come on through. Bry’s just in his room, I think. Noah will be back from work soon, and Nate’s still at the gym. How was your day?”
Dragging my feet reluctantly, I follow Max into his room, stopping to take a moment to look around. It’s completely what I’d expect…a little chaos. Clothes are dotted around, on the floor, on the bed, and a sock hangs off a window handle. How does that even happen?
A couple of signed football memorabilia pieces are hanging on the wall. The dark burgundy-and-white bedspread is unsurprisingly not made, and the curtains are mostly drawn back, but as if done in a rush. The wardrobe is partly open, as are a few of the clothes drawers.
And an open packet of biscuits lay on the bedside table.
But amongst all the chaos, it smells blissfully of Max; like being in the fresh air surrounded by bay trees. If it weren’t for the situation that pulled me in here, I’d be tempted to just curl into the bed and enjoy being in his space.
My attention is pulled back to him as he stares at me.“Sorry, did you say something?”
“I was just asking how your day was,” he replies, with a small smile that seems more purposeful than natural.
It’s strange to see him standing there so tense, compared to his usual confidence and ease.
“Oh. It was okay, thanks. Just usual work stuff…how was yours?” The social politeness that I’m so accustomed to using around others somehow feels false with Max.
The words taste bitter and acidic on my tongue.
It’s formal and impersonal, even if the question itself isn’t.
I doubt he invited me here to ask about my day.
It’s just a filler question, one to stall or soften the blow.
He starts pacing around the room. Picking things up only to place them somewhere else.
“Same as you. Usual pressure to pick up the pace, to get things completed quicker and quicker, so homeowners can move in,” he advises, adding a lacklustre laugh. If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes, I would’ve sworn the sound was from someone else, not Max.
“Oh. I’m sure you’re great at it.”
Even without knowing why I’m here, on top of the self-doubt and worry, it’s still hard not to want to make him feel happier. Perhaps this is all just about work, as he’s under a lot of pressure. He’s not confided in me before about work, but maybe that’s what this is?
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Are you struggling with something at work?”
He doesn’t answer straight away; instead, his steps falter, then he drags his palms up and down his trousers.
Shit.
Sweaty palms aren’t good. I’m familiar with that.
Tension builds within me, my stomach churning heavily.
I take a moment to really look at him. His face is solemn, devoid of all his usual laughter, and that scares me more than I thought it could.
The dread in my gut clenches like a vice, and my throat burns with acid.
My mouth parts, ready to beg him to tell me what he needs to say. But I don’t need to.
“You deserve more, more than I can give you, Rosy.” Empathy courses through his voice, a raw sadness that snakes through me, biting at my vulnerability.
I flinch at the abrupt change in conversation, but confusion over his words has a frown deepening across my face.
I deserve more? I’m unsure what that even means. I haven’t asked for anything from him, have I? But somehow his words still pierce…something. A dull ache spreads through me, overriding every other feeling and emotion, like a disease infecting every cell.
I don’t say anything, my body rigid and unmoving as he continues to pace in front of me, from one end of his room to the other. The absence of words is deafening and uncomfortable.
“I’m…not sure what you mean…” I eventually say. I need him to give me something more so I can understand.
“Fuck. This is hard. It’s just…this doesn’t feel casual anymore, and I’m not looking for anything more than that.
I respect and like you too much, and I just can’t give you what you need.
Please try to understand that?” His voice lifts achingly and he pauses and glances at me.
“I can’t risk going through all the heartache and pain.
I don’t think I could take hurting like that again. ”
Hands clutching at the front of his shirt, he takes a step towards me, eyes glistening with moisture, and that has a zing of venom straightening my spine.
His words should hurt; his words should wound. They felt sharp, so why can’t I feel the cuts they inflicted?
Instead, I feel empty. Shouldn’t I feel…something?
A half-choked sound escapes me, part laugh, part sob. I blink quickly, and stare up at the ceiling, willing the tears to sink back into my body and not break free.
Because, of course, happy-go-lucky Max, who spreads warmth and laughter wherever he goes, wouldn’t want to take a chance on me.
On us.
Am I too broken?
Too much for him to want?
“I haven’t…asked you for anything,” I choke out, some part of me reacting and wanting to shrug off his words. Perhaps then he’ll stop and not say anything else that will damage the fragile pieces floating in my chest.
“No, I…I guess you didn’t. If this is all me misreading things, then I’m sorry. I’d thought there was a spark between us, and it’s not something I can explore with you. It just isn’t something I want. I can’t risk it going wrong.”
There’s a part of me that understands his words, his past hurt and concern.
Shit, I’ve been hurt by people too, and it’s a risk putting myself out there.
Time and time again, I have had men take an interest in me, only to walk away after getting to know me.
Friends drifted away when I wasn’t able to nurture the relationship while caring for the only person who loved me.
Now that I’m alone, there’s no one to shelter me from the loneliness.
Turns out Max is seeing what everyone else has.
I can’t help the insecurities that rise and take over, reminding me that, as per usual, I’m not enough.
How can it feel so heavy to lose something that hadn’t really started between us? He hadn’t promised anything; I shouldn’t have expected more.
Damn me for having hope.
“No, I get it. I’m not what you want.” My fingers curl into fists at my sides.
Resentment is a destructive tidal wave crashing through me.
Resentment at Max for not wanting to risk anything for us, at the world for making me this broken for him to want…
and at myself for daring to think more of myself.
“That’s—no. That’s not what I said.” His words come quicker now, whether from anger, frustration, or guilt…I can’t tell. I don’t want to try to decipher his feelings in this moment. I’m too crowded by my thoughts.
“It’s okay, Max. I didn’t ask anything of you, and if I gave the wrong signals, then I’m sorry. I’m…seeing Nate.”
His weight shifts back and forth on his feet. He’s probably so desperate for this conversation to be over, for me to leave.
I clear my voice, trying to say something, anything at all, but it’s too clogged with the unshed tears I’m trying to hold back.
“I don’t want us to not be friends, Rosy. You're my friend. I promise I’ll be that for you. I just…I can’t offer more…you know?” he whispers, no longer looking at me, and that has a pang of hurt hitting the back of my throat.
He rubs the back of his neck roughly with a hand, tousling his hair. My heart flips, wanting to reach out and fix it for him, then it dips, knowing I can’t share any more intimate moments with him.
He’s not mine to do that with.
My eyes fall shut, not wanting to see the pity in him any longer.
I…I don’t know how to navigate this.
Being around Max is so natural; he makes my mind feel quieter…freer. But now? Now I need to be mindful of his boundaries, to not be too comfortable that I make him feel uneasy in my presence.
A soft touch brushes against my arm, and it might as well have been an arrow shooting into my body.
It hurts for him to touch me so delicately, so carefully.
The touch penetrates, striking through my numbness, and just like an avalanche, all my emotions, all the pain, and all the feelings come crashing back in through my body.
I blink rapidly. My throat’s thick as I battle the tears threatening to break free.
I will not cry.
A desperate need to be alone has me stepping back from the warmth his body radiates. His face is so earnest and apologetic that I can’t take it anymore.
“I…” Clearing my throat, I glance up at the ceiling, blinking heavily.
I try again. “I understand, Max. You don’t need to explain anything to me.
As I said, we didn’t promise each other anything.
I want to be your friend too.” Pain radiates in my tone, and I hope he doesn’t notice it. That he doesn’t see through my lie.
Because I don’t understand, not completely, and I do want him to explain. I want him to explain why I’m not enough. Instead, I offer a small smile, step in to give him a quick hug that hurts more than any rejection I’ve received before, then turn and quickly walk away.
I need to be home, to feel safe, so I can let everything go and grieve something that we never had.
And will never be.
As I leave the suffocating confines of Max’s space and enter the living room, my body freezes momentarily when I see the rest of the guys all seated and chatting amongst themselves.
Shit. That’s right. I’m not at home.
I’m here, in their home.
Max had said they’d be home soon. I just wish it hadn’t been this soon.
My body manages to unfreeze and move forward, and as I take a deep inhale, readying to make my excuses, Noah turns his head and catches my gaze.
A frown mars his brows, and I immediately plaster a smile on my face, not wanting him to see the ice freezing through my veins as pain threatens to overwhelm me completely.
I want the numbness back, to feel nothing. I’d give anything to have that emptiness back.
“We didn’t know you were here. Are you okay, Rosy?” Noah asks as he stands up and moves towards me.
He places a soft hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes. I smother the gasp that wants to tumble from my lips. It’s as though he’s reached inside and squeezed my already bruised heart.
I can’t take his kindness or his pity right now. I’ll crumble and fall to pieces.
Before I can respond, Max appears from his room. His serious expression is all but erased, replaced with his standard cheerful smile.
The smile I had plastered on my face for Noah’s benefit slips, and I bite down on my lower lip to contain the quiver as my emotions threaten to spill out.
It looks like he doesn’t even care. I’m barely holding on, and he’s smiling.
I need out.
“I’m all good, Noah. I-I just forgot that I have some work I need to get done at home, and I have a bit of a headache coming on too. So I’ve got to go. It was lovely to see you.”
Guilt tries to fester as I see Nate’s narrowed gaze watching me. I can feel it penetrating my skin, but it’s overshadowed by the icy-burn of hurt burrowing into my being. He’s watching me break; he can see right through my facade and knows I’m struggling to breathe.
Not waiting to hear their responses, I offer a backwards wave over my shoulder, then all but run out of their flat. I speed-walk to my front door, needing to get behind it and give myself a chance to build those walls back up.
Shoving the door shut behind me, I brace my back against it, my head thudding loudly as it tilts back, and I let a sob break free.