Chapter 40 Evan #2
Mark catches my eye across the table and smiles, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. The idea of being a father doesn’t feel abstract anymore.
I buckle my seatbelt and wave to Mark and Michael at the front door. It seemed right to leave, as it was time for Leo’s bed. We didn’t want to overstay our welcome.
“Fancy a drink at the hotel?” Nate says as he tugs his seatbelt on.
“Sounds good.” I pull out of the drive and onto the country road, my chest lifting at the thought of finally having him to myself.
The country lane is quiet, with only my headlights lighting the way, carving a narrow tunnel through the darkness. We drive in silence, but there’s too much sitting between us, and neither of us knows where to put it.
I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “So… that was nice.”
“Yeah.” Nate exhales. “Nice family.” He peers out the window.
Another stretch of silence. I clench my fists around the steering wheel.
If I don’t say it now, I’ll probably never say it at all.
And if I don’t say it at all, it’ll eat me alive.
I kept silent on the drive down here because I didn’t want anything to be awkward when we had to work and have dinner with our client, but there're no excuses anymore, and just the two of us until we go home tomorrow.
“Are we… gonna talk about Monday?”
Nate shifts in his seat. “Monday?”
I breathe out slowly through my nose. He knows damn well what happened Monday. “You know. The office.”
With the glow from the dash, I can see him chewing on his bottom lip
“Ev—”
“Did you tell Nora?” I ask before I lose my nerve. My voice sounds steadier than I feel, my hands trembling as I grip the wheel.
He turns his head slightly towards me. “Not yet.”
My chest loosens and tightens all at once. I can’t tell if I should be relieved or not.
“I thought,” he sighs, “it was best not to. She’s had enough on her plate.”
“Right.” I nod, even though he can’t see it properly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
The road curves to the left. I follow the satnav’s instructions with no idea where this hotel Nora booked is.
Nate clears his throat. “I think… it’s probably best if we just forget about it.”
The lump in my throat bulges, preventing me from speaking. I grip the steering wheel tighter and focus on the road, nodding my head as if in agreement, despite his words killing me inside.
“I’m sorry,” he says, dragging a hand over his face on another exhale. “It shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know what got into me.”
The words carve out a piece of me, hollowing my chest, leaving me empty.
My shoulders curve inwards as if I’m crumbling into nothingness, but I mask it well.
Just like I’ve been masking my feelings for him since we were teenagers.
“Yeah, I don’t know what got into me either. It’s been a strange time.”
“Yeah.” He shifts again and sighs, like he’s relieved.
“You have arrived at your destination on the right.” The monotone voice of the satnav saves us from more awkward silences, and I pull into the car park of the hotel.
Of course this was how it would go. I was an idiot for thinking it meant more. Absurd, really, to think we can ever be anything more than friends. I cut the engine and sit there for a second longer than necessary, hands still on the wheel, gathering whatever pieces of myself I need to function.
“You good?” he asks after a while.
“Yeah,” I say on autopilot. “Just tired.” It’s not a lie. I’m drained, numb inside, yet I can’t turn off the constant humming in my head, like a jumble of thoughts all at once.
We get out of the car, grab our bags, and head inside. The hotel seems elegant, an old manor house converted for the hospitality trade. Nate checks in. I just nod along with whatever he says, not really listening to anything other than the devastation in my head.
“Do you have another room?” Nate asks.
“I’m sorry, sir, we have a wedding tomorrow and we’re booked up.”
“What’s wrong?” I say, trying to concentrate on the present.
“Nora booked us a twin room. You good with that?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Sure.” It was only four nights ago that we shared a bed. Now he doesn’t even want to share a room.
As we wait for the lift, he stands a careful distance from me, hands in his pockets. As if he daren’t stand too close in case I get the wrong idea. I should be used to this, but why does it have to hurt so much?
The lift doors open and I step inside. Nate stands opposite me, arms folded, staring straight ahead like he’s bracing himself. The numbers tick up, my pulse spiking in this close space.
The lift doors slide open. We step out into a quiet corridor, and I let out a breath. Nate leads the way, key card clenched in his hand, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps.
He stops in front of room 46, swipes the card, then pushes the door open.
The lights flick on when he pushes the key card into the slot.
Nate’s body stiffens in front of me. He drops his bag at his side. “Fuck.”
“What?” I poke my head around his body and take in the bed.
One double bed, dressed in crisp white bedding, pillows stacked neatly at the head like an invitation neither of us asked for.
I step around him and drop my bag at the foot of the bed.
Nate strides over to the desk, picking up the guest information card.
I kick off my shoes and sit on the duvet. The room is otherwise perfect: a soft lamp glowing by the bedside, a view of the hotel gardens from the window, the biggest TV I’ve ever seen hanging on the wall.
Nate scratches the stubble on his jaw. “Nora booked a twin,” he says, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll call reception. Get them to come and remake the room into a twin. It looks like those zip and link beds.” His thumb taps on his screen like this is a problem he can fix.
“Nate, it’s fine.”
He spins around, brows furrowing. “What?”
“It’s fine.” I shrug out of my jacket, forcing my body to act casual. Pretend my heart isn’t crumbling all over the carpet. “I’m knackered. Let’s just leave it.”
He studies me. “You sure?”
“It’s just a bed.” It’s not, though. We both know it’s everything we’re pretending didn’t happen.
Nate nods, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “If you’re sure.”
He moves farther into the room, placing his bag on the luggage stand, back straight, his movements controlled.
This is ridiculous. It’s a room. A bed. I’ve slept next to him before. But that was before he said, forget about it. I came here thinking something had shifted. Thinking maybe he’d meet me halfway. Instead, I’m right back where I started—wanting something I’m not allowed to name.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, blinking against the sting in my eyes.
Friends. That’s all we are. And tomorrow morning, I’ll wake up beside him and pretend that’s enough.