Chapter Thirteen
Ryan’s beard scratched at my face, the ring in his lip applying pressure against the heat of my mouth, every fevered movement sending a charged vibration rushing across my skin.
His lips plucked mine. Forceful. Strong.
His tongue dipping in and out, fighting me, matching every move I made as if this were a game.
He pulled back slightly. Not quite letting me go, but enough to drag his tongue across my bottom lip, his teeth grazing afterwards.
And I shivered, remembering how he liked to tease.
The nibbles against my flesh, the tug of my lip between his teeth.
It was the same. Except for the beard and the metal ring that pierced his mouth.
He tasted the same. Even after all this time.
A hint of tobacco and smoke, the hops of beer on his tongue.
And the heat of those memories came rushing back, flooding my body.
I pushed into him, the promise of his body not far away.
The leather of his cut was cold against my fingertips, the material harsh, unforgiving.
Ry slowed. His mouth teasing mine, softer than just before. Tentative, like he wasn’t sure, yet his tongue still deliberate. Now it felt like he was taking his time. Exploring me all over again, or looking for something different, and I wondered whether he found it.
And then he broke off, moving his face from mine.
Not far. Just enough to look at me. To see me.
My head buzzed. Confusion and excitement creating a contradictory cocktail.
I exhaled slowly, deliberately, like I could breathe him out of my system if I tried hard enough.
It didn’t work. He was still there, on my lips, in my chest, under my skin.
Straightening slightly, I pulled what control I could back into place.
I should have pushed him away the moment he leaned into me.
I shouldn’t have let these feelings creep back.
He was my past. I needed him to stay in the past. Instead, I’d kissed him back.
Like no time had lapsed. Like he hadn’t disappeared.
Like he hadn’t left me standing in the rain, waiting for something that was never coming.
My fingers curled into my palm, pricks of pain grounding the chaos of my emotions.
Anything to steady the sudden shift inside me.
I used to think the worst feeling in the world was that night.
Standing in the rain. Waiting. I was wrong.
It was this. Being here in front of him now, knowing exactly what he felt like, how easily he could still undo me, and not knowing what to do with it.
Something buzzed, low and methodical. Ryan closed his eyes, his face tightening. It broke his hold on me. He shuffled back, diving inside the leather jacket under his cut and pulling out his mobile, the green on the display casting a sickly glow over his face as he frowned.
“I have to go, Soph,” he mumbled, not lifting his eyes from whoever’s name was on that screen.
I nodded, fighting the heaviness pushing down on me. It had started when he broke the kiss. Rejection all over again. Deep. Crushing. Irrational. But there all the same.
I watched him stand, towering over the top of me. He’d changed from the tall, gangly teenager he had been. He hadn’t just filled out, he’d morphed into a mountain. Solid, huge. Dangerous. But my heart fluttered anyway. Or maybe it was my stomach. I chewed on my lip as I watched him.
“Can I see you again, Soph?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence, reminding me I was staring at him.
Words disappeared just as quickly, like a hundred rabbits scarpering for cover.
I kept staring, my eyes tracking the earrings travelling down one earlobe, dashing to the other side to the big, black metal ring stretching the flesh in the other, losing themselves in the intricate tattoos that hid under his beard.
“Soph?” he prompted, his voice quiet.
“I…I dunno. This…” I drew a circle with my hand in front of him. “I wasn’t expecting any of this when I came back. You. To see you, I mean. And now you are here, in my flat, trying to get back into my life. And I don’t know how I feel about it.”
Ryan’s face darkened, and he answered with just a nod as if he understood something I didn’t.
“It’s probably for the best.” He nodded again, pocketed the phone, and moved around me. “Good bye, Grey.”
Grey.
I didn’t watch him leave. I stared at the wall in front of me, feeling the pressure building in my chest. Familiar.
Too familiar, yet almost alien, it had been so long.
Like someone had just ripped my chest open.
I didn’t need Ryan back in my life, challenging memories, unlocking emotions I thought I’d buried so deep I couldn’t possibly feel them again.
But here he was, leaving my flat, leaving me.
I felt the first prick in my eye. Hot and fuzzy.
It slid down my face, leaving a warm trail, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand, wiping it away and forcing the rest of them down like I was swallowing something solid.
I’d buried tears long ago. Thirteen years ago.
Barely one had spilled down my face since then.
Not since I’d cried enough of them to re-fill the River Tyne in the middle of a drought.
That day I promised myself I would never cry because of a man ever again. And I hadn’t, not till now.
The door of my apartment clicked closed, and this time I did turn, the only thing of him left, that deep woody scent. And I quickly covered it with the air freshener that sat on the kitchen bench.
I should never have gone to their clubhouse.
*****
I checked my mobile again. Nothing had changed from the last time I’d looked at the screen two minutes ago. The only thing different was the time, ticking towards six.
Pathetic.
I locked the screen and dropped it into my lap, pressing my thumb into the edge like I could ground myself through it.
Like I hadn’t already checked it a dozen times since I’d sat down.
He didn’t have my number. I knew that. But it didn’t stop the part of me that expected something, anyway.
A message. A missed call. Anything that proved he hadn’t just walked out of my life again as easily as he’d walked back into it.
Something to show he might actually have fought for me, like he didn’t the last time.
The moment I’d shown uncertainty the other night, he’d just accepted it and left.
I probably should be grateful he’d tried to respect my wishes. But I wasn’t.
“You’re very distracted.” My father’s voice cut through the low hum of the room, calm and measured as ever.
I glanced up, forcing my expression into something neutral. “Long day.”
His eyes didn’t leave me. They never really did. Always watching. Always weighing.
“Hmmm.”
I knew that noise. It meant there was more to come.
That he hadn’t finished with me yet. But for now, the silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the distant clatter of crockery and the murmur of voices from somewhere deeper in the home.
A television droned, too loud for anyone to really be listening.
The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and overcooked vegetables. Clean. But not fresh.
I shifted slightly in the chair, the plastic edge digging into the back of my legs.
“The boys said they had some intelligence come in,” he said casually. Too casually. “A few days ago.”
My stomach tightened. The boys. Dad’s old team. He’d retired years ago, but he’d never truly left the force. They were always there. At the end of the phone, at the pub, calling round his house to see what he knew about this person and that. The Police needed him just as much as he needed them.
I kept my gaze on the far wall. “About what?”
“About you.”
There it was. I felt it land, heavy and deliberate, but I didn’t react. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t give him anything.
“Apparently,” he continued, “you were seen in a place you shouldn’t have been.”
A beat. He waited. But we’d played this game before, and I was good at it. My eyes stayed on the wall.
“The Kings’ clubhouse,” he said. And now I knew I was in the shit.
Didn’t matter how old I was now. It didn’t matter that I had my own house, my own income. I knew I was in hot water. My fingers curled slightly in my lap. Not enough to notice unless you were looking for it. And he was always looking.
“I went to see a friend,” I said, keeping my voice level. Bored, even. Like it didn’t matter, because he’d detect the slightest note of anxiety. The slightest hint of uncertainty. He always did.
“Did you?”
I turned then, meeting his gaze. “Yes.”
He held it for a second longer than necessary.
Measuring. Calculating. Like he was deciding how far to push it.
Or how much he already knew. Or waiting for me to panic and spill everything.
I no longer panicked. Now I was almost as measured as he was.
The silence between us thickened, pressing in.
In the distance, a voice rose suddenly; sharp, confused, before being gently soothed back down by someone else.
My chest tightened and I looked away first.
“Are they bringing her through soon?” I asked, nodding vaguely towards the corridor.
“Shortly.”
Shortly.
That could mean anything in here. Five minutes.
Twenty. An hour if she was unsettled. I swallowed, my gaze dropping to my hands.
Last time she hadn’t known who I was. The time before that she had.
Briefly. A flicker of recognition that had lit something fragile in my chest before it disappeared just as quickly.
I didn’t know which was worse. Remembering. Or not.
I reached for my phone again before I could stop myself, the screen lighting up in my hand. Still nothing. Of course there wasn’t. A familiar pressure built in my chest, tight and unwelcome. Not panic. Not quite. Not yet. Something else. Something I recognised from years ago.
I shifted again, crossing one leg over the other, trying to shake it off. Trying not to think about the way he’d looked at me. The way he’d said my name.
Grey.
My throat tightened. I pressed my lips together, hard enough to feel it.
“You’d do well to be careful, Sophie,” my father said quietly beside me.
I didn’t look at him this time.
“Those aren’t people you want to associate with.”
A pause.
“Trust me.”
Something cold slid down my spine at that.
Trust me.
I stared straight ahead, the hum of the building settling around me, pressing in. I didn’t trust him. Not about this. Not about any of it. And I didn’t think I trusted myself either.
“She’s ready for you,” the woman dressed in pale blue scrubs said quietly, her expression soft in that way people wore here, careful, like they already knew what this might cost.
I pushed myself to my feet, smoothing my hands down my trousers out of habit more than anything else. My chest tensed as I stepped forward. I hated this part. The few seconds before you saw her. Where she could still be anyone. Mam. Or not.