Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
NICK
A nother sandbag landed with a wet thud, the damp hessian scratching against my bare arms. Rain lashed down, plastering my hair to my forehead and turning the grass surrounding the house into a muddy swamp.
Cerys trudged past, a sandbag hoisted over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing. She was stronger than she looked. I pitied any guy who tried to insert himself between her and a difficult task.
I grabbed another sandbag, and my muscles burned, but I wasn’t about to let Cerys outpace me. Not that she’d noticed. She moved with single-minded determination, barely sparing me a glance as she dumped her bag onto the growing wall around the front door.
Rain dripped from the tip of her nose, her braid clinging to her back. Mud streaked her jeans, but she didn’t seem to care. She paused, hands on her hips, surveying the barrier like a general inspecting her troops.
“We’ll need another layer,” she said, her voice cutting through the downpour.
I grunted, hefting my bag onto the pile. “You planning to build a fortress? Or just a moat to keep the villagers out?”
She shot me an unamused look. “You got a better idea?”
“Not really.” I wiped the rain from my eyes. “But if we’re going to keep this up, I might need a snack. Or a stretcher.”
Her lips twitched, almost a smile, but she quickly turned away. “Keep moving, rock star. The rain’s not going to wait for you to finish your stand-up routine.”
I followed her back to the pile, my boots squelching in the mud. The ground was a mess, slick and treacherous, and more than once I had to catch myself before I ended up flat on my back. Cerys, of course, moved like she’d been born in the stuff.
She always had a knack for this sort of thing. When we were kids, Gareth and I used to grumble through every chore, while Cerys tackled them head-on, like she thrived on the challenge. She’d race us to see who could fill the most sandbags or stack the hay bales fastest. And, without fail, she’d win. Every damn time.
Now, even with the years apart and all the anger simmering between us, that same determination blazed in her eyes. Meanwhile, I was just trying to keep up.
“Have you beaten your record yet?” I asked, grabbing another bag.
Cerys glanced at me, her brow furrowing. “What record?”
“From the ‘07 flood.” I adjusted the bag on my shoulder, pretending the weight didn’t bother me. “Gareth swore you cheated.”
Her lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through her stormy expression. “He was just mad he couldn’t keep up.”
“Probably. He did call you ‘the machine’ for weeks after that.” I chuckled. “Not that he ever said it to your face.” He’d been too scared she’d knock him flat on his ass.
She smirked and slammed her sandbag into place. “He should’ve been scared. I earned that name.”
“Not arguing,” I muttered, dropping my bag on top of hers. The wall was coming together, uneven but solid.
We’d done this so many times as kids, it felt like muscle memory kicking in. Well, for her. Every muscle in my body was gearing up to stage a protest.
“You’re slower than I remember.”
“I’m pacing myself.” I leaned against the house wall, taking a second to find my balance. “Not everyone can be a one-woman flood defence.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned on her heel and trudged away from the pile, heading towards the shed where the rest of the sandbags were stored.
I sighed. She had to be part cyborg. There was no other explanation for how she kept going without so much as a grunt of complaint. I’d barely caught my breath before she disappeared around the corner, and with a groan, I forced my legs to follow.
The rain was relentless, each drop slamming into me like it had a grudge to settle. My boots stuck in the mud with every step, threatening to trap me if I slowed down too much.
By the time we got back to the barrier, the pile of sandbags looked like it was holding its own against gravity. Cerys didn’t pause to admire the work, though. She dropped her bag into place and went straight for another, her focus razor-sharp.
“You planning to take a nap back there?” Cerys called out what felt like hours later. She’d beaten me to the shed yet again and was bent over one of the pallets of sandbags. She didn’t bother turning around.
“Yeah, thought I’d just lie down in the mud and let the storm finish me off.”
The end had to be in sight. Right? We’d already finished the front of the house. Now we were adding some precautionary bags to the back door, but that had never been at risk of flooding in the past.
“Sounds about right,” she said, her tone dry as the Sahara.
I grabbed a bag off the pallet, hefting it onto my shoulder with a grunt. “You know, some people ease into this kind of thing.”
She turned to me, one brow arched. “Some people aren’t made for it.”
I smirked. “Ouch. You trying to hurt my feelings, Evans?”
“If you had feelings, maybe.” She pivoted and started back towards the house, her pace unrelenting.
I muttered something under my breath about stubborn women and followed her, the weight of the sandbag digging into my shoulder. It was almost nostalgic, in a miserable kind of way.
I couldn’t resist turning to watch her walk away. Don’t ask me why, but there had always been something about the way she moved that captivated me.
“You’re going to burn yourself out at this rate,” I called after her.
She didn’t break stride. “I’m not the one wheezing like a geriatric.”
The words were clipped, and the edge in her tone left no room for argument.
“Easy for you to say.” I clutched my side. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was fuelled by spite.
“Just trying to finish this before the flood sweeps us both away.” She dropped the bag. “The faster you move, the faster we’re done.”
“Ah, so you can get inside and hog all the hot water?”
She spun to face me with an obnoxiously innocent expression. “Would I do that to you?”
“Absolutely,” I said, without hesitation. “You’d leave me with the ice-cold dribble and laugh about it for days.”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t give me the satisfaction of a smile. Instead, she walked away. “Well, maybe if you moved a bit faster, you’d get there first.”
“Is that a challenge?” I asked, dropping the sandbag from my shoulder. My muscles were already screaming, but there was no way I was backing down now.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “It’s a fact. You’re dragging, Nick. You’ve gone soft.”
CERYS
Nick froze, his gaze narrowing, and a mean little flicker of satisfaction danced through me.
Good. Let him squirm.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed sharp. I started walking. Partly because I really was freezing and the thought of a hot shower sounded like heaven, and partly to get away from him. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stop my eyes from devouring every soaking wet, defined inch of the man.
There was nothing soft about him.
He followed me, releasing a low chuckle that skirted up my spine to tease my hormones.
“You really think I’ve gone soft?”
“You tell me.”
I didn’t look at him. Didn’t dare.
In school, needling him had been a sport, something to fill the afternoons between chores. Now it wasn’t just about seeing him squirm. I used to wish he’d notice me the way Gareth did, the way I’d catch myself noticing him when I shouldn’t have. And the worst part? He still had that stupid effect on me, even now.
I put extra stomp in my steps as I power walked back to the shed, clenching my fingers against the urge to kiss the stupid smug quirk from his lips and claw his pointless shirt off while I was at it.
God help me.
I’d spent so long burying those feelings, I didn’t have the first clue how to handle them now.
Lusting after a man who hated me. Could I be any more pathetic?
Probably not, but self-pity wasn’t going to help me get through this. I reached the shed, yanked another sandbag off the stack, and slung it over my shoulder with more force than necessary. The hessian scratched against my neck, and I welcomed the discomfort — it gave me something to focus on besides the man trailing behind me.
Maybe if I focused hard enough, I could shut him out. Not just his voice, but everything about him — his stupid grin, the way his shoulders moved under that soaked-through shirt, and the way my chest ached when I remembered how we used to be.
“You’re awfully quiet over there.” Nick hefted his bag into place beside mine.
I didn’t look at him. “I’ve learned the value of silence. You should try it sometime.”
“Now, that’s just unfair. You didn’t used to mind me talking. Used to laugh at my jokes, even.”
I took a step back, my gaze shifting to anything but him. “Yeah, well, people change.”
“Do they?” His tone was light, but his words hooked into something deeper, making me glance at him despite myself.
His eyes met mine, steady and searching, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. There was something unguarded and raw. It wasn’t the smug defiance I was used to, nor the practised charm he wore like a second skin. This was... vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.
I hated it. Not because it wasn’t genuine, but because it was. Because for the first time in years, it felt like he was asking me a question I didn’t know how to answer. One that I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer.
I forced out a laugh, the sound sharper than I intended, and looked away. If I didn’t, I was afraid I’d start believing whatever it was he wasn’t saying.
“Some of us had to.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I turned tail and got the hell out of there. The shed felt too small, too enclosed, the air thick with the storm outside and something heavier between us.
The downpour was a relief, the cold washing over me as I trudged back towards the barricade. Anything was better than being stuck in there with his stupid voice and stupid face — both of which had been haunting me long before he showed up again.
“You know, Evans,” Nick called after me, not taking the hint, “if you’re going to stomp away like that, you could at least tell me what the hell that was supposed to mean.”
I didn’t stop. “It means exactly what it sounded like.”
The sandbag on my shoulder started to slide and I picked up my pace. He swore and the sound of his steps increased.
“Great, so I’ve got to decode your riddles now? Or is this just a game where you make me guess how badly I’ve screwed up this time?”
“You’re not that thick. You’ll figure it out.”
We neared the back door barricade, and I shifted the bag higher, ignoring the ache in my arms. The last thing I wanted was to drop it and have Nick jump in to save the day.
I dumped the sandbag onto the top row. Swiping at my face, I stepped back to survey the wall. It wasn’t pretty, but it’d hold. For now. The rain hammered down, plastering my braid to my back and soaking through my clothes. Mud clung to every inch of me, and my jeans felt heavy enough to pull me straight into the ground.
“Nice work,” he said, his voice annoyingly casual, like we were painting a fence instead of trying to keep the floodwaters out. “I’d say we’re about ready to start our own flood defence business. Evans and Davies, sandbaggers for hire.”
I snorted, mostly to keep myself from smiling. “That’ll look great on your CV. Professional mud wrestler, part-time drummer.”
Nick crossed his arms defiantly, as if he weren’t drenched to the bone and shivering from the cold. “At least I’d have a fallback. What’s your excuse?”
“My excuse,” I said, turning to face him, “is that I don’t need one. This is my life, not a backup plan.”
Something flickered across his face, too quick to read. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, his boot slipped.
One second he was standing there, cocky grin intact. The next, he was falling, arms flailing like a wind-up toy that had run out of juice. He landed flat on his back in the mud.
The sound he made — a mix between a grunt and a curse — was so absurd that I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Hard.
It started as a chuckle, but the sight of him sprawled out in the muck, looking like a drowned cat, pushed me over the edge. My sides ached as I doubled over, the laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.
“Glad I could brighten your day,” he muttered, attempting to push himself up but slipping again. “Real supportive. Great friend you are.”
I tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The laughter had taken over, shaking me so hard I nearly lost my balance. Was this a mental breakdown? Had the stress finally cracked me like one of the overripe Brie wheels I’d lost in the last flood?
And then, because the universe clearly had it out for me, my boot caught in the same patch of mud, and I went down too.
Right on top of him.
My hands slapped against his chest, his soaked shirt clinging to the solid muscles underneath. One knee wedged awkwardly between his thighs, dangerously close to delicate territory. His arms instinctively wrapped around me, steadying us both, his palms warm even through the cold rain and layers of fabric.
The impact sent a jolt through both of us. We froze, the world narrowing to the sharp intake of his breath and the steady thud of his heart beneath my fingers.
Oh, God.
Did I just knee him?
Nope. Close, but no direct hit.
My cheeks burning, I forced myself to meet his gaze.
Big mistake.
His attention was locked on mine, intense and unyielding, his pupils blown wide enough to swallow the stormy blue. I was acutely aware of every point of contact — his hands at my waist, the damp fabric of his shirt against my palms, the way my braid dripped water onto his neck.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and the teasing edge softened by a note that made my pulse stutter.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got stuck between my brain and my tongue. The smart thing to do would’ve been to scramble off him, mutter some half-assed apology, and move on.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Because I was drowning in the way he was looking at me — like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I should move.
I should say something.
Instead, I leaned in closer, drawn by some magnetic force I didn’t fully understand. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his grip tightening ever so slightly on my waist, and for a split second, I thought...
No. Don’t be stupid, Cerys.
But the thought wouldn’t be silenced, it overpowered sense, added extra weight to the undeniable urge to close the distance between us. Eight years of anger, hurt, and unspoken words melted away under the heat of his gaze.
I swallowed hard. “We’ve done all we can out here.”
His brow creased, confusion flickering across his face. Then realisation dawned, softening the edges of his expression. His lips parted just enough to make my stomach flip.
“We should clean up.” I struggled to push the words past the tightness in my throat. My pulse pounded in my ears, loud enough to drown out the rain, and I wondered if he could hear it too.
His hands loosened their grip on me, the warmth of his touch still lingering. But he didn’t let go entirely.
“Clean up?”
My lungs locked up at the edge of curiosity in those two words.
“Yeah.”
I pushed myself up, only to realise that I was now straddling him, my body pressed intimately against his. I could feel the heat of him through our clothes, and a shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. He was semi-hard beneath me, and the knowledge sent a rush of courage mixed with embarrassment coursing through my veins.
For years, I’d locked away every stolen glance, every flicker of something I wasn’t supposed to feel for him. It had felt wrong back then — like wanting him was some kind of betrayal to Gareth.
But now, every carefully constructed wall I’d built crumbled. He wasn’t Gareth’s best friend anymore, wasn’t the boy I’d forbidden myself from wanting.
He was just Nick.
And God, I wanted him.
I glanced down at him, expecting a smirk, some cocky comment to puncture the tension crackling between us. Instead, his face was unreadable, the storm in his eyes dark and deep, pulling me in.
Neither of us moved, and the rain continued to pelt down, plastering my hair to my face and running in rivulets over his skin.
“You going to say something, or are we just going to sit here until we both catch pneumonia?”
His lips twitched. “I’m thinking about it. Give me a second.”
“You’re going to need more than that to come up with something halfway clever,” I scoffed, though the waver in my voice betrayed me.
“You’d be surprised,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. His gaze flicked to my lips before snapping back to my eyes, and my heart stuttered.
What the hell was I doing?
He’ll be gone in the morning. What does it matter?
True.
I’d let him go, but not before I took something for myself.
Screw restraint. Screw doing what was expected. I wanted this. I wanted him.
For once, I wasn’t going to think about tomorrow.