23. He Saw His True Feelings
He Saw His True Feelings
Aiden
I wasn’t expecting the welcome wagon when my truck pulled up outside Ruth’s place, but there she was, standing under the porch light as white specks danced around her in the glow.
After a string of ignored messages, a call she ended after snapping at me for not sticking to her schedule, and the follow-up call to Harry where she barked at him for me being late, I was fully expecting Ruth to blow a gasket. Or three.
But when I turned off the ignition, there was no smoke, no fury. Only a crooked, white smile waited for me.
Dread skated across my skin.
Something wasn’t right.
Harry hopped out of the truck first. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and smothered Ruth in a hug. Her laughter swirled as he spun her around before dropping her safely back to her feet.
He took a step back. “Look at you all dressed up, Miss Ruthie.” He let out a low whistle. “Show me more of this outfit.”
“You like?” A little unsteady on her bad leg, she twirled to show off a yellow…dress…thing. What did I know about dresses? It was floaty and way too fancy for a night at the bar. “It’s new. What about the hair?” She twisted her neck and fluffed at the dark lump to give Harry a look at the back.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Ten outta ten.”
I slammed the car door shut, suspicious eyes narrowing on Ruth’s fashion show.
New dress. Hair done up. Enough gold jewellery stacked on her wrists to rival a pirate’s stolen treasures.
She was dolled up like we were going to be the guests of honour at a royal wedding instead of heading out for a drink.
She was definitely up to something—and I’d fallen right into her honey trap.
Once, I’d fallen into her web and taken the fall for a bottle of whisky stashed under the front seat of my parents’ car.
Another time, she’d tricked me into finding her engagement ring the week before Matthew had planned to propose.
The last time was when she’d pulled me into the spare room at her old place and asked about converting it into a nursery.
They’d been thinking about trying for a baby.
Before the divorce. Before the accident.
A sting of salt blinded my eyes. I dragged my palm down my face, begging those buried memories to disappear into the oblivion of my mind where they belonged. Tonight wasn’t the night to get lost in the past. I could hold it together.
I stomped up the stairs to the porch.
Ruth’s smile vanished. “And just what do you think you’re wearing?”
“Clothes.”
“Did you read any of my messages?”
Some of them. Lots of exclamation marks. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure?” she scoffed. “I distinctly remember telling you to wear something nice . And this”—she pointed an accusing finger at my shirt—“is not nice.”
“Told you,” Harry muttered.
My brows furrowed. I tugged at the black Henley to get a closer look. No stains. Fit good. Nicer than the plaid flannel and jeans I usually wore to the bar. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Ruth ignored my question and turned to Harry. “I knew he’d do this.” Her frustrated huff blew wisps of dark hair off her forehead.
He indulged her with a mournful look and pouted. “We can’t take him anywhere, can we, Miss Ruthie?”
“Oh, for fu—” I took a deep breath, saving myself at the last second from ruining Ruth’s special night. “We’re going to the bar. We’re not traipsing down the damn red carpet.”
Ruth’s cane poked me in my shin. “You won’t be going anywhere until you march yourself inside and change.”
“Ruth,” I pleaded.
“Get marching, mister!” She jabbed her cane at me again. “Tonight’s important. This is my first night out in a year!”
I sighed. That was a big deal. She’d been cooped up too long. “Okay.” I turned to head down the stairs. “I’ve got some clean clothes in the truck—”
Her cane whipped out and blocked my path. I wasn’t taking another step. “And those rags will stay in the truck,” she said. “I have what you need. Inside. Go, go, go!”
I flicked a desperate look to Harry. Grinning, he flopped onto the porch swing. “Tootles!” he laughed, waving me off as he put his phone to his ear to call his mum.
That little…
Some friend. Zero help. I was marching into the bowels of hell on my own with the smiling devil whipping her stick at my heels. Two steps inside, I spotted my punishment on the dining table. A postage satchel with the logo of some high-end men’s store sat torn open.
Nope. Not happening.
I spun around, but Ruth’s cane whacked against my shins to stop me in my tracks.
Trapped. There was no escaping the horrors awaiting me in that bag.
She ripped off the tissue paper and pulled out a blue button-up shirt and a pair of scratchy trousers that looked like something my accountant would wear.
“No.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Absolutely not.”
“But look how nice this shirt is!” Ruth pressed the fabric against her cheek. “It’s made from organic linen. It’s so soft. And see, this blue is pretty but masculine and will show off your eyes—”
“No one’s looking at my damn eyes.”
Ruth shoved the pile of clothes at me. “You’re putting these on, and you’re going to like it.”
“No.”
She gritted her teeth. “Put. On. The. Clothes.”
I narrowed my eyes. I was deadly serious about those ugly clothes never touching my skin.
Ruth’s chin wobbled.
Goddammit.
She blinked slowly to blot crocodile tears down her cheeks. “You want me to suffer? Is that what you want? I thought we were friends!”
“Ruth…”
“Imagine what people must say about me! Oh, that Ruth Wilks. She used to be a top-notch police officer once, but look at her now.” She cracked open one tearstained eye to peek at me before continuing to wail. “Nothing but a forgotten spinster. Put her out to pasture. No one will miss her.”
“Give me those.” I snatched the pile of clothes from her hands. “One day, your wobbly chin won’t work on me anymore.”
Ruth twittered a laugh. “The wobbly chin never fails. Go!”
I lumbered down the hallway to the bathroom, cursing under my breath and wondering where the hell I went wrong with my life.
Was it that time I stuffed the last piece of birthday cake into my mouth at Tommy Winslow’s tenth birthday party?
That cake was damn good. It had pink frosting and sprinkles.
But was it worth it? Was it all downhill from there?
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Ruth called out to me from down the hallway.
“Make sure you have a shower! I don’t want you smelling like some seedy motel off the highway for this!
There’s a nice body wash on the shelf for you.
Oh! And fix your hair! Do it nice!” And before I slammed the bathroom door, she yelled a final instruction in case my head wasn’t already spinning. “Brush your teeth!”
Harry didn’t dare laugh at me when I stomped down the steps, primped and preened to Ruth’s satisfaction. My face was a storm. He got the message. He slunk off the porch swing and back to my truck with nothing more than a smirk.
I slid into the driver’s seat, dragged on my seat belt, and tugged at the sleeves of that awful shirt to fold them up to my elbows. That fabric was scratchy as shit. It was nearly as bad as the pants.
“Soft, my arse,” I muttered.
Ruth snickered in the back seat.
“I heard that,” I said.
Harry grinned. “Chin for the win!”
“You’re not helping,” I warned him.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Ruth’s eyes sparkled like the fairy lights she’d had me twist through the branches of the stunted birch tree out the front of her place. Maybe clothes only fit for the incinerator were worth seeing her smile so big for the first time in years. Maybe.
I pulled into the parking lot out the back of the bar, slowing down for the swarm of people milling around. Fridays at the Old Cellar were busy, but this was on a whole new level. I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
You can do it, you weak bastard. Hold it together. It’s just one night.
Harry whooped out a cheer. “Games Night! Awesome!” He leant forward, fingers on the dash. He wasn’t looking at the crowd with puke lurching in his throat like me. He was excited. “I completely forgot this was on!”
Games Night? More like Hell on Earth Night. Well, if this were hell, at least I was wearing the right outfit.
Harry twisted to grin at Ruth over his shoulder. “Who’s on our team?”
Whoa, whoa, whoa . “Team?” I turned slowly, eyes narrowing on Ruth.
She squirmed in her seat. “You know, just a small team.” Her laugh wasn’t convincing. “I invited a few friends to fill up the table.”
My jaw tensed. A sinking feeling was settling in my gut.
Friends? If Yolanda Briggs sat at that table, Ruth’s chin could wobble until Hollyoak’s hairy cows came home, but I’d be out that door faster than she could say organic linen .
I didn’t care if I had to walk the whole damn way up the mountain to get home.
Ruth fumbled open the car door with her good hand, and despite an almost spill that had my heart in my throat, she was out like a shot, her yellow dress lighting up the parking lot as she clipped away from me at an uneven, frantic pace. Guilty as sin, she was.
Inside, she waved Harry away to get us a round of drinks, and I was thankful when she led the way through the laughing hordes to a table in a quieter part of the bar. Water jugs, cups, and coasters were set up for six. A placard with gold lettering sat proudly in the centre.
My fingertips traced the fancy gold swirls spelling out the team’s name. “Taking Care of Quizness?” A grin crept on my face.
Ruth beamed. “Awesome, right? It was Lola’s suggestion.”
My smile vanished. “Lola?” Ruth had better be kidding.
She grimaced. “Yeah, um, you know…” Her eyes zipped back and forth. “Lola came up with the name when we brainstormed over lunch today—”
“You had lunch with Lola? Today?”
Ruth’s eyes darted everywhere. “Well, um, yes .” She gulped. “And maybe— technically —last week, too.”
“Technically, huh?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “So, even though I specifically asked you not to stick your nose in because I’m so shit scared of making things worse with Lola, you went behind my back and spent two days hanging out with her?”
“Well, technically it was three days because she came over for dinner the other night—”
“Ruth!”
Her smile was pleading. “Lola’s real nice.”
That was stating the obvious. “She is.”
“We get along like a house on fire.”
“I bet.”
“You look so handsome tonight.”
I fought back a laugh, but I lost. “Flattery won’t work on me, sister.”
“I promise I didn’t make it worse. I just want you to be happy.” Her good arm went around my waist, and she rested her head on my shoulder. “If you could see the way Lola smiles when I talk about you.”
“You talked about me?”
“Only good things!”
“Like?”
“Um…” She was back to those nervous laughs again. “Stop worrying about all that!” She squeezed me against her side. “Lola’s going to take one look at you all dressed up tonight and— bam! She’ll fall head over heels.”
“It won’t be like that. Maybe one day she might want to be friends, but… more than that…” The shake of my head was slow. “Don’t get my hopes up, Ruthie girl.”
She hugged me around my waist and whispered, “But Aiden, doesn’t Lola look so pretty tonight?”
I snapped my head around to the doors. First came Brooke.
She marched at the head of the pack, red dress, red lips, ready to conquer the world.
Lola slipped through the gap behind her.
Maybe no one else noticed her, but my eyes stuck on that shy girl like glue.
A pure goddess, draped in floral, her cheeks flushed pink from the chilled evening air.
I couldn’t speak.
My heart thundered in my ears as I grabbed for the back of the chair, desperate for the support. My legs had gone soft beneath me, and I wasn’t sure they’d hold me up anymore.
The woman I’d been aching for all week—my whole life—was right there at the door.
She took off her coat. She headed for my table.
My brain registered Hollyoak behind her, his bronzed hand on her shoulder, but I didn’t even grit my teeth with thoughts of yanking it off because I was mesmerised by the pretty twist of Lola’s lips.
That smile.
Suddenly, it wasn’t the crowd of the bar sucking the air from my lungs.
I drowned in memories of every time I’d been lucky enough to be with Lola.
The ill-fated days in her cottage. Wandering around the grocery store.
The night in the bar when I’d become the kind of man I’d vowed never to be. The storm. The two of us in the alley.
Every memory. Good. Bad. But she was always the same. My sweet, perfect Lola, with her wood-chip freckles and the enormous gold-rimmed glasses that slid down her nose.
Ruth’s prediction was almost correct. It wasn’t Lola who fell. It was me. One look at Lola and— bam! —I was head over heels.
Madly. Completely. Utterly hopelessly.
And no matter how many times I reminded myself not to get my hopes up because I had no right to, I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with Lola Hughes.
I had been all along.