Chapter Nine #2
He smiled then – slow and a little bit crooked. The kind of smile that used to make me feel as if it was just us two in the room. And for a second I felt it again – that little flutter, low in my stomach.
‘Thanks, Lyds.’
I dropped my gaze, cheeks suddenly warm. ‘No problem.’
‘Too bad it’s not going to happen.’
My head shot up. ‘What? Why? Is it the cost?’
I couldn’t imagine wrapping my head around the figures, projections and losses for that kind of project.
This is why I’d never be able to run my own business.
I couldn’t trust myself with numbers. I could move my body and chat with clients.
I was good at that, but I didn’t want to deal with numbers, with the responsibility.
Just the thought of getting it wrong made my chest tighten.
It was why, even as I despised Craig, I was honest enough to admit that I could never do his job.
‘Liam said no. I’d need his sign-on to do it. We’d need to build on the success and reputation of Lily’s to make it happen.’
‘He thinks it’s too much of a risk?’
‘Yep.’
‘Sounds like Liam.’
‘He’s probably right. It would tank. And I’m not sure I can risk failing.’
‘Ren—’
He raised a hand. ‘Don’t try to comfort me. I’m being a mardy arse. I’m just trying to say that I wanted something for myself, I suppose.’
He shifted his head, finally looking at me rather than the sky.
‘Something that’s mine.’
The word hit me in the chest, and time stretched between us.
His eyes flickered, and I could feel Ren reaching out with his expression as if his eyes were grazing my hands and cheeks.
I didn’t move my eyes, feeling bold enough to hold his gaze as the darkness and the silhouette of trees against the skies cocooned us.
‘Lydia—’ his voice was pained and stretched out. It snapped me back into place. It reminded me where and what we were to each other.
I cleared my throat. ‘I get it. It’s brave.’ I huffed. ‘God, I don’t think I could ever do anything like that. I couldn’t trust myself not to mess up,’ I say, staring at the giant oak tree, and back to the topic at hand.
I knew that, without saying it implicitly, Ren would understand what I was getting at.
My lack of ability to grasp basic numbers – even as simple as addition and subtraction – would always hold me back.
And it wasn’t as simple as using a calculator.
Numbers gave me anxiety. I avoided them at all costs.
I never carried cash because the idea of having to count at the till, someone’s eyes tracking how I couldn’t add up the coins, made my palms sweat and my heart pound.
Ren shook his head. ‘Even with the dyscalculia, you’d do brilliantly. I’ve always said Momentum didn’t deserve you. Craig.’ His voice dropped. ‘What happened with all of that? I got the gist from your mum—’
‘I knew it,’ I sighed. ‘I knew you’d been in cahoots.’
Ren had the decency to look sheepish.
‘I was worried. You looked so… lost. And people were talking about what happened with Momentum… and Casey.’
I shifted my eyes away. Casey had texted me a few times to check in over the last few weeks, to let me know that she’d settled in at her uncle’s house, and then to let me know she had started her course and was doing well.
The texts were courteous and removed, like she was ticking off a to-do list. I missed her, but not as much as I’d thought I would.
In fact, I felt more than a little guilty that I actually missed my job more than her. And, God, if she knew I was on this hike with Ren. I remembered that knowing look she’d given me when she left me in Lily’s.
You murmur his name in your sleep.
Ren continued, thankfully snapping me out of that memory. ‘So, yeah, I texted your mum to check you were okay.’ Ren’s voice turned low and a little lethal. ‘So what did Craig do?’
He shifted to face me, his shoulder against the brick wall.
I turned my head, and… God, he looked… good.
I could just about make out his dark eyes and his tangled hair pushed back from his face.
His face had gone serious, with a flicker of something fierce underneath and somehow it made him more handsome.
Ren had always been so unattainable to me, even when he was the most familiar of faces.
He’d been reserved when I’d been outgoing.
Then, he’d turned flirty and cocky when I’d been unsure, clinging to my rules like a life raft.
It always felt like we were in parallel worlds, with a golden cord pulling us together every so often.
‘You know we’re all freelance at Momentum.’
Ren nodded, quietly waiting for me to continue.
‘Well, he didn’t renew my contract. He said I’d been late too many times. That I wasn’t keeping up with timesheets or hitting all the KPIs.’ I shrugged, like it was a full stop.
‘Those bloody KPIs only showed up when he did. Who actually cares how many of those disgusting protein balls you can flog in a month when you’re a brilliant trainer with a full client list?
’ Ren glared up at the sky like it owed him something.
‘God, he was such a prick. I still can’t believe they promoted him over you. ’
I huffed out a laugh. ‘I wasn’t in the running.’
Ren frowned. ‘Why not? You’re more than qualified—’
Because I didn’t put myself forward.
Ren angled his head to the side, and I was relieved when he changed the subject. ‘You can’t tell me anyone actually likes working with Craig.’
I chuckled, hollow. ‘No, most of the PTs hate him. Ryan was already looking for new jobs before I got canned.’
‘Exactly. It doesn’t make sense.’
I shrugged, trying to play it off. ‘One time I messed up my schedule and turned up two hours late. Craig had switched everything to 24-hour time, and I’ve always struggled with that kind of thing.’
Ren’s jaw tensed. ‘Did he know? About your dyscalculia?’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve never told anyone I work with.’
‘When he got promoted… did he get access to staff files? If you told HR?’
My breath caught. My stomach dropped. Shit. I had disclosed it – back when I had started, during onboarding. It was meant to be confidential.
Ren’s expression darkened. ‘That’s what it is. He knew. And he used it against you.’
My mind whirled, things falling into place.
‘He did start focusing on KPIs and spreadsheets. And he used to track when I’d clock in at work. I thought it was just because of the promotion…’
‘That piece of shit,’ Ren muttered, turning to me, his eyes shimmering. ‘I’m sorry, Lydia.’
My mind was whirling, trying to wrap itself around this new perspective – Craig might have been sabotaging me. On purpose. Maybe it wasn’t all my fault.
The thick tar of shame that had sat heavy on my chest for months loosened. Just a little.
Craig was an ableist arsehole who had used my disability against me.
Cruel, and far more cunning than I ever gave him credit for.
And even if he got away with sacking me, it still wasn’t my fault.
He’d built a whole system just to shove me out – because he saw me as a threat.
I’d almost be flattered, if I hadn’t also wanted to curl into a ball and cry at the fact I still had no job. No career. Nothing.
And then, it all came bursting to the surface. Everything I’d been swallowing down for weeks. All of it.
‘You know what? I don’t even care about Craig.
He’s always hated me and I was stupid to think I could convince him otherwise.
’ I raised a finger. ‘It’s Niall I’m upset about.
I thought he respected me, you know? I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that place.
And it was fine because they loved me, right?
Niall used to meet me to chat about the business.
He has thirty gyms all over the UK but wanted my advice.
He wanted me to train people. He had me run an HIIT workout with the head office at their AGM.
He said I was the example of how classes should be run.
So surely it was worth it? To be wanted, to be appreciated.
But then, poof.’ I clicked my fingers. ‘Gone.’
‘He’ll be regretting it now, I know,’ Ren said. ‘I bet everyone is leaving.’
I shook my head. ‘You think that but the world keeps spinning, even when it stops for you. And I didn’t tell my clients.
I wish I could have, but it was too much.
Too messy. I’d lost ten years of graft overnight, and suddenly I didn’t know who I was without it.
All of those hours spent giving people advice about their knees, or not invoicing people who said they were struggling—’
Ren tutted.
‘—I know, I know. I shouldn’t let people walk all over me. But I just… struggle to say no.’
‘I know you do.’ Ren’s hand twitched, as if he might reach for mine. My breath snagged. But then he dropped it, fingers curling into a fist. ‘I interrupted, sorry. Go on.’
‘I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get out of bed. I had no reason to. And then things started getting bad – I’d wake up feeling this crippling panic about what to do with my day. Too many options – apply for jobs or change my whole life. Both feel impossible.’
‘I think change sounds good,’ Ren said, crossing his arms. ‘For both of us.’
‘Well, I’m not really one for change.’ I shrugged. ‘I like routine. I like reliability.’
I hesitated, then added, more softly, ‘But, for the record – I think Liam’s making a big mistake.’
Many people didn’t realise that Ren’s passion and drive for the things he truly cared about were utterly infectious.
I knew the farm would thrive because he had this remarkable ability to make others believe in his vision.
It was the same way he could talk me into sneaking out at 16 to join a house party or convince me to go skinny-dipping on a midnight walk on Kynance Cove on our family holiday to Cornwall.
His enthusiasm was always impossible to resist.
Ren held my gaze, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes. Sadness maybe. Gratitude. A little bit of hope.
Then finally, he said, ‘Thank you, Lyds.’
We stood silently for a moment until my feet got cold and we slowly walked back to our tents.
I bent to unzip the tent, but Ren’s hand landed on mine, warm and familiar.
I froze, eyes fixed on the veins across his skin, too aware of how close we were.
And too scared to look up and see what was written on his face.
‘I just want to say I’m sorry about what happened with Momentum.’ Ren took a deep breath. In and out. As if this was painful to say. ‘And thank you for listening about the farm. And not laughing.’
‘I’d never laugh, Ren.’
‘I know. I just wanted to tell you to prove to you I’m not leaving again. I’m here to stay. Whether I get the farm or not. I’m here to stay.’
‘Okay,’ I said, too quickly.
Later, back in my sleeping bag, I felt the words catch up with me.
I’m here to stay.
They echoed in the dark, steady and dangerous, until I drifted off to sleep.