Chapter Eleven
Dear Diary,
Ren came over last night, and we went to my room to watch a film on my DVD player. It felt… different. Not bad, just a bit strange, like maybe we were getting too old for this.
Did it mean we were… together? Like boyfriend and girlfriend?
Annabel has a boyfriend at school, but they never even hold hands.
Honestly, I don’t think they’ve ever spoken outside of lunch.
It’s weird. But Ren and I actually talk.
We hang out all the time. He helps me with my maths homework, and I help him with English, but I wonder if he actually needs the help.
He’s a lot smarter than people realise, he just doesn’t like to make much effort.
I thought about asking him, but what if he laughed? Or worse – what if he stopped coming over? Sometimes he looks so sad when he gets here, like his whole day has been heavy, but he always cheers up when we put a film on. That’s why I always pick the funny ones. Shrek is one of his favourites.
After he left, Mum said it was fine for him to come into my room, but the door had to stay open now, and there would be no more sleepovers. I told her I didn’t care, but I did a little bit. It felt like something was changing, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it.
Oh, and he smelled nice.
Love,
Lydia.
Lydia
The water scalded my skin, a hum catching in my throat – even as guilt thrummed in my chest for taking the only hot shower.
Mandy explained on our arrival to the camp, which was much smaller and more rustic than the last, that while there was a shower block, there was only one cubicle with working hot water, despite her appeals to the owners to keep it in working order.
I’d offered it to Amy as she sat outside her tent with a dazed look that told me she was knackered.
She looked desperate to shower and to hit the hay, but she waved me off with a smile.
I didn’t hold back the victorious, smug look I shot Ren as I grabbed my microfibre towel and headed to the shower block, and I heard his huffed laugh.
I shifted my shoulders, shaking them under the hot water, feeling it burn on my cold skin.
I had a complicated relationship with showers – I hated the idea of them, the wet floors, hair sticking to my skin.
But once I was under the hot spray, the smell of my shampoo in my nostrils, I never wanted to leave.
You could call it a love-hate relationship of sorts.
It was worse knowing I’d leave this warm shower cubicle, my wet hair hitting the fresh air, covering me in a chill.
But what I truly hated, even more than cold, wet skin, was washing my hair.
I exercised for a living. There was never a perfect day for it, never a guarantee I wouldn’t blow-dry it only to sweat through it minutes later.
It was the bane of my career – but also a reminder that my problems were, on the whole, pretty minimal.
My throat thickened. Hair washing wasn’t a problem now. I had no job, no gym, no clients.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the panic tried to push itself through my blood.
Just don’t think about it.
I shut off the water, rubbing my skin dry with the thin, pink towel.
I wrapped the towel around myself, berating myself for not just bringing my clothes in here and changing – it would be a cold run across the campsite back to the tent.
I braced myself, opening the door, preparing to run, until a warm, firm body slammed into mine.
Ren had come out of the cubicle opposite me, his body colliding with mine, almost making me drop my towel. I held on tighter, my hair still around my shoulders, and looked up to find Ren…
…topless.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, stray droplets sliding down the hard planes of his chest. My eyes traced the tanned skin down to where his dark-wash jeans sat low on his hips.
My eyes followed his forearms as they flexed, clutching a flimsy towel in his right hand.
Ren was lean, never bulky, but there was strength in the way he moved.
As if he could hoist me up without thinking twice, pin me where he wanted, and make me feel how strong he really was.
Surprise rippled through me when I saw dark ink swept from his upper arm, curling over his clavicle and dipping on to his chest. Flowers bloomed in fine lines, delicate, intertwining, anchored by a sun and moon nestled across his pec. It was intricate and beautiful.
I couldn’t help but stare.
‘God, Lydia. I’m a person, you know. Not a piece of meat.’
His voice yanked me out of my horny trance, my stomach flipping as if I’d been caught doing something I absolutely should not be doing.
God, the moment at the top of Mam Tor, and now this.
Heat crawled up my neck, but I kept my gaze locked on his smirking face as he ran the towel thrown over his shoulder through his damp hair.
Do not look at his chest. Or his arms. Or the V-cut disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
I glanced up to find that I wasn’t the only one staring. Ren’s smirk was gone now, as he made his own perusal. His eyes were darker now, dragging over me with a slow, deliberate stare, as if I’d given him permission to look. As if he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
A pulse of something electric shot down my spine.
‘Lydia. You look so…’ His voice was rough, and I hated that my breath hitched, waiting for the next words.
‘Tattoo,’ I croaked, desperate to change the subject. Or just have a subject, because I hadn’t said a word since he’d walked out of the shower.
Ren’s expression flickered and a flush crept up his neck. My eyes snagged on the flowers, something about them seeming familiar. I stared at the swirling ink.
‘Lilies,’ I murmured, reaching out before I could stop myself. ‘You got lilies for your mum.’
‘Yes.’ Ren’s voice was husky, strained, and I glanced up to find him staring at where my finger was touching his skin. I pulled away as if I’d been burned.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said, his voice low. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered, then swept down to where the towel clung to my damp skin.
‘It’s just… I’ve thought about this. You.
And me. What I would do if I had a second chance – and none of those thoughts included a busy campsite or shared shower cubicles. ’
Heat bloomed across my cheeks. That voice, that look on his face.
It sent me spiralling back to that night in my childhood bedroom, when we’d done very adult things.
The sweep of his tongue between my thighs.
The way his fingers gripped my hips, held me still as he groaned into my skin.
His murmured encouragement, raw and reverent, as I shattered beneath him.
All of those memories played, and I could see from the way Ren’s eyes darkened that he had gone there too.
Ren stepped forward, heat radiating off him in waves. And, God, I wanted to crash into him and press my mouth to his, forget everything but the feel of his hands on me. But a voice, small, sharp, and impossible to ignore, sliced through the want.
I had to get a grip. Change the subject. Anything to pull focus from the fact that he was inching closer, his eyes scanning my face as if he was looking for a crack in my resolve.
I forced the words out. ‘What does the rest mean? The tattoos.’
He reached for my hand, his fingers wrapped gently around mine, guiding them over his chest. I wasn’t breathing. I wasn’t even blinking. I was touching him, but it felt like he was touching me – every nerve alight.
‘This is for Mum, like you said. And this—’ he traced my hand lower, ‘—this is magnolia.’
My breath caught.
‘Because your dad loves telling the story of planting that tree when Sandra was pregnant with you. She cried when she saw it, remember? And he always says it bloomed—’
‘—the day I was born.’
Ren nodded. Then he drew my hand across his chest, over the sun and the moon.
‘And this… this is me. Dark. A little moody.’
‘You’re not dark, Ren—’
‘Shush,’ he said softly, smiling. ‘Not finished. This,’ his fingers brushed the sun, ‘this is you.’
My heart thumped.
‘Me?’
‘Sunshine,’ he said, his gaze lifting to mine, steady, intent, like he needed me to hear this.
‘You’ve always been the light I needed. So I thought I’d keep you here.
’ He pressed my palm flat against his chest, holding it there.
‘Right over my heart. Where you’ve always been, even when I was too much of an idiot to say it. ’
His voice was hoarse now. His eyes flicked down, just for a second, then back to mine. He shifted closer. Just a fraction. If I angled my head up, just slightly—
His breath brushed my cheek. My pulse pounded in my throat. His hand tightened around mine, as if he wanted to keep me there.
‘When,’ I managed, ‘when did you get this?’
‘The day before I flew out. Gen squeezed me in. Rushed appointment.’
It was like a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over me. I stepped back, wrapping my towel around me.
While I’d been spiralling, confused and heartbroken, he’d been inked with secret messages he didn’t have the guts to tell me.
He didn’t get to do this – show up with pretty words and art etched across his skin.
He didn’t get to tell me that it had been there all along, while I lay in bed alone, reliving whatever I’d done wrong that night.
While I agonised over what I should have done differently.
‘Lydia.’
‘It looks good.’ My voice was distant, light.
Just smile, Lydia.
‘Lydia. Talk to me.’
‘I’m a bit cold,’ I gestured to the tent. ‘I better—’
‘Lydia, wait.’
I stopped, but refused to turn around. I couldn’t look at those tattoos.
‘We’re going back to Everly Heath,’ Ren said. ‘Before the Wales trip.’
‘Yes.’
Mandy gave us a weekend between trips to refuel and rest before we trekked four days across Wales and climbed Snowdon.
Ren said, his voice thick, ‘If… if you were open to it, we could go to Wales together. I’m driving there anyway and I can pick you up.’
I didn’t turn back, as I said, ‘I know you think we’re okay. I know we’ve shared a few laughs. But I’m not there yet. Nowhere near. There is so much—’ my voice cracked.
There is so much I was still angry about, and I couldn’t even put it into words.
‘I know and I’m here if you want to shout or scream at me. I get it—’
I turned, meeting his gaze.
‘Ren. Are you listening to me? I’m not there yet. The more I’m around you, the more I realise that I haven’t processed anything. You leaving, what happened between us. Losing my job. None of it. So you need to stop pushing me.’
His nod came immediately, flooding me with a confusing combination of relief and guilt.
‘Absolutely. I totally understand. I’m sorry I pushed you. I won’t do it again.’
He ran his hands through his hair, keeping his eyes on the grass.
He was growing quite a bit of stubble on the trip, and I hated how it made him look even more handsome, more rugged, although I’d always liked his boyish features.
I got up to leave, feeling the need to put distance between us.
But even then, I couldn’t completely dismiss him.
‘Ren—’ I spun to face him, and he stood upright, like an eager Boy Scout.
He turned, his eyes eager. ‘Yes?’
My lips twitched. He looked like a Boy Scout.
‘It hasn’t been completely terrible. You know, having you on this trip.’
The small, hopeful smile he offered me in return threatened to crack my resolve in half.