17. James
Chapter 17
James
W e slide into the back seat, and the smell of cheap air freshener shrouds us. I shoot Oliver a text asking him to drop my gear off at home, seeing as he has a spare key to my flat. I release a weary sigh and turn to stare out the window, doing everything I can to avoid looking at April. A sombre song from the radio fills the car cabin with melancholy.
I try to shake off my frustration after witnessing that idiot hitting on April on the dance floor. I swear, the moment he put his hands on her, I saw red. I’m not usually a jealous or possessive man, but for whatever reason, she manages to bring out a side of me no one else has.
But what made me even madder was seeing how April reacted to Lucas and his date tonight. I never expected him to show up to a gig; he’s never shown any interest in my music, let alone with a date. Even though April was out with her friends, I could see it—I hated the sadness I caught on her face when she didn’t know anyone was watching. I saw her so clearly in that moment, the hurt and the brokenness. I’ve always had a soft spot for her. I wonder if Lucas ever told her why we aren’t close.
I doubt it.
I’m furious with my brother. Furious that April’s upset, furious that she’s in pain, furious at him for refusing to take any accountability. I think back to when I looked after Basil that weekend after their break-up, when April came downstairs, she looked … haunted . Tired. I saw her left hand, her finger empty of his ring, and I felt sorry for her.
I’ll call a spade a spade; my brother is a piece of shit. He may seem charming and gentlemanly on the surface, but deep down, he’s always treated women like objects—mere entertainment, offering nothing in return.
We were raised in a relatively stable environment, save for Mum’s mental health, which she struggled with on occasion. But for the most part, we were a happy household, so I never understood where his behaviour stemmed from.
Who broke him?
I know he was bullied in high school. He was tall, skinny, and clever, making him an easy target for tormentors. Yet, his past struggles should have little to do with how he behaves as a thirty-four-year-old man.
Some people never accept the responsibility they have for the lives of others.
Perhaps he sought external validation to fill a void fuelled by his own insecurities. Who knows? I was surprised when the relationship with April became serious; I didn’t think Lucas would ever be content with the idea of settling down.
I hear a quiet sniffle, which pulls me back to the present. I turn my gaze to April. Taking her in from head to toe, she’s so fucking beautiful, even in her heartbreak. Her auburn hair spills over her shoulders and down her back. Her maroon-tipped fingers fall limp in her lap. Her long, dark eyelashes flutter and fan against her cheekbones. She’s resting her head against the cold passenger window, eyes closed, defeated.
“I was doing okay. I was seeing my friends and doing things. I thought I was getting better … But seeing him just brought everything back.” Her nose scrunches. “For him, today was just another ordinary day. I won’t even be a thought. But for me, every day has been a struggle. It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on my chest. I just want to reach out to him, to hear his voice.” Tears streak her cheeks as she speaks. “He was my best friend.” She turns to look out the window again, her lower lip wobbling. “Everyone who was supposed to love me has left me … He didn’t want me,” she whispers.
“April, that’s not true—” I start, reaching for her hand. I entwine our fingers to provide some comfort when she interrupts me so softly that I barely hear it.
“Mourning someone who is still alive is a pain no one can prepare you for.”
My heart aches for her.
I pull our joined hands into my lap and rub my thumb in circles over her knuckles, offering what little comfort I can. It feels inappropriate, but right now, her pain outweighs anything else. She looks like she’s lost everything.
“Did Lucas tell you I had a serious relationship a few years ago?” I ask. “It ended just before you two met.”
She looks at me. “Abi?”
I nod.
“Yeah, he told me about her.”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“Not really.”
I respond after a beat, “She cheated.”
“Oh, James, I’m so?—”
I interrupt. “April, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I assure her. “I didn’t exactly find out the same way you did, but …” I look at her, wincing. She rolls her eyes, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
I hate revisiting this day, but I sense she craves someone who can empathise, someone willing to share their own story to help her feel less alone. Clearing my throat, I continue, “We were on our way to dinner. It was our anniversary, and I had planned the whole night. As you can probably tell, I’m not much of a romantic, but I wanted it to be perfect. I made reservations at our favourite Italian restaurant. I even had Oliver light tea candles in my flat while we were out.” I scoff, comprehending how foolish I was. “I had a ring …” I look up, trying to gauge her reaction. Her glassy eyes widen.
“What happened?” she whispers.
“She forgot her phone was connected to my Apple Play. A text message popped up on the dash … It read, ‘I can’t wait to taste you again.’”
April covers her mouth with her other hand. “Oh my God.”
I blow out a breath and nod. “She had been going out a lot, and I hadn’t seen much of her, but I assumed it was just due to her being busy. We all go through busy periods, right? Well, it turned out she was busy …” I shrug. “She was just busy fucking Matt from work.”
“I had no idea. Lucas never told me. I’m so sorry,” she says softly. Now, it’s her turn to rub her thumb over my knuckles. I look down at our joined hands.
How is it that this woman, despite being wholly broken, finds the strength to comfort me over something that happened years ago while I’m trying to ease her pain?
I open my mouth to respond when the driver cuts us off. Neither of us realised that the car has slowed to a stop.
“Number 85? We’re here.”
We thank the driver as April grabs her phone and we step out of the Uber.
April turns towards me on the sidewalk, surprised when I step around the retreating car. Her cheeks heat when it registers that I got out with her.
“Oh, you’re not … you’re not going home?” she questions, fingers fidgeting.
“I will. But I want to make sure you’re alright first. I’m not leaving you alone like this.”
With a sharp inhale, she says, “Okay.” Then, she turns and strides towards the front steps, fumbling around in her clutch for her key. Once she’s opened the door, I peel off my jacket and follow her inside.
The house looks the same as it did a few months ago. You wouldn’t know Lucas didn’t live here anymore. Photographs of their happiest memories together still fill the hall table in the foyer, and the same paintings hang on the wall. Although the plants have withered, everything remains the same. Blankets are strewn across the couch, and the wooden floors are littered with crumbs and miscellaneous debris. Old mugs, empty plates, and takeaway containers clutter the coffee table, left uncleaned.
I see the house didn’t stay tidy after my last visit.
April kicks off her heels, walking to the kitchen barefoot, and flips on the light.
My eyes are drawn to her hourglass silhouette and the way her hips move with every step.
I chastise myself. I’m not here for that.
I toss my jacket over the back of her sofa and follow her into the kitchen. I hear a scratchy crow-like sound before a furry dash of grey catches my attention in my periphery. Basil emerges from behind the kitchen counter and slinks past my feet, darting away before I get to greet him.
“He’s usually friendly,” I say, staring after him.
“You won’t get any love out of him at the moment unless you have chicken,” April says. I casually rest my forearms on the island counter.
“Hmmph,” I grunt.
“He’s fifteen. Leave him alone,” she teases. “Would you like a drink?”
“Sure.”
She fetches a bottle of red and two glasses, setting them on the island before rummaging through the top drawer, eventually locating a bottle opener. I approach her as she continues twisting the screw into the cork to pry open the bottle. Stepping closer, I gently place my hand over hers before the cork releases, pausing her. My pulse pounds and my skin heats where we touch, creating a spark that sends a fiery path up my arm.
She halts upon contact, tipping her head to meet my eyes. Her lips part.
Without her heels on, I tower over her.
We stare for a few beats. My hand still covers hers when she whispers, “Abi was a fool to let you go.”
I don’t know where it comes from, but my response is automatic. “Lucas was a fool to let you go.”
Her brows crease. “Why were you always so quiet around me?”
“I never knew what to say.”
“I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I like you.”
“Really?”
“Plenty.”
“Oh.”
We keep staring. Her blue eyes hold mine, and it’s impossible to look away. The tip of her nose and cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, and her red lips look impossibly soft. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but imagine running my fingers through her hair, tugging her close, and kissing her.
The things I imagine those lips doing to me.
Resisting the urge to reach out and touch this woman is proving fucking impossible.
How could Lucas mess this up so badly?
Blinking, I snap out of the trance. I quickly remove my hand from hers, as if her touch scorches. She releases her grip on the bottle. Looking away, I run my fingers through my hair. April releases the bottle and drops her hand to the counter.
“I don’t think wine is a good idea,” I say. Not because I don’t want any—believe me, I do. But I know if we share a few glasses together, there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.
Her eyes drop to the floor, sad.
“How about tea instead?” I ask.
She clears her throat. “Yes, of course. Is breakfast fine?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck.
“Take a seat, and I’ll bring it over.”
“Sure.”
As April prepares the tea, I can’t shake the tension hovering in the air. I glance around the room, my mind reeling after what the fuck just happened. Surely, I can’t be the only one who felt it—that charged energy every time we lock eyes or touch.
As I wait, I notice how much of Lucas still remains in this room. I didn’t notice it when I checked on Basil. But now, my attention snags on one of his favourite books, Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, sitting on the entertainment unit next to a potted peace lily that looks worse for wear. His old red scarf and leather work satchel still hang on the wooden coat rack by the front door. I can’t help but wonder why he left those things behind if he never planned to return—and why she hasn’t moved them since.
I shake my head and mutter to myself, “ Fuck. Why am I here?”
April returns with the tea and hands it to me. We sit wordlessly, the only sound our soft sips and swallows as we drink.
“I need to thank you,” she begins, “for bringing me home. For listening … for everything. I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this.” She circles her finger in the air. “I know it puts you in an awkward spot. He’s your brother—you probably shouldn’t even be talking to me.”
I place my mug on the coffee table, cupping both knees. I don’t understand why she feels the need to apologise.
I’m the one who insisted on taking her home when she could have easily slid into an Uber with Anna.
I’m the one who got out of the Uber and insisted on coming inside. She’s done nothing wrong. If anything, I’m the one behaving inappropriately.
But I can’t deny I’m relieved that she felt comfortable enough to confide in me.
“You look nothing like him, you know?” she says, her eyes still trained on mine.
“No?”
“No.” She shakes her head slightly, as if she wasn’t entirely sure why those words escaped her lips. Her hands fidget nervously in her lap. I cover them with my own once more to stop her from feeling embarrassed.
“I’m here because I want to be, April. I want you to be okay.”
“Why?” she whispers.
“Because I care,” I say. “I want to help. Sometimes you just have to accept that things aren’t meant to be and start living again, letting go of those who no longer need you. To stop waiting for the one who will never come back. To realise that loving hopelessly is not enough. You need and deserve to be loved in return. This is only the start of a new chapter. Try to embrace what it can bring. I was absent after Abi and I broke up, and I struggled with things. But it got better … It’s all changed now. My life started up again.”
A lone tear traces a path down her cheek. “I wish I’d been enough for him,” she whispers.
I duck my head, level with hers. “You are enough, April. You’re more than enough,” I say.
She sniffles, looking down.
“Just you wait,” I tell her. “Some lucky prick is going to find you and have enough sense to not let you go. Can you imagine being loved the way you love?”
I instinctively raise my hand to sweep away her tear. Time stands still as she swallows and locks her watery gaze with mine. I don’t know why I do it, but hesitation doesn’t stir. My fingertips graze her cheek, tracing the soft skin before tangling in her hair. Drawn by an invisible force, she leans closer, and I close my eyes briefly. She smells so fucking good, like coconut and vanilla.
I watch as she brings one of her hands to encircle my wrist, holding me in place. I focus on her parted lips.
She looks like sin.
I mirror her actions, leaning in closer until we’re only centimetres apart. With her eyes closed, she presses her forehead against mine, her hand trailing over my leg as she draws lazy circles. I fight back a groan as she moves her hand closer to my zipper, inch by inch, and my dick hardens.
I keep our foreheads pressed together as I tentatively lift my other hand, letting my fingertips trail down the nape of her neck before slowly descending over her shoulder. I move lower over the silk fabric until I reach her breast. Cupping it in my hand, I run my thumb over her nipple. It hardens under my touch, and she gasps.
My hand drifts from her breast to her legs, and our knees bump before I slide my hand between her thighs.
“Open.”
She parts her legs without hesitation, and I press forward until my hand cups her heat. Slowly, I press the heel of my palm into her. A loud, desperate moan spills from her lips and I freeze.
April’s eyes fly open, meeting mine. She stares at me with a dazed expression.
I pull away abruptly and stand, putting much needed distance between us.
What the fuck am I doing? Stupid. Fucking stupid.
April gradually rises from the sofa with a look of horror on her face.
“James … I?—”
“I should go.” I look down and take in the obvious erection straining against my jeans before I clear my throat. “Thank you for the tea.”
“That’s okay,” she says softly, frowning as I march to the front door.
I stop, glancing over my shoulder at her. “We’re friends, right, April?”
The question slips out more to ease the guilt nagging at me for touching her, especially after she let her guard down.
“Friends,” she repeats, her shoulders slumping. Her voice is somewhere between uncertainty and something more … Maybe hurt.
I yank open the door and leave without a second glance. I continue walking briskly until I reach the end of her street. Only then do I stop and order a car.
What am I doing? She’s heartbroken and pining over my brother.
What might have happened if I hadn’t walked out?
I wouldn’t have stopped.
I didn’t want to stop.
I am totally fucked.