Chapter 15
I haven’t moved on
“Where are your shoes?” Rhys asks. He keeps a respectful distance away from me, clearly worried that I might step back if he gets too close. He’s not wrong.
“I took them off.”
“I see.” He looks me up and down and pulls in a breath.
It’s been weeks since I last saw Rhys, so it’s strange to see him standing in front of me now.
He looks the same as I remember, same carefully gelled hair, same clean-shaven face, but the dark circles under his eyes are new.
He looks handsome in his shirt and jeans, even if they are a bit more rumpled than usual. It’s easy to remember why I loved him.
“Why are you out here?” he asks softly.
“Why are you?”
“I followed you. Not in a creepy stalker way,” he adds, seeing the worry on my face. “I was in the karaoke bar, and I saw you leave on your own. I didn’t think you’d want to see me after what I did, but I was worried about you, so I followed you and kept my distance. Why are you out here?”
“I needed some fresh air.”
“Next to the main road? Without your shoes?”
“You don’t have to stay out here with me. You can go back to… whoever you’re here with.”
Oh, God, was he supposed to be on a date right now? Even after us breaking up, I’m ruining things for him.
“I’m just here with a couple of mates, it’s fine. And, just so you know, I haven’t been with another woman since we broke up.”
“Oh, why not?” I assumed Rhys would take the opportunity to sleep with as many women as he could now that he wasn’t tethered to me. “You had no problem being with other women while you were still with me, what changed?”
“I fucked up, Matilda. I fucked up so hard. I hurt you and ruined what we had, which, looking back, was actually pretty damn perfect. I just can’t picture myself with anyone other than you.
I can’t get you out of my head. I miss you, and considering you’re still wearing your rings, I think you miss me too. ”
I look down at my hand, remembering the moment Rhys proposed, then look up at the man himself, standing before me with his hand stretched out for mine.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk. Maybe get you a cup of tea? And some shoes?”
Despite everything that has happened between us, it’s comforting having Rhys with me. And a cup of tea sounds perfect.
“Okay.” I reach out my hand for his and he pulls me close to him. I find myself suddenly cocooned in his arms and I break down again, crying into his chest just as I’ve done a million times, only this time he doesn’t make a fuss about my make-up ruining his shirt.
“Shh,” Rhys coos. “It’s okay, I’m going to look after you.” He kisses the top of my head affectionately, then pulls back to look at my face. “I still love you, Mat. I love you so fucking much. I’m not going to mess this up again.”
I’m so numb I barely take in his words. I just stare ahead as he puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me back down the path and away from the road.
Before long, we’re getting into his car and driving down the same road I nearly stepped into minutes earlier. I’m not sure where we’re going. I don’t really care. But I am a bit surprised when we park outside the twenty-four-hour supermarket.
“I just need to pick up some bits before we go home. Do you want to come in?”
I shake my head and lean it against the cool window.
“Okay. I won’t be long. Will you still be here when I get back or do I have to lock you in?”
“I’ll be here.” Unfortunately.
Rhys leans over to kiss my cheek, then leaves me alone. I see him jog across the car park and grab a trolley, then he disappears through the automatic doors of the supermarket.
For fifteen minutes, I sit in the front seat of the car I’ve sat in so many times before.
And, as I’ve done many times before, I weep.
I weep with self-loathing. I weep with shame.
And I weep for the opportunity to make things right that was taken away from me.
Who knows when I’ll have the courage to try again?
When Rhys returns to the car, he loads the back seat with bags and climbs back into the driver’s seat. He strokes my cheek with his finger, wiping away a tear. This is the Rhys from the beginning of our relationship. It’s good to have him back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sad.” Such a small word for everything going around in my head, but the thought of having to talk it through is too much to take.
“I know, Muffin. Let’s get you home.”
“Whose?” In a moment of clarity, I realise I don’t have a place to call home. There’s Rhys’s home and there’s Connor’s, but I don’t belong in either of them.
“Ours,” he whispers. “Come home tonight. Let me look after you, then we can talk in the morning when you’ve had some sleep.”
“Okay.”
I don’t see much option, other than ask him to take me back to Connor’s, but I don’t want to be a burden on someone else tonight. What’s the harm in staying at Rhys’s for one night?
Rhys drives us back to what used to be our house in silence, occasionally reaching over the gear stick to put his hand on my thigh. When we arrive, he helps me out of the car, grabs the shopping and takes me inside.
I thought coming back here would feel like coming home, but I feel like a stranger in someone else’s house.
Nothing has changed at all, the furniture, ornaments and pictures are all in their place, but it feels different somehow.
I feel different. I follow Rhys to the living room, where he puts the bags down on the couch and rummages through them, looking for something.
“Here,” he says, holding out two of the bags to me. “These are yours.”
I don’t bother looking inside the bags. I’m too tired. “What are they?”
“Pyjamas, dressing gown, slippers, and a change of clothes for tomorrow. I didn’t think you’d be comfortable in that dress much longer.”
“That’s really thoughtful.” And just like that I’m crying again. “I’m so sorry you’re having to do this. I’ve ruined your night! I’m such a stupid, selfish…”
“Mat, you haven’t ruined anything! I didn’t even want to go out tonight, but the lads practically forced me out of the door saying I’d been moping for long enough.
And don’t take this the wrong way, because the circumstances of us bumping into each other are pretty shit, but I’m so happy to have you back here.
This place hasn’t been the same without you. I haven’t been the same.”
Rhys envelops me in his arms again and lets me cry until the tears run dry. When I’ve stopped, I start to pull away from him, and he looks down at me with so much love in his eyes.
“How about you go upstairs and have a shower? No offence, but your mascara’s run so much you look like Alice Cooper.”
I huff a small laugh at the comparison.
“There’s all sorts of girly shit in those bags for you to freshen up. I’ll meet you in the bedroom with some tea and toast in twenty?”
I look into Rhys’s piercing blue eyes as I speak and feel myself start to relax just a little. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, cradling my face in his hands. “You’re my wife, I’d do anything to make you feel better.”
Rhys starts to lean in, presumably to kiss me.
But do I want that? As much as I’ve realised tonight that part of me still loves Rhys, I haven’t yet forgiven him for what he did.
Kissing him would send mixed signals. Then again, coming home with him might have done that already. Shit, I’m fucking things up again!
Pretending I don’t realise what he’s doing, I turn and start towards the stairs.
“I won’t be long in the shower,” I call over my shoulder, trying to hide my tears. “Thanks again.”
I move on autopilot to the bathroom and turn the shower on to its hottest setting.
I want it scalding. I want to feel the pain it causes.
A quick look through the bags reveals some shampoo and conditioner, lavender shower gel, a toothbrush and make-up removing wipes.
After giving my face a clean and brushing my teeth, I strip quickly and jump into the shower, hissing at the heat but standing under the spray regardless.
I lather up my hair, rinse and repeat. I condition the ends.
I soap my body, ignoring the feel of my squishy bits under my hand.
By the time I’m done, I feel halfway human again and climb out, wrapping myself in a damp, musty towel.
Once I’m dry, I pull out the pyjamas Rhys bought me.
The trousers are pink, full-length and cotton, and the matching T-shirt has a picture of a sleepy cartoon dog drinking coffee.
I follow them with the fluffy dressing gown and boot-style slippers.
My body feels like it’s wrapped in a cloud, while my mind is still full of a thunderstorm.
Rhys is waiting for me in the bedroom when I walk in. As promised, there’s a cup of tea and a plate of toast on what used to be my side of the bed. Rhys is lying on his side, already stripped down to his boxers. His chest, though not as tanned as it used to be, is still toned and inviting.
“Feeling any better?” he asks as I sit down and nibble on a piece of toast.
“A bit, thanks. Have you seen my bag? I should probably message Connor to let him know where I am.” I feel Rhys tense beside me when I say Connor’s name.
“Why? Are you sleeping with him?” His annoyance is clear in his tone, though he has no right to accuse me.
“No, I’ve just been staying at his house. In a separate room,” I add. “He’s Ivy’s brother, I’ve known him since I was little.”
We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes while I force down some toast and a few mouthfuls of tea. I expect Rhys to ask more questions or make a snarky comment, but he doesn’t.
“So, have you seen my bag?” I was in such a daze when I arrived, I can barely remember walking in through the front door, let alone where I put down my bag.
“No. But he’s probably asleep by now anyway, it’s 1:00 a.m. Just text him tomorrow.”
I contemplate getting up to find my phone myself, but I realise he’s right. Connor won’t be bothered about me not coming home. He might even have gone straight to sleep without even noticing I wasn’t there.
“You’re right. I’m just going to go to sleep and deal with it in the morning.”
I turn back the covers, climb in and take a deep breath of what I was hoping would be the familiar smell of home, but instead I can only smell the stale bedding.
Has Rhys changed the sheets at all since I left?
I make a mental note to change and wash them tomorrow, along with the towels. It’s the least I can do.
Seconds later, Rhys clicks off the light and curls up behind me, his arm snaking around my waist, pinning my body close to his. He doesn’t seem to mind my still-damp hair as much as he used to and, surprisingly, takes a heady sniff of the apple shampoo.
“It’s good to have you back, Muffin,” he whispers.