Chapter 3
ELLIE
An intoxicated six-foot-plus hunk of man wrapped around me wasn’t how my nights typically ended—typically?
more like ever—but in the grand scheme of things my life was steadfastly routine.
Between my job and running around after an inquisitive four-year-old, it was incredible how little things changed day to day.
But change was good, or so they say, so it wasn’t all that surprising how much I enjoyed clinging to Jake for dear life as we made the ten minute walk home.
Well, I walked. Jake staggered. Arm slung loose and heavy across my shoulder, there was nothing but my fierce grip on his waist and a whole lot of prayers keeping us upright, our considerable height difference not helping matters.
The whole time Jake sang random songs completely off-key and without a care in the world for the late hour.
“Your turn, Ellie. Let’s make it a duet.”
I wanted to laugh, but one wrong move and we’d both end up on our asses. “I don’t know the words.”
“Psssshhhh. Everyone knows the YMCA.”
“Maybe the chorus.”
“Then sing the chorus.”
God no. I could not sing to save my life. Luckily for me—and Jake’s eardrums—we’d reached my building, and I was saved from making a fool of myself.
“Oh, finally,” I muttered. “We made it.”
“Yeah, we did! Let’s sing the YMCA to celebrate.”
I couldn’t not laugh this time. “Come on. We need to get up these steps and then we’re home free. Careful though. They’re pretty icy and we came too far to end this night with broken limbs, okay?”
“Or sore asses.”
“That too.”
Miraculously, we made it up to my flat without injury or disturbing any of my neighbours, at least I hoped.
I muzzled another laugh when Jake slumped like a sack of potatoes against the wall while I fished for my keys, and again when he imitated my request to be quiet by pressing a finger to his lips and pretending to zip up his mouth and throw away the key.
“Almost there,” I whispered, then froze as a door swung open along the hall.
My neighbour, Max, stepped out, his dark hair mussed and sticking up around his gaming headphones. He’d weaponised a tennis racket, which seemed unnecessary considering his biceps were as big as my thighs. Weapon enough, if you asked me.
“Everything okay here, Ellie?” He eyed Jake suspiciously. “I heard a commotion.”
“Everything’s fine, Max. Sorry we disturbed you.”
“Are you sure?” He lowered the racket but stepped closer. “You’re not saying that for the sake of it, are you? Blink twice if you need help.”
Oh my god. His heart was in the right place, even if his head wasn’t, which was Max all over.
“No, it’s all good here. I promise.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Who’s asking?” Jake mumbled, trying to stand upright and having little success.
“No,” I blurted, needing to wrap this up fast. “Just a friend in need. I’m gonna get him inside now. Thanks for looking out for me.”
Max flashed a grin, retreating back to his flat. “Anytime. You ever have any trouble, you know where I am.”
“Thanks. Goodnight!”
When I opened the front door, Maggie was in the hallway frowning at her watch.
It wasn’t unusual for her to greet me after a late shift, usually wearing a colourful shawl and sherpa-lined slippers ready for the walk to her flat next door, but her face was the picture of shock as she took in the state of my unexpected guest.
In the five years we’d known each other I hadn’t once bought anyone home so I could only imagine what she was thinking.
“Ellie!” she gasped. “What’s going on? I was worried.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be this long. This is my friend Jake. He needs somewhere to stay tonight.”
Maggie looked him up and down. Her nose wrinkled. “And you thought bringing him here was the best option? Look at the state of him. What about Noah?”
“Who’s Noah?” Jake asked.
Well, shit.
“He doesn’t know about Noah?” She was aghast, and it wasn’t like I could blame her.
What kind of mother am I?
Despite asking the question, Jake apparently didn’t care about the answer, leaning against the row of coats hanging on the wall, his eyes closed now that he’d found somewhere comfy to lay his head.
“I wanted to tell him,” I whispered, “but you know what I’m like. It’s hard.”
Unlike Jake, or Maggie, I wasn’t the kind of person who found conversation easy.
I never knew what to say, and I replayed any dreaded awkward silence for weeks afterwards.
Job interviews were exhausting and anxiety-inducing on another level, and I was glad to be part of the generation who rarely talked on the phone because it sounded like hell.
“What have I told you before?” Maggie squeezed my hand.
“Practice makes perfect,” we said in tune. “I’ll try next time, promise. And don’t worry about Noah. He’s asleep, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then it’s fine. Nothing could wake him now; he sleeps like the dead. You get some rest.”
Her frown deepened. “I don’t like this.”
“I know, but I trust Jake. He’s harmless.”
“You didn’t trust him enough to tell him about your son.”
The accusation bruised, even if she had a point.
“That had nothing to do with trust. That was about me. I wanted to tell him, but the longer I didn’t, the weirder it felt to bring it up randomly. I know that doesn’t make sense to you, but that’s how I felt.”
I hated having to explain the inner workings of my anxiety-riddled, overthinker’s brain. Giving voice to it was like an interrogation spotlight, and nothing ever looked good under such a harsh, unforgiving light.
Maggie watched me for a few moments longer, trying to make up her mind, but eventually made her way to the door. “You know where I am, okay?”
“I know. Thanks, Maggie. Text me when you get home.” I kissed her cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe you could join us at the library.”
“I’d like that, and you mister.” She poked Jake in the chest, startling him awake. “You keep your hands to yourself.”
“What hands?” he asked with a shit-eating, sleepy grin.
“See,” I told her, stifling another laugh. “Harmless.”
She gave a doubtful-sounding hum, eyeing Jake with distrust, muttering, “I’m watching you,” as she slowly closed the door.
“Your mum seems nice,” Jake said dreamily.
“She’s not my mum,” I replied, even though it often felt like it.
“Why’s she in your house then?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow when you can remember this conversation, okay?”
“Okee dokee.”
“Come on drunky.” I nudged him into the living room.
The sofa pulled out into a bed, bought cheap and secondhand, but I wasn’t sure I could set that up and watch the man swaying beside me. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind.
“Let’s get you settled. Take your shoes off.”
“Are you trying to have your wicked way with me, Ellie?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t be starting with your shoes.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you have a foot fetish. Do you have a foot fet—”
I slammed my hand across his mouth. “It’s quiet time, okay?”
The skin around his eyes crinkled, and the movement of his smile widened behind my palm. Even drunk off his face and reeking with alcohol, he was so damn charming. Not many people could pull that off.
“You wait there while I get you a pillow.”
Jake stumbled, but gave me a stern-looking salute. “Yes, m’am.”
Still grinning, I headed to the airing cupboard in the hall filled with clean towels and bedding. By the time I’d wrangled a spare pillow, Jake had taken off his top and was working on removing his jeans, though his belt had other plans.
The shape of his back caught me off guard, and I stared at the strong slope of muscles around his shoulders and down his spine, then the surprisingly dark path of hair trawling his stomach when he turned around.
“Right, here you are.” It wasn’t easy keeping my voice unaffected, not with him looking like that.
His belt buckle jangled and he kicked off his jeans. I fluffed the pillow at one end of the sofa, trying to ignore him standing there in his boxers. Tight, butt-hugging black boxers. His thighs were more muscular than I’d anticipated and inexplicably, I had a flash of kneeling between them.
Oh my god.
It was so vivid, like I’d recalled a memory rather than a fantasy, and everything inside me burned.
“Look at this guy.” Jake plucked one of Noah’s soft toys from the coffee table, his grin goofy. “You can sleep with me.”
“Come on. Lay down. Get comfy.”
“I didn’t know you were so bossy,” he replied, but did what he was told. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
He peered up at me with a drunken smile while I covered him with the granny square crotchet blanket usually draped over the back of the sofa.
“I’m only bossy when I need to be.”
“S’okay,” he said, yawning and wriggling to get comfortable. “I like it.”
“I’ll leave a bucket on the floor in case you feel sick, okay?”
He grunted in reply.
I watched until he sank into sleep, set the mop bucket by the sofa, then padded into my son’s bedroom down the hall, the room lit by the softened amber glow of the sleepy sloth nightlight.
Noah always started the night all snuggled up in his duvet like a burrito, but at some point he’d kicked the whole thing off and was now star-fished halfway down the bed.
I love him so much.
I tucked him in, then stared at him for a while, something I did most nights when I hadn’t been the one to put him to bed. It never erased the guilt over that, but I always felt better afterwards, like I’d refilled my Noah-tank ready for the next day.
“Princess Pearl,” he murmured, arm flopping above his head.
My stomach flipped wondering what Jake would think when he found out, and what this might mean for our friendship moving forward.
Tomorrow would be interesting to say the least.