Chapter 25
Aiden
“Who’s Fern?” Georgia calls from the kitchen. “Are you seeing another girl?”
My body plunges straight into fight or flight mode, my heart tries to escape through my trachea, and sweat is already building behind my mo.
“It’s Eggs!” I call back. I’m in the living room, and I’ve left my phone on the breakfast counter.
What I imagine happened is that Eggo has texted me and his name, Fern, is flashing up in the preview pane. There’s no way Georgia knows my unlock code, but I can only hope he’s not sent something obscene like he usually does.
“What does he want?” I try to force neutrality into my tone, but I feel like spewing. Whatever he says, I’m sure I can pass it off as a joke. Just “bants” from one of the boys.
I steady my breath and move into the kitchen, hanging around by the doorway so it gives the impression I’m not internally freaking the fuck out, despite my body’s sudden urge to eject my post-training snack all over the floor.
Georgia looks up from her own phone. “Hmm? Oh . . .” She glances at my screen again, and the slightest frown mars her brow. “Why does it say Fern?”
“Autocorrect. I . . . never bothered to change it,” I reply, but the crease above her eyebrow intensifies.
She stares at me for five, ten, fifteen seconds. I think I’m definitely about to lose my chocolate and peanut butter shake. Ignoring an autocorrect mistake might be the most un-me thing I’ve ever lied about. George knows this too. “What’s Fern’s last name? Where does she work?”
“It’s Finn. I promise you it’s Finn. I’m not cheating on you with a girl named Fern.” I should just tell her . . . “But I am cheating on you with your best friend’s boyfriend.”
God, it would make things so much easier to break it off right here and now and tell her the truth, but that would also mean destroying Eggo and Megan’s relationship, and that’s not mine to mess with.
Or maybe it is. I guess Eggo made it my business when he involved me in his affair before I was even dating Georgia.
He should never have kissed me, or fucked me, or let me fuck him.
Neither of us should’ve let it go on for as long as it has.
We should’ve stopped after that first time, right after we said we were going to stop.
We could still end this now. I could make a promise to myself that I’ll break things off with him, and I wouldn’t be lying to her any more. Wouldn’t be sneaking around behind her back and sweeping over my tracks as I lay them.
My phone buzzes on the counter again. The sender’s name flashes up, Fern, and my pulse spikes.
He’s sent a picture. Georgia expands it to fit the lock screen, and as I get closer, I see it’s a selfie of him wearing a tiny little hat with a plastic rainbow brolly on the top.
His caption reads: Found this for Trekkie. Had to buy it.
The rush of relief hits me like a prop with a tackle shield. It’s clear as day that Fern is, in fact, Finn.
Georgia seems to mull over this revelation, and my heart and lungs are glad for the respite.
“What did you do at training yesterday?” she asks.
I’m taken aback by her question. “Yesterday? Not today?”
“Yeah, yesterday at training. What did you do?”
“Uh, yesterday . . . mostly gym stuff. Some cardio, a fuck tonne of conditioning exercises, lots of weighted squats.” Also, I went back to your best friend’s boyfriend’s place and fucked him so hard I’m pretty sure he blacked out and visited an alternate universe for a few seconds.
Of course, this part goes unsaid, but I feel like she’s pulling the info straight from my memories.
“Leg day?” Her eyes don’t leave mine. I recognise that she’s laying a trap, but I have no way to tell if I’m about to fall head first into it.
I laugh, as nonchalantly as I can. “Every day is leg day with rugby training.”
She’s quiet for a while. “Of course it is. I’m sorry, it’s just that . . . well, I dunno . . .” She never finishes that sentence.
Her phone vibrates and I glimpse Megan’s name before Georgia swipes the message from the screen.
“Shall we go for noodles?” she asks, her tone so changed from a moment ago that she sounds like a completely different person. “This Thai place recently opened near work and apparently their Pad Thai is unreal.”
“Sure. I just need a wee before we leave.” I collect my phone from the counter and head upstairs to the bathroom.
I don’t actually have to pee. Instead, I check the previous message sent by “Fern.”
My thighs are still fucking jelly from last night.
Tomorrow I’m going to end things with Eggo. This can’t go on any longer. I need to take control of my life.