Chapter 21
. . .
Reuben
One Week Later
The afternoon sun on my body wakes me. I sit up, scrubbing my face with my hands. My body aches—a deep-seated pleasurable ache that is testament to all the sex we’ve had this week. However, my partner in the bedroom Olympics appears to have done a runner.
I climb out of bed, tug on my jeans and a hoodie, and head downstairs.
He’s nowhere to be found, but the front door is open, letting in a whiff of autumn air scented sweetly from someone burning leaves nearby.
He could be anywhere. I’ve learnt this week that he has a charming ability to sidle into social situations fully expecting to be welcomed and adored.
And the irritating thing is, he is. The fact that he’s charming, funny, and fully prepared to dish celebrity gossip doesn’t hurt.
I sincerely hope he hasn’t signed any non-disclosure forms about some of those people, because he’s a goner if he has.
Voices drift on the breeze, and I hear the familiar wicked laugh that still has the power to liquify my spine.
When I step outside, Xavier is leaning on the fence, talking to Mrs Mac.
They both look up, and Xavi’s face splits into a wide grin. “Here he is. I thought you’d be in bed all day, sleepyhead.”
I shuffle as Mrs Mac looks me up and down. My ears start to burn as her face creases into a knowing smile. “Maybe he needs to recharge his batteries, eh?”
“Hmm,” I say, profoundly hoping we’re going to change the subject. Both of them are grinning, so I’m not expecting any reprieve from that quarter. However, Xavier decides to assist me for once.
“Mrs Mac has given me a recipe for her spiced tea cake. I’m going to make it tonight.”
“Lovely.” Her cake is renowned on the island, and she guards the recipe like she’s taking a stint on the pearly gates. I hesitate. “You won’t be adding anything to that, though, will you?”
He taps his finger on his mouth, visibly enjoying the way my gaze snaps onto the full curve. “Anything? Whatever does that mean? Raisins, coconut, liquid cement?”
“Anything healthy,” I say darkly. “It’s cake, Xavi.”
His eyes twinkle. “Depends on how good you are,” he says finally.
“I don’t even know what that means. Please, can we just have sugar as god intended it?”
I hear a bark, which is my only warning before Bernard leaps at me, his big paws landing perilously close to my testicles.
“No, baby,” Xavier chides, pulling the puppy off me before he can do any more damage. “We want Reuben’s parts in complete working order.”
“I daresay Reuben’s parts could do with a couple of aspirin and a lie down in a dark room for a few hours before they start another shift,” Mrs Mac says, and Xavier gives a peal of laughter.
“Oh my god,” I say faintly. “Please take me now.”
She chuckles. “I thought we had wolves back on the island last night when I heard all the howling.”
My face is so red that Xavier might be able to cook dinner on it, but as usual, he has no shame.
Instead, he collapses on the grass laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes.
Bernard, obviously seeing this as a grand game, leaps on him.
I don’t make any effort to help the idiot.
Instead, I watch him laughing with a smile tugging on my lips.
Mrs Mac pats my hand, and I turn to her. “He’s the one you were waiting for, isn’t he?” I nod, and she smiles. “Well, I’ll say he was definitely worth the wait. A complete charmer that one.”
“And he knows it.”
“Don’t let this one go, Reuben. He’s exactly what you need.”
“Stubborn, opinionated, irreverent, thinks no laws apply to him, and far too fond of adding vegetables to meals?”
“And who said any of those were bad qualities?”
I stare at her, but she ignores me, wandering back into her cottage, calling goodbye to Xavier. He looks up, joyful laughter still evident on his face. It’s such a difference from the way he’s looked in the recent past that I still blink at the sight.
Don’t let him go? I shake my head. That would be impossible. I’m happy—truly happy—for the first time in my life. How could I not be? I finally have Xavi in all his wilful gloriousness.
I spent many years dreaming of getting him back, but I’d never really been able to imagine what that reconciliation would look like. The reality is that it’s beautifully imperfect. We’re flawed men who somehow connect in a strange way I’ve never felt with another person.
I lean against the fence, watching as he plays with Bernard, unaware of my gaze. Or he could very well be aware of it. Nevertheless, he kindly ignores me.
It’s been a good week. We’ve barely moved out of bed, our bodies coming together fiercely as if reaffirming our relationship and commitment to each other. There have been midnight snacks eaten naked at the table as we’ve laughed and talked in hushed whispers as if the universe was listening.
We’ve made passionate plans of what our lives will be like together, interspersed with laughter and kisses, and I’ve finally seen him completely relaxed and known what his beauty looks like now that it’s illuminated with real happiness.
My smile fades away as a wave of fatigue hits me. And, god, I refuse to let this happiness be affected by my failings. I hate that our new closeness has somehow resurfaced fresh fears in my subconscious. Every night in the past week I’ve woken shaking and sweating with a scream hovering on my lips.
At least the universe has spared me the awfulness of terrorising Xavi.
I’ve yet to wake him with my agitation. Instead, as soon as I’ve woken, I’ve immediately left the bed and showered.
Then I’ve sat in the quiet downstairs smoking and holding tight to reality until my heart stopped hammering and the tremor in my fingers vanished.
It’s not the routine an old therapist had advised me to use, but it works for me.
Xavier’s incredibly perceptive, especially where I’m concerned, so I know I’ll have to address this with him soon. I actually want to tell him now. I want to unburden my soul, and it’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to do that with someone. I love him so much, I hate keeping things from him.
But it’s my love that keeps me from talking about it. I don’t want those images in his head, and selfishly, I also don’t want him to look at me and see disappointment in those bright eyes. I want him to look at me with only love in his beautiful eyes.
“Alright?” he asks.
I look up to find him watching me, his expression mildly curious.
He smiles and the warmth pushes away the chilliness I feel, inside and out
“I’m fine as long as you’re smiling like that at me.” I pull him up and into a kiss. “Let’s go back to bed?”
“Oh, are you sleepy? Maybe you should have the bed to yourself.”
“Do you hate me? Is that what this is about?” He starts to laugh, and I dig my finger into his ribs, hearing the laughter get louder. “Upstairs.”
Xavier
I come awake with a start. The covers have slid down, and I’m cold. I sit up and blink. Reuben’s side of the bed is empty. I slide my hands over the cold pillow. And has been for a while.
I look around as if he’s suddenly going to pop up. When that doesn’t happen, I grab my jeans and slide into them. Then I snatch the blanket from the bottom of the bed and wind it around my shoulders against the cold air.
When I come out of the bedroom, I hesitate. Where is he?
I check the spare bedrooms in case he’s had another nightmare and didn’t want to wake me. I huff crossly. As if I wouldn’t know he’s been having bad dreams. I’ve let him keep them to himself so far, but that ends tonight.
The bedrooms are empty. I move on to the bathroom. Empty. I even pop my head into the attic, but that’s the same.
Downstairs is a pool of silence with no sign of Reuben or Bernard in the lounge, dining room, or his study.
Finally, I head into the kitchen and shiver at the cold draft coming from the open back door.
I pause at the door and look out. It’s still dark, the sky a deep blue velvet, but the first trace of pink is lighting where the sky meets the sea.
I spot Reuben instantly. He’s standing at the bottom of the garden looking out to the Sound with Bernard sitting at his side.
The dog is looking up at him, his head cocked attentively.
Reuben’s body is a line of tension, and even as I watch, I see him raise his hand to his mouth and the red glow of a cigarette lights the gloom.
I feel a streak of foreboding sizzle down my spine that’s become familiar this week.
He should be happy and relaxed like he was when we went to bed, but how can he be when he’s dreaming again?
He thinks he’s hidden it so well, but the man is the furthest thing from opaque to me.
It’s been such an amazing week full of laughter and kisses. At one point, I’d looked at his face, relaxed and full of a happy peace, and I instantly thought: Yes, this is finally you. We finally got here.
This is why I have to pull him from the quicksand of the past.
I step towards him, and even though he’s undoubtedly heard my footsteps, he doesn’t turn around. Bernard stands up and bounds over to me. “Good boy,” I whisper, tugging at his ear. “Were you watching him for me?”
The puppy eyes me almost appraisingly, his eyes bright. Then he gives a soft bark and heads down the path and into the house where he is undoubtedly going to burrow his way under our duvet now that Reuben isn’t there to object.
I stride over to my bloke. “Reuben?” I say hesitantly.
He doesn’t reply for a few seconds, and I watch as he stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the patio table, the sparks glowing briefly in the darkness. When he turns almost reluctantly to me, I gasp. His face is wet with tears.
“Oh my god, what’s the matter?” I say instantly. “Tell me.” He opens his mouth, but the words are lost when he gives a huge shiver. “You’ll catch your fucking death, you idiot. Come here. You’re so sodding stupid sometimes.”