Chapter 15
Fifteen
Corey
The wind whipping up the dunes brings biting grains of sand along with it, the sharp sting as they hit my skin, something tangible to hold on to. The honk and bark of the seals below as they play, and posture, and preen is a soundtrack to my racing mind.
It’s Christmas Eve, and I should be back at Rain and Aidan’s house, wrapped up warm in my flannel pajamas with a hot drink, listening to Christmas music as Rain bakes his contributions for Christmas Day at Nash’s house tomorrow.
Instead, I’m wrapped up in three layers of clothing – one of which may or may not be Nash’s navy blue cashmere cardigan I never gave him back – Aidan’s old coat, and Emma’s hand-me-down Dr. Martens, all topped off with an old dog blanket that Rain assures me is clean, but still smells slightly canine.
I’ve been here since sunrise, such as it was, the grey, overcast sky failing to let much light through, searching for the positive thing I want to happen today.
Yesterday, I got a job, which was great.
But then I also saw my friends’ hard work go up in smoke – literally – and almost kissed a man who patently doesn’t want me.
Being unwanted is nothing new to me. My parents didn’t want me, none of the men I ‘serviced’ wanted me for anything more than a cheap release, and Dominic never wanted me for who I am, only for what I could do for him. Namely, a cash cow, and recipient for his amateur brand of sadism.
I’m sulking.
That’s the salient point here. I want a man who doesn’t want me, and I feel some kind of way about that.
A passing dog walker nods a good morning at me, and I decide sitting here bundled up with no purpose makes me look a little deranged in this weather, so I pull out my sketchbook from my bag.
I haven’t been able to paint at all since I arrived here, not wanting to accidentally make a mess of the floors in Aidan’s spare room. I have, however, been sketching. A lot. As I flip through the pages of my sketchbook, I can see my last few weeks captured in charcoal and graphite renderings.
Rain’s smile as he cooks, Aidan’s hands as he works with wood, Cole’s mischievous grin, and Archer’s placid stoicism. The beach below me, the dunes behind me, and the seals that keep me company most mornings as I sit here and welcome each new day.
My hand sweeps across a fresh page, my pencil loose in my grip, as I draw without conscious thought.
I’m too lost in my head. Too lost in Nash’s complete denial that he’s been avoiding me for weeks when I walked into the pub last night, and he asked me what drink I wanted as though nothing had happened.
Too lost in my attraction to him as I watched him interact with his friends and family from my safe distance behind the bar.
Too lost in his visceral reaction to me trying to help put out that fire.
His anger, frustration, and, on reflection, his concern for my well-being all rush over me again as the memories play on a loop in my mind.
And that moment, when his breath was mine, and mine was his, and our foreheads touched the way I wanted our lips to.
It would have been so easy to lean forward, and so I had, but his hasty retreat had been clear.
My mistake was imagining things that weren’t there.
His concern for me was platonic. Professional, even – his medical training and caretaker personality unable to witness someone putting themselves at risk over an inanimate object.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, willing my brain to forget the woodsy cedar scent that filled my nostrils last night when he held me so close. I let the acrid smell of woodsmoke and accelerant replace it.
Accelerant.
That’s what the fire investigator had given as a preliminary finding: that accelerant had been used to start the fire. And therein lies the second reason for my inability to sleep last night and subsequent pre-dawn visit to the beach in an effort to blow the cobwebs away.
There is no getting away from the fact that the likelihood is Dominic and his brother are behind the fire. Which means they know where we are. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when they found out, but they have. There is simply no other explanation. At least not one so likely.
The heat of anxiety and the swell of nausea inhabiting my body now feel permanent.
I put a brave face on last night, as did Rain, but we both know the reality.
They’re watching us. Biding their time. Until what?
They try to hurt us? Hurt Aidan? Hurt any of these wonderful people who have so easily and openly enfolded Rain and me into their lives.
A seed of an idea has rooted in my brain, and in the last few hours, it has grown shoots and leaves.
I don’t want to believe it might come to fruition, but if it means I could protect my friends, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
If it came down to it, I’d leave this tentative new life of mine behind to keep Rain, Aidan, Nash, and everyone else safe.
I could disappear. I’ve done it before. Boom. Pivot. Overnight, remember?
I swallow down the sob that tries to escape.
I haven’t been in Fenside Common long, but this is the kind of place I could imagine building a life.
A real life. One with a family, friends, and freedom to be exactly who I am with no preconceived notions of who I should be, or what I can do for someone else.
Just me, freely, openly, and authentically me.
But that’s not real life, is it? No, I have to start thinking about my next move. I’ll get through Christmas and try to enjoy it the best I can. It’ll be the first family Christmas I’ve attended – albeit not my family – in years, and I’m looking forward to it so much.
Even if it does mean finding a way to be sensible around Nash. I have to figure it out, because if I don’t, I risk embarrassing myself all over again.
Spits of rain start to land on the sandy ground around me, the pit-pat as they land on the page of my sketchbook, drawing my consciousness back to the sketch I’ve been working on.
There, in a faint grey outline, staring up at me with his intense stare and his stable presence, clear even with just a few lines on a page, is Nash.
Well… fuck.
Christmas Eve afternoon is filled with mince pies, board games, and Bailey’s Irish Cream coffees.
While Rain cooks dinner, I’m ushered out of ‘his kitchen’ along with Aidan.
Aidan can’t disguise his happiness at the domesticity and shucks me on the shoulder before heading out to the workshop to start on some repairs for Ladybird.
“Shall I bring you a cup of tea?” I ask him as he pulls on a threadbare Carhartt shirt.
“That’d be great, thanks, Cor,” he replies, the jovial grin on his face evidence of his own three Bailey’s coffees.
“Is he going to be OK using power tools? Like, is there a blood alcohol limit like for driving?” I ask Rain as I flip the kettle on and grab three mugs from the cupboard.
Rain laughs a high, tinkling laugh that makes me smile.
“He’ll be fine. He’s been warned, non-power tools only today. He’s got some decorative carving thing he wants to try, I think.”
I nod, satisfied I’m not going to deliver tea to a man with only one hand, and finish making our drinks.
I take my mug with me when I deliver Aidan’s and take a seat on one of the camping chairs they have set up in there around the log burner Aidan has lit to take the chill out of the air.
“Thanks, mate,” he says, accepting his tea. He takes a loud slurp that makes my skin creep, and he notices. “What?”
“Sorry, just…” I shake my head.
“The slurping?” he asks.
“Yup, sorry. It’s your home, you can do what you want. I just get the ick when I hear people slurp drinks and crunch food. It’s my issue. Don’t worry.”
I’m pretty sure, at this point, that Aidan will be glad to see the back of me.
“How’re you settling in?” he asks, studiously looking at the quarter-inch thick sheet of wood he has clamped to the bench in front of him.
“G-good, thanks.”
“Good. Because…” He looks up at me. “You say it’s my home, and yeah, it is, but it’s yours too, y’know?” I don’t respond. I can’t. My emotions live in my throat, apparently, and it’s currently closed, rendering me speechless.
Instead, I nod.
“Rain and I both enjoy having you here. I know it’s not ideal living with a couple, but you’re welcome here for as long as you need. As long as you want, and if you want some help to find somewhere a bit more permanent in the new year, Rain’s already been looking on Rightmove.”
I chuckle at that, because what self-respecting person doesn’t look at Rightmove on the regular, even if they’re in no position to buy a house. I particularly enjoy digitally snooping around the odd ￡1.5 million country pile that comes up to get a glimpse at how the other half live.
“Thanks, Aidan. I really appreciate you guys putting me up. I’ll get out of your hair soon, though, I promise.”
“No rush,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“And listen, I know you and Rain must be shaken up after what happened to the boat yesterday, but I don’t want either of you to do anything stupid.
” He looks at me, catching me in his direct gaze.
His eyes are penetrating at times, and right now, I swear he can see that tiny seed trying to grow in the back of my mind.
“Don’t. Leave. Not because of that. We’ll sort it out.
” His eyebrows rise in challenge, and I’m caught in it like a fly in a trap.
A long moment passes as I try to reconcile what he’s saying. Eventually, I relent.
“I won’t. I swear.”
“Good.”
I hate myself for crossing my fingers behind my back as I make a promise I know damn well I’d break if it meant drawing the twat twins’ attention away from Rain.
I watch Aidan work for a while, his strong hands fumbling slightly with the delicate intricacy of the scrollwork he’s testing out. When I see him starting to get frustrated, I leave him to it and return to the house, where I take the time to video call Emma.
She’s spending Christmas with John, so I get the chance to speak to them both. Emma is halfway pissed, already having spent the day perfecting an eggnog recipe she found online. When John comes on the call, he leaves the room to speak to me privately.
“How’s it all going then, Corey?” John asks, concern in his voice. Concern for me, I now recognise, and I feel a pang of regret at having left him and Emma behind so suddenly.
“It’s good,” I reassure him, not wanting to ruin his Christmas by making him worry about me. John is a shrewd bugger, though. He looks at me, straight down the lens of the phone camera, and I swear he’s reading my mind.
“You remember what I said in that note?” he asks.
“That I could come back any time.” He nods.
“I meant that. I still do. There’s always a home for you here.
I don’t know why I didn’t push you harder to come and stay with me while you were here, Corey.
The only excuse I’ve got is that you didn’t seem to want to let anyone get too close.
But I should have pushed. I knew the situation you were in, and I’m sorry I let it go on without saying anything or stepping in.
” This is the most I think I’ve ever heard John speak.
“Just know there’s a home here for you if you ever need it.
With me, I mean. I’ve got more than enough space, and your job will always be there for you, too.
I know you’re happy to be with your friend again, but you need to know you have options, and a family here if you want it. ”
I sniffle and let out a small sob. “I want it, John. I do. The family, I mean. I haven’t had one for a very long time.”
He nods at me, stoic in his decisiveness that it’s a done deal. I smile at John, grateful beyond measure for the day I found him. And grateful for the escape route, should I ever need one.
After I get off the phone, I spend the evening in my room sketching.
I’m drawing more intentionally tonight. I have nothing to give anyone for Christmas except what I can create in this sketchbook.
For Aidan and Rain, I’ve drawn a portrait of Pax.
He was a terrible model and wouldn’t sit still when I wanted him to, but I’m happy with the result.
For Aidan’s parents, I’ve drawn a sketch of their farm.
And for Nash, I’ve sketched his home. The beautiful thatched house on the village green, complete with duck pond and the flowerbeds full of life and colour, as I imagine it will be in spring.
I’m nervous about seeing him tomorrow after that almost moment we had yesterday.
But this is a small village, and having him go back to avoiding me like the plague isn’t going to cut it.
We need to talk, and soon, but for now, I just need to bury these feelings, that little flame of hope, deep down inside, and not fuck up my new life over an unrequited crush.