Chapter Thirty-One
Rowan
A beam of sunlight hits my eyes when I blearily blink them open, laser bright. It takes me a moment to orient myself: the sloping ceiling, criss-crossed by oak beams, the crisp blue sheets, the dresser scattered with cufflinks and ties, the simple, almost utilitarian decor, none of it is familiar.
Then Angus stirs beside me, and I remember.
His cock, hard as anything, his rasping breath, the way his eyes rolled back as he tipped over the edge.
The last thing I remember is curling up on his chest. He must have carried me upstairs, laid me in this bed. I study him: his mouth half-open in sleep, those wide, kissable lips, the frown line still etched between his brows, his jawline covered by a light bristling of stubble.
Behind him, an alarm clock glares at me: seven am.
Shit.
I’m supposed to be helping Sophie get ready in less than thirty minutes. She and Mum are probably already up, cups of tea steaming as they start to prep. What if they come to my room and find I’m not there? Sophie is already pissed enough. I don’t want to give her any more reasons to be upset.
Should have thought of that last night.
But then I wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have this.
Reluctantly, I push back the duvet and scramble out of bed. Angus doesn’t stir. I don’t know if I should wake him, so I decide to let him sleep. Last night was… perfect, but it also stirred feelings that I’m not ready to face.
Being here, meeting his family, his friends: behind the grumpy veneer, the off-hand jokes, it’s clear how deeply Angus cares for this place, and the people in it. This is his home. Where he’s laid his roots. He belongs here, the same way the deer belong in the forest, the birds in the sky.
I can’t take him from it.
He needs the hills, and the fields, and his home.
And I? I don’t know what I need. Where I belong. I feel lost, unmoored, out on the ocean without a compass.
Don’t lead him on – not unless this is really what you want. Not unless you can be there for him, thick and thin.
Stuart’s words weigh on me like rocks. I got carried away last night, but who am I kidding?
I can’t be there for anyone. Look at what I’ve done to Ethan, to Sophie.
Look at what I’ve done to myself. How can I build a life with someone when mine is in such shambles?
How can I give myself to someone, when I don’t know how to be myself?
Angus needs someone settled. Someone sturdy.
I’m anything but that.
Heart heavy, I tiptoe out of Angus’ room and down the carpeted stairs.
The house is thankfully quiet, the others asleep or already up and out, and I make it to my own room without encountering anyone and quickly change into my favourite washed-pink jeans and a blue T-shirt, pulling my hair into a high ponytail.
I glance in the mirror: my make-up is smeared, and I look tired, but content.
I grab a wipe and remove the worst. By the time I’m done, I’m more fresh-faced, less like I’ve spent the night in someone else’s bed.
“Sophie?” I ask with not a little trepidation as I knock on her door.
After yesterday, I don’t know if she’ll want me here. I’m not sure she’ll ever want me near her again.
What she said stung. But she wasn’t wrong.
I’ve been a bad sister, so focused on myself that I didn’t think about what it would be like for her, to be so completely abandoned. We aren’t close, we haven’t been close in years, but still, I owe her better than that.
I swallow and knock again. “Sophie, are in you there?”
“Come in!”
When I slip inside, she’s sitting in front of a vanity, long blonde hair spooling down the back of her sage-green dressing gown.
The colour brings out the warmth in her cheeks, which I can see reflected in the mirror.
We’re so similar, and yet so different: same wide blue eyes, same pointed chins, same small, neat noses, but where her hair is elegantly tamed, mine is wild with frizz.
Sophie takes a long sip from the blue-and-white striped mug she’s cradling to her chest. She looks sombre. Not the expression I expect from someone on their wedding day.
“How’s your head?” I ask.
“Actually fine. I swapped to water after the main course. So I’m tired, not hungover.”
“That’s good. Can’t imagine it would be fun to get married feeling like shit. Where’s Henry?”
“Soaking his head in a bucket of ice.” She makes a face.
“He didn’t get the water memo then?”
“No.” Sophie puts her mug down. “Look. Rowan. About yesterday—”
“You were right,” I interrupt her. “I’ve been a shitty sister, and I’ve made it all about me when it should have been about you. I should have been there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you why, or what was really going on.”
“What is going on?”
This is it. The moment of truth. “Ethan cheated on me.”
“What?” Sophie’s eyes blaze. “That prick! That utter fucking prick! How dare he do that to you? How dare he think he can show up here after doing that to you? If he was still here, I’d kick him in the balls myself. What the actual fuck?”
A laugh escapes me. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it isn’t this.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.
“I was ashamed.”
“Why? It’s not your fault the arsehole decided to put his dick inside someone else.”
“It felt… Honestly, it felt like another way I’d failed.
Sometimes I get so tired of being the family fuck up, you know?
The useless one. The one who can’t do things.
Who can’t cope. Mum’s always on at me, always worrying about me, and I didn’t want to give her one more thing to worry about – although in hindsight, that didn’t work out so well.
She was so happy when I found a boyfriend.
I didn’t want you both to know I’d failed. Again.”
“You’re not a failure, Rowan,” Sophie says.
I sink down onto the bed. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re perfect. And I’m… me.”
Now it’s Sophie’s turn to laugh: a sharp bark that surprises us both.
She shakes her head. “Oh, Ro. There’s no such thing as perfect.
That’s what you never seem to get. I’m certainly not perfect.
Not even close. Most of the time I feel like I’m walking this tightrope, and if I take one wrong step, everything will fall apart.
I know it looks like I’ve got it all together, but I promise you, I really don’t.
” Her voice quietens, and she looks away.
“You’d know that, if you ever let me in.
For the record, I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.
All this – the wedding, and Mum, and worrying about you – it’s been a lot, but that’s no excuse for losing my temper. ”
“It’s okay. I deserved it.”
She smiles. “Maybe some of it. But I was… harsh. We never talked about what happened back then.”
“University, you mean?” I can’t meet her gaze. The awful squirming feeling hits me, the way it always does when I think about those years, like ants are crawling under my skin. “I always thought you judged me. For quitting.”
“But why?”
“Like you say. We never talked about it. You never reached out. And you were doing so well at Cambridge, I didn’t want to bring you down.”
“I did reach out, you idiot. I called you every day for weeks. You wouldn’t answer your phone.”
“Oh.”
When I try to remember that time in my life, the images are blurry.
Single snapshots, with darkness in between.
My entire body heavy. Impossible to get out of bed.
Everything I’d once loved pointless. Joyless.
Days and weeks that warped and blended into one.
I was bad with my phone, I knew that much, and while I’ve always assumed Sophie didn’t call, it’s perfectly possible I didn’t pick up.
More than possible. Likely.
And just like that, a resentment I didn’t realise I was holding on to is released. A knot unwinds in my chest. Some of the heaviness falls away.
“I never judged you, Ro. I thought you were brave for leaving. For putting yourself first. I wanted to be there for you – but you wouldn’t let me. You wouldn’t let any of us. Why do you think Mum worries so much?”
“I guess I thought that’s what she was like. Overprotective.”
“You were drowning, and you wouldn’t let any of us help you.
” Sophie shakes her head. “You told yourself this story that everything was too stressful or too hard, that you weren’t capable.
I can’t tell you how frustrating the last ten years have been.
Watching you settle over and over again for something – or someone – who isn’t worthy of you.
Or quitting before you have a chance to fail.
You keep yourself so tightly swaddled that it’s a wonder you can breathe at all. ”
“You really believe that?” I blink back a tear. “You don’t get it, Soph. Life feels really fucking hard sometimes. Everything, the way I’ve lived… I’m trying to stay alive.”
“I do get that. But it feels like somewhere along the way, you became so focused on staying alive that you forgot to keep living. I’m not trying to upset you.
I’m glad you dumped Ethan. I’m even kind of glad you went on that stupid hike.
Even if it does make you the worst maid-of-honour in the world. ”
“Yeah?”
She sighs. “It gives me hope. I think you’re brilliant. So does Mum. And I’m sure there are loads of other people who would agree. The only person who has ever doubted that is you.”
“I never loved Ethan,” I confess. “Now that he’s gone, all I feel is… relief?”
Sophie nods. “He was your shield. You used him to hide from life. To justify the way you feel about yourself. I’m glad you can see your own worth now.” Then she freezes, her eyes shooting to mine. “Oh god.”
“What?” I ask.
It’s been years since Sophie and I have had a proper conversation. Since we checked in. I thought she didn’t care, when all this time, she’s been biting her tongue. I’m glad she’s opened up to me. Even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.
“Ugh. How can I be so wise and so stupid at the same time?”