The moment he finishes locking the door and turns in my direction, his face hardens. Shit, he’s already mad. I hold up my palms in an attempt to placate him. “Bren, I just want to talk. Please?” I stop a few feet away. “We could grab a beer or a coffee. I really want to apologise.”
Bren walks straight past me towards his Ute, refusing to make eye contact.
“Consider yourself forgiven,” he throws over his shoulder. “Leave the past in the past, Davies.”
I trail after him, then push past to stand in front of his driver’s side door.
“What the fuck, Davies?”
Our eyes lock for a beat, then he quickly averts his gaze. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Bren, why can’t we be friends? I just want to catch up.”
“Kyle, get the fuck out of my way.” Bren looks down, shaking his head. “We were never friends, and I’m married.You’remarried too, in case you forgot.”
Bren’s head suddenly shoots up and he pins me with an accusing look. “You got any kids?”
I frown, taken aback. “Yeah, I do. A daughter. She’s fifteen.”
Bren huffs, his nostrils flaring. “So maybe you should go home and focus on your kid. You always wanted to be a dad, don’t fuck it up now.”
My gaze drops to my feet as a wave of guilt hits me. I consider giving up right now, just getting in my car and not saying another word. But I need to do this.
Taking in steadying breath, I look up and let him see the real me, and my pain. His shoulders visibly relax almost immediately.
“Bren, I care about you, and I want you in my life.”
He chuckles sarcastically. “Kyle, if you fuckin’ cared about me, you wouldn’t have left me to rot in prison. If you wanted me in your life, you would’ve visited me and been there when I got out. It’s too damn late now.”
I stare back at him, mouth opening and closing like a dumb fish as I try to form words, but his anger is justified. “That’s why I—I wanna talk,” I finally say, stumbling over my words. “But not here. One beer, Bren.Please?”
Bren moves the tiniest step closer, his voice dropping low. “What the fuck does your husband think of all this? Does he know you’re here? Does James know we used to be fuck buddies?”
At first, my heart sinks at his words, but it’s quickly replaced with anger. How dare he reduce our relationship to just fucking.
I step forward, leaning in close. “Maybe I don’t give afuckabout what James thinks.” I push past Bren, bumping him hard on the shoulder as I walk to my car. Without another glance, I slide into the front seat and screech out of the parking lot. When I look in the rear-view mirror, Bren remains rooted to the spot, watching me leave.
Instead of heading straight home, I drive around listening to depressing music—ballads from my youth about lost love and broken hearts. Painful memories rear up, vivid and visceral, filling me with shame. I call Lu to check if she’s okay and find out James is already home.
The last thing I want to do is face my husband. James has made it clear he wants to have sex tonight and after that shitshow with Bren I don’t know if I can do it.
Stopping at a convenience store, I buy a pack of cigarettes and light up. I stopped smoking years ago when Lu was born, but occasionally I fall back into old habits, especially when I’m riding out a manic phase or just feeling anxious. I’m not sure whatthisis though, feeling both flat and agitated at the same time.
What Bren said hit a nerve; not just the insinuation that our relationship was nothing more than casual sex, but because he brought up what James would think. James treats me like I’m nothing more than a possession, a pretty decoration to be displayed like a trophy, and a servant to tend to his house and child. Here I am, almost forty, and my husband treats me like a child, telling me what to do and controlling my every move.
But I don’t need James’s permission to see Bren. Or get a job. Or for fucking anything else, for that matter. I’ve put up with this for too damn long already.
Starting up the engine, I pull out of the convenience store parking lot and head in the opposite direction of home, needing more time to think. Ihadexpected Bren to be angry for what I did all those years ago, and I accept that, because I deserve it.But we were so damn young. We both did stupid things back then and hurt each other. Surely Bren can find it in his heart to forgive me. The alternative is too painful to bear.
Pulling into the driveway an hour later, I get a call from James. “I’m in the garage,” I say, bypassing formalities.
“Lucinda said you went out for a drink with a friend.”
“Yeah, I did. Lily wanted to bitch about her divorce again. I’m coming in now.” When I enter, James yells out that they had pizza for dinner—reminding me that I didn’t bother to cook—and that there’s a couple of slices left on the kitchen bench. I try my best to eat, but I feel ill, and head upstairs to take a shower instead.
In bed later, there’s no more escaping James.
“What is going on, Kyle? Your moods have been up and down the last two days. Do you need an appointment with your psychiatrist, or is something else the matter?”
Ignoring him, I stare at my phone screen, scrolling through my Instagram feed. James turns onto his side, and I can feel his eyes on me, scrutinising. Resting the phone on my stomach, I focus on the ceiling as I consider my reply.
