Maybe I’m the ghost.
“You’re an alcoholic?” It’s clear he can’t wrap his head around it. “Why?”
I jerk my chin up. “What do you mean ‘why’? I was in pain. I drank to ease it. Then I drank to function. Then I stopped functioning.”
“I’m sorry.”
I wave my hand. “It’s in the past.” I grimace. I can still smell the alcohol on his breath. Even second-hand and stale, it’s like enticing nectar. “Hopefully. I’m taking it one day at a time.”
“Of course.” Rory rubs the back of his neck. “Let me show you to your room. You can settle in while I have a shower.”
“Aye, you need one. No offence.”
He cracks the smallest of smiles. It’s not as easy as when we were kids. Shame.
I follow him to the top of the house and then into the left-hand room. My eyes widen at the sight of rails full of feminine clothing. Most of it is pastel, but there are some bright shades too. There’s also an impressive shoe rack, leaving just about room for a bed.
“We can swap,” Rory says. “You stay in my room, and I’ll sleep up here.”
“It’s fine.”
“Fraser’s one of the ones who got married. They’re on honeymoon for two weeks, so he won’t come in to get clothes.”
“He—?” I snap my mouth shut.
“Is that a problem?” Rory sounds wary. Guarded might be a better description.
I assume he’s asking if I’m offended by the notion of a man wearing feminine clothing. “No.”
Whatever his housemates are into, it’s not my business or my place to judge. So what if a guy wants to wear skirts, dresses, and heels? It’s no skin off my nose.
“I’ll leave you to get settled.” He turns to go.
“Rory.”
He pauses.
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
He nods. “You’re welcome.”
He shuts the door behind him. I exhale and sit on the bed.
Awkward.
Is this what the whole week is going to be like?
I thread my fingers together and stare at the carpet between my feet. I’ve started my stay with one truth and a lie. I told Rory I was here for work. Why did I say that? Why was it easy to tell him I was sober but not to tell him my real reason for being in London?
I rest my elbows on my thighs, hang my head, and rub my hands over my scalp. Maybe I shouldn’t have reached out to Rory in the first place. It was never going to be an easy reunion.
“Hi.”
I jerk my head up to see Hendrix leaning against the doorframe. I’m not sure how he managed to open the door without me hearing. He’s holding a mug that says ‘I love anal’ on it.
“Hi?” I turn my greeting into a question because I don’t know why he’s here.
“Rory is the strong, silent type.”
