“Do you not want your change, mate?” he calls. I wave his question away. He speeds off as soon as my door clicks closed.
The path to the front door is longer than I remember. My steps slow the closer I get, as if my body knows what my mind refusesto accept. My fingers tremble around the cool metal. I pull the key out, open the door, and then make my way up the stairs.
Her front door looks like it always does, with its small white plaque painted with a delicate pink butterfly in one corner, the name ‘Corrigan’ written in black cursive font.
It hits me with a strange punch of familiarity, that feeling of being home, and I fucking hate that it might not be mine anymore.
I hesitate.
My knuckles hover over the door, I consider knocking. She gave me a key for a reason?our relationship has moved forward. We’re grown-ups, for fuck's sake, yet it feels like a teenage showdown. I force my hand down.
The key slides into the lock with ease?only last week, I greased it for her. She was always complaining about it sticking when she tried to turn her key. The telltale snap of the lock giving way sounds, and I step into the now-familiar room.
Amy is standing by the window, looking out into the dark night. She holds an almost empty wine glass between her long, slender fingers. Her stunning figure is hidden by the baggy checked pajamas, her glossy hair piled high, held in place with a bright red band.
She turns to me, and the look on her face makes me grind to a halt mid-step. Tear tracks shimmer under the lamplight, eyes puffy and raw, lips pressed together so tight it looks painful. I wrack my brain for a reason but come up short.
The anniversary of Bex’s death was in March. We’d spent the day in bed watching comedy films and eating our body weight in chocolate.
Her new job at a local gym is going well. She’s been blissfully happy for months. Our relationship is incredible. She falls asleep on my chest most nights, and my sheets smell of her shampoo.
There is only one thing, the one fact I’ve been hiding. My heart sinks. She’s found out, and I wasn’t the one to tell her. Guilt floods my body, quickly replaced with fear.
“When were you going to tell me?” she screams. I stand mute, my throat squeezing the truth down. “Or were you going to tell me at all?”
“I didn’t know how,” I reply quietly. “It was before you and me. Before we found what we have now.”
“I never sold my gym to you.” Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp enough to slice me wide open. “How did you buy my gym from me without me knowing? Was my little business worth the espionage?”
“You saidno.”
My gaze drops to my feet, embarrassed by what I’m about to admit to. “I’m not used to people saying no. No isn’t a word in my vocabulary. From the moment you told me you wouldn’t sell,I had to have it.” The words taste sour, no matter what I tell myself.
***
Amy
My heart splinters as I look at the man I thought I knew.
A man I’ve trusted with the rawest version of me, the parts I’ve hidden from everyone else. A man I was planning a future beside.
“And because I rejected you, you came after me? Was getting me into your bed something you had to do to prove you’re the big man? The winner?”
His shoulders flinch hard, as if my palm connected with his cheek.
“Is this what happens, Ivan? Does someone tell younoand you chase whatever it is until you win?”
“It used to be,” he admits, redness creeping up his neck.
“We’ve been together for months,” I hiss. “How could you not tell me this?”
“It’s a building, Amy. It was a business decision. Bricks and mortar, nothing more.”
He straightens his shoulders, his armor snapping into place. The cautious man who entered my apartment morphs into a direct businessman. “I bought your gym fair and square. It’s been renovated and reopened for months. Why now is the bloody place so important?”
“Only bricks and mortar…” I whisper. My voice cracking like splintered ice. “It’s always been important. I couldn’t face seeing it until now. It was only yesterday, I felt strong enough to see what I’d lost and who I’d let down.”
A laugh breaks free, ugly and desolate.
