“You were really good out there tonight,” I say, offering a small smile.
“Thanks,” he replies, a faint twitch at the corner of his lip.
We lapse into silence once more before James hesitantly says, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
I cast a brief look at him, feeling the pressure of tears welling up behind my eyes. I turn my head away, refusing to meet his sympathetic gaze. I know that if I say anything, I’ll break.
Luckily, the Uber pulls up to the kerb a moment later.
Chapter 17
James
We slide into the back seat, and the smell of cheap air freshener shrouds us. I shoot Oliver a text asking him to drop my gear off at home, seeing as he has a spare key to my flat. I release a weary sigh and turn to stare out the window, doing everything I can to avoid looking at April. A sombre song from the radio fills the car cabin with melancholy.
I try to shake off my frustration after witnessing that idiot hitting on April on the dance floor. I swear, the moment he put his hands on her, I saw red. I’m not usually a jealous or possessive man, but for whatever reason, she manages to bring out a side of me no one else has.
But what made me even madder was seeing how April reacted to Lucas and his date tonight. I never expected him to show up to a gig; he’s never shown any interest in my music, let alone with a date. Even though April was out with her friends, I could see it—I hated the sadness I caught on her face when she didn’t know anyone was watching. I saw her so clearly in that moment, the hurt and the brokenness. I’ve always had a soft spot for her. I wonder if Lucas ever told her why we aren’t close.
I doubt it.
I’m furious with my brother. Furious that April’s upset, furious that she’s in pain, furious at him for refusing to take any accountability. I think back to when I looked after Basil that weekend after their break-up, when April came downstairs, she looked …haunted. Tired. I saw her left hand, her finger empty of his ring, and I felt sorry for her.
I’ll call a spade a spade; my brother is a piece of shit. He may seem charming and gentlemanly on the surface, but deep down, he’s always treated women like objects—mere entertainment, offering nothing in return.
We were raised in a relatively stable environment, save for Mum’s mental health, which she struggled with on occasion. But for the most part, we were a happy household, so I never understood where his behaviour stemmed from.
Who broke him?
I know he was bullied in high school. He was tall, skinny, and clever, making him an easy target for tormentors. Yet, his past struggles should have little to do with how he behaves as a thirty-four-year-old man.
Some people never accept the responsibility they have for the lives of others.
Perhaps he sought external validation to fill a void fuelled by his own insecurities. Who knows? I was surprised when the relationship with April became serious; I didn’t think Lucas would ever be content with the idea of settling down.
I hear a quiet sniffle, which pulls me back to the present. I turn my gaze to April. Taking her in from head to toe, she’s so fucking beautiful, even in her heartbreak. Her auburn hair spills over her shoulders and down her back. Her maroon-tipped fingers fall limp in her lap. Her long, dark eyelashes flutter and fan against her cheekbones. She’s resting her head against the cold passenger window, eyes closed, defeated.
“I was doing okay. I was seeing my friends anddoingthings. I thought I was getting better … But seeing him just brought everything back.” Her nose scrunches. “For him, today was just another ordinary day. I won’t even be a thought. But for me, every day has been a struggle. It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on my chest. I just want to reach out to him, to hear his voice.” Tears streak her cheeks as she speaks. “He was my best friend.” She turns to look out the window again, her lower lip wobbling. “Everyone who was supposed to love me has left me … He didn’t want me,” she whispers.
“April, that’s not true—” I start, reaching for her hand. I entwine our fingers to provide some comfort when she interrupts me so softly that I barely hear it.
“Mourning someone who is still alive is a pain no one can prepare you for.”
My heart aches for her.
I pull our joined hands into my lap and rub my thumb in circles over her knuckles, offering what little comfort I can. It feels inappropriate, but right now, her pain outweighs anything else. She looks like she’s lost everything.
“Did Lucas tell you I had a serious relationship a few years ago?” I ask. “It ended just before you two met.”
She looks at me. “Abi?”
I nod.
“Yeah, he told me about her.”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“Not really.”
