‘I needed you.’
‘I know. I didn’t realise what you were going through. That you might need the cash either. I’m so fucking sorry, Sash.’
It’s too much to process.
He used the lyrics we wrote together.
Some of my most private and intimate words are out in the world – and have been for years. I need to listen to the albums. Jesus, if I hadn’t been so pig-headed, no, heartbroken, I might have realised earlier.
Wait.
‘You left me a note?’ I never found one. The first place I went in the aftermath of Chloe’s devastating arrival that night, was straight back to Ryan’s cabin in search of his strong arms. Where I needed him to be. There was definitely no note.
‘I did try and tell you that when I got here, but you were having none of it.’
His eyebrows deepen in a pensive expression.
He’s telling the truth. I feel it with every bit of my body.
Where did it go?
It might finally be time to go back to the cabin.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
RYAN
‘Come on.’ Sasha stuffs the cheque in her top drawer, grabs a bunch of keys and pulls me towards the door with a sense of urgency.
I’m still not fully sure if she’s mad at me for using her lyrics, or relieved she has the means to take care of her family estate and pretty much anything else her heart desires.
Her family were always super affluent. I had no idea she was struggling financially. A fresh wave of shame washes over me.
I should have reached out.
I could have helped her.
I could have loved her.
What a waste of ten years.
She tugs my hand, guiding us through the castle, past the huge Christmas tree in the dome-shaped atrium and out into the bitter December day. A flurry of tiny fresh snowflakes drift across our faces and frost the ferns and bushes lining the walkway towards the far end of the estate.
‘Where are we going?’ Even in heels and on icy ground, she moves past the life-sized reindeer statues at a serious pace.
‘To the cabin.’
‘Why?’
I have no idea who lives in it now. The lights were off the few times I’ve passed by it.
The snow falls thick and fast as an easterly wind howls around us. Neither of us have a jacket. It’s a relief when we reach the front door.
A weird sense of déjà vu envelops me. Though it shouldn’t be weird, because I’ve been here before. Many times. It just feels like it was in another life.
The boy who lived here was young and foolish with big dreams. Dreams that thankfully became a reality. Most of them anyway. Some of them still need work, namely, keeping hold of the woman next to me.
Sasha’s fingers fumble with the key, trembling with the cold. Prising them from her, I insert the key into the lock and twist it. As the door swings open, a pungent stench of dust and staleness assaults my nostrils.
