And Ethan has me.
My brain stutters to a halt. I exit the car on auto-pilot. A part of me is aware of other things: a spectacled man greeting Angus; my sister’s cold, angry stare; and my mother, approaching with the force of an incoming cruise ship.
“Rowan, honey! Look who’s come, after all!” Mum waves, her hand wrapped around Ethan’s arm, tugging him after her. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise? I know you said he was going to have to work, but after you disappeared, I called him to check up on you, and he said he’d managed to get out of it. It’s marvellous, isn’t it!” Her approach slows as she clocks the look on my face. “Isn’t it?”
But I only have eyes for one person: Ethan.
The man who betrayed me. Who broke my trust.
He looks the same: shaggy hair and soulful, green eyes. Smart shirt buttoned all the way to the collar. Slim pointed nose I like to kiss. It’s been easy to convince myself I feel nothing when he isn’t there.
There are no fireworks. My body doesn’t long for his. I have no urge to throw myself into his arms.
But it isn’t nothing. There’s love there, like an old, familiar cardigan, a little weathered at the elbows. A soft candle in the dark. The love of shared time together, of familiarity, of a hundred nights sat on the sofa holding hands, and a hundred mornings waking in the others’ arms.
Seeing him hurts.
“Ro? Hey, baby. Can we talk?”
“I—”
“London.” Angus has shaken off the spectacled man. I can feel him behind me, the broad bulk of him, hovering protectively. “Is this man bothering you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Ethan’s gaze flicks between us, taking in how close Angus is standing to me, our hiking clothes. “What’s going on, Ro?”
“What are you doing here, Ethan?” The words come out in a whisper.
His eyes catch mine. “You weren’t answering your phone.” Ethan takes my hand, ignoring Angus, who bristles at the touch.
My brave, foolish ex.
“Ro, I’m so sorry. Please. Can we go somewhere private?”
“Sorry? Rowan, what’s he sorry for? What happened?” Mum interjects.
It’s all coming to a head. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want Sophie to know. The shame of it crushes me.Failure, it whispers. I don’t want to be here, in this moment, having this conversation.
“Yes, Rowan.” My sister’s voice, cool and cutting. “Perhaps you could finally explain what’s going on?”
“Okay.” I can’t bear to look at anyone else, so I focus on Ethan.
“Really?”
I turn to Angus, trying to convey everything I can’t say: that this doesn’t mean anything; that I’m sorry; that I don’t want Ethan, not the way I want him. “Is there anywhere we can talk in private?”
His expression is unreadable. “Aye,” he says quietly. “I’ll show you the way.”
* * *
The room he leads us to has the faded, comfortable feeling of somewhere well loved – and well used. Ceramic knickknacks line wooden shelves opposite the door, and an old TV perches on a console in the middle, surrounded by two giant sofas that take up most of the floor. The paint on the walls is cracked in places, but the carpet underfoot is thick and lush.
A few family photos are propped on a small console table behind the sofa. I can’t help but glance at them. Angus is instantly recognisable, scowling between two adults who must be his parents, his brothers play-fighting beside him, ignoring the camera. He and his Da share the same nose, the same thick, unruly hair. But his dark, flashing eyes are all his mum’s. In one photo, she’s wearing a long, flowery dress, standing by a sun-lit window, hair half up, half down, elbow deep in a bowl of flour. She’s laughing. She looks happy.
I wonder when it was taken.
I draw my attention back to the room. Now isn’t the time.
Angus hovers in the doorway. The frown line is back between his brows.
