“What do you mean?”
“What time are we setting off to get the rest of your stuff?” He drizzles more maple syrup onto his pancakes. How does he eatthis much and stay so fit?
“We?” I say through a mouthful of pancake.
“I’m your friend now, aren’t I? This is what friends do,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t start work until 4:00, so I have plenty of time. No biggie.”
I put down my fork and look at Connor. I have never seen this side of him before and it’s unnerving. He’s usually taunting me or making fun of me, and he’s definitely never made me pancakes before – I would have remembered because he was right; these are the best for miles. The Connor I usually have to deal with would have never offered to help me move my stuff.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Connor glances from my face to my crossed arms to my foot tapping on the leg of my stool, with an amused expression. The smirk brings out a dimples in his cheeks and his eyes light up for a split second before returning to normal.
“Cut the bullshit, Connor. You haven’t been nice to me since… ever, actually. Why have you suddenly changed your entire personality?”
“My personality hasn’t changed – this is who I’ve always been. I’m a good friend. We’ve just never been friends before.” He shrugs as he takes his plate over to the dishwasher. “Do you want to go back to how we used to be while you stay here?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stop being friends?”
“Not really.”
“Do you want me to take away the friendship pancakes?”
“Don’t you dare!”
He chuckles as I throw a protective arm around my unfinished plate before his outstretched hand can take it away.
“Well, eat up, Til. We’ll leave as soon as you’re done.”
I’m grateful for Connor offering to drive. Not only does he have a bigger car, but my hands are shaking so much I’d have been pulled over and breathalysed for weaving. I know that Rhys should be in work at the gym at this time, but I still feel nervous about going back to the house where I lived with him for so long. There are six years’ worth of memories in that house, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face them.
Despite it being less than twenty-four hours, it feels like an age since I left. Pulling up in the drive feels strange. Walking along the overgrown garden path towards the front door feels alien. Putting my key into the lock feels wrong.
You’re trying to unlock your front door with your car key, idiot.
Before I have chance to fix it, Connor gently takes my keys, finds the right one and opens the door for me. My keys make their way into the pocket of his jeans and he gestures for me to go first.
“You okay?” he asks as I stand in the hallway and look around, unsure of where to start.
My entire life is in this house. How do I even begin to pack it away?
“Not really,” I admit. “This is going to be hard.”
Connor nods slowly and shoves his hands in his pockets. I feel his gaze on the back of my head as I continue to look around, hoping someone will jump out and tell me it was all just a practical joke, and I don’t have to leave my home.
“Can I ask you something?” Connor asks tentatively. “As a friend?”
I just nod and turn to look at him. I pull my arms around mymiddle, for comfort more than warmth.
“You don’t have to talk to me about what happened between you and Rhys if you don’t want to, but I’ve been worrying… Did you leave because he was abusive? Physically?”
I blink, caught off guard. The thought of Rhys ever abusing me is ludicrous; he may have been a little difficult, even bordering on controlling sometimes, but he’s never laid a finger on me.
“No! God, no, nothing like that. Rhys has never been violent at all.”
Relief fills Connor’s stubbled face, and his features soften. I hadn’t realised until then how much tension he’s been carrying since we left his house.
