Page 17

Saint chuckles with everyone else, but when I glance his way, his attention is still on me instead of Ember. It’s… Strange.

“I’m... Seeing someone.”

“Ooooh,” Bri breathes, nudging Ember gently.

“It’s not an 'ooh',” Ember protests. “We’re taking it slow.”

“How slow?” Lennie asks.

She hesitates. “We’ve been kind of dating for about two years.”

Saint chokes on his wine. “Darling, that’s not slow, that relationship is in witness protection. What on earth are you waiting for?”

The table erupts again. I haven’t laughed this much in... Actually, I can’t remember.

“When you put it like that,” Ember says, swiping the tears from her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just… I’ve never had anyone stay before. I don’t want her to run, so I guess I keep her at arm’s-length… Which when I say it out loud like that sounds cruel.” She winces.

Bri slips an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not cruel, it’s self-preservation. I get it.” She offers her a gentle smile, though there’s a quiet sadness behind it. “What’s her name?”

“Chloe and she deserves better.”

“Why?” Lennie asks gently. “Because you think you’re not good enough or because you think you’re being cruel? Either way you’re wrong.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You don’t get to decide how people feel about you or what they put up with, that’s not how love works.” He glances at Luna, his expression softening. “Pushing people away is a survival instinct, no-one can blame you for that, I’d bet even Chloe doesn’t blame you, that’s why she’s still there.” He pauses, taking a sip of beer. “But when you live in survival mode too long you start to fear living. It controls every decision you make. You might hurt those around you, but not as much as you hurt yourself.” He smiles warmly, glancing around the table. “You deserve better than that, we all do.”

The words aren’t meant for me, yet they land somewhere deep inside my chest all the same. I look away, and catch Saint discreetly wiping at his eyes. He holds my gaze for a beat longer than feels natural before offering a small smile. I smile back automatically. Whatever he’s carrying, it looks heavy. He looks exactly how I feel.

My pulse thuds a little harder than normal as I sip my water. They’ve all shared pieces of themselves today—real pieces—and for the first time ever I feel like I’d like to do the same. I clear my throat. Every face around the table turns towards me, waiting patiently. “I haven’t been back to England in six years.” I look down avoiding eye contact. “My parents still live there. Along with my two older brothers and my nieces and nephew.”

“You don’t visit?” Bri asks. Her voice quieter than usual.

I shrug. “Not much point. My brothers are...” I search for the right word. “Successful.”

Her brow furrows. “So are you though.”

“It’s not the same. My parents are...” I laugh without humour. “Perfect. Proper. It’s a lot to live up to and I just never felt like I quite fitted in. My brothers are married and settled down, grown up even, and then there’s me… Scandalous headlines and all.”

“Ah,” she breathes. “You feel like you’ve let them down?”

“Something like that.”

She's staring at me. Not glaring. Actually staring, like I've shocked her with my confession—she expected something different, more superficial, more me, I guess.

“Have they ever made you feel that way?” she asks gently.

I rake a hand through my hair, leaning back in my chair. “It’s not really anything they’ve said or done,” I admit. “It’s just...” The words catch somewhere between my head and my mouth, refusing to come out.

“It’s just what your brain is telling you?”

The corners of my mouth lift in a surprised smile. She gets it. “My therapist calls it rejection sensitive dysphoria.” The words feel strangely vulnerable out in the open. I’ve never admitted it to anyone outside that room before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Saint studying me with an expression I can’t quite place. Not pity. Almost... A question.

“That makes sense,” Bri says softly. “I get it... in a way.” She takes a sip of wine, her gaze drifting to the courtyard as she absently twists a curl around her finger. “I’m AuDHD, so my brain never switches off. I see a therapist too. Not for that, though.”

She falls quiet for a moment staring into her glass. “I never knew my dad. He was in the army but left when I was just a few months old. My mum...” She hesitates. “She wasn’t exactly maternal. I was her biggest mistake, her constant burden.” She lets out a hollow little laugh. “She wasn’t physically abusive, but words can be weapons. She was my first bully, and everyone after her followed suit. So, I understand the not fitting in.” She says it as though she’s commenting on the weather, but her eyes tell a different story.

Something twists painfully in my chest. No child should grow up believing they’re a burden. Least of all because their own mother made them feel that way. The urge to reach across the table and tell her she deserved so much better hits me with surprising force.

“I’ve got two best friends now. Ava and Lottie,” she adds quickly. “They’re both married with kids and busy, but we’re still close. Plus I have Mr Meow.”