Fault (Define Book 3) Read online

  My grin mirrored his. “I’d better change my shoes,” I said, holding up one of my ballet flat-clad feet to prove my need.

  He just laughed. “Go on then, Cinderella. I’ll sort these flowers.”

  It took thirty seconds to swap my shoes for my Converse; the other five minutes were spent redoing my hair and applying a little more eyeliner. I laughed at myself as I tried on a different top. Who spent more time getting ready to go for a walk than out for a meal? Me, that’s who.

  By the time I went downstairs, only my skinny jeans remained of my earlier outfit.

  He noticed. “You look very nice.”

  I tried to make my response more of a demure smile than a huge grin but don’t think I pulled it off.

  “I tried to sort the flowers,” he said, pointing at them, “but we didn’t have a vase.” I laughed at the terrible job he had done of arranging them in a large jug.

  “Haven’t you ever arranged flowers before?” I asked.

  “No. You have popped my floral arrangement cherry today. Satisfied?”

  The lingering effects of the alcohol and the flirty language were leaving me far from satisfied.

  “Well in that case, it was an admirable attempt. I’m sure you’ll get better with practice.”

  “Ouch. My ego’s going to need some serious stroking after that. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  I followed him out to the car, unable to banish images of stroking him from my mind. Fresh air was definitely needed.

  GRACE WAS QUIET ON the way to the lake, and I wondered if I’d offended her with the cherry-popping comment. I hoped it hadn’t upset her, but her own playful tone had suggested that she was enjoying the innuendo. I know I was. When she had come back downstairs, clearly having changed more than her shoes, I felt a tingle run across my skin with the idea that she had made an effort to please me, unable to remember the last time I had felt it.

  I parked and rushed to open her door, bowing to her as she stepped out of the car. She rewarded me with a smile that allayed my fears about having offended her.

  “Any preference about the route?” It was years since I’d been to the lake, as Dad and I preferred somewhere more remote for an afternoon hike. Well, we used to.

  “Let’s do the yellow walk,” she said after consulting the nearby map, leaving me to follow her. As we walked alongside the lake, we chatted about her previous birthdays. I lapped up every mundane detail that gave me a greater insight into her life, into her. The effects of that little bit of alcohol made her so much more open than she had been before, less determined to keep her dysfunctional world private. Her anecdotes made me laugh and smile, as well as sympathise with the disappointments she had faced. In that half hour, I became aware of the complex person Grace was, of how interesting I found her, of how much more I wanted to know. I had spent the last few days trying to work out where my feelings for Grace had suddenly appeared from, but then I realised I hadn’t done anything to get to know her before. She would arrive, I’d work, and she would leave. Other than bits of small talk, we hadn’t really spent any time together. But now, this grown-up Grace had tied me in knots.

  We wandered into an area of woodland shade, making us have to focus more on the path ahead. At one point, I turned and held out my hand to help her over a tree trunk obstructing the path. There was a moment of hesitation, a moment when she looked into my eyes, into my soul. And at that moment, every molecule of my being cried out to her to trust me, before she placed her hand in mine and let me help her over. I tried not to think about how small her hand felt, how soft, how utterly perfect, in mine. And failed.

  “Thanks,” she said, slipping her hand from mine and using it to dust off the leg that had brushed against the decaying wood. My hand, and more, felt empty. Three seconds and a fallen oak tree had given me the clarity that I hadn’t had before. I liked Grace. As in, I liked Grace. But the situation was so far removed from straightforward I didn’t know what, or even if, I should do anything.

  “Do you want to sit for a while?” I asked as we passed a sun-dappled clearing, obscured from the path.

  I sat down and leant back on my elbows, whereas she lay next to me, on her front, her hands brushing through the blades of grass, making me wonder what it would feel like to have her hands playing with my hair in the same way. I appreciated her quietness, that she didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with noise. The stillness of the moment relaxed me, and I lay back fully, closing my eyes.

  A few minutes later, I felt Grace shift slightly next to me, and I looked over to see that she was on her side, facing me with her own eyes closed, as though she were asleep in bed. My brain performed its own version of Photoshop and superimposed her image onto one of my bed, making my jeans tighten at the idea of waking up to this same view.

  The opportunity to look at her so closely was irresistible, and I moved onto my side, mirroring her pose. The sunlight played with the copper lights in the section of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Her eyes were fringed with long lashes, the lids coloured with what looked like a wash of silver. But it was her mouth that had me entranced: pink, full lips barely meeting each other. Just as I was imagining what that mouth would taste like, her eyes blinked open, and I knew my guilt at being caught looking was written all over my face. But she just smiled, those lips parting slightly, and closed her eyes again. I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, perversely thankful that her clothes revealed little in this position, and listened to the sound of her breathing, the soft whisper each time she exhaled.

  I’d found girls attractive before, but that had been a straightforward, physical response. I’d never really cared for someone before, never wanted to watch them sleep. After Grace’s revelations about what her home life had been like, I had felt protective, determined to help her be happy. But the belief that my feelings might in some way be those of a friend was fading.

  Was I what she needed? Was I the right person for her? The last thing I wanted to do was bring more drama or unhappiness into her life. She already had so much to deal with. As much as I admired the strength I saw in her, I knew she was breakable, that there was a ribbon of glass within her that had somehow survived so far. I would never forgive myself if shattering it were my fault.

  I sat up, deliberately breaking the moment, needing to create some mental distance for myself. As though she knew what I was thinking, Grace opened her eyes and stretched.

  “I don’t know if that was the alcohol or the crap night’s sleep I had, but I needed that.” She sat up and hugged her knees. “Did you doze off too?”

  “Yeah,” I fibbed, knowing better than to admit that I had spent the twenty minutes looking at her, falling for her. “It must have been the stimulating company,” I added with a wink before standing. “Come on, home time.” I did the un-gentlemanly thing and didn’t offer to help her up. I didn’t trust myself to let go of her hand so easily that time.

  By the time we were back in the car, I had resolved to do nothing but conceal my growing feelings for Grace. Not until things were more settled for her. What I hadn’t counted on was how hard it would be to keep those feelings from taking over as life threw more challenges at her.

  “That’s my phone,” she said when a trilling started from her direction. I tried to keep my eyes on the road as she raised her hips to remove said phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “It’s blocked. But it could be the police or someone. I’d better answer it.” Her indecision triggered my protective streak, and I pulled the car over so I could intervene if it were a nuisance call.

  “Hello?” There was a pause before her face lost all colour. “Mum?”

  I switched off the engine and sat back, not wanting to eavesdrop but desperate to hear.

  “How are you?” Her question was answered with a quiet mumble. “Thank you. I went out for lunch with Josh.” Mumble, mumble. “Yeah, he’s fine. He’s going on holiday to Spain with Callum’s family.” As hard as I tried, I couldn’t dis
cern any of what was being said at the other end. “No.” Mumble. “I’m not living with them, Mum. I just gave you that address as I didn’t know where I was staying. But it’s fine. I’m staying with Noah and Max now.”

  God, how I wanted to hear what her mum said at hearing that piece of news. Was she reassured? Worried?

  “I know, Mum, but there is something you can give me. Send me a VO form. I just want to see you.” My chest tightened at the heart-breaking plea in her voice and I couldn’t stop myself from putting my hand on her knee, from letting her know she wasn’t alone. “I won’t even tell him I’m coming. I promise. Please.”

  At that moment, I would have done whatever it took to stop the tears that were starting to crawl down her face.

  “Just think about it. I’ll send you my new address. It would mean the world to me.”

  I wanted to shout at the mumbling voice, make her realise that she was breaking Grace’s heart.

  “I can do that. Just let me know what you need, Mum.” Grace put her other hand on mine, clinging to my fingers as though she needed an anchor to stop being swept away. “Oh, okay. Well, ring me as soon as you can. As soon as you get the money and can buy another phonecard. Please. I love—” The line cut dead with the finality of a heart monitor flatlining.

  “Come here,” I said, unbuckling her seatbelt and pulling her to me before she disintegrated. I held her as she fell apart, hoping it would make it easier to put the pieces back together again. The cries gave way to hiccupping sobs, which gave way to uneven breathing, which gave way to calm, all as I held her. The writer in me knew it wasn’t a time for words; there were none that could ease her pain.

  “Thank you.” Grace pulled away from me, smoothing her hair and sitting upright as though that was enough to convince me she was fine. I sat as I was, unsure what to do next. My head told me to belt up and drive home; my heart told me to pull her back into my arms and stay like that for however long it took to make her smile again.

  I went with my head and wasn’t surprised when she ran straight upstairs to her room when we got back. I didn’t allow myself to follow her.

  It wasn’t much of a surprise that she didn’t come back down. Lying in bed, I tried to think of a way to make her happy again. A way that didn’t involve knocking down her door and promising to hold her as she cried. A way that wouldn’t scare her away with the depth of what I was feeling.

  CONFUSION AND EMBARRASSMENT meant I hid in my room until I heard both Max and Noah leave after another sleepless night, my mind flitting to and fro between thinking about Mum and thinking about Noah.

  Even though I had been craving contact from her, Mum’s voice had worried me so much, her dull monotone emotionless to the point of sounding disinterested. Whether that was disinterest in me, or life generally, was almost irrelevant. And as much as I wanted to think she had rung to give me the only birthday present she could give from in there, her request for me to send money made the gesture seem far from altruistic. I knew I’d send whatever I had, as soon as I could—it was the only way I might get to hear from her again. But I couldn’t stop myself feeling disappointed. Everything I had hoped that call would be was everything it wasn’t. What could have been the perfect end to my birthday had actually meant the day ended worse than it started.

  Then there was Noah. It would be easy to pretend that much of it was alcohol-induced, but deep down I knew I’d be lying to myself. When he had comforted me at the end of Mum’s call, I had let him, not because I was desperately in need of solace but because I knew his arms were the only ones I wanted to feel around me. The only ones I needed to feel around me. He made me believe that I wasn’t in this alone. And as much as I had to deal with this crap myself, that belief made me stronger, more resilient.

  But it was more than that. When we were lying down in the woods and I had caught him looking at me, I had to close my eyes, afraid of what they might reveal. My mind had filled with what it would feel like to lie in his bed like that, to be so close I could touch any part of him. I didn’t need to see him to feel the heat gathering inside me as my other senses worked overtime, filling the gaps where needed, and I was struggling to maintain the outward appearance of someone who wasn’t burning inside. I had been desperate for him to reach out, to touch me, to let me know I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. My half-drunk, half-asleep brain had me hoping that he felt the same, that he was lying there, also trying to get up the courage to reach out to me, to show me he wanted more. But he didn’t, because he didn’t.

  I needed Noah’s emotional security enough to believe that I could live with the unrequited lust that was going to be part of living with him.

  I had to.

  “HEY, HONEY, WE’RE home!” Noah called out as he helped Max in. “Something smells good.” There was no hope of me containing my excitement at their return, and I rushed into the hallway to greet them.

  “Hey” was as much as I could verbalise, my eyes drawn to Noah. I’d not seen him in anything other than casual clothing before, so the sight of him in a suit and tie brought me to a stop. The charcoal grey jacket made his shoulders broader, stronger, and the button undone above his tie made me want to kiss the small spot of skin it exposed.

  “Hey,” he replied, equally focused on me. I hoped that I had struck the right balance between making an effort and appearing as though I hadn’t, but I knew I had spent over an hour getting ready for this moment. His smile and my blush told me he noticed my efforts.

  Max’s unsubtle cough broke the cloud of unspoken questions that hung in the ether between us, and I saw the grin that showed he was fully aware of the reason for the delay.

  “Dinner will be about twenty minutes. Do you want a drink?”

  Max nodded and made his way to his chair.

  “I’m going to get out of these things first,” Noah said, pulling off his tie and stretching his freed neck. I was transfixed, some small part of me wishing he meant that he was going to get out of them then and there. He gave me a devilish smile as though he had read my mind and walked out before he saw the embarrassment that flooded my face at being caught ogling him.

  When he came back down, things were even worse. His damp hair and the smell of fresh rain that walked into the kitchen with him had me envisioning him in the shower, washing himself, touching himself. I had to look away before my frustration got the better of me. Maybe Lauren’s sofa wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

  He opened the bottle of wine he had in his hand and took two glasses from the cupboard. “I thought we could have a drink with dinner to celebrate your birthday,” he explained.

  “I’m not sure alcohol and I are very good friends,” I said, thinking back to the previous day’s emotional roller coaster.

  “Wine’s different and anyway, I’ll only have a small glass. I’ll protect your virtue.” I wanted to tell him to screw my virtue, literally, but opted for a non-committal laugh instead.

  “Are we still okay to pick my things up later?”

  “Of course. That’s why I thought a little Dutch courage might be appreciated,” he admitted. I felt like a complete floozy; his mind was a million miles further away from the gutter than mine was.

  I served up dinner, and we went through to the lounge. I was surprised to see that Max’s chair was angled away from the muted TV set so he was facing the sofa where Noah and I usually sat. On his tray table was a card addressed to me. I put my dinner down and picked up the card. “Shall I open it now?” Max smiled yes. I pulled out a card and admired the abstract illustration in the same colours as my room.

  Happy 18th and a day, Grace!

  May every day be as special as you are to us.

  Love,

  Max & Noah

  xx

  There was also a piece of paper inside the envelope. Unsure of what to expect, I turned it over to find it was a simply typed poem: Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. As I read the powerfully simple words, my heart sped up and tears fought to escape.
r />   “I read it on a feminist writing course at uni and you reminded me of it last week,” Noah said in a low voice. “It’s a reminder to stay strong, whatever you may face.”

  “This is going to be my motto,” I declared. “Still I rise.” I carefully smoothed the poem and put it back inside the card, blinking back tears. “Now, let’s eat.”

  “Not yet,” Noah said, picking up a gift bag from behind the sofa. “We were unsure what the right gift for an eighteen-year-and-a-day-old is, but we were more confident about the right gift for a reader.” Their collective breaths were held as I pulled out the tissue paper and removed the box inside. A Kindle! My initial excitement was replaced by a tightness in my chest. Was this another way of treating me like a charity case? They had already done so much for me. Too much.

  “It’s too much. I can’t accept this.” I tried to hand the box back to Noah and saw the disappointment on his face.

  “It’s a gift, Grace. Just take it.” He kept his hands by his sides. “Dad and I couldn’t let your eighteenth birthday go by unmarked. Stop overthinking things.”

  I knew I appeared ungrateful, which was the last thing I wanted to be. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I leant over Max to give him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down and picking up my tray. I sensed Noah’s disappointment and looked his way whilst Max focused on picking up his first spoonful of dinner. I whispered a noiseless “Thank you,” and pointed at him. His grin was bigger than Max’s as he started eating.

  An hour later and we were sat outside my house. I wasn’t sure what to call it anymore. It hadn’t ever properly felt like home and I couldn’t imagine a time I could ever live there again; the wall I had put up around memories of that day was more of a paper screen than a fortress, liable to disintegrate with the merest memory.

  The weight of the front door keys in my hand was far greater than their metal mass as I held them, delaying leaving the car for as long as possible. The lack of a motorbike outside gave me hope that the house would be empty.