Fault (Define Book 3) Read online

  “How do you want to play this?” Noah asked, my unease all too obvious. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  Did I want him to see the reality of my life? No. Did I want him to be there with me? Yes.

  “Please. I don’t know what state it will be in.” I had a pretty good idea though and cringed at the mess that could be there. What if Jim hadn’t cleaned up properly after that day? Could I cope with seeing that room again? “One thing. I can’t go near the kitchen. The door is at the end of the hallway. Can you go and close it if it’s open?”

  There was a brief rise of his eyebrows before he muttered, “Sure,” and came round to open my car door. As we walked up to the porch, Noah placed a hand at the base of my back; its presence calmed me, centred me, kept me from floating away.

  I unlocked the door and slowly opened it, uncertain of what might be revealed. I could see the downstairs doors were all closed and the hall was clear and tidy. “It’s okay.” I sighed, starting to believe it might be. I shut the front door behind us, momentarily troubled by the memory of opening it to the police. The floor was clean, any evidence of the blood I had trailed through gone. Any evidence of anything was gone. Even the usual mess of old post and free newspapers that accumulated until Josh or I threw them away was absent, as were the collection of shoes that usually cluttered the bottom of the stairs. It was my old house, but it wasn’t.

  “Come on,” I said as I started to climb the stairs, wondering if I would find my room equally changed. What if Jim had let one of his biker mates use it? What if he hadn’t but they had anyway? What if it was trashed? What if? What if? What if? My feet were rooted to the top of the stairs, too uncertain to take the next step.

  “Are you sure? If you want some space, I can wait out here.”

  “No, I want you to come in,” I admitted, knowing there was a multitude of reasons why. Slowly opening my bedroom door, I exhaled in relief. Everything was as I had left it. I stood to one side to let Noah in and then looked at my room through a stranger’s eyes. It revealed more about my thirteen-year-old self than it did the person I was today: pink bedding, pink curtains, pink walls. Long-neglected teddy bears still sat in the dust on top of the wardrobe. Faded pictures of One Direction covered the broken panels of the door.

  “It feels strange to be back,” I admitted, trying to make sense of it all. “It hasn’t been that long since I was here but it feels like a lifetime ago. Like I’m not this person anymore.”

  Noah looked around the room before facing me. “You’re not. Look at everything you’ve gone through. You’ve faced more challenges than most people do in a year, a lifetime even. The person who survives that won’t be the same. They can’t be. They shouldn’t be. When I look around in here, for one I feel very old.” He smiled before moving closer, toe to toe. “Seriously, when I look around here, I see the room of a girl, a girl who wasn’t much different to others. When I look at you, I see a young woman, someone brave and strong. The reason your new room looks so different to this isn’t anything to do with new curtains or a different colour scheme. It’s to do with the person you are now. You’ve outgrown this.” Noah reached across and took both my hands in his, the warmth of his fingers travelling through my skin, my veins, my heart. “Be proud of the person you are, Grace. Don’t focus on what you think you’re not. Bring what you need from here, but bring it because it makes you happy, not from believing you need to recreate your past. That’s what memories are for. They stay in our heads so we don’t need to carry them physically.”

  Looking down at our hands, I knew what he said was right. Even the fact that it was him holding my hand through this—not Dad, not Jake, not Mum—told me that. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I didn’t want to be.

  That realisation made packing much easier. I needed more clothes but, other than that, there were only a few items of sentimental significance that I picked up: photos, a few books and a small crystal cat Dad had bought me years ago. Not including the bag I’d been allowed to pack on the day I left, my life was carried out in two plastic boxes and a duffel bag.

  “Come on, let’s go home,” I said after pausing at the front door and taking one last look around. “I’ve got what I came for.”

  I CARRIED GRACE’S things up to her room and left her to unpack, certain that she would want some privacy. But going to her house had done nothing other than fill my mind with questions. Questions that I knew would have to wait.

  When she appeared back downstairs an hour later, her eyes bore a telltale redness. I didn’t want her second birthday to end in the same way as the first, so I went to the kitchen and picked up the wine we had started earlier.

  “Happy birthday and a day,” I said, passing her a glass. “And I’ve got something to celebrate too.” I handed Dad a sippy cup half filled with wine as he looked over at me. “I got the Berkeley Hall commission!” Dad lifted his arm for a hug, and I absorbed the pride his grin radiated.

  “Congratulations! But what does that mean?” Grace clinked her glass with mine and angled herself towards me. I mirrored her position from the other end of the sofa.

  “It’s a stately home about an hour away. You know, one of those Regency mansions used in costume drama adaptations? They’ve decided to become a wedding venue and approached the agency. It’s a huge job and could lead to much bigger contracts, so almost all of us pitched for it. Some of the others are much more experienced with this type of client, so I was surprised when I got the call in today.”

  “That’s fantastic! So what will you have to do now?”

  I told her the details of the commission before we moved onto a wider discussion about my work. We talked about how my blog on caring for Dad had been picked up for a monthly column in the weekend supplement of a national newspaper, giving me another source of income but, more importantly, a chance to write in the way I wanted to, as me. We even talked about the boring parts of my job: cereal packets and double glazing adverts. I knew I was lucky to have the opportunity to write for a living, but her thoughtful questions drew me into the best conversation I had ever had about my work.

  By the time I poured the last of the wine into our glasses, Dad was asleep, and Grace and I were huddled closer to each other, knees touching, trying not to disturb him as we talked. But I wanted to talk about more than me. I wanted—needed—answers to some of the questions that had plagued me earlier, and took advantage of a pause in the conversation.

  “All we’ve done is talk about me,” I said, certain she had willingly allowed it to happen. “How are you feeling?” A cloud of hesitation crossed her eyes. “Please, Grace. You can be honest with me.”

  Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. When we left the house, I felt stronger, like I was taking a step forwards. But when I think about the phone call with Mum last night, and the way Josh is moving further away from me every time I see him, I have to stop myself from feeling like I’m drowning.”

  The only thing I could offer was empathy. She needed that more than questions that hurt to answer.

  “It’s going to take a while for you to get back that feeling of being in control of your life. Look at how much change you’ve had to go through. I know what it was like when Dad had his stroke. Everything changed, and there was no longer a sense of anything like life before then. You start off getting through hour by hour, day by day, week by week until, one day, you realise this is your new normal and you’re doing okay with it. That day will come, Grace. I promise.” I took her hand in mine, winding my fingers between hers. “I promise.”

  “What happened to him?” Her fingers played with mine but didn’t pull away.

  “He’d gone hiking in Wales. The stroke took place in the middle of nowhere. They don’t know how long he was lying there until some walkers found him. By the time he’d been airlifted to hospital, much of the damage was irreversible.” I paused, unsure whether to continue, whether I wanted to confess, but I’d gone on enough to her about the importance
of honesty.

  “I was supposed to be coming home for the weekend, but there was a gig I wanted to go to, so I stayed in London. When I told him, I could sense his disappointment. I told him to go anyway, that he needed to get used to doing things by himself as I was thinking of staying in London when my degree finished. Ironic, isn’t it?” There was little humour in my voice. “Do you know the worst thing? When I got the phone call from the hospital, my first thought was that it was my life that was now over. I mean, how selfish can you get?” There was no sense of relief to voicing my shame.

  “You’re so far from selfish,” Grace exclaimed, tightening her grip on my hand. “I don’t know anyone as selfless as you are. Look at how you care for him, love him. No parent could ask for more. You’re not responsible for what happened to him, Noah. Nobody is.”

  As much as I wished otherwise, her words were never going to be strong enough to break through the years of guilt.

  “Don’t go thinking I’m something I’m not, Grace. I’m no hero. I moved home because there wasn’t a choice. I couldn’t let him move into a care home, but I resented every way my life was affected by what had happened. I wasn’t happy, and I’m sure I didn’t hide that very well from him.” For some reason, I wanted to be honest, more honest than I’d ever been. “There were days when I barely spoke to him. God, there were days when I wished that—”

  “Shh,” she whispered, pulling me towards her as my voice broke.

  “I even told him that one day, that I wished he hadn’t survived. Do you know what he did? He put his arm out to hug me. No recriminations, no anger, nothing but trying to make me feel better.” Grace stroked my back as I confessed everything into her neck. “All I did was feel angry that everything I’d hoped my life would be had disappeared and I took that anger out on him.” I pulled back to look into her eyes, as glassy with tears as my own. “I’m ashamed of myself, of how I handled things.”

  Grace kept her arm around me and held my gaze. “What happened to change that? Because that is nothing like what I see now.”

  “Bob. He called me out on it, told me that I was making both Dad and myself unhappy with the way I was carrying on. He lined up the interview with the agency and helped me find a way to make life work. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think everything is fantastic now, and I still wish he had never suffered the stroke, but I wish that for him, not for me. But what we have now means something, and I wouldn’t want a different solution to the one we’ve found. Of course we both have good days and bad days, but that’s life and love, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so. I know you don’t want to believe it, Noah, but you are a special person, and Max is lucky you’re you.” Her eyes were locked on mine, filled with something I couldn’t recognise, pulling me away from rational thought. Of its own volition, my hand cupped the side of her face, my fingertips telling my brain about the softness of her skin, the curve of her cheek, overriding my brain telling them to stop and move away from the temptation.

  I knew this was the moment I had to decide once and for all what my intentions were, whether we were going to build this into a deeper friendship or into something more. I felt her lean into my touch, allowing her hair to brush over my hand, taking the decision away from me. I longed to be that person she saw, that person I saw reflected in her eyes. I longed for her. My fingers moved further back into the silk of her hair, anchoring her head as I leant closer until my forehead rested on hers, allowing me one final moment of uncertainty.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, taking my head in her hands and moving so our lips were millimetres apart. “Don’t think you’re not amazing.” Somehow this girl had managed to take control of everything, and I was at her mercy, silently pleading with her to move closer. She placed her lips, unmoving, on mine. “You. Are. A. Wonderful. Man.” Those words, muttered against the side of my mouth, warm breaths the tingling punctuation between each, made me promise myself that I would be that man for her.

  I moved my mouth over hers, silently telling her how much her words meant to me, her quiet moan undoing any intention I had of keeping the kiss gentle. I pressed my lips more firmly against hers before tracing the line of her lower lip with my tongue. The tremble I felt run through her filled me with heat. I pushed my tongue harder, seeking permission. Her breathing hitched as she let me in, matching every stroke I made. The taste of her overwhelmed me, drawing me further and further in. When she nipped at my lip, I gripped her head harder and drank more deeply. But still she didn’t relent. Her fingers tangled further in my hair, pulling me even deeper until every whisper of breath was shared.

  The sound of Dad’s snoring permeated my brain and I reluctantly pulled away, my heart pounding. Her eyes opened, a mix of lust and disappointment, and I struggled not to return to her. “Dad,” I whispered, unwilling to let go of her just yet.

  “Oh God,” she said, straightening up and pulling her head out of my hands. “Do you think he saw?” The colour in her cheeks showed she cared.

  “No, but it’s time for bed. For him, I mean.” I felt the heat of my own embarrassment at my words and the raging hard-on that I somehow needed to hide from her. “Do you want to go up whilst I sort him out?” Whilst I try to make sense of how exactly she had turned my world upside down and inside out with one kiss.

  “Oh. Okay.” There was an awkward pause. “Umm, goodnight, then,” she said as she stood up.

  “’Night,” I said, unable to move but wishing I could remove the look of uncertainty that filled her face before she turned away. “Sleep tight.”

  SLEEP TIGHT? MY annoyance at the abrupt way he had ended the kiss, combined with a ridiculous level of horniness, meant there was no chance of sleeping, tight or otherwise. I admit that I stood at my door, listening out for the sound of him on the stairs, hoping that somehow he would instigate a follow-up to the kiss. But no. After I gave in and turned my lock, I heard the quiet closing of his own door and had to accept that maybe the kiss, the most amazing kiss of my life, had just been the result of too much wine and emotion.

  After a few hours of tortured sleep, and having waited until I’d heard Noah go downstairs, I got up, still confused. Pretending to myself that the reason I took ages getting ready was because I had nothing better to do with my time, I faffed and procrastinated until my stomach told me I needed to eat.

  Shouting out an unnaturally chirpy “Hi” on my way past the lounge, I walked into the kitchen, only for Noah to follow me in before I’d even finished filling the kettle. “Coffee?” I asked, ignoring the obvious fact that he already had a mug in his hand.

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks.” I’d never thought that someone could emanate awkwardness from the way they held up a mug, but Noah succeeded. “Can we talk?”

  My heart sank. Was this going to mean that I would have to move out?

  “Sure.” I dunked a teabag in my mug and sat opposite him.

  “I wanted to apologise for last night. It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

  That kiss meant too much to me to be brushed away so easily.

  “Why? What are you sorry for?”

  “For taking advantage of you.”

  What?

  The naïve sincerity of his answer placed me on a seesaw between anger and disappointment. I gave him the chance to better explain himself. “Exactly how were you taking advantage of me?”

  “You were drunk and emotional, and I should have known better.”

  Anger won.

  “Firstly, I was not drunk. I was in full control of my actions. So were you. Secondly, I was feeling emotional. For you. You were the one treating it like a confessional, purging yourself of the person you used to be.” I saw the hurt fill his eyes but had to finish. “We’ve both shared a lot over the last few days. I was glad you could tell me those things. I was honoured.

  “But why should you know better? Better than me? Why? Because I’m younger? Even the language of taking advantage belittles me, Noah. I’m not a kid. What do you think I
am? Some eighteen-year-old virgin you’ve corrupted? Let me tell you what, if you believe that, you’re more naïve than you think I am. I’m not innocent. I chose to kiss you, in case you’ve forgotten. And until now, I hadn’t thought it was anything other than the most special, most wonderful first kiss. So, thank you. Thank you for giving me something so perfect and then destroying it. But hey, that’s the story of my life, isn’t it?” I tried to control my breathing, to control the disappointment coursing through me. I didn’t want him to see how much I was hurting. When I allowed myself to look up, I could see the hurt in his eyes too.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean any of it in that way.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. You’d think I’d be better with words than this. The last thing I want to do is belittle you. I think you’re amazing and want you to believe that about yourself too. And God, I’d feel even worse about myself if I had believed that was the first time you’d kissed anyone. But you don’t need this right now. You’ve got more than enough going on in your life. I want to be your friend, to be there for you, not make life more difficult.”

  I took a deep breath before I responded. “You can try and friend-zone me as much as you want but we both know that last night was more than a drunken kiss. There’s something between us, however much you try to pretend otherwise. You told me that I should be honest with you. Maybe you need to try being honest with yourself first.”

  I walked out and made it to my room before giving into the tears and the worry that maybe my angry outburst had threatened the roof over my head.

  I SPENT THE AFTERNOON at the library, killing time by downloading books and running through my choices. If I was going to carry on living with Noah and Max, I needed to work out a way of pretending that everything hadn’t been irrevocably changed by one kiss. My acting skills would have to be my battle armour.