Part 114 (1/2)
I can't.
I grab Nate's hair and pull him away. ”Nate. Please, let me talk to you.”
He sneaks a hand down the front of my pyjamas, fingers skimming between my legs. ”It can wait.”
”No. It can't.” With impressive self-control, I pull his fingers from the wet heat I'm seconds away from letting him explore. I could do this, forget about last night, about everything but pleasure.
He huffs a hot breath against my hair and moves away. ”Fine. Tell me. Then show me your bedroom.”
Our breathing matches in pace and heat, and the turned on, Nate-s.e.x craving part of me takes over. When I tell him that will be it. Over. At least once more with him.
The front door slams and I shove at Nate. ”Get off me!”
”What?” Bewilderment fills his darkened eyes.
”Someone's coming.”
”Who? A housemate?”
I eye the door, relieved we're dressed and not half-naked on the table.
”Here. Sit down.” A flushed-faced Nate stares as I push my empty mug towards him.
I'm tying the robe I grabbed from a nearby chair and pulling the material high enough to cover my unb.u.t.toned pyjamas when the kitchen door pushes open.
”Hi, Mum,” I say with a smile.
Her and Nate's expressions vie for the most stupefied. ”Josh is putting his things in the bedroom,” she says to me.
”This is Nate,” I say.
”I know. h.e.l.lo.” She casts a look at my mussed hair and I self-consciously smooth it. ”Did he stay last night?”
Way to treat me like an eighteen year old. ”No.”
Nate continues to stare at my mum as if she broke into the house and is holding us hostage. ”You live with your mum?”
”No,” I say.
”Why's he here?” Mum asks without looking at Nate. ”Really, Riley? After everything you've told me about him?”
”Mum...” I warn.
She shakes her head in the silent disappointment mothers perfect through years of parenting teens. But I'm not a teen.
”None of my business, I know.” She drops her brown handbag on the table. ”Oh. Flowers. Very nice. Do you want me to put them in a vase?”
”Please.” Perspiration covers my back, palms slick as I rub them on my robe, waiting for Josh's footsteps. Every day he jumps downstairs two at time, and the noise never bothers me. Today, I'm terrified. I count the thumps. One, two, three...
Josh appears in the doorway, dressed in grey jogging bottoms and a short blue coat, cheeks pink.
”Hey, Joshy,” I say with a smile.
Josh approaches and holds out a snowdrop. ”I picked this for you. Nanna found these today in her garden.”
”That's very thoughtful of you, sweetheart,” I say and take the tiny white flower. ”Maybe Nanna can put that in some water with the other flowers too.”
I can't look at Nate, and the room spins but without the alcohol this time.
”Who are you?” Josh asks Nate as he clambers onto my lap.
”I was thinking the same thing,” Nate replies and our eyes meet. The dark l.u.s.t is replaced by a familiar expression: the cold, closed-down Nate.
”Are you Mummy's boyfriend?”
s.h.i.+t. I rest my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands. The kitchen clock ticks seconds by as Nate doesn't respond. I peek through my fingers at the sound of a chair sc.r.a.ping back and Nate stands, resting his hands on the back of the chair.
”I have to get off now, Riley,” he says in a quiet voice. ”Things to do.”
”Okay.”
Because what else can I say?
Josh climbs down from my lap. ”Can I have some juice, Nanna?”
Paralysed by the shock of the inevitable situation caused by my cowardice, I listen as the front door opens and closes.
”I'm going for a shower,” I say to Mum before she can launch into twenty questions. I walk upstairs, arms and legs shaking. This is what happens when you avoid a situation. The beast created creeps up and ambushes when it can no longer be contained.
I grab a towel for the shower, not missing the irony that Nate trying to be the gentleman he isn't led to a screw-up out of my control. One that has guaranteed today will be the last I see of him.
30.
RILEY.
Nate doesn't contact me.
At the end of the day Nate discovered the truth, I put Josh to bed, read him a story, and held him closer than usual. His childish enthusiasm for everything in his life - his chatter about favourite books and friends at school - filled the hole gouged by Nate when he walked away. All because of the lies I told.
But in bed alone, the heartbreak launches an a.s.sault I never antic.i.p.ated. I'm angry with myself as I sob until my aching chest tightens and I can't breathe. Angry because this happened, and because I fell back into him so quickly, I can't prevent the hurt. This is worse than two years ago, where I directed the anger at Nate. This time there was an underlying chance that the re-emerging closeness would solidify, because we thought the timing was right.
The time was never going to be right.
I hold myself together for the first day, dazed by the situation, and focus on Josh to switch off. In each quiet moment, the black look on Nate's face reappears in my mind's eye and the tears threaten. I'm to blame. I'm always to blame.