After the End Page 11

  This is just bloody great!

  Neither Dad nor Greg sees me though, so I’m thankful for that. They’re too busy talking sports—MotoGP, to be exact. Both of them love to watch motorbikes whizzing around, but neither of them rides.

  I like Formula 1. More accurately, Lewis Hamilton.

  What is Linc doing now?

  Okay, that really isn’t any of my business.

  He looked pissed when Greg came over.

  Maybe I should text him?

  Oh, for goodness’ sake! I need to eat and chill and forget Lincoln Reid for one night.

  “Tilly?” Dad says, his voice louder than usual, signifying that he’s probably called me a couple of times already.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s going on? You’ve not eaten much,” he repeats.

  Greg watches on with wide eyes, full to the brim with concern. He seems to think that all my problems are down to Linc’s return.

  They’re not all because of him. I have all the same problems; Linc has just accentuated them. And maybe added one or two more. But they are my problems, and I’ll deal with it all in due time.

  Meaning, I will avoid and down Coors Light at every opportunity.

  It’s not a great plan, but then I’ve never claimed it would be good.

  “Yeah, not feeling it as much as I thought.” I scoop a pile of rice and shove it in my mouth to appease them both.

  They turn back to each other, picking up their conversation where they left off. Appeasement successful. Now, all I have to do is make my plate look like someone has at least tried.

  What is wrong with me?

  Dinner stretches on over an hour because they don’t stop talking, but that turns out to be a good thing because it gives me the opportunity to slowly force some food in, enough to make it look like I’ve had a decent meal.

  Mum arrives home and tucks in, too, so that takes some of the heat off me.

  While I watch my mum chatting happily with Greg, my mind wanders.

  Will she ever be accepting of Linc again? Could she sit around a table with him like this?

  That used to be such a natural thing for us to do. My family and his, friends and neighbours coming together to eat on a regular basis. She is used to seeing Linc at this table—well, not this one. The old one had to be changed after Robbie died because Mum couldn’t eat at it. She also couldn’t get rid of it, so it’s dismantled and being stored in the loft. But my point is, Linc being here isn’t such a crazy idea. I’ve seen it plenty of times before. Though, right now, it feels like there is more chance of the Queen coming for dinner than Linc.

  Not that I care though, right?

  Don’t. Care.

  18

  Linc

  For one hour and fifty-three minutes, Greg has been in Tilly’s house.

  What could he possibly be doing?

  You don’t want to know.

  No, Tilly would have said if they were together. It would be obvious if they were. He’s a friend. A friend who is invited in to eat with them. While I’m here, in my bedroom, with the lights off, watching out the window.

  This is how low I have sunk. How desperate she makes me feel.

  If he touches her, I’m out of here. I can’t stay and watch that. I’ll get two jobs to fund someone else taking over the renovations here.

  It’s now nine p.m. They can’t have much left to talk about, surely. He didn’t have a bag or anything else with him, so he can’t stay the night.

  My chest is tight, limbs heavy, as I watch on, waiting for some confirmation that they’re friends. I don’t know if she sees it, but Greg wants her. Maybe I can because there’s some weird solidarity thing passing between us. We both want to hold her, to make her smile, and to take away her pain.

  Only he has a much better chance because he hasn’t put any pain there.

  Fuck it.

  I hold my breath as my body weakens, energy draining from every pore. I’m not going to get the girl. She might have moments where she stares at my chest or forgets herself and flirts, but she’s not going to let me closer than that. Greg is perfect for her—nice, a people person, still gets along with her parents, wasn’t involved in an accident that killed her brother. I can’t compete with that.

  Hell, I can’t even get her to forgive me. Not that she should.

  Her front door opens, and my lungs collapse.

  Greg walks out, and Tilly is laughing.

  Jesus.

  I want to look away, but my body won’t let me. My tight muscles are locked into place, forcing me to watch the girl I love with another guy.

  Don’t kiss. Don’t kiss.

  Fuck’s sake, they’re friends!

  He turns back, so he’s facing her, and they seem to engage in another conversation.

  Just get in your car and fuck off, prick.

  Why am I so insanely jealous of her having a friend over?

  Right, because he’s a friend who wants to get in her pants, too.

  I suck in a ragged breath, my eyes stinging with the sudden burst of oxygen.

  Stop watching.

  He moves closer, too close. If he bent his head, he would be kissing her, and my palm slams on the wall beside the window.

  Don’t, Tilly. Please.

  My chest rises and falls quickly with short, sharp breaths, and I want to leave. I want to get in my car and drive a thousand miles away. That would end up being in the sea, but right now, that sounds just fine.

  “Tilly,” I whisper, my heart dying.

  She laughs and playfully slaps his arm.

  I. Can’t. Stop. Watching.

  Somewhere in my mind, I’ve already packed up my things. I should go right now. They’re close. I didn’t see it before, as they weren’t alone like this, but I see it now, and it’s fucking agony.

  I watch Tilly. The beautiful smile on her face, her relaxed posture, the way her mouth moves with each word she speaks to him. And her eyes, those honey-coloured eyes haunt me every night, are smiling.

  Not to be dramatic, but if she kisses him right now, this will be the last time I see her. I commit every inch of her to my memory, not ever wanting to forget a single thing about her.

  Whatever happens in life, with me or with her, I will love her forever.

  She takes a step back and holds the edge of the door, ready to close it. Greg turns and heads for his car.

  My shoulders drop, and I exhale. I close my eyes as the relief of him leaving washes through my whole body, giving me air.

  I back away from the window as her door closes, my stomach rolling from the whole thing.

  This can’t carry on. I can’t spy on her, afraid that I’ll see something I don’t want to. If I don’t at least tell her how I feel, how can I expect her to stay away from anyone else? Surely, I have to try.

  Now, there’s a terrifying thought. At least when I’ve not mentioned how I feel about her, there is no definite end. I can still pretend that there’s a chance, but once she rejects me, that’ll be it. No more hope.

  To be honest, neither option sounds good right now. Tell her and risk having my heart ripped from my chest. Or don’t tell her and risk her finding someone else and, in turn, having my heart ripped from my chest.

  A third option would be welcome.

  I go downstairs and grab the sander. The living room walls need sanding from all the filler I’ve used, and right now seems like the perfect time for that job. I need to keep busy.

  I stick the plug into the socket, and my phone beeps with a text.

  I straighten and unlock my phone when I see Tilly’s name.

  Tilly: My legs hurt already.

  The text is short and sweet, but it still makes me smile. She didn’t really have anything to say to me, but she chose to anyway.

  Linc: I thought you were a runner?

  Tilly: I haven’t run for weeks. Now, I know why I should never miss one.

  Linc: Same tomorrow?

  I hit Send on the message and insta
ntly second-guess it. Was that too forward? It’s nothing I wouldn’t have asked four years ago.

  Tilly: Day after, you masochist!

  A laugh rumbles from my chest. Maybe I was a little too eager there, but I’m used to working out at least once a day. Or working off a certain blonde once a day.

  Linc: Sounds good.

  Tilly: What are you doing now?

  Linc: About to sand the living room walls. You?

  Tilly: Same.

  I roll my eyes. Her next message comes quickly.

  Tilly: Why are you working so late?

  Because I couldn’t relax even if I wanted to after the whole Greg thing. I have some pent-up aggression to let out, and I don’t want time to think.

  Linc: It needs to be done.

  Tilly: Do you need help?

  What? She wants to help? She wants to come over here after having takeaway with her parents and Greg to help me sand walls? We all know I’m not going to say no to spending time with her, knocking that big wall down one brick at a time.

  Linc: Come over. Wear old clothes.

  I throw my phone down on the sofa and go in the kitchen to put the kettle on to make coffee. She’s going to want caffeine, if she’s still crashing around ten p.m. Tilly used to need some coffee if we were ever out late, and she wasn’t drinking. On beer, she can go all night, like the damn Energiser Bunny.

  Five minutes later, when I’ve finished our coffee and grabbed what chocolate I have from the cupboard, there’s a light knock on the door.

  Dashing to the front door, I wipe my palms on my jeans and tug it open.

  “Hey,” she says, ducking under my arm and stepping into the house like she’s escaping wildfire. I know it’s so her parents don’t see her coming here.

  “Where do they think you are?” I ask.

  Turning to me, she winces. “I’m sorry. I told them I was going for a quick drink with Hanna.”

  “At nine at night?”

  “Totally believable. When Hanna is having a crisis, I could be called at any hour. Once, it was midnight.”

  “Right. Coffee in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, Linc.”

  Greg gets welcomed with open arms, and I get Tilly running into my house, so the lamb isn’t seen with the lion.

  She pulls a mug to her chest—we take our coffee the same—and hands me the other. “Tell me you’re hurting.”

  I think she’s talking physically here.

  “Sorry, I’m all good.” Again, physically.

  “Damn it.”

  “Never miss a workout, Tilly.”

  “Yeah, apparently, that isn’t just bullshit.” She sips her coffee, her eyes staying on mine. “Are we really going to sand your walls tonight?”

  “That was the plan. Unless you have something else in mind?”

  There are many, many things I can think of that I’d rather do right now.

  “No, it’s just … isn’t that going to be loud and dusty?”

  “There’s an attachment on the Hoover that will take most of the dust. I’ve been using tools like this through the night since I got here, and no one has complained yet.”

  “Hmm, I’ve never heard you.”

  “There’s your answer.” I frown at my snippy tone, my stomach coiling at the residual resentment of her flirting with Greg. Or what I perceived to be flirting.

  She purses her lips, her mind working to put together pieces of something she’s searching for.

  Is she trying to figure out if I’m angry? How she really feels about me? Does being here make her realise that Greg isn’t for her?

  I don’t think she’s ever been interested in him, but me coming home might push her to do something she wouldn’t usually. We’re getting closer—that much is obvious—and I watch her fight that daily.

  What if she snaps and gives Greg a chance just so she can stay away from me?

  I need something stronger than coffee.

  “You okay?” She takes a few steps closer, almost as close as she was to Greg. “You look tired.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “I don’t mean that badly. You’re pale,” she replies softly. Her eyes warm with the concern behind her words. “Maybe you should just sleep and do the sanding tomorrow?”

  “I don’t feel tired, and this has to be done.”

  “It doesn’t need to be done tonight, Linc. I know you and your parents want the house sold, but you matter, too.”

  “Tilly, I promise you, I’m fine. I’ll finish this coffee and be good to go.”

  She puts the coffee down and folds her arms. “Make some popcorn.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Popcorn. We’re watching a movie, and you’re relaxing. Besides, my legs hurt, and I want to sit.”

  “Why did you offer to come and help if you’re in pain?”

  Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. “Hmm. Popcorn, Linc.”

  Deflecting much?

  “Fine, you win. Do you want a beer?”

  “You have beer?”

  “I have Jack and Ian’s beer. They can’t come over and do anything without having one.”

  “In that case, I’ll definitely drink their beer. Does your TV have Netflix?”

  “Yeah. Remote is on the coffee table,” I call as we separate into different rooms.

  I grab her a beer and three share bags of different flavoured crisps since I don’t have popcorn. “You’ll have to make do with these,” I say, chucking them down on the coffee table and passing her the bottle.

  “Thanks.” She lies back against the sofa cushions, pointing the remote at the TV. “So, we have a whole heap of new shit, not much of the good stuff. The Shining though?”

  Dropping beside her, I kick my feet up. “Sounds good.”

  We settle in as the movie starts to play. This is something we’ve done plenty of times before, usually with other friends there, telling us that old movies are crap and CGI is the way forward. They have no soul for preferring the new shit.

  “You still root for the killer?” I ask, smirking over at her as her eyes absorb everything on the screen, flitting from one side to the other, depending on where the characters are.

  “Yep. But only if the victim is dumb. You fall over or split up from your friends, and you deserve it.”

  I laugh at her logic, though she’s not wrong.

  Right when Jack is about to get in the bath with a mouldy old lady, Tilly turns to me. “I’ve missed this.”

  Staring back at her, I whisper, “I’ve missed this, too.”

  19

  Tilly

  The movie ends with poor, crazy Jack frozen in the snow.

  “One of the best,” I say, sitting up and stretching out my spine.

  I look to my side when Linc doesn’t fill the silence … and he’s asleep. His head is tilted to the side, facing me, eyes free of stress and lips pressed together.

  He’s beautiful. From the silky darkness of his black hair to the strong lines of his jaw and the fullness of his lips. He looks like he should be a model for top brands, his face and body too perfect to be kept hidden away. But he would hate being in the public eye.

  I could just picture him now at some swanky red-carpet event, scowling in the corner and avoiding eye contact with everyone else.

  It doesn’t seem right to wake him, not with him working all hours and not getting enough sleep. He must be desperate to get out of here if he’s renovating into the early hours.

  My hand itches to reach out and thread my fingers through his soft hair. It’s just long enough to be able to get a fistful. My mouth parts as my mind takes a dive into the gutter.

  Nope. Stop. Now!

  I force my eyes away and swallow the lust burning in my groin.

  Time to leave.

  I gather up the half-eaten bags of crisps, my empty bottle of Corona, and Linc’s glass and carry it all into the kitchen. I throw away the bottle and wash his glass, but I leave the crisps on the worktop since I didn’
t see where he’d gotten them from. I don’t really want to go rooting through his kitchen, though I have a pretty good idea where they would go. I still remember.

  On a calming breath because I’m not totally comfortable with being here yet, I walk back into the living room to get my phone and keys.

  There isn’t a blanket, so I don’t know what to cover him with, but it’s warm in here, so I don’t think he would want one anyway.

  Taking my things off the coffee table, I put my phone in my pocket and grab a Post-it note. They’re curled at the edges like they’ve been here for years; they probably have. I write him a note.

  You’re lucky I didn’t draw a moustache and cock on your face. See you tomorrow. Tilly.

  My eyes flit between Linc and the coffee table where I stick the note. I kind of want to wake him up and say good-bye properly, but I also want him to find the note in the morning. It’s something I would have done before … only I probably would have drawn the moustache and cock.

  Okay, time to stop staring at his pretty face and leave!

  I have an acute awareness of how hard and fast my heart is beating, drumming to its own frantic song. Linc’s chest expands in a deep breath, but he doesn’t even twitch, too deep in sleep to wake now.

  Drawing my lip in between my teeth, I thread my fingers together behind my back.

  Go. Get out.

  Gasping at the sudden realisation of what the hell I’m doing, I turn and dash to the front door. My shoes are slip-ons, but I still manage to stumble as I shove my feet into them and yank Linc’s front door open.

  I make it across the grass and to my house in three seconds flat. Mum is in the living room when I get in. It’s eleven o’clock, and she’s reading a book.

  As she hears me approach, she lowers the paperback and looks up. “Hi, darling. How is Hanna?”

  “She’s okay now. What are you doing up still? You’re strictly a ten thirty to bed kind of girl.” I slump down beside her.

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “Mum, you don’t need to do that. I’m twenty-one, remember?”

  “Yes, and you’re still my baby.”

  I roll my eyes. “Right. Well, I’m home now, so you can go to bed.”