Yesterday, I’d gotten a text from Nick. It was the message I’d been holding out for. He was coming home to help me move. I’d get to see him. Maybe, if he was willing, he’d talk about what went wrong.
Maybe he’ll change his mind.
I’d have the chance to share my concerns, which now burned ever brighter. Last night, Morgan had posted an image of them doing shots at a party. With a football match coming up, Nick shouldn’t be drinking.
Shivering on the couch, I realized having the electricity turned off the morning before I was to move out was stupid. Not that I’d been thinking clearly lately. Even with my coat on the chill was unbearable.
Six weeks ago, Nick had returned to collect his things. The memory of watching him walk out the door still hurt like hell. Having to leave our home was going to destroy me all over again. My throat tightened at the thought of locking that door and never coming back.
Be brave.
Let him see how calm you are. How strong.
I still couldn’t believe that Morgan wasn’t just a fling. I loved him with all my heart, and he’d loved me right back—or so I’d believed. He’d certainly made me feel that what we’d had was real.
All our “firsts” had been here. Our first time cooking together. The first time we’d taken a bubble bath together. The first time I’d felt comfortable peeing in front of someone else. Those were just the highlights. We’d experienced more laughter than I’d believed possible.
We’d been happy.
Even with all the grief that wove itself between us—me grieving for my brother and Nick for his dad—we’d fought for days when that crushing sense of loss wasn’t so stifling.
I pushed those thoughts away, trying not to make myself feel worse, and rubbed my stomach to soothe the ache.
Looking around, I couldn’t fight off the memories. We’d decorated our place with carefully chosen pieces we’d bought from antique stores. A few remained scattered around the house. They reminded me of another time when laughter had rippled through this home.
Nick had gotten too close to me and it had scared him away.
I recalled other days on lazy weekends when we’d curled up on this very sofa together with mugs of piping hot cocoa. We’d watched football, sitting through re-runs of his matches. Nick had shown me the moves he’d made that marked him as a player to watch. Even after the millionth time of seeing him kick a goalie, I’d cooed with pride. His obsession had become mine.
We’d danced in this room like we hadn’t had a care in the world. There had been passion-filled, sleepless nights.
I’d not seen this coming. This crushing of my life.
Morgan would never respect his dream like I had. She’d never be willing to sacrifice their time together to allow him to attend games that took him out of town.
I’d find a way to tell him this.
The sound of a truck pulling up out front broke the quiet. Psyching myself up to face Nick, I headed down the hallway. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I reached for the door handle.
Forcing a bright smile, I yanked open the door.
I’d forgotten how tall Max was. How handsome.
I finally exhaled. “It’s you.”
“It’s me,” he said, giving me a dazzling smile.
I peered around his shoulder for Nick.
“I offered to help you move,” he said. “Nick told you, right?”
“I thought it was going to be him.”
Disappointment squeezed my heart. This had felt like my last chance to save us.
“Will I do?” Max waggled his eyebrows, and then turned and pointed. “I hired a truck.”
I motioned for him to come inside. “Thank you for being here. I…don’t actually have that much.”
Max looked around the living room. “This is it?”
This was it—five cardboard boxes and two suitcases.
He looked concerned. “What’s happening to your furniture?”
“Nick is going to collect the rest. I thought he’d be doing that today.”
“You’re not keeping it?”
“I have no room.”
“Where are you moving to?”
“My aunt’s place.” For now.
He nodded. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I tried to sound cheery.
We stepped outside and he directed the movers to come in, and then turned to face me. “Why don’t I drive your car so you can relax? Moving can be stressful. Carl will follow us.”
“He won’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
“Tell him I’ll be gentle.”
“How do you mean?”
“The last time I got close to you he overreacted.”
He tipped my chin up. “I can handle you, Daisy.”
“I’d like that.” I tried to hide my embarrassment.
My stomach felt like it was filling up with butterflies.
Max smiled. “It’s the least I can do.”
He pivoted and walked toward the truck.
The upbeat movers seemed happily surprised by the lack of items they had to carry out of the place. They stacked the boxes and suitcases into the back of their ginormous truck—so few they looked ridiculous on their own in there.
Within a few minutes, I’d locked up the house and handed over the door keys to Max.
I hesitated on the walkway, looking up at our former home.
My insides turned to jelly as I replayed all the things I could have done to prevent this from happening. Our relationship had always seemed easy, and maybe that was where it had gone wrong. It had felt as natural as breathing, and we’d always felt safe. I’d always felt safe.
My feet wanted to carry me back inside and return somehow to that life of happiness. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare.
Max looked at me with concern.
I continued down the pathway, holding my breath until what felt like a tidal wave of loss no longer paralyzed me. With a fake smile, I wrote down my aunt’s address and gave it to the truck driver.
“You don’t have to stay,” I told Max. “The truck is more than enough.”
“It’s fine.”
My voice cracked with emotion. “Nick sent you to make sure I left?”
“I wanted to be here.”
“Everyone dreads moving day.” I looked at him, surprised. “No one volunteers for this.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s not like I’ve had to lift anything.”
“There’re plenty of other things you could be doing.”
“You saved me from having afternoon tea with my mother and her friends. Quite frankly, I owe you.”
I relented and led the way over to my Mini Cooper, clicking the doors open.
Before Max got into the car, he looked back at the house. “You were good for Nick, Daisy, no matter what else has happened.”
“You really believe that?”
“After his dad died, you were like an anchor in a storm for him.”
His words sent regret through me, because this was how I felt, too. Yet nothing could be done about it. It was like watching someone you love drive on the wrong side of the road. Yes, they’d hurt you, but the mistake they were making somehow hurt more.