I turn. “No problem, Henry.”
Our eyes meet. For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us thickens, heavy with something I can’t quite wrap my head around. His gaze flickers down to my lips, and my breath catches. I swear the world narrows — just him and me and the hum of the engine.
There’s a pulse — electric, heavy — that races through me like a warning and a dare all at once. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking beneath his skin, and then he looks away — too quickly, like he’s just stopped himself from doing something reckless.
Silence stretches between us, taut and unbearable. I fumble for the door handle, desperate to break it, to breathe again. “Thanks for the lift,” I manage, though my voice sounds strange — breathless, uneven.
He nods once, eyes still fixed on the road ahead, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “See you Monday,” he says,clipped, restrained, but there’s a rough edge there — like he’s forcing control.
I mumble a goodbye and practically flee the car, clutching my bag to my chest as I step into the cold evening air. My hands tremble as I fish for my keys. The sound of his tyres screeching as he pulls away slices through the quiet street, leaving the faint smell of burnt rubber in his wake.
Leaning back against my front door, I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady the frantic rhythm beneath my ribs. My lips still tingle, and I hate that I’m wondering what it would’ve felt like if he hadn’t looked away.
What the hell just happened?
Four
Henry
For Christ’s sake, I’ve got to get a grip. I can’t just go around thinking about kissing my assistant. I’ll have a sexual harassment claim on my desk by tomorrow morning. I knew it was a mistake asking Jas for advice.
I went to her restaurant two nights ago with that same dull ache in my chest — the one that’s been rearing its ugly head for most of my adult life. Despite wanting to not be a complete arse to Matilda, I can’t shake the nagging feeling I get whenever she’s around. Who am I kidding? I’m a bastard to most people these days, but something about her brings out a side of me I’m really starting to hate.
So, I opened up to Jas, and she gave me her usual clear, simple advice — be more approachable, give my assistant more respect and responsibility. Pretty sure none of that meanttry to kiss the woman.
I don’t even know what came over me. I told myself I was going to be nicer to her — more approachable, more human. I didn’t mean forthatto happen.
Matilda isn’t even my type. She’s beautiful, sure, but too sweet, too soft, too… pink. The moment I saw her, I knew she was one of the sexiest women I’d ever laid eyes on, but she came into the interview in that purple summer dress, matching heels, and holding a pen with a bloody daisy on the end. She’s sweetness and innocence wrapped in one package, and I’m just a shell — void inside, damaged goods. Women like her run for the hills.
Jas also told me to ask more questions, show I care about people’s lives — you know, appear human. And look how wellthatturned out. I now want to punch some bloke who cheated on Matilda, in the face, and my assistant thinks I’m incapable of dating. Brilliant. I should probably just keep my mouth shut and stick to what I’m good at — being a dick.
My phone chimes, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
Ben: Henry, I can’t make it tomorrow. Tell Dad I’m sorry.
Well, that’ll do it. No longer thinking about Matilda — fully locked into being pissed at my brother.
One day a fortnight. That’s all he has to commit to with Dad, and he’s flaked three times in a row. I can’t help thinking about how many weekends Dad might have left. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have given up on Ben a long time ago. But Dad still hopes we’ll work things out. I don’t see it happening. Still, for him, I’ll put on a brave face, play the role he wants to see.
I just wish Ben had the guts to do the same.
I arrive at Dad’s house just after two. Dad’s been through hell. For thirty years, he’s fought his own body, and I’ve watched himfade. He used to be strong, confident — magnetic. My favourite sound in the world was his laugh. It filled a room, stopped people in their tracks. He could light up any place he walked into.
Now he doesn’t walk at all.
He lost the use of his legs during lockdown. Everyone was trapped inside, but Dad was trappedalone.Mum died when we were kids — I was ten, Ben was five. He doesn’t remember her, not really, just stories from Dad and me. But Dad kept her memory alive every day. Never remarried. Just devoted himself to us — and he did a bloody good job.
Dad was diagnosed with MS,Multiple Sclerosis,in his early twenties. For years he was fine, apart from the old stumble, or leg cramps, I never noticed anything was wrong. But as I got older I saw the signs. He never wanted carers. Claimed he could do everything himself. I’d help out where I could, and that was about all he’d tolerate. But when lockdown hit, I couldn’t pop round to grab dishes, lift things, or make sure he’d eaten.
One morning, I rang like always. No answer. I figured he was showering or asleep, so I tried again later — exceptlaterturned into several calls late into theevening.By seven, I couldn’t wait any longer. I was in the car, panicking. I had a spare key, but I still knocked, hoping.
When I found him lying on the kitchen floor, pale and shaking, I thought he was dead. He’d fallen the night before trying to get water and couldn’t get up.
That image still haunts me.
He was dehydrated, weak, barely conscious. I called an ambulance. They got him rehydrated, fed, patched up — but he never walked again after that. I’m not sure if it’s the MS or battles within his mind that stops him from using his legs. But either way, he remains in his chair, day in and day out. I swore then I’d take care of him. Work would never come first again.He’d be my priority, like I was his. He finally accepted some help. We interviewed a lovely woman called Bernice and she comes to help him in the morning and evening. Babysteps.
Matilda took the brunt of that shift. I doubled her workload, dumped all my frustration and anger on her. I’m not proud of it. Jas has been trying to help me “soften up.” Not sure how well that’s going after last night, but at least I’m trying.
