“W-what?” He stands up hesitantly. “I need to get the bus to?—”
“I know, you need to go home. I’m driving you, get in.”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. I wait patiently, trying not to snap at him to just get in the fucking car. My heart is already racing at the thought of being in such close proximity to him.
Bailey finally moves; he puts his bag in the back and slides into the passenger seat. I thought I’d have several hours to myself so I could think of what I want to say to him, but now I’m drowning in the silence, unsure how to approach any of this.
“Why are you driving me?” Bailey asks, just as I finish crossing the Skye Bridge.
“We need to talk.”
I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my head, but I keep facing the road. It’s hard enough to concentrate with him sitting so close, let alone being tempted to check if his eyes are the ones from my nightmares.
“I tried to talk to you yesterday, but you wouldn't let me,” he says, voice tight.
“Icouldn’ttalk to you yesterday.”
He’s silent for so long that my eyes drift over to him. He’s facing away from me, staring out the window, left hand balled into a fist under his chin, and his right, bandaged up, resting on his thigh.
“I’ve done some thinking since, and I think we need to?—”
“My therapist told me that I should remove myself from a situation when I feel overwhelmed.” Bailey interrupts. “I should have left when you said you wished you’d never met me. I knew I wasn’t in control, but I kept pushing. I’m sorry, Teddy—I didn’t mean to scare you, but that fucking hurt.” His voice breaks, and when I look at him, he’s staring right back at me with tears in his eyes. “I haven’t felt like that since the night you left. Like you shoved your hand into my chest and ripped out my heart—throwing everything back in my face like that.”
I bristle at the accusation and turn back to face the road. “Why can’t you remember anything?” I ask through a tight jaw.
“I didn’t want to do it,” Bailey says, so quietly I almost miss it.
“Do what?”
He lifts a hand to swipe at his cheeks, and I shift in my seat, instantly uncomfortable. My mind decides to assault me with images of a younger Bailey breaking down, crying in my arms. I had always been the one he could rely on to hold him together, and now I’m the one breaking him apart. I try to tell myself that he broke me first, but it feels like a lie. The truth is staring me right in the face. I just need to piece it all together before I let myself fully pull down the walls I’ve been struggling to hold up for so long.
“I didn’t want to break up with you. Shane made me do it.”
What?“How did Shane make you break up with me?” That’s the second time he’s mentioned his brother in two days. When Bailey moved in with me, he cut contact with not just his mother, but Shane also, as far as I was aware.
“I thought that he’d hurt you.” His breathing gets louder, coming in quick bursts, until he’s gasping for air. “Pull over!” he says suddenly.
I drive another few hundred yards, then pull into a lay-by, stopping just in time as Bailey swings the door open and jumps out. He doubles over with his hands on his knees, sucking in air.A few seconds pass by as I war with myself over whether I should help him or not.
My body moves before my mind’s made up, rushing over to him, hovering by his side. Being this close to him settles me slightly, but I can’t bring myself to touch him.
“Why would he hurt me?” I ask.
Bailey rocks back, collapsing onto his arse, resting his head in his shaking hands. “He didn’t want me getting in trouble, so he said that if I didn’t break up with you and come home, he would make sure you’d never want to go near me again.”
“Hewhat?” My jaw clenches tight. I feel my reality dissolving around me, the edges of my vision darkening. “Why would you get into trouble?” I stare down at him, waiting for an answer, heart pounding in my chest. When he finally looks up at me and we lock eyes, I see it again—rings of gold, flaring out into a sea of blue. Something I’d never thought too hard about when I was a kid. I’d known he was beautiful, but I’d never paid enough attention to his face. I saw him every day for a year, yet somehow I missedthis. He was just Bailey.MyBailey.
I should have paid more attention. I should have counted his freckles every day, should have noticed the patterns in them, the curve of his lips. I should have realised that those weren’t the eyes staring back at me while I begged for my life.
I grab Bailey by his good hand and haul him up. We stand inches apart, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not scared. “Get in the car.”
I need to tell him what happened to me that night, and if what I’m thinking is correct, then it’s something he deserves to know.
Bailey gets back in the car, and I slam my door. I’m not dealing with this in a lay-by on the A595.
BAILEY - EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
“Finally,”Teddy says as he flings his front door open, grabbing my shirt and pulling me into him. He wraps his arms around me and picks me up. The skin on my back pulls tight and I suck in a breath. I’ve waited an extra couple of weeks to come home so that my burns would heal enough, but everything’s still sensitive. I do my best to ignore the pain, wrapping my legs around his waist, clinging to him, burying my face into his curls, and breathing him in.
