Page 101 of The Jealous Girl

The one who’d betrayed me to Charlotte, exposing my social media stalking to her?

Or the one who’d loved me once?

I flicked the latch and pulled the door open, acutely aware of my facial expression. Should I smile? Be serious? Sympathetic? What was the appropriate greeting here?

‘Hey,’ I said, keeping my tone flat.

He looked at me for a moment before speaking, a tired weariness radiating from him. ‘It’s good to see you, Kirsty.’

I hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond to that. In the end I simply stepped back, allowing him entry and closing the door behind him.

He walked straight into the living room and dropped on the sofa in the space that had once been his.

It felt familiar.

Too familiar.

As though he still belonged here.

‘Cup of tea?’ I asked.

Make us a nice cup of tea. You’re good at that.

Janine’s voice accompanied my offer.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t need anything, thanks. Other than to be here with you.’ He closed his eyes and relaxed into the back of the sofa.

He looked different to the man I’d encountered in the gym car park. Then, he’d been tense and preoccupied. Now he looked calm.

‘How are you doing?’

It felt the wrong question to ask, but what was the right one?

Ryan puffed out his cheeks and blew out a slow breath. ‘It’s been a strange day.’

I waited for more, but it didn’t come.

I searched his face for something familiar. Some clue to what he was thinking. I used to be able to read the silences between us. The things he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud. But now…

He felt more closed off than ever. I couldn’t tell what he was feeling. About Charlotte. Her death.

Me.

Guilt churned in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t about me. Once again, our lives had somehow become about her.

They were supposed to be together. A couple. Which implied he loved her.

Maybe more than he’d loved me.

I pushed that thought away.

I should be sympathetic. He needed a friend right now. He needed me.

Of course Charlotte was important to him. He’d known her for years. She was young. Her death was tragic.

Even if it didn’t feel that way to me.

‘What happened?’ I asked tentatively, as I sank down on the opposite end of the sofa. It felt cruel to ask him for details. To make him relive the loss. The pain. But I needed to know. Needed to be sure.