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“I love someone,” she whispers, “so bad, it hurts.”
I’ve never seen Mae with a man. She just doesn’t bother with all that stuff. “Does he feel the same?”
“He doesn’t know how I feel. I’m scared to tell him in case I mess up our friendship.”
“Any man would be honoured to have you love him, Mae. You should tell him.”
“What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Then it’s his loss.” I stand. “Sleep it off and everything will feel better tomorrow.”
I head for the door. “Ace, I need to tell you something.” My hand freezes on the door handle. “I know this seems weird and completely out of the blue—” I grip the handle tighter, hoping to god she’s not about to say what I think she is.
“No,” I hiss, turning to face her. “Don’t say it. Don’t finish that sentence,” I warn. She’s talking crazy. Mae is two years older than my own daughter. I knew her father. I watch in horror as she stands and wobbles her way towards me.
“You said to tell him,” she cries.
“Mae, I’m fifteen years older than you.”
“It’s just a number.”
“It is not just a number, otherwise, they wouldn’t put age limits on shit.”
MAE
I see the confusion on Ace’s face, but still, I keep talking, trying to convince him that my stupid crush is worth the risk. My brain is willing me to shut the fuck up, but as I get closer to him and inhale his spicy aftershave, I lunge forward, planting a kiss somewhere near his mouth but not close enough to get it on his lips. It’s not how I’d pictured it going, and I wince at the horrified expression on his face.
“Say something,” I whisper, but he continues to stare at me like I’ve grown an extra head, and then he backs out the room, closing the door firmly behind him so I don’t follow. “Fuck,” I mumble out loud. “Fuck, shit, fuck.”
I crawl into bed, the awful messed-up feeling not leaving my stomach as I bury myself under my sheets. How will I ever face him after that mortifying confession?
By the morning, the shame hasn’t left me. I clean my face of last night’s makeup and drag a brush through my tangled hair. Then I pull on my workout clothes, needing to run off this hangover. I get downstairs to find a few of the guys asleep on the couches. They won’t rise until at least midday, but I’m sure Queenie and my mum, Bernie, will clear them off to their rooms once they’re up and about. They like a tidy place.
I’m careful not to wake them as I sneak out. I was hoping Dodge, Ace’s Staffordshire bull terrier dog, would be waiting for me. He’s a rescue dog of sorts. Ace found him dumped on the industrial estate where the club is based. Dodge doesn’t trust many people, but he loves me and will often come out for a run with me. I give a low whistle, but he still doesn’t appear, and I wonder if Ace ended up going back to Angel’s last night after I’d scared him off.
I run for half an hour. My lungs are burning, but the hangover is definitely clearing. As I round the last straight road home, Dodge comes bounding up to me, jumping around me excitedly. I stroke him, talking high-pitched and burying my face into his neck. I look up at Ace, who is also dressed in his running gear. “Hungover?” he asks.
“Not anymore,” I mutter, standing straighter.
“Thought a run would clear my head,” he says, his voice gravelly and low, “but it hasn’t helped.”
“Look, about last night—” I begin, knowing it’s better to face this shit head-on.
He shakes his head, cutting me off with his frostiness. “I don’t want to ever discuss it again, Mae, not EVER! Is that clear?”
I’m taken aback. I know I caught him off guard, but seriously? “Let me just say—”
“NO!” he snaps, getting closer. “No. We’re never gonna happen. I’m old enough to be your father. Lucy is only two years younger than you.” He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “What did you think would happen, Mae? That we’d run off happily into the sunset? You shouldn’t have told me.”
“You told me to,” I protest.
“I didn’t know you meant me.”
“I can’t help how I feel,” I mumble.
“Don’t. Don’t do that sad face like I’m in the wrong here. I knew your father, Mae. We were friends when you were just a kid. Fuck, you stillarea kid to me.”
“I’m twenty-five, hardly a kid. You’re overreacting, and you don’t need to yell at me.”
