Where the Heart Is (Hearts Series Book 1) Read online

  “Oh right, I see,” Simon says.

  What does he see exactly?

  “No, you don’t,” I say, raising my voice as I wrap my arm over my stomach.

  “Right, if you say so. I’ll let you get back to rekindling or whatever it is you were doing,” he says, insinuation laced in his words.

  I roll my eyes, and turn my back to Nate, putting a little distance between us.

  “We’re just catching up, that’s all. Please stop implying otherwise.”

  I hear him sigh, then the bed squeak, and the ruffle of the cushions in the background.

  I pinch the skin under my elbow, biting the inside of my mouth.

  “Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m being such an arsehole.”

  “Well, don’t be an arsehole, then,” I say as I kick at the dirt beneath my feet.

  “Duly noted. Call me later?” I can hear the smile back in his voice. That’s the Simon I know and love.

  “Of course, love you,” I say, smiling back.

  “Love you too,” he says, before ending the call.

  Turning back to Nate, I find him scanning through the pictures. It’s one of the reasons I still prefer film—the prolonged gratification of seeing how your pictures turn out when you develop them.

  “Looks like somebody has a hidden talent,” he says, his eyes smiling.

  My face heats at his words.

  “You know about photography, do you?” I’m sceptical about my photography at the best of times.

  “I don’t need to. It’s obvious,” he says, looking me in the eye.

  “It’s mediocre at best,” I say, trying to wave it off.

  “Don’t be so modest, Flick. Just accept the damn compliment.” Bossy Nate.

  “Thank you.” My stomach tingles as I look down at my hands.

  I stretch out my arm for the camera, but he holds it out of my reach. I take a step forward. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

  He brings the camera closer to him, looking at the viewfinder, holding his finger over the button. The noise of a shutter is what I hear just as I turn away, my face heating. I turn back.

  “Camera, please.”

  He moves toward me, his hand extended. Just as I think he’s going to pass it to me, he pulls me into his side instead. His arm wraps over my shoulder, and I fit perfectly under his armpit. I feel like a dwarf—his body towering over mine, but the contact is welcome, and my stomach flutters to attention.

  “Say cheese,” he says into my ear.

  I smile, but I feel my lips twitch as his warm breath spreads over my cheek. He chuckles softly in my ear, snapping a shot of the two of us before letting me go, and handing my camera back.

  “A keepsake…so you don’t forget about me.” All humour is gone with his words.

  “As if I’d forget about you,” I say, swatting his arm.

  “No, you just walked away,” he says, blunt and to the point. He might as well have slapped me in the face.

  “Come off it, Nate. It wasn’t like that, and you know it.” I clench hold of my wrist, searching out my hairband.

  “Do I? All I know is I was trying to do right by you, and even that ended up being wrong.”

  I shake my head.

  “You were right, though. At the time, I mean. I wasn’t ready,” I say on a breathy admission that leaves me feeling vulnerable.

  “Maybe not, but that’s not why I put the brakes on.” He pulls at a leaf and picks at it.

  His response throws me, and now I’m curious.

  “So, why did you?” I shift from one foot to the other.

  “Does it even matter now?” He flicks the remains of the leaf into the bush.

  I sigh.

  “Yes. Of course, it does,” I say. I don’t know why I’m pushing him. I don’t even think I want the truth, but I appear to be on a roll.

  “Fine. I was worried that once we did it, that it would change our friendship, and I didn’t want to rush you. But I lost your friendship, anyway.” His words feel like a paper cut—so quick until the sharpness of the sting comes to life.

  “Okay…granted I haven’t been a stellar friend. But I reached out to you, come on you know I did. I’d never not be there for you,” I say, licking my dry lips.

  He takes my hand in his. Warmth stirs low in my belly.

  “So, why didn’t you come back?” he asks, squeezing my hand, his eyes begging me to answer.

  I look past his shoulder, unable to make eye contact.

  “I was embarrassed. Rejected, so that Christmas I avoided coming back. Then it wasn’t long after you moved on.” Why am I opening up a can of worms?

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t in a good place back then. I messed up. And then to add insult to injury, it was plastered all over Facebook,” he says, his lips forming a grimace.

  “I wonder, though, if the cat hadn’t been let out of the bag…would you have told me?” I ask, summoning my strength to look him in the eye as I wait for a response.

  He looks to his feet, then back to my face.

  “Yes. I don’t like secrets, you know that—even when they hurt,” he replies, and I believe him.

  “I wonder if we had…you know? Do you think things might have worked out differently?” I ask, stepping from one foot to the other.

  He shrugs. “Who the hell knows? Besides, in hindsight, I was more experienced than you,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

  Boys.

  “Come off it, you were hardly an expert,” I say, trying to hold back my smile.

  “No. But it was enough for me to know. Your first time should be special.” His hand covers my shoulder—it’s gentle, yet firm.

  Why does he have this effect on me?

  “It’s a moot point now. You’re with Simon,” he says, removing his hand, that small moment of familiarity now gone.

  “Me and Simon…it’s complicated. We’re not together–together,” I say, using air quotes.

  “So…what? You just hook up?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  I feel unsettled at how quick this conversation turned. Do I look like the kind of person who hooks up? To each their own, but that’s not me.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice as I cross my arms.

  He looks up, tilting his head back before making eye contact with me again.

  “Oh, come on. You aren’t stupid, you know? Late night booty calls…fuck buddies…”

  His tone is condescending. Disdainful. He couldn’t be further from the truth if he tried.

  Who does he think he is? It’s hot, too hot—I can feel sweat dripping between my shoulder blades.

  “You think I’m promiscuous?” My mouth feels dry, and my chest tight—I try to swallow. I clutch my fist tight, my nails dig into my palm, and then I grab at my wrist.

  He shakes his head.

  “Now you’re just putting words in my mouth. I never said you were a slut—I’m not judging your relationship with him. I just don’t see the point in beating around the bush. If you’re fuck buddies, and that’s all…” he says, his chest rising and falling.

  I blow out short, deep breaths—my heart palpitating, the erratic beat feeling like my heart is going to pump out of my chest.

  This is not good.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Come on—” he reaches for me, “—are you okay?”

  I hold up my palm, shaking from adrenaline. He needs to back off and give me space. I shake my head in warning, my hair falling from my messy bun. He steps closer.

  “You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong? Do you have asthma or something?” His voice sounds desperate now.

  I shake my head, but it adds to my dizziness. My legs feel like heavy weights. I slump to the ground hard and put my head between my knees.

  “Shit, just breathe.” I hear the concern in his voice, as he begins to rub my back.

  I want to scream at him…shut up and stop touching me. But I can’t catch my brea
th—the air won’t come.

  He says something, but I can’t hear it. It’s drowned out. Too far away. Everything slows, though my heart races. White spots pepper the world. It’s cloudy, shifting, hazy.

  And then it all goes dark.

  Chapter Five

  “Shit, are you okay?” It’s Nate—he sounds worried.

  Smooth, cool fingertips skim over my brow and brush away the hair stuck to my face. I still his hand, lightly moving it away. Bringing the back of my trembling hand to my forehead, I try to regain some sort of decorum, shaking off my disorientation.

  “Did I pass out?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question—my head is in his lap.

  I am mortified.

  I sit up too quickly, lightheaded and off balance, but his hands steady my shoulders. I breathe in deeply, waiting before getting to my feet. Then without another word, I walk away.

  I can feel him close as I frog-march myself towards the house. Even if I couldn’t see him from my peripheral vision, I’d know the weight of that stare anywhere. The intensity of it burns my skin. I’m hoping like hell I can make it back to my room without any further embarrassment.

  But the powers that be clearly have other ideas.

  Standing in front of me, are our Grandmothers. Nana has her phone clenched in her grasp as her eyes flit between Nate and me with a wrinkled brow. Evie fingers her necklace mercilessly as she moves from one foot to the other.

  I stop mid-step, and turn on Nate.

  “They know?” I say, my voice trembling.

  His eyes give him away before he answers me.

  “What was I supposed to do?” he asks, throwing his hands in the air.

  I shake my head and cross my arms.

  He takes a deep breath, running a jerky hand through his hair. “I thought something was seriously fucking wrong. I thought you were having an asthma attack,” he says, the heat from his words radiating through him before he clenches his jaw shut, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. His eyes darken and tense as they try to hold my stare.

  I turn away and come face to face with my Nana. She takes hold of my hand, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at her. She brings the back of her hand to my forehead—checking my temperature. It’s all for pretence. She knows what happened.

  “Felicity, dear, you should go lie down. I think the news of Lawry, and the flight caught up with you,” she says, more for Nate’s benefit than my own.

  I’m grateful for the pretence, but Nate isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s more than that, and right now I don’t have the inclination or the strength to worry about it. I need space, and I need to get away from him so I can breathe. I nod in agreement and head towards the house.

  “I’m sorry!” Nate calls after me. He sounds genuinely apologetic. I close my eyes.

  “Nathaniel, what did you do?”

  I stop walking. My stomach clenches when I think of the scolding he got for making me bleed all those years ago. Turning around to gauge the trouble he’s in, I falter in my steps. Evie’s scowl is fixed on her grandson, the lines on her forehead and the ones around her eyes stark—like they’re slicing through her fragile skin in an attempt to quell her anger at Nate. She’s never looked older—more exhausted—than she does at this moment. The weight of losing the love of her life, and the stress of what I’m bringing them with my bullshit, is sucking her dry. I close my eyes and clench my fists. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to do more damage, and add to the crap that life has already dealt her.

  “Nothing,” I call out to her. “He didn’t do anything. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all. Please just forget about it.” I feel light headed. To steady myself, I press my palm against the doorframe and turn back around.

  Nate rushes to my side, and before I have a chance to realise what he’s doing, an arm goes behind my knees—the other around my back—as he knocks me off my feet, lifting me into his arms. A whoosh of air escapes my lips. What the hell?

  “Oh my God, Nate, put me down,” I say, clinging to his top, worried the idiot will drop me. What is wrong with him?

  He shakes his head.

  “No can do. You looked a bit peaky like you were going to faint again,” he says, too close to my face.

  “I’m fine. Put me down, already.” I lean back, trying to wriggle free. He shakes his head…again. Stubborn arsehole.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. My body is at war with my head and heart. It should feel wrong, being held in his arms like this, but for the first time in a long time, this gives me a small reprieve—a sense of safety. His grip doesn’t falter or wane as he holds me securely in his arms.

  He pushes the door open with the tip of his boot, not releasing me until he lowers me onto the bed, only inches from my face. Everything slows around me. But my heart rate speeds as my throat dries. I divert my eyes, and see my bra, hanging off the handle on the bedside table. I am officially done.

  His head turns, and I know he sees it—in all its glory…the most unflattering thing you’ve ever seen—the one with the huge hole in it.

  His face gives nothing away, except for the twitch of his lips, as he heads over to the window to pull the curtains closed.

  My Nana enters, carrying a glass of water.

  “I thought you might need this,” she says. I sit up as she hands me the water. I take a huge gulp, savouring the cool, refreshing liquid as it slides down my throat.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  I chew the inside of my cheek.

  “Maybe some headache tablets?” I say, ready to swing my legs off the bed, but she stops me.

  “I’ll get them. Where are they?” she asks, scanning the dressing table.

  I point to the ottoman

  “In my toiletry bag.”

  She rummages through it, and as she pulls out the packet of tablets, out flies a tampon.

  Somebody, please put me out of my misery and kill me now.

  When I do manage to swallow the tablets, an urge to retch grows in my belly. I hate taking medicine.

  Leaning down, she kisses me on my forehead—stroking away my loose hair. I feel like a little girl again as her lavender scent envelopes me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a scene—”

  She shushes me.

  “Felicity, stop it already. I love you...now rest,” she says, before kissing my forehead, then retreating to the door. She pauses her hand on the handle, staring at Nate with her eyebrows raised. It’s a silent warning. My eyes meet his, our gazes lingering, his face torn.

  “I just need a minute,” he croaks out.

  I look at Nana. She gives me a resigned shrug—a silent agreement.

  “A few minutes. Try not to upset her again,” she says in warning.

  I feel bad for him—it’s hardly his fault what happened. The sound of the door clicking shut is his signal to speak.

  “I’m sorry about what happened. I mean shit…I didn’t even know you have anxiety attacks.” He’s standing at the foot of my bed—his head down—but his eyes look up to meet mine.

  “Nate, it’s fine. Can we please forget about it?” I ask.

  I rack my brain, trying to think of some excuse to try and smooth this over—anything but the truth.

  “I don’t understand. We were talking, and everything seemed almost—normal, and then… I would never have upset you like that, not intentionally. It scared the shit out of me. You looked like you couldn’t breathe, and then you just blacked out,” he says, breathless, fisting the bedframe.

  “I haven’t had one in a while if it makes you feel any better,” I say, fidgeting with the cover.

  “Not really. I know whatever it is, you don’t want to tell me, and I get that. I mean…it’s not like I expect you to come back, everything like it was, you sharing all your deepest and darkest secrets,” he says, as he comes around the side of the bed. He reaches a hand out, as if to touch my leg, but thinks better of it—instead, stuffing his hands back into his
jean pockets.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath, then open them. His focus is solely on me, his eyes wistful as he searches my face.

  “I’ve been struggling with my nerves. It wasn’t so bad at first, but then it got worse. Believe it or not, it’s been getting better. I guess you could say I’ve…changed since you saw me last,” I say. This sounds so bloody mundane even to my ears. There is so much more to my words than I’m willing to let on. But right now, I couldn’t tell him even if I wanted to—I’m exhausted, and my eyelids are becoming heavy.

  “That’s evident, but you look tired. I’ll let you rest.”

  I watch him walk away, letting the door close behind him. Eyes heavy, it’s not long before darkness takes hold, and I’m being pulled back into the shadows.

  Closing the door behind me, I lean back and close my eyes. I know something is wrong…more than what she’s letting on. And I know one thing for sure—it bothered me earlier when she took those calls from Simon. It wasn’t lost on me the way her throat flushed, the red sprinkling in her cheeks when we were on the drive back from the airport.

  I made a point to keep myself busy and out of the way when we got back here. The last thing I wanted to do was sit around, playing happy families—like she didn’t go AWOL for two years.

  She’s different, though, and not in a good way. I noticed how she kept twisting the hairband around her wrist, pulling it back until it pinged back against her skin—tight enough to leave a mark. Does she even realise she’s doing it?

  We were best friends once. I could pretty much always tell what she was thinking, but...now it’s like she’s there, but no one’s home. Even the conversations we’ve had have been stilted, strained—like she’s overthinking what to say. Not to mention how jumpy she was when I woke her up, and when I touched her. She either flinched or tensed up.

  I was perfectly fine engrossed in my work. But when I heard her whistle to Laddie, I couldn’t stay hidden. And look how that ended up—her having a full-blown panic attack.