A tense pause followed, just the sound of the wheels on my case between us.

  ‘Look . . . um, that’s why we should go somewhere else instead. I can explain, but—’

  I turned to give him a quick head shake.

  ‘Oh, no, no, no. You’re not getting away with anything – you’re going to grow a pair and straighten shit out right there. No persuading me into drinks and fuck knows what else in some overpriced shithole.’

  I glanced around at the places and streets I knew so well, all coated in a film of grime from the pollution. Sirens blazed down towards Liverpool Street, and as I strode on, feet still entirely comfortable in my cowboy boots, I wondered what the hell I was doing here.

  ‘Before we go in, you need to know that it was a fuck-up on my part, okay? I’m owning that, no excuses.’

  We turned a corner, the familiar black door of our studio straight ahead. Even as his words landed, they didn’t wholly compute. I just wanted to be back in my space, my place of creative calm, the simple meditation of my craft having been the salve to so many situations over the years.

  Crossing the road as we approached, I realized it was dark inside.

  I slowed to a stop, tapping my phone to check the time, suddenly wondering if jet lag had messed with my time perception. But no – it was 2.30 p.m. Way into our opening hours.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked, glancing back to realize Cal had slipped back, allowing a greater distance to open between us. His eyes were wary, holding up a hand.

  ‘Wait – let me just explain first . . .’

  Ignoring him, I took out my keys, jamming the right one into the lock before he could stop me, and walking into . . . another living nightmare.

  It was trashed.

  I let go of my case, leaving it in the doorway, and stepped through. My mouth was fully agape as I took in the utter carnage around me. It made our flat look like a fucking show home.

  Graffiti was sprayed everywhere – even, I recognized with a start, Cal’s old tag sign from our uni days. It mocked my own hand-drawn cherry blossom on the back wall. Broken glass was scattered across the floor, cans and more rubbish strewn over every surface.

  I went further in, heart in my mouth as I turned the corner into the back room, my room. My custom-made red chair was covered in what looked like vomit. It stank – of piss and stale beer. As I turned, unable to disguise my horror, Cal appeared in the doorway.

  For one awful moment, I tried to rationalize it. A break-in? Squatters, even. But as I looked up at one of Cal’s own spray-paint tags right above his head, I knew.

  For years we had swum together in a filthy pit of past trauma, each holding the other down until neither of us could see a way out. Until Lottie had left – my one chink of light in the darkness, the one person I knew was always there, holding onto me through everything. That had forced me to move, to let go of Cal’s grip and swim out, climb up.

  And there, at the top, had been Jesse – and Lottie, Bailey, Cole, Dee, Luci . . . a whole other world I’d never allowed myself to imagine existed.

  Now the contrast was gut-wrenchingly sharp.

  Cal had always, and would always, be on a mission to self-destruct. The minute I’d decided to pull myself out of his fucking black-hole orbit was the minute he’d decided to literally piss all over the only good thing we’d actually shared.

  ‘You fucking bastard,’ I snarled, watching as he tried to think his way through the possible excuses.

  ‘It was just one of those things – listen, it was a heavy night, Dion got hold of a whole load of pills and the party got really fucked up . . . I didn’t mean it to go this far. We can get it cleaned up, I swear . . .’

  I launched myself at him, restraint lost as I pushed him back into the wall, screaming at him in frustration as his hands closed around my wrists, forcing me back.

  ‘I fucking hate you,’ I yelled, fresh tears welling, stinging as they fell, the skin still raw.

  ‘I fucking hate myself too,’ he shouted back, struggling as I put all my weight into getting free of him. ‘Just like you hate yourself. Just like we’ve always been. You can’t change any more than I can. Look at you! The same thing every fucking time!’

  With a final shove, I brought the hard heel of my boot down on his soft trainer. He let me go with a yelp, swearing as he stumbled.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ I shouted, moving back from him, closer to the front door. ‘It’s not the same. I don’t think I do hate myself, Cal. I hate what’s happened to me in my past, and I hate that I’ve wallowed in it for so long. But I’m done.’

  I half stumbled, half ran out, swearing as I realized my damn case would prevent me from storming off in the way I so desperately needed to.

  Pulling out my phone and navigating to the Uber app, I blindly booked the first one I could see, my hand shaking as I tapped the screen.

  Moments later, Cal emerged, eyeing me warily.

  ‘I’m going to sort it out and clear it—’

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare go in there again,’ I hissed, internally begging for the cab to arrive, desperate to get away from him, from the fucking horror inside the place I’d loved. ‘I will deal with this, and when I’m done, I’m going to buy you out of the business and never see you again. If you try anything, anything at all to stop me, I swear to fucking God that I will make your miserable life even more of a living hell.’ I paused, seeing the Uber approach. ‘We are done, Cal.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? I can prove it, I can prove I was in hospital,’ he said, a new desperation in his eyes, pulling out his phone. ‘I’ll get someone to send me my notes or something.’

  The driver opened the boot of the car, jumping out to help me lift my case in.

  ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ I said, opening the back door, gripping it like a shield between us. ‘I didn’t come back for you. I don’t care –’ I stopped myself, making a sudden, new pact with myself. I did care about him, deep down, but not in the way he might want. ‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Cal. But I didn’t come back for that.’

  ‘So what, then?’ he replied, throwing his hands up.

  I shook my head as I sat down, quietly giving the driver the name of the first hotel that came to mind as he climbed back into his seat.

  ‘For our business. For everything we put into that,’ I replied softly. ‘And because I didn’t deserve to stay.’

  He swore as I closed the door. The driver waited for a gap in the passing traffic to pull out.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hestia,’ Cal shouted, his voice muffled through the glass. ‘I can’t do it without you.’

  I looked back at him – at five years of my life.

  As the cab pulled away, I faced forward, determined to keep it that way.

  CHAPTER 19

  HESTIA

  Almost a week back in London, and I was still a stranger in my home city.

  Staying at a small budget hotel on the other side of Shoreditch, working from a nearby café run by a friend, I was more aware than ever that my situation was precarious at best. Thanks to my aggressive saving habits, built in early on in a bid to build any sense of security in my life post-uni, I had a sizeable lump sum put aside to work with.

  But – if I was going to buy Cal out of our business, find myself a place and get some kind of new life together . . . shit was about to get expensive.

  I’d resisted calling Diane, not quite able to bear the thought of upsetting her in the way I knew it would. Away from the shock and anger of my first day back, the whole thing had actually felt incredibly . . . sad. Seeing Cal locked in a toxic spiral; realizing I’d passively allowed myself to spiral with him for years, figuring that’s all there was for me.

  Until . . . Wyoming. Jesse.

  I slid my headphones on and nestled into the dim back corner of the café, blocking out the aggressively emo tunes. Sienna, the manager and a longtime client of mine, winced apologetically from behind the bar. I smiled, shrugging, knowing it was what her regulars wanted, knowing what I would do to counteract it.

  So, against a backdrop of country music, I continued to unpick Cal’s trail of destruction. Industrial cleaners were now booked to deep clean the studio in a couple of days. I spent the next couple of hours reaching out to our crew of artists and existing clients – chatting briefly to some, emailing others, spinning the studio closure as a refurb.

  As I paused after ordering some lunch, Jesse’s song started to play. I hesitated over the playlist, about to skip, but . . . couldn’t.

  Every emotion from those last moments at the rodeo flooded back over me, replaying his tortured expression, the way he’d told me he loved me. It haunted me every night as I tried to get to sleep, sometimes lying there for hours, wondering if he regretted it, regretted me.

  Holding my arm around myself, I opened my messages, reading the last few between us. Our proximity at the ranch had meant there weren’t many, but the few that were there . . . I could picture his easy, confident smile, the way it changed when he drew close to me. How he felt on me, in me . . .

  I closed my eyes, digging my nails into my side.

  I wanted to message him so badly. I wanted to speak to him, tell him everything, beg for forgiveness. But without any solution, without seeing any way of going back to Wyoming . . . wouldn’t we just be in the same place as before? Wouldn’t it be selfish to message him now, rather than let him just forget and move on?

  As my lunch arrived, my phone lit up, startling me out of my reverie.

  Dee.

  Staring at it in disbelief, I picked up.

  ‘Dee?’

  ‘Oh hey! Goddamn, it’s nice to hear your accent again,’ she giggled. ‘How’s home?’

  I swallowed the real answer, not willing to risk a breakdown in public. In truth, hearing her Wyoming drawl was enough to trigger a lump in my throat as it was.

  ‘It’s so nice to hear your voice,’ I admitted, feeling her pause down the line, cursing myself for not disguising my tone better. ‘It’s been . . . fine, I guess.’ I shifted in my seat, grimacing at myself, knowing I couldn’t lie. ‘Actually, no. It’s been hard. I hadn’t realized how much I’d checked out of my own life.’

  ‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry,’ she soothed. ‘We all miss you. Jesse most of all, I think. Still, you know how guys can just tuck it all away and get straight back on the horse, right?’

  I hummed in agreement, another twist of pain at the mention of his name.

  ‘Listen, I had something I wanted to ask. The Collective open day was a huge success, a whole bunch of us have been talking about doing another one maybe. I know you’re back over there now, but if you were gonna come over again, there’s a big fucking queue of people here wanting your magic on their skin.’

  I blinked, not expecting it.

  ‘I was just thinking it over, you know, trying to join up some dots. I want to expand my own clothes line, swap out some of the branded stuff for my own. Better margins and all that. Your design did so well, I just wondered, with demand for your tattoo skills too . . . and Bailey told me about the whole volunteer idea Lil’s had for the Diamond Back. I don’t know, I just think there’s so much space for you here, honey.’

  I felt a surge of gratitude for Dee, for thinking of me. For all of them.

  ‘Oh . . . I . . . yeah, I mean, that all sounds amazing,’ I began, trying to compute it against the backdrop of all I’d started organizing for the studio in the past week. ‘I just – I’m trying to sort things out here a little. My ex – my business partner, he’s kind of fucked things up with the studio.’ I sighed, suddenly deflated. ‘Then there’s visas and all of that stuff, even if I could come back.’

  ‘Well, look, I don’t want to add any complication, but maybe just think on it. I just wanted you to know you had options, from someone . . . not quite so tied up in all the emotional stuff, you know?’

  ‘Thanks, Dee. It means a lot,’ I replied, feeling myself strain against the need to hold it all together.

  We said our goodbyes, hanging up shortly after, a silence ringing in my headphones. I stared at the screen, seeing her shop in my mind instead, the buzz of the Collective open day. In a second, the Messages app was open, my last message to Jesse there on the screen. Before I could stop myself, I tapped out a message.

  I’m so sorry for how we said goodbye. What you said meant everything.

  I paused, warring with myself, desperate not to hurt him further but needing him to know. I tapped send before I could delete it, adding:

  Please take care of yourself x

  The messages appeared in boxes on the screen, and then the tiny ticks below to show they’d been sent. As I half swiped to close the app, in the next second, a second tick appeared next to each message.

  He’d read them. He was reading them right now.

  I closed my phone, putting it screen facing down on the table, my heart racing as though he could somehow see me.

  Wolfing down my lunch, I eyed my phone like an unexploded bomb, driving myself insane with wondering if he’d messaged back.

  Glancing at the clock on the back wall behind me, I realized I had limited time left before meeting up with Lil as arranged earlier in the week. The thought of meeting Lottie’s blonde twin felt like exactly what I wanted and needed.

  An hour later, walking into the pub I’d suggested, I spotted her immediately.

  Head thrown back in laughter, she sat on one of the sofa seats, cowboy boot up on the edge of the coffee table in front, hand linked with a guy to her left. She looked every inch the cowgirl, and he looked every inch like he couldn’t believe his luck.

  ‘Howdy,’ I said, smiling as I approached, watching as she jumped up, her smile and mannerisms so incredibly Lottie that I felt a pang of sadness.

  ‘Hestia! Holy shit, girl,’ she said, stepping over the guy, who watched with amused curiosity as we hugged. He was cute, with cropped brown hair and inquisitive eyes, an earring and an impressive full sleeve of tats on his left arm. His fitted T-shirt left nothing to the imagination as Lil pulled me back, gripping my arms to look at me.

  ‘You are so damn pretty in person,’ she chuckled. ‘Jesse wasn’t exaggerating. I know we met on screen, but there’s only so much you can tell like that, you know?’

  I smiled, shrugging.

  ‘Hey, I’m Jamie,’ the guy said after an affectionate glance at Lil. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘I deny everything,’ I joked, giving him a brief hug too before sitting down, resisting the urge to check my phone again. The initial surge of adrenaline at knowing Jesse had read my messages had mutated into anxiety as nothing came back through in return.

  As the three of us talked – them about their sightseeing, adventures in and around London and trips out to other parts of the country Lil had wanted to see – I found myself holding onto her voice. It was so unmistakably of her hometown; even the way she said ‘Jackson’ made me smile.

  ‘You know, I’ve got to admit that hearing you . . .’ I shook my head as I took a sip of my drink, suspecting I should’ve steered away from alcohol, the way it opened things up. ‘I really fucking miss the ranch. Everyone.’

  ‘Everyone, huh?’ she said, raising her eyebrows for a moment, watching my reaction. ‘Yeah, my hometown has that effect on people.’ She glanced at Jamie, smiling. ‘I was only telling him that before you came in. And look –’ She pointed to my cowboy boots with satisfaction. ‘I told you. Once you’re in, that place doesn’t let you go.’

  I smiled back, not needing to admit that I hadn’t been able to swap the boots out for my DMs or any of my other shoes.

  ‘So if you do get volunteers over there, on the ranch,’ Jamie started, tracing his finger on the back of her hand. ‘How are you going to get them to leave?’

  Lil laughed again, her eyes lighting up as they met his.

  I had to look away. The emotion was so obvious, so visceral that it felt like a slap.

  ‘Well, I’ll be needing security of some kind,’ she answered, her voice dipping as he smiled with her. ‘Hey, did I mention Jamie had an idea alongside the volunteering, Hestia? It falls in your wheelhouse, kinda.’

  I shook my head, knocking back the rest of my drink, hoping it might numb the growing tension in my gut.

  Jamie explained his idea, of offering a creative retreat at the ranch, of writers and artists coming to take some time out in the peace and sanctuary of the space there. It made complete sense. Yet more memories of sitting by the lake sketching came to mind.

  ‘I love it,’ I said simply as Lil clapped her hands together. ‘I’ve done a couple myself, a few years ago. People pay good money for that kind of thing,’ I added, thinking how well it would complement the ranch – how much more space there was to use alongside the horses and all the existing activities Lottie managed.

  ‘We’d need someone to help manage it,’ Lil said softly, catching my eye as I looked up. ‘You’ve got the kind of skill set we could justify a visa for, you know,’ she added, her eyes fixed on my reaction. ‘I’ve looked it up. Might take a little while to organize, but it’s all possible.’

  I drew a breath, suddenly connecting dots. I hadn’t spoken to Lottie since coming back, but we’d messaged back and forth. The tenor of hers had been apologetic, full of love and promises to make things better, whatever that meant.

  ‘You’ve been speaking to Lottie, haven’t you?’ I surmised, studying Lil just as hard as she kept her face entirely neutral. Jamie’s expression told a different story, a sly smile hurriedly tucked away as he got up to get us more drinks.

  ‘I talk to my cousin, yes,’ she admitted, shrugging. ‘What of it?’

  I sighed.

  ‘It’s not just about visas, Lil,’ I admitted, scuffing my boot against the worn floorboard. ‘I’m not sure . . . well, it’s complicated with Jesse—’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she cut in, shaking her head, meeting my surprise with the same kindness in her eyes I’d seen a thousand times before in Lottie’s. ‘It’s simple. You don’t feel like you deserve Jesse, and you think he’s better off without you, right?’