Page 62

fuck it

KIERAN

T he living room looks like a bomb’s gone off in a craft store and a takeaway.

Pizza boxes are stacked like a leaning tower of regret on the coffee table, crusts abandoned like forgotten promises. Someone—definitely Theo—has left a bag of popcorn in the corner, half-spilled and ignored. Blankets drape over every surface like they’ve given up trying to be folded.

In the middle of it all—a bead explosion.

Ellie’s curled up in the armchair, cardigan cocooned around her like a second skin, talking with Luca and Theo. Her face is relaxed, her laugh easy, and I can’t stop looking at her.

But I’m not sitting beside her. I’m cross-legged on the floor with Mia, who’s threading tiny plastic beads onto a string with the precision of a brain surgeon.

“No. Stop, stop!” she slaps my hand away like I’ve just committed bead-based treason. “You’re doing it backwards.”

“That’s possible?” I look at my jumble of string and colour. “You said blue, then yellow.”

“Yes, but look!” she says, nudging it toward me. “If you do yellow now, it throws off the whole pattern. You skipped one. Look.”

She gestures at my mess of mismatched colours like it’s offended her.

I just shrug and let her fix it.

There’s something calming about the way she moves through the task. Quiet and focused, completely absorbed.

A crash echoes across the room.

“ OW . Bloody hell, Naomi! Was that necessary?”

“If you’d moved your foot like I told you, I wouldn’t have had to elbow you in the spleen!”

I look over just in time to see Ryder sprawled across the rug, coiled beneath Naomi, who’s still clinging to the Twister mat like a warrior in battle.

“I think I pulled something,” Ryder groans.

Naomi grins, flushed and victorious. “My sympathy has left the fucking building.”

Luca sips his beer like he’s above it all. “You two realise you’re one round of Jenga away from foreplay, right?”

Naomi throws a cushion at his head. “Jealousy’s a disease, Luca. Get well soon.”

Laughter erupts, filling the room like it belongs here.

“Okay,” Mia says, focused again, “now try again. Properly . Don’t mess it up.”

“Yes, boss.” I loop the string, hyper-aware of her eyes on me.

From the corner of my eye, I glance toward Ellie. She’s watching me now, lips curled into a quiet smile that hits me dead in the chest.

There’s something in the way she looks at me, like I’m not just a guy sat on her rug being schooled by her daughter. Like I mean something.

I can’t look away. She tilts her head, and that smile deepens. Soft, a little knowing.

I grin back, helpless.

“Erm, hello?” Mia waves a half-finished bracelet in front of my face. “You’ve been staring at her for five minutes and this bracelet still needs more beads.”

“I wasn’t…” I clear my throat. “I was concentrating.”

Mia sighs like I’ve failed her. “You’re such a love-struck fool.”

“Love-struck fool,” Theo repeats without even looking. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Just snog already and save us all the tension,” Ryder mutters from the floor.

Ellie flushes, burying her face into her cardigan with a muttered, “You’re all insufferable.”

But she’s smiling. Properly smiling. And I swear, I’d live in this moment forever if I could.

Ellie checks the clock, then glances at Mia, still cross-legged on the rug, cheeks pink from hot chocolate and laughter. “Alright, bug,” she says, nudging Mia’s ankle, “it’s nearly eleven. Time to start winding down.”

Mia groans and flops onto the rug like the weight of bedtime is too much to bear. “I’m not even tired.”

“You just yawned into your hot chocolate,” Ellie deadpans.

“That was a sympathy yawn,” Mia says, pointing at Ryder. “He started it.”

“I did not,” Ryder protests, offended.

Mia looks at me. “Tell her I’m fine.”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “You’re not getting me in the middle of this.”

Ellie smirks. “Smart man.”

Mia gives in and stands, stretching like she’s just run a marathon.

Ellie grazes her hand across my shoulder as she walks past. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to leave my skin buzzing.

I watch them disappear down the hallway, something warm blooming low in my chest.

The others keep talking. Theo launching into a story about a stage dive gone wrong, Naomi already wheezing before he hits the punchline.

I grab the nearest popcorn bag and stand. “Alright, gremlins. I’m making a dent in this disaster zone.”

“You’re a good man, Hayes,” Luca says, raising his beer like a toast.

“Not all heroes wear capes,” Ryder adds from the floor, still tangled in the mat.

Naomi rolls her eyes. “If you find my will to live under the sofa cushions, let me know.”

I grin, chucking a napkin at her on my way past.

The kitchen’s quiet. Quieter than it’s been all night. The hush that settles after the laughter fades—after the games end, and the chaos thins into leftover crumbs and sticky fingerprints on the worktop.

I grab a bin bag from under the sink and start gathering the wreckage. Empty plates. Napkins scrunched into balls. Popcorn kernels are in the weirdest places.

Someone abandoned a juice box behind the kettle.

There’s a spoon stuck to the countertop with what might once have been Nutella, and one of the bead trays is wedged between the toaster and the bread bin like it’s hiding from the war.

Honestly? I don’t even mind.

This place, Ellie’s place, it doesn’t feel hollow like it did this afternoon. It doesn’t feel like a house that’s been paused. It’s alive.

The fridge hums. The boiler kicks in. Voices filter from the living room. Every bit of mess I clean feels like proof she’s getting her home back, one thread at a time.

I finish tying off the bin bag and sling it over my shoulder like some sort of domestic Santa. “Be back in a sec!” I call, though I doubt anyone’s listening.

Outside, the air is frosty. The kind that bites a little, but not enough to hurt. The patio’s slick from the evening rain, and the bins are tucked along the side of the fence.

I toss the bag in, sort the recycling like a functioning adult, and lean back for a moment. Hands on my hips, breath fogging the air.

There’s something about the night that makes everything feel clearer. As if the world has been stripped down to its bones.

That’s when I hear it. “Come here often?”

I turn, already smiling.

Ellie’s standing in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame like it’s a stage cue she’s hit a thousand times. Her cardigan’s wrapped tight around her, the porch light soft on her face, picking up the curve of her smile.

“Only on bin duty,” I say, walking toward her. “Romantic strolls under the moonlight. Very exclusive.”

“High standards,” she muses, stepping down onto the path. “Rubbish bags and a cold patio. Can’t believe I didn’t fall for you sooner.”

She’s teasing, but there’s something beneath it—something quieter.

Softer.

“You’re kind of irresistible right now,” she adds, voice lower now.

I stop in front of her. Just enough to see the flutter of her lashes, the wind catching her hair. “Yeah?” I murmur.

She nods, a breath of laughter caught in her throat. “Very rugged. Very domestic. It’s a strong look for you.”

For a second, we just look. No rush. No noise.

Just us.

Her eyes meet mine, steady, and I swear the rest of the world just falls away. “You didn’t have to clean,” she says, voice even softer now. “You’ve already done so much.”

“I know.” I shrug. “I just... wanted to.”

Ellie watches me like she’s turning that over in her head. Stepping closer, she tucks her hands in to her sleeves. “I never said sorry,” she says.

That throws me. I frown. “For what?”

“Leaving the way I did. Back then.” Her eyes drop to the ground. “Just—disappearing.”

I exhale. “Ellie, it’s okay?—”

“Not at the time it wasn’t,” she cuts in, lifting her gaze to meet mine. “It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that. I should’ve said something. Anything. But I didn’t. I just... left.”

I reach out before I even realise I’m moving. My hands find her face, fingers brushing her jaw, her cheeks, her temples. Her skin is cool from the night air, but soft beneath my touch. “It was a long time ago,” I say quietly. “And we’re here now.”

She leans into the touch, the slightest tilt of her head in to my palm, like she’s been holding her breath for days and is letting some of it go.

There’s something raw about the way she does it.

Like this moment, this one right here means more than either of us can say.

And then she’s closer.

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we meet somewhere in the middle, both of us aching in the same direction.

Her lips brush mine softly, and my breath catches so sharply it feels like I’ve been punched. It’s barely a kiss. Just the suggestion of one. But every cell in my body answers to it like it’s gospel.

She exhales against my mouth, soft and shaky, and the sound alone just about wrecks me. She tastes of red wine and something sweeter, and the world narrows to nothing but the shape of her mouth and the press of her body.

I pause, just enough to pull back a fraction.

My forehead rests against hers, both of us breathing hard, the space between us charged like a fuse waiting for a spark.

“Baby,” I murmur, my voice rough with want. “Are you sure?”

She doesn’t even blink. Just looks up at me, wide-eyed and steady, and nods. “Kieran, I can’t think of anything I want more right now.”

And that’s it. The match is struck.

I kiss her, really kiss her, like I’ve been holding back for years and my body’s finally allowed to feel it.

There’s no hesitation now. No gentleness. Just heat and hunger and every feeling I’ve buried rising to the surface all at once.

Her hands fist into the front of my hoodie, dragging me closer, and when her mouth parts beneath mine, I swear to God, I lose it. Her lips are soft and yielding, her tongue sliding against mine with a confidence that sends heat pouring through me.

It’s not just want. It’s need. Molten and unstoppable.