Chapter 25

Watching Nick walk away was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. In movies, no one stands there hopping from one foot to the other in indecision over whether to make the grand gesture. They just run after the guy, declare their undying love, and everything works out alright.

But I can't make it alright. I could go after him, but the outcome would still be the same. I'll still be dancing with Krystal at the Nationals. But we are still us, aren't we? He did just kiss me. But then why did it feel like goodbye?

My mum tugs on my arm. She's saying something, but I don't hear her. I just watch Nick's form getting smaller and smaller as he walks down the street.

When I can't see him anymore, I allow myself to be led inside, hardly aware of changing into my outfit for the Latin dance. He said a couple of days. He gets forty-eight hours, and that's all. After that, I'm going to explain it all and make him love me again.

We win the competition, but the victory feels hollow as it wasn't Nick and I who won it. I don't even want to look at the trophy. My mum is delighted, my dad is pensive, and I can't rouse up any enthusiasm for anything. The car ride back is full of my mum's plans for when Krystal and I should practise and what routines we should dance for the Nationals. I let it wash over me, none of it penetrating the hard shell I've constructed round me. I'm no longer interested. I'll dance to save our school, but I don't want a future unless it has Nick in it, too.

"Hello love." Nick's mum opens the door to my knock, and I fight the rising anxiety enough to be able to answer her.

"Hello Mrs Richardson. Is, err, Nick in?"

"He's next door at his gran's." I nod and turn to leave, wondering which next door in the long line of terraces is her house. Left or right?

"Come through the house, love," she says. "We don't use our front doors round here. Remember that for next time, eh?"

So, she mentioned a next time. Maybe things aren't too bad if she believes there might be a next time. Or, even worse, Nick hasn't even spoken about me.

"Thanks Mrs Richardson."

"It's Doreen, please," she says. She's lovely, but then this is no surprise as I know Nick and you only need to have met him for a few minutes to know he was raised well. "How are your mum and dad? Are they keeping well?"

She hasn't seen them for many years, not really since Nick started catching the bus on his own to the dance school, but she still asks after them like it was only last week.

"They're fine Mrs Rich—Doreen." She beams at me as I stumble over her name, and I see where Nick gets his smile from.

"There you go, love, just up the steps there." She ushers me down the steps into their cheerful backyard, which is alive with plant pots cascading with colour.

With trepidation I walk up the steps to the house next door. Should I knock? The back door is open, so I just stand on the threshold of the back door and kitchen and call out. "Nick?"

Nick comes through from the front room, surprise written all over his face.

"Darcy! What are you doing here?" Surprise, not elation. I'm going to have to earn that back.

"You said a couple of days." I check my watch. "It's been forty-nine hours and thirteen minutes."

I catch the slight hint of a curl at the corner of his mouth. "Not forty-eight hours?"

"Buses," I sigh, with an exaggerated shrug, and he chuckles at me. It's not going too bad. It feels familiar and I'm hoping our old habits will carry us through this.

"I came to see how you are, how your gran is, and to explain what happened."

He accepts my reasons for being there with a non-committal, "Okay." It could be worse. "I'm just making us some tea, do you want some?" he asks. I agree, and he sends me through to talk to his gran while he puts the kettle on. I don't know if this is him stalling for time for me to explain, or what reason he has, but I accept it for now.

"Hello Mrs Parker," I say, as I enter the room and see that a bed has been brought in for her. I haven't seen her for a number of years and I'm surprised at how much she's aged.

"Hello Darcy, dear," she says. "How are your parents? Nick says they enjoyed a few days in London recently."

"Yes, they did." I'm a bit taken aback that anyone would think my parents are interesting enough to know anything about.

"That's good dear," she continues. "You'll give them my regards, won't you?" I assured her I would, but it was unlikely that my parents would remember her from when she used to bring Nick dancing.

"How are you doing, Mrs Parker? Nick said you had a fall."

"Aye, and I got a pot on my leg and a two-night stay in hospital for my troubles," she grumbles goodnaturedly. "I only came home this morning. Nick and Frank sorted this bed out for me, but it's not the best solution. I think I should go into a home, but they won't hear of it."

"No, we won't," Nick adds to the conversation as he places a tray on a nearby table. "We can look after you."

"Stubborn," Nick's gran says to me in a conspiratorial side whisper. "The lot of them. Though, I suppose I'm to blame, they get it from me." She giggles, and I glance at Nick as he hands her a china cup and saucer. He gives me an eye roll and I understand that this is an old argument. I feel a small sense of hope that he feels able to make jokes with me.

We sit for a few more minutes drinking tea while Nick and his gran work through the argument that proves they are just as stubborn as each other.

When Nick has taken the tea tray back through to the kitchen, she beckons me a little closer, and a small sliver of dread slides down my spine as I catch the steel in her eye.

"Nick says you're not dancing together at the Nationals." Oh no, am I going to be told off by his gran? She looks almost as scary as my mum.

"I've come to explain it all to him. I need to save the dance school. I can't do that if I don't win. I need to help my family."

She gives me an appraising stare. "You're a good boy. You'll do the right thing." I don't know what she means. I have to do it this way.

"Now, go through and talk to him. He misses you and I'm fed up with seeing him moping about. I want to see him smile again." I rise and she points to the television. "Just turn that on for me, lad. I think there's a Poirot on soon."

I comply and then go through to the kitchen.

"Nick, I want to explain."

"Okay," he says with a tentative smile. "I'm baking some cookies. Do you want to help?"

"I'd love to," I say, and he directs me to get the ingredients, telling me it's his gran's chocolate chip and oat cookie recipe, but he likes to add honey to make them extra soft and chewy.

As he has me weighing out the flour and oatmeal, I tell him what my mum had said about the school. That I could save it and we could turn the fortunes around if I could win the Nationals. While I rub in the butter, I tell him my fears for my future, that I only know how to teach dancing, and I don't have any skills for anything else.

He adds an egg, vanilla extract, and honey, and mixes them together while I tell him how sorry I am. How much I wish I could dance with him instead.

We keep working on the cookies, but he doesn't say anything, except to give me directions. I run out of words as he pours the chocolate chips in. I help him spoon the mixture out onto the baking trays. When they're in the oven, I can't stand it any longer.

"Please say something. You're just standing there silently. Just be mad at me, yell at me or something!"

He still doesn't speak, and it starts irritating me. It isn't like him not to have something to contribute.

I've apologised, I've explained, I don't know what else I can say.

"I've told you everything."

"Have you?" he asks quietly. He looks at me from under the shock of blond hair that's fallen over his eyes. My head scrambles around the words, looking back at what I've been saying for the last half an hour, pretty certain I haven't left anything out. Then my heart feels the tug that his eyes give, the same one they always have. The one that beckons me to come closer, that encourages me to be a better version of myself, the one that I never want to be parted from.

I take a deep breath.

"I'm so scared of the future, Nick. I'm worried about what will happen to my family if I can't do this. But the thing I'm most afraid of is not having you in my life."

The smile he gives me is painful, but with two strides, he crosses the room and encircles me with his arms.

"There you are." He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "Everything you've said up to that point sounded like it came from your mum. They sound like the same lines you've been spouting most of your life, and I wanted to know what was really in here." He lays a hand on my chest, over my heart.

"I'd rather give up everything than lose you, Nick. I love you." I hug him close, believing that if I hold him tight everything will be okay.

He squeezes me in return.

"So, are we going to dance together at the Nationals?" I ask when his grip softens.

"No, we're not."

I'm confused. I just poured my heart out to him. Is he rejecting me? "But?—"

"Darcy, you've been my best friend for a very long time. Along the way, that developed into something much deeper. That you feel the same way has made me the happiest person alive. That doesn't come with conditions. It doesn't happen only if you promise to dance with me. I'm here to help you celebrate your successes and to hold you when things aren't so good. I know you want to give saving the school your best shot. I see how hard you work to keep it going. We both know that if we dance together we wouldn't have a chance of winning. I would never stand in your way of achieving that success—you deserve it. Dancing with Krystal is the best chance you have. I've seen you together. You really can win and I'll support you every step of the way."

He leans a little closer and nuzzles into my neck, his hands gently kneading my ass. "As long as you save some special dances for me."

I nod and gulp, his touch having a potent effect on me. "Of course."

A beeping sound breaks the spell, and Nick disengages himself from me to turn the oven timer off and take the cookies out. They smell delicious, and look even better.

I turn to the sink to start washing the dishes. I look out of the window at the beautiful view across the valley. I can see the row of roofs leading down to the valley floor, but across the other side is woodland and then moors and hills in the distance. I'm reminded of the time we went to Slippery Stones... Was it really only a few weeks ago? It feels like a lifetime. I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I nearly jump out of my skin when arms snake around my waist.

"Mmm, I missed you." Nick kisses into my neck and I tilt my head, leaning it back onto his shoulder and enjoying his mouth on me. His hands trail lower as he plays his fingers over my jeans, and my cock swells to his touch.

"I see you've missed me, too," he murmurs, unbuckling my belt.

"Nick," I whisper. "We can't."

"Why not?" He unbuttons my fly and slips a hand inside, the other one gripping my hip. He wraps his hand around my length and hums at its hardness. I find it almost impossible to recall what I was about to say.

"Your gran." I have enough presence of mind left to remember that we are not alone in the house.

"She can't come in here." He starts moving his hand up and down. He wipes his thumb through the precum leaking out of the tip and smears it round the head. My knees nearly buckle.

"She might hear us." It's my last line of defence.

"You'd better be quiet then," he purrs, his mouth still connected to my throat.

As he picks up speed, I involuntarily wince; it's too much. He withdraws his hand and I gasp at its loss, my cock aching, needing his hand back even though it was painful.

"Sorry, honey," he murmurs. "I don't have any lube, so you're going to have to help me out here." He holds his hand out and I lick it, pooling some spit in his palm. I almost sigh in relief as he grasps my cock again, my back arching to chase the movement of his hand.

"You like to fuck my hand, do you?" His voice is a low rumble on my shoulder, that vibrates down my back and tightens my balls.

I press my lips together tightly, preventing any sound from escaping, and try to breathe through my nose. My breathing is choppy as the pressure builds in waves, and I have to clamp my jaw together and try to swallow down the moan that's desperate to get out.

"That's it, D, fuck my hand. Fuck it hard." His voice is soft, a whisper against my neck, but all the more potent for it.

I grip the edge of the sink. As much as his name is on my lips, I am not going to scream it in his gran's house and give the game away, and he knows it. I'm barely holding it together when he goes in for the kill.

"What you're doing to my hand, I'm going to do to your tight little hole." I feel disoriented and lightheaded. I want all his dirty words. I can't hold off any longer and with a jerk, I come, spilling over Nick's hand. I gasp for breath and my heart rate starts to slow its staccato beat. When I can stand upright again, he releases his hold on my hip. I turn my head enough to capture his mouth in a long, lazy kiss. When we break apart, he smiles, and I see the light reflecting the stars in his eyes. Then he glances down into the sink, at the plate I'm holding, then back at me and, with a smirk, says, "You missed a bit."