#rust chapter 10

What if she was simply letting herself be swept along by the hope of something she had secretly wanted for years?

Despite what Eloise and Violet seemed to think, she couldn’t quite silence that persistent little voice in the back of her mind. The one that sounded irritatingly like her mother and kept returning to the same explanation no matter how hard she tried to dismiss it.

That this was happening now because she was leaving.

The thought tormented her as she stared into the darkness.

She’d been there through some of the worst years of his life. Through the aftermath of Marina. Through the long periods where he had quietly withdrawn from almost everyone around him. She’d become an integral part of his life so gradually that neither of them had truly noticed it happening. She was the person who organised his days, navigated his moods and listened when he needed it.

Perhaps losing that was what had unsettled him so badly.

Perhaps it was not really her he was reacting to, but the absence her leaving would create. The loss of something safe and familiar and constant in his fairly solitary life.

And if that was the case, then she could not allow herself to mistake gratitude, comfort or dependency for an imagined affection, just because she longed for it to be true.

She gave a little grimace at the thought and rolled onto her other side, pulling the covers a little higher around herself with a grumble of irritation.

This was doing her no good at all. Lying here endlessly circling the same thoughts was hardly going to provide her with any answers tonight and, at this point, she was beginning to exhaust herself with it.

What she needed now was to forget everything and just get some sleep.

Closing her eyes again, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax into the mattress.

Unfortunately, it still wasn’t to be. Her overactive mind clearly keen to bring up the one thing that refused to fit neatly anywhere at all.

The cottage.

More specifically, the night they’d spent together.

“Just stop it,” she groaned to herself in aggravation as everything they’d shared began to play out in glorious technicolour inside her head.

The eager way he’d touched her, the passionate way he’d kissed her, the heated words that had tumbled from his mouth as he’d brought them both to fulfilment.

It had been incredible. But, if she were completely honest with herself, it wasn’t the physical side of things that had shaken her most. It was his care of her afterwards.

She had felt cherished, like it’d meant something - like she meant something.

And that was the part she couldn’t quite explain away no matter how hard she tried.

Because gratitude and dependency did not account for the tenderness of him holding her all through the night as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nor the look in his eyes the next morning when she told him she did not expect anything from him; that fleeting glimpse of hurt she still could not quite forget.

And perhaps that was why it bothered her so much now. Because every time she tried convincing herself there had to be some alternative reason for his behaviour, her mind returned stubbornly to that night and quietly ripped her whole argument apart again.

A sharp knock against the door startled her from her thoughts and her eyes blinked open in confusion.

Who could that be?

Frowning, she sat up and switched the bedside lamp back on. Glancing at the clock, she winced faintly at the late hour and then her heart gave a jolt.

Had something happened?  Was someone ill?

Slipping hurriedly from the bed, she headed over to the door expecting that she would find either Eloise or Violet standing on the other side.

When she finally opened it, though, she looked at her visitor in shock…and forgot entirely how to breathe.

“Colin?”

He stood before her, cheeks flushed, hair ruffled and face tense. For a moment he simply stared at her and then cleared his throat lightly.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Did I wake you?”

Penelope shook her head. “No. I wasn’t asleep.”

His gaze darted over her, then immediately returned to her face and heat rushed into her cheeks as she remembered exactly what she had on. Her ridiculous nightshirt with ‘Kiss Me Under The Mistletoe’ emblazoned prominently across her stomach in cheerful festive lettering.

For one awful second, silence hung between them before he seemed to relax slightly and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Penelope narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say a word,” she warned.

“I wasn’t going to,” he denied quickly.

“You absolutely were.”

“Not at all,” he countered innocently. “I was simply admiring your…” He paused, visibly attempting to suppress a smile before giving up entirely. “…festive spirit.”

She laughed despite herself but when she glanced up at him again, the way he was looking at her sent a completely different kind of heat rushing through her.

Her smile faded slowly as self-consciousness crept in because she still didn’t know why he was standing outside her bedroom door in the middle of the night.

“What are you doing here, Colin?”

His eyes widened slightly and he shot a quick look each way down the corridor, then took a small step forward.

“Can I come in?” he asked hopefully. “I’d like to talk.”

“Now?” she asked cautiously. “Can’t it wait until the morning?”

“No.” He shuffled a little closer. “Please, Pen, let me in.”

For a moment she hesitated, common sense urging her to send him away before either of them wandered into territory neither of them seemed capable of navigating properly anymore.

But then she looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the tightness around his mouth despite his teasing. At the way he seemed almost braced for her refusal whilst trying not to show it.

At the soft pleading look in his deep blue eyes…

The one she had always been completely incapable of denying him when he looked at her like that.

Letting out a quiet breath, she stepped back from the doorway.

“Fine,” she murmured, feeling a small spike of nerves flutter low in her stomach as he moved past her into the room.

She shut the door behind him and turned to see him come to a stop near the end of the bed.

Penelope gazed at him uncertainly.

There was an odd sort of nervous energy about him tonight. Like he was trying very hard to contain whatever it was that was brewing underneath.

And it made her feel uneasy too.

She watched as his fingers flexed at his side before curling inward again into fists. Then he glanced around the room before looking back at her with an intensity that made her pulse jump.

“Is everything alright?” she asked carefully.

“Yes. No. I mean…nothing’s wrong,” he corrected quickly, and then tutted, clearly irritated with himself. “Christ, I’m making a mess of this already.”

Penelope stayed silent. He clearly had something he needed to say and she could tell he was searching for the right words, whatever they were. She folded her arms across her chest almost in a poor effort to protect herself because now that the moment actually seemed to have arrived, where they might finally discuss what the hell was going on between them, she could feel all her earlier fears beginning to creep steadily back in.

Perhaps this had all been a mistake. Letting him in here. Letting herself hope again.

Colin suddenly drew in a breath before finally saying, “I wanted to thank you.”

A faint grimace crossed his face after he spoke, quick enough she might have missed it had she not been watching him so closely, although she wasn’t sure what it meant.

“For what?” she asked in confusion.

“My journal.”

Understanding dawned immediately.

“Oh.”

He nodded before continuing, “I meant to tell you earlier after I’d finished reading it.”

She shook her head.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted. His gaze fixed on her and this time there was something far more unguarded in it as he took an involuntary step toward her. “Pen, I sat and read every one of your notes.” A faint breath of laughter escaped him, though it carried no real amusement. “Some of them more than once.”

She looked at him in pleased surprise.

“Really?”

He nodded again and closed the remaining distance between them in a couple of strides. Once in front of her, he gave her a small smile.

“Yes, really,” he repeated softly. “What you wrote…it means a lot to me. More than you probably realise.”

She stared up at him, suddenly remembering herself years earlier, sitting curled up with his journal in her lap and scribbling thoughts onto coloured sticky notes because she’d been so absurdly impressed by him. By the way he noticed things. By the way he wrote about ordinary moments like they were something incredibly special.

Then everything with Marina had happened and she’d held onto it not knowing what to do.

Until now.

“I’m glad,” she said softly. “Because I meant every word.”

His mouth parted a little at that and then his smile widened.

“Even the part where you called me brilliant?” he asked lightly, though she could hear the vulnerability that laced his teasing tone.

“Yes,” she whispered, dropping her gaze as warmth flooded her cheeks once more. “Even that part.”

For a moment neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Colin lifted his hand and placed a finger gently beneath her chin, tilting her face back up. His touch sent a swift tingle of awareness through her and when their eyes met again, her breath caught.

“Well,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low, “I don’t think anyone’s ever said such wonderful things like that about me before.”

Her folded arms loosened at the quiet honesty in his admission and, as though sensing a softening in her, Colin leaned a little closer. Her hands came up to rest against his chest, not to stop him, more to steady herself beneath the intensity of the way he was looking at her.

His thumb brushed her jaw, the touch so impossibly gentle that she felt herself sway toward him.

“Colin…”

She wasn’t entirely sure what she meant to say after that. Maybe nothing. Maybe his name alone had been enough because the look in his eyes darkened instantly, the tenderness still there but now mixed in with an unmistakable desire that made her heart stumble, then pick up pace.

His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, and then, as if he could no longer stop himself, he bent and kissed her.

The moment his lips touched hers, every coherent thought in her head vanished.

A faint sound escaped her as his hand moved to cradle her cheek before he kissed her fiercely, as though he had been holding himself back for far too long.

Fingers curling into the thick wool of his jumper, she clutched at him as heat rushed through her so fast it near left her dizzy. He drew her against him with an almost desperate urgency and suddenly she could feel everything; the hard line of his body pressed against hers, the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm, the slight unsteadiness in the breath he exhaled against her mouth.

And when her fingers slid into his hair, a sound so raw and needy escaped him it went straight to her core.

His grip tightened at her waist and the kiss deepened, slower this time, as though he was trying to pour everything he still could not quite say into the way he touched her instead.

The first she realised they’d moved was when the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed. Colin’s arm tightened around her body as he guided her backwards onto the mattress and followed her down.

He caught himself above her, one arm braced beside her head, fingers tangling in her hair, whilst the other held her firmly to him. She couldn’t believe she was in his arms again, heat unfurling inside her as the feel of him all solid muscle and familiar weight pressed her down into the mattress.

His mouth left hers only long enough to trail along her jaw before finding that sensitive spot beneath her ear that made her melt every time.

She felt his hand move, smoothing down her body leaving a trail of sparks in its wake until he edged beneath the hem of her nightshirt, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh as he drew her flush against him.

The unmistakable hardness of him pressed between her legs through the thin barrier of their clothes and a soft, helpless sound caught in her throat as heat pooled low in her stomach. She arched into him, silently asking for more and he exhaled sharply, his breath hot against her throat before he resumed his slow exploration of her neck.

Penelope could not seem to stop touching him in return, her hands moving restlessly over his shoulders and down his back whilst she pressed herself even closer to him with another shaky breath.

“God, Pen,” he muttered, the words roughened with feeling. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

A shiver ran through her as his lips brushed her sensitive skin and she felt his hand starting to glide upwards to where she needed him most.

“Colin…”

“I think about you all the bloody time,” he groaned, the words spilling out of him unchecked before he captured her lips again.

The unexpected confession wrapped itself around her so completely that for a few blissful seconds she let herself believe in it entirely.

But then, somewhere beneath it all, she could still feel it, that awful creeping fear slowly forcing its way back to the surface.

Because this was Colin.

Colin, who had spent years carefully holding himself apart from everyone around him. Colin, who had looked at her tonight with a care and openness she was slowly growing more accustomed to seeing but still barely knew what to do with. Who was now saying things she’d never once imagined hearing from him.

And all of that should have thrilled her.

Because this was everything she had wanted from him for so long and yet, part of her still felt hopelessly behind somehow, trying unsuccessfully to catch up with how quickly everything between them seemed to have changed.

Her chest ached painfully because she wanted to believe it. God, she wanted to. Wanted to stop questioning every look and touch and word from him and simply let herself have this.

Have him.

But the dread of being wrong sat stubbornly underneath it all and before she could stop herself, her body tensed beneath his hands.

Colin stilled before pulling back just enough to look down at her, his concerned gaze roaming over her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Pen.”

She let out a small breath and turned her face away, frustration curling inside her because she was so tired of second-guessing every moment they shared.

“I just…” She swallowed hard before forcing herself to ask the question she had been circling around for days. “What are we doing, Colin?”

Obvious confusion crossed his face before he shifted further back from her, the warmth between them easing as uncertainty crept into his expression.

“Sorry, do you not want this?”

“No. No, that’s not…” She let out a soft, exasperated sigh because the last thing she wanted to do was make him feel like he was forcing her into anything. “I do want this.”

Some of the tension left his face at that and he moved toward her again, his hand going to her waist as though reassured by her answer. But before he could kiss her, she couldn’t help but add, “I just don’t know what this is.”

He stopped again and this time drew back from her fully, making her mourn the sudden loss of him. He gazed down at her and she knew him well enough to see from the expression on his face that he was weighing up what to say next.

Finally, he asked carefully, “What do you want it to be?”

His answer grated on her a little, because instead of easing the doubts spiralling around her head, it only seemed to fuel them further.

“I want it to be something you’re sure of,” she replied.

His expression softened and he gave her a faintly puzzled smile.

“I am sure.”

“Are you?” she challenged, unable to stop herself now that she’d started down this path.

His look of surprise was swiftly followed by one of hurt.

“Pen…”

“Because I’m not,” she cut across him, “I have no idea what’s happening between us anymore.”

For a moment he simply stared at her before pushing himself upright and easing back against the headboard, one hand dragging slowly through his hair.

“I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“Did you?” It came out sharper than she’d intended and she felt a pang of guilt when his head snapped back round at the injustice of it, but she pushed it away. Sitting up as well, she tugged the hem of her nightshirt down, acutely aware of her lack of clothing. “Because you came in here tonight thanking me and kissing me and I…” She broke off, shaking her head slightly before adding more accusingly, “I mean, let’s be honest, Colin, before a few days ago, you’d never even given me a second glance.”

He looked astonished at that.

“That’s not…”

Top of Form

“And now you’re saying you think about me all the time and you keep looking at me like…” She broke off mid-sentence, struggling to explain herself. “Oh, I don’t know. I just can’t keep up with it.”

Her throat tightened painfully because none of this was coming out the way she wanted it to.

Staring down at her lap, she tried to gather her thoughts and continued more quietly, “I resigned and everything changed and I don’t know if…” Her voice faltered slightly, the words sounding less certain the further she pushed through them. “I don’t know if this is really about me or if you’re maybe mistaking not wanting to lose me for…for something else.”

The utter silence that followed was awful. Suffocating.

When she finally gathered the courage to look at him again, every trace of warmth had vanished from his face. Gone was the hopefulness that had brought him to her room tonight, replaced instead by the familiar guardedness that had been noticeably absent from him these past few days.

A sick, sinking feeling spread heavily through her chest.

“Colin…” she said softly, reaching instinctively toward him.

But before her fingers could touch his arm, he stood abruptly from the bed and swung around to face her. He looked almost unnaturally composed now, were it not for the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his hands had curled tightly into fists at his sides.

“Is that really what you think this is?” he asked, his voice devoid almost entirely of emotion. “What you think of me?”

Guilt surged inside her and she pushed herself up onto her knees in the middle of the bed. She knew even as the words rose to her lips that they were the wrong thing to say and yet she couldn’t stop herself anyway.

“Oh, come on, Colin, you have to admit this has all been rather quick.”

His eyes widened and then a disbelieving laugh escaped him as he looked away for a second, shaking his head to himself.

“Quick,” he repeated under his breath, like he genuinely could not believe what he was hearing.

Something hot and defensive curled low in her stomach because he was acting as though she had no reason to question any of this.

“You’ve spent years keeping everyone at arm’s length,” she pointed out, frustration and disbelief tangling together in her voice now. “Can you really blame me for doubting all…” she gestured a little wildly between them, “…this?”

“No! Not everyone,” he retorted, the force of it silencing her. His jaw tightened as he held her gaze and, after a beat, he added more roughly, “Not you.”

She drew in a startled breath and for one suspended moment the room felt completely still around them.

Then he let out an abrupt, humourless bark of laughter as he pushed a jerky hand back through his hair, all pretence gone now.

“Although apparently none of that matters anyway,” he muttered bitterly. “Because you seem pretty determined to believe I’m confusing love for a good fuck.”

The stark vulgarity of the word made her flinch instinctively.

“Don’t say that.”

But even as the protest left her lips, the other word finally caught up with her.

Love.

Oh God.

“Don’t say what?” he asked flatly. “Love? Or fuck?”

She opened her mouth, desperate to say something, anything, but no words came. Her thoughts tangled hopelessly together, weighed down by the enormity of what he had just revealed.

He looked away and she saw the shine in his eyes before he closed them, visibly struggling to regain control of himself. Something inside her twisted painfully at the sight of it and every instinct she had screamed at her to go to him, but before she could even move, he was already turning away.

“I have to go.”

She stared at him for a second, her mind lagging uselessly behind the words before the meaning finally landed all at once.

“No, Colin…”

He stopped and for one relieved second, she thought he was going to turn back around. But when he moved again, it was only to reach into the pocket of his jeans.

She watched as he pulled out a small jewellery box and glanced down at it silently before crossing to the chest of drawers nearby and placing it carefully on top without ever looking at her.

“Merry Christmas, Penelope.”

The words sounded uneven, like he was forcing them past something lodged in his throat. And then he left the room, closing the door behind him with an unmistakeable air of finality.  

Penelope remained frozen in the middle of the bed, unable to do anything except stare blankly after him, her mind awhirl.

What the hell had just happened?

Nothing about the last few minutes seemed to fit together properly anymore. Every time she tried to make sense of it, her thoughts only jumbled further around the same impossible thing until she felt completely overwhelmed by it all.

Love.

A shaky breath left her as she pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying desperately to steady herself whilst the reality of that slowly began sinking in.

Her gaze shifted to the chest of drawers and the small jewellery box sitting there, her brow furrowing faintly because he’d already given her a Christmas present, hadn’t he?

Still feeling strangely numb, she finally forced herself off the bed and crossed toward it. With trembling hands, she picked up the box and opened it, a small gasp escaping her the instant she saw what was inside.

She stared down at the delicate bangle in mild bewilderment until her eyes landed on the tiny typewriter charm hanging near the clasp and her heart gave a sudden lurch.

Carefully, she lifted it from the box.

The little charms jangled softly against one another as she turned it over and saw what else was there; a fountain pen, a tiny book…a pendant.

A writer is a world trapped in a person.

The engraved words blurred almost at once behind the sudden sting of tears.

“Oh, Colin.”

The whisper broke helplessly from her as she pressed her hand to her mouth, emotion swelling painfully inside her because this was so unmistakably him.

The real him.

The Colin she had known before all the walls and distance he’d built around himself.

And suddenly all she could see was him standing there trying to protect himself whilst she accused him of not understanding his own feelings.

An urgency seized her then and she clutched the bracelet tightly in her hand before hurrying from the room, barely registering the tears sliding unchecked down her face as she rushed along the corridor toward his bedroom.

His door was ajar and she entered without thinking twice, his name on her lips, but then she came to a shuddering halt. Her gaze darted frantically around as though she might somehow have missed him before it landed on the open wardrobe.

Her stomach dropped, then began churning unpleasantly.

The room was empty.

No clothes.

No case.

Suddenly, a broken sob tore from her throat and the tears came harder than before as her heart rejected what her head already knew.

Colin had gone.