I huff. Why is admitting you’re wrong, so fucking hard?
“Rome, look, I went with you willingly Saturday night, and nothing that happened was your fault. I chose to do everything I did. I drank the drink. I took the drugs and I let Skye do whatever. Me, no one else, just me. They were my choices and as much as I’d like to blame everything on everyone else, the buck stops with me.
“I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“You’re forgiven; it was my fault not yours. But you should’ve told me about Jodie; that, I am still pissed off about.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that, as well then.” We both sit silently until Brooke comes in with three mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits. We sit on my bed, chat shit, until eventually Roman leaves.
I shower before I phone and arrange for a courier to come in the morning and collect all of my stuff to send back to England, including my crate of Sean memorabilia. I keep some clothes to get me through the next few days, a nice dress and shoes for Saturday night and two of my favourite Juicy Couture tracksuits to travel home in. Home. I’m going home. I have maybe five days and around twelve-thousand miles to get my head in a place where I am ready to deal with everything that will be waiting for me in England. I think I’m ready to face it all. I just wish this guilt and thoughts of Cameron fucking King would leave my brain for a little while.
Chapter Twelve
I spend the rest of the day getting my stuff packed, and I get a text from Lennon telling me he has booked me a car to the airport for six am Sunday; I just need to let them know where I want to be picked up from. We usually stay at Jodie’s place, but rather than disturb everyone with my early departure, I book us all rooms at the Marriott in Sydney. Since we are flying down on Friday, Thursday will be my last night in Byron, so I book a table at the local Chinese restaurant for Wednesday for my aunt, uncle, Brooke, Jax and myself. I know they own a bar, but they won’t switch off and relax if they eat there; plus, they love the Chinese place, and we’ve eaten there a few times. Emily is away for the week, so it will just be family. I actually thought about asking Roman but then I remembered he was playing at Worldies Wednesday and Thursday, so I just left it at family.
I’d told him Monday that I was leaving Friday and as expected, he was fine with it; finally, a relationship I didn’t feel any guilt about. We had come to a mutual understanding over the Jodie thing; he didn’t see it as a big deal, I did, and nothing was going to change either of our opinions, so we left it at that.
I go down to the bar quite late on Thursday. I spent the whole day at the beach. I surfed with Jackson early, worked on my tan all day and then had another surf this evening. By the time I shower and get downstairs, it’s almost nine and the place is packed. Roman’s belting out Matchbox Twenty’s “If You’re Gone” as I walk in. I stand and listen and his eyes almost immediately meet mine. He doesn’t smile, just nods slightly and carries on singing.
Brooke must have already spotted me as she comes over with a large glass of wine and a beer for herself. She’s working tonight but takes a few minutes to chat and drink her beer. Roman ends his song, takes a few swigs from his own drink and then leans into his mic.
“This is a bit of an oldie but it’s special to me. It reminds me of someone I think I may just be a little in love with.” My stomach flips; so much for not feeling any guilt over this one. I know as soon as Rome starts playing the harmonica that he’s pulled from his back pocket what the song is, and it’s actually one of my favourites; well, it was. He starts playing his guitar, then sings the first verse of Bob Dylan’s “Just Like A Woman” and he doesn’t take his eyes from mine the whole time.
As the song ends, he announces his break, walks straight to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I haven’t seen him since Monday; we spoke on the phone but I needed to keep my distance. I like Roman. I like him a lot and I am eternally grateful for what he has done for me. The spark of physical attraction will probably always be there between us, but our relationship would never have amounted to anything more than good friends who’d enjoyed some great sex together.
“Thank you for being a little in love with me. Thank you for everything. I’m gonna miss you, Rome.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m gonna miss you, too.” We stand and talk about my plans for when I’m back in England and his plans for a trip to Bali after Christmas.
It’s all a bit strange for me; I’ve never ended a relationship on such amicable terms. Roman gives me a kiss and a cuddle and returns to the stage, and I head upstairs for an early night, feeling oddly grown-up and looking forward to getting home and seeing my family.
*