Page 35 of Still The One

‘In my room,’ I say.

Slight panic sets in as soon as the words leave my mouth. My tiny apartment is not equipped to handle a guest. I wasn’t lying when I told Matty that. My bed is too small for two people and my couch is uncomfortable at best. But I can’t bear to think of Foster suffering on my lumpy hand-me-down couch.

‘Your room?’ Foster asks, clearly confused.

Phil can’t contain his excitement and lets out a swoon. ‘Ohhh! He’s going in your bed?’ he exclaims. ‘This just keeps getting better and better.’

With each step, the tap of Foster’s cane echoes through the stairwell, a constant reminder of his injury. But he climbs determinedly, one step at a time, refusing to let it slow him down.

‘No, I’ve already uprooted your entire life. I don’t need your bed too,’ he declares, reaching the first landing and turning toface Phil. ‘I need a two-minute break,’ he says, his voice strong and resolute, but laced with pain, exhaustion evident in his eyes.

I stop at the landing with them. ‘Trust me when I say the couch would be a backward step in your healing. A few nights on that thing and you’ll need a chiropractor too.’

But Foster shakes his head, determination set in his features. ‘I can handle it.’

Phil looks at him with admiration, bordering on awe. ‘You definitely are a daredevil,’ he exclaims. ‘Do we need a second break?’ he asks between staircases.

Foster stands tall and defiant, shaking his head. ‘Not taking a breakoryour bed, and that’s the end of that conversation. Let’s keep going.’

‘We made it!’ I say proudly, turning the key in my door.

I push it open, gesturing for Phil and Foster to enter first. Phil walks in confidently and Foster follows closely behind, his steps hesitant and uncertain.

‘Have you ever been here before, or will this be your first time in Evie’s bed?’

‘I’m familiar with her bed, but put me on her couch,’ Foster says, side-eyeing me with amusement.

I’d only just rented this apartment when he and I met. So he was familiar with my bed five years ago and as I mentioned earlier, this bed is brand new. A Foster-free bed – until now.

‘Phil,’ I say sternly. ‘Put him in my bed.’

‘Evie,’ Foster pleads, looking at me with puppy dog eyes. ‘You can’t sleep on the couch in your own apartment.’

For a second, my mind races with memories of past nights spent in his arms. If he’s suggesting we sleep in the same bed, that’s way too risky.

‘I’ve already decided. Plus, you’re sort of at my mercy, so, don’t make me be mean?’ I say, like I could ever be mean.

He heaves a sigh, nodding his head like he’s a sore loser. ‘To her bed, I guess,’ he says.

Phil turns his head swiftly, his eyes widening in amazement as he lets out a gasp. ‘Why have I never heard of him before?’ he asks, leading Foster the short distance from my living room to my bed, sitting his butt first and then helping get his legs up.

‘It’s a story I don’t like to tell,’ I say, watching Foster frown. ‘Comfy?’ I ask him, adjusting the pillows behind his head as he sits back.

‘No,’ he admits.

‘A story you don’t like to tell?’ Phil asks. ‘You better get over it because it’s a story I want to hear all about. Spill the tea, sister. It can’t be Cowardly Cayden bad.’

Foster’s gaze suddenly snaps at the mention of the name Cayden. His brow furrows in confusion and he speaks up, his voice laced with surprise.

‘Who’s Cayden?’

‘Just another ex I’d rather not remember.’

‘Another ex?’ Phil asks. ‘Wait, is this one an ex too, or just a one-nighter?’

‘Husband,’ says Foster.

‘Ex-husband,’ I say, as Foster and I speak in unison.

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