Definitely, Maybe, Sometimes. | ✔️ COMPLETED

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Oh my God. That was the busiest night we've had." I wipe down the used alcohol bottles.

"It's cos the Six Nations." Nate says, shoving the mop roughly into the bucket and then yanking it out again.

"I don't think you're supposed to flood the floor, you know?"

He looks at me. "Do you want to mop?"

"I did the sweeping. It's not my fault you've turned it into The Thames in here. Seriously, do you even want to go home?"

He shrugs, smirking. "I'll sleep here. I'll sleep right on the floor. I don't care."

"You'll sleep on the dirty floor which is now basically drowning?"

"Will it stop you from moaning?"

I laugh. "Never."

I watch him for a bit as he essentially spreads water from one end of the room to another. Then, despairingly, I finish cleaning the bar and start to do a stock count. I'm fine when it's all the booze, but I hate having to count everything in the freezer.

It's in the very last room of the basement, definitely where people get murdered, and I somehow always end up having to count when I'm on shift with Nate.

One time, I yanked the extremely heavy door open and it fell on me. When I finally managed to force it back on its runner, with much tears and sweat, I got shouted at by Pete for being off the pub floor for so long.

That was the first time I'd cried on shift.

I hate how cold and dark it is leading down to it, and even more so when I'm inside it. I start counting the stock as quickly as I can.

It's completely silent.

The irony is, I think the only time I'm ever alone these days is when I come in here. Maybe when I shower or poo, but otherwise I'm always with other people.

If Jordan isn't in my bed then Reign (and sometimes even Jayne) is. Which, considering my bed is a single and my room the size of a shoebox, it's pretty impressive.

I grab the stool from outside and use it to count the tubs of frozen food on the top shelves. Somehow, I loose my footing, making the stool tip over and sending me flying.

I land with a hard thud on my back, smacking my head off the floor.

I lay on the cold steel and I just sort of accept my fate. I stare at the ceiling, the cold wrapping around me, and think about all the things I haven't done and haven't said. Dying in a freezer feels pretty on brand.

"Autumn?" Nate's standing at the door. "You alright?"

I don't move. Just swivel my eyes towards him. "Yeah. Fine. It's okay, I always knew this freezer would take me out one way or another. You can leave. I'm a complete mess. I know."

He gives me a weird look and then vanishes. It's a wonder he doesn't shut the door behind him, abandoning me like that. I know I said I wanted him to leave but I didn't actually mean it.

I sigh and my breath puffs in front of me. I have to get up and count this stock if I'm not really going to croak it. I don't think hypothermia is a good way to go either.

Nate appears at the door again. "It's just us. Pete's gone, so you can relax a bit. Shall we have a cuppa?"

I nod from the ground. "Okay."

He reaches out a hand and I give him mine. Gently, he pulls me to my feet, making sure I'm steady before he leads the way through the dark and narrow halls. We're silent as we make meander back to the staff room.

I sit on the worn down leather sofa and Nate boils the kettle. It reminds me of that first night with Jordan, when we put Kerry to bed, only this is a world apart. He lays the teas down on the coffee table in front us.

I reach out a mug.

"I'll squeeze next to you." He sits down.

Another silence. But it's not a weird, unnerving silence. It's the kind of silence where no one expects the other to talk if they don't want to. Comfortable. It's always comfortable with Nate.

Softly, he asks, "Are you sure you're okay? Your head okay?"

I nod against his shoulder. "My heads fine. Not the first time I've banged it off steel, believe it or not."

"I believe you." He has a little smirk on his face. "You know you can tell me if anything's bothering you, right? It's not Jordan, is it?"

"No." I say, then more forceful when he gives me a doubtful look. "No. Not at all. He's actually been great recently."

"Yeah?" He asks in total shock and surprise.

I laugh. "What is it with you two?"

Nate looks at me. "He still hasn't told you?"

I go cold. "Told me what?"

"I'm not saying this to mess up your relationship or anything."

"Okay?"

"He's the one my ex cheated on me with. At a house party. They shagged whilst I was downstairs. I dunno, maybe he has changed. But that's who I know him as."

I feel sick. "That's why you're hostile towards each other?"

"Are we?" He asks. "I don't think we are. I thought I was civil with him."

"I thought you were friends until that night in the club, when we did the dirty dancing move."

"Yeah." He nods. "I guess I just don't trust the guy and you're, you know, you. Deserving of someone who doesn't shag his best mates girlfriend."

I shake my head to shake the image from my mind. "The way you see and describe him just doesn't fit with who I know him as."

He nods. "I can see that. If it helps, it took me a long time to accept that she probably came on to him. She was always talking about how funny and charming he is. How fit he is. How I should dress like him. She never had a bad word to say about him. He was drunk, and back then I think he would have taken anyone if they'd offered it up to him."

My stomach sloshes and I feel incredibly sick.

Nate gives me a pitying look. "I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to mess with your relationship. I've seen him on nights out with the rugby boys and he doesn't even look at other girls. Sometimes he leaves early, I assume to come back to you."

"Yeah." I say, the queasiness easing. "Most nights, anyway. But I don't know. He's so off about stuff. He hates the idea of putting labels on us. I think he'd die if I called him my boyfriend. But then he does things like meets my mum, and buys me chocolate when I'm on my period, and brings me coffee everyday. I think it's all this uncertainty. It's making me sick."

Nate stares right at me, like he really sees me. "Just ask him. Ask him where this is going. You can't keep doing this to yourself. If he liked you enough he'd make you his. That's what I would do."

I nod, feeling a little teary. "He said he's not boyfriend material. Maybe I should let him go."

"Or." Nate says. "You could just tell him everything you've just told me."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because he isn't you."

But I know I can't talk to Jordan about it because if he says no, if he rejects me, I don't think I'd be able to bear it.