Only two months ago, I wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted Doug. Not Brendan. But like the idiot everyone thinks I am, I want him back. I want him to want me like he used to.
'Stay away from me'
That's what he said. He told me to stay away from him. It's not the first time. Hell no, it's not the first time he's said those words to me. It always used to be followed by a punch. Or two. Or maybe a sigh and a kiss. Then a fuck. I hated that. And I loved that. I loved him. I love him. The good, the bad and the ugly of Brendan Brady.
I've seen every side of him. I've seen the brother; caring but exasperated. I've seen the lover; controlling, demanding but completely addictive. And I've seen the boss, the murder, the dad. I have seen every side of Brendan Brady. Been up close and personal with it too. That should make me hate him. It should make me the least likely person to be daydreaming about him. But, here I am, doing just that.
"Ste, love, any chance I could get a Panini?" asks Cheryl quietly. I still jump though, and I can feel my face heating as I try to pull my mind out of the gutter. The memory of lips slowly working their way down my body, followed by the scratch of a certain moustache slowly drift away as I face the man's sister.
"Hey, Cheryl" I say happily, leaning awkwardly over the counter to give her a hug. She looks tired. And sad. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, love. I'm doing okay. Well, as okay as I can be I guess" she says, picking at her thumb nail. I nod, unsure what to say. What do you say to someone who buried her best friend only two days ago? The memory of Rae's memorial surface springs to my mind. I'd just wanted people to let me deal with it me own way. So I say;
"Ham and cheese, yeah?"
"Please" and she smiles a small but genuine smile and folds herself into the seat by the window. I work in silence, making her food, but sit down next to her when Ii bring it over.
"It was a lovely service" I say uncertainly, remembering how everyone kept saying that to me after the memorial. As if it's just something that has to be done.
"Thanks, love" murmurs Cheryl. She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn't. Instead she takes a bite of the Panini, making appreciative noises at the back of her throat. A drop of grease from the cheese leaves a trail down her chin. It makes me laugh, but it dies after a second. It doesn't seem right to laugh. But then Cheryl wipes it away with the back of her hand and gives a small chuckle too. And, with that, she seems to relax and the awkwardness disappears.