The next morning, I called Denise and asked if she’d cover my shift at the café. It was obvious things were going to be uncomfortable between me and Mack, and I wanted to make sure we spoke as early as possible. Re-established some kind of normality. I showered and dressed and sat myself down in the living room with my laptop to wait him out.

It was close to lunchtime when he finally appeared, his expression wary. I greeted him as though nothing had happened, poured him a coffee from the pot I’d just made, and launched into a monologue of inane small talk. He looked a bit shell-shocked at first, but eventually he rallied, and it did the job of breaking the worst of the ice. More importantly, it made it clear that I had no intention of revisiting the embarrassing subject I’d raised the night before.

Presumably he was grateful for that.

After that, things went back to normal, more or less. Well, less. We were civil with each other, but we didn’t talk the way we had before. I went out in the evenings, round to Mum’s or up to the Bell for a pint. By the time I’d get back, Mack would be in bed. Sometimes I heard him playing his guitar in there, which he hadn’t done before.

Our interactions were few and, for me, painful. I adopted a distantly friendly persona that felt awkward as hell, and Mack just went very quiet. Occasionally I’d catch him looking at me with a melancholy expression that made me more angry than anything else, though I pretended not to notice it.

I thought a lot about those humiliating few moments, when I’d begged him to stay and he’d turned me down. He hadn’t said much but one thing was clear: he didn’t return my feelings. Well, fine. I was a big boy. I’d live. I had too much to do to sit around being heartbroken. I had a business to run, plans to make, and a ton of people relying on me to keep everything together.

Work kept me going. Work, work, and more work.

On the Wednesday night, Mack cornered me in the kitchen.

“Can I have a word?”

“Sure.” I’d just stacked the dishwasher, and I busied myself wiping down the counters so I didn’t have to meet his gaze. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got my scan tomorrow.”

I glanced up at that. “Yeah, I know. I was going to ask if you want a lift up to the hospital.”

He shook his head. “I’ll get the bus. It’s not till eleven so I’ve got ages to get there.”

I hesitated. “You don’t, you know, want someone to go with you?”

He looked away. “No, it’s fine.”

Of course. Mack didn’t need anyone, least of all me.

“The thing is,” he went on, “I said to Don I’d play that gig at the Sea Bell on Saturday, so I was wondering if it’d be okay if I stayed till then? I know it’s a couple of days more than you probably thought . . .” He trailed off and met my gaze, his own wary.

He thought I wanted him gone as soon as possible. Maybe that was a reasonable assumption, but the truth was, I felt sick at the thought of him going. Despite everything, I still didn’t want him to leave, and how pathetic was that? Hot prickles at the back of my eyes warned me how close I was to humiliating myself again. I turned away to the sink, running hot water over a cloth and wringing it out. Busy work.

“Yeah, no problem,” I said lightly. “I said at the start you could stay as long as you needed. Nothing’s changed.”

I began methodically wiping down the sink, swallowing hard against the stubborn lump in my throat. For what felt like ages, Mack was silent. Eventually he said. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. I’ll be out of your hair by Monday.”

Moments later, the kitchen door closed behind him.

I stood there at the sink, looking out the window at the cobbled, rain-slick streets of my hometown. It was a cold December day in Porthkennack, gloomy and grey, and it kind of felt like that in my heart too.

“I’ll be out of your hair by Monday.”

Mack’s scan was fine. I was at Mum’s when he popped round to tell her. His liver was growing back well, he explained, over the cup of tea Mum had pressed on him. The specialist was happy with his progress, and he’d been formally discharged.

“So that’s it?” Mum said, frowning. “You won’t be seen again?”

Mack shook his head. “Not here. They said I’ll need an annual checkup but I can do that through my own doctor.” He smiled at her. “The point is, I’m fine. Everything’s good.”

Mum didn’t look happy, and honestly, I wasn’t either. Would Mack follow up with his own doctor? He’d be stupid not to—and he wasn’t a stupid guy—but right now he didn’t even know where he was going to be living. I could see him putting a checkup off if he wasn’t settled somewhere when he needed it.

“What’s good?” That was Rosie. She stood in the kitchen doorway in her school uniform. She’d put on weight, lost the sallow cast to her skin and the shadows under her eyes. She’d have to keep taking the immunosuppressants, but other than that, she was not just better, she was cured. Mack’s liver had replaced her own diseased organ with a new healthy one that her body had accepted. And with her condition now under control with medication, there was no reason her new liver should suffer any future damage.

He’d saved her life.

“I’m good,” Mack said, smiling at her. “I had my scan today—everything’s fine. I’ve been discharged.”

She grinned. “That’s great!”

“I still think it’s a bit soon to be discharging you,” Mum said, worriedly.

“Stop fussing, Mum.” Rosie rolled her eyes at Mack. He grinned back at her, and for a second, I saw a flash of resemblance between them. They didn’t look that much alike, but there were moments sometimes, when their facial expressions aligned, and I saw it.

Rosie was going to miss him terribly. Had he even told her he was leaving?

“So, can I come to your gig on Saturday?” she asked, plonking herself down at the kitchen table and grabbing a Hobnob. “I really want to see you play.”

“I don’t think they let under-eighteens in after nine at the Bell,” Mack said.

Rosie scowled and turned to Mum. “Can’t you have a word with Jago?”

“I could try,” Mum said, though her tone was doubtful. She glanced at Mack. “It would be a shame for her to miss out on your last gig.”

“What?” Rosie had been reaching for another Hobnob, but now she let her arm drop to the table, her gaze on Mack disbelieving. “Are you leaving?”

So he hadn’t told her.

“I never intended to stay long-term,” Mack said gently. “You know that, Ro.”

“But—but I thought you’d changed your mind? You’re working at the café and giving me guitar lessons and playing gigs at the Bell. It’s been great. Why do you want to leave?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is,” she replied angrily. “What else have you got going on anyway? It’s not like you’ve got some fantastic job lined up somewhere else, is it? Or a secret boyfriend stashed away?”

Mack’s cheeks flushed. Mine probably did too, but she wasn’t looking at me, thankfully.

“Rosie!” Mum snapped. “Stop it!”

Rosie ignored her. “And what about Dad?”

Mack’s jaw ticked. “What about him?” he said tightly.

“Things need to get fixed between you.”

He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. “Some things can’t be fixed. That’s how it is between me and Dad.”

“No,” she said, and it was a demand and a plea at once. “If Dad could say sorry, really apologise properly, this could be fixed.”

“Rosie!” Mum again.

Rosie glared at her. “What? Someone’s got to say something! Or are we all just going to pretend this isn’t weird and wrong?”

I glanced at Mack. His expression was hard, but I could see from the bleakness in his gaze that he was distressed. Flatly he said, “My relationship with Dad’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is,” Rosie replied angrily. “You’re my brother and he’s my dad, and the whole thing’s so screwed up it’s ridiculous. I know Dad’s sorry, I know he loves you!”

Mack stood up so suddenly, his chair screeched against the floor tiles. “You have no idea!” he hissed. “When I was your age, my mum died and you know what Dad did when I told him to fuck off? Just once? He did it! He fucked off and he never came back.” Mack raked a hand through his hair. Said more quietly, “You have literally no idea how that feels.”

“Dylan, love—” Mum started, but Rosie spoke over her.

“You want to talk about what happened to me at fifteen?” she asked, jerking a thumb at her chest. “A doctor sat me down and told me that if I didn’t get a liver transplant, I was going to die.”

I sucked in a breath. “Jesus, Rosie, it’s not a competition!”

She met my gaze, and her eyes were blazing. “I don’t mean it like that! I mean that something’s happened to me that hasn’t happened to any of you. When you think you’re going to die, a lot of stuff looks different. You see how temporary you are. You see you’re not going to get second chances at things.” She turned back to Mack. “If you go now, there might never be another chance to fix this. And I know it’s hurting you. You and Dad.”

Honestly, I was stunned. I’d assumed she was oblivious to those undercurrents.

Not so, apparently.

I glanced at Mack, and he seemed so lost, so fucking alone. I wished I could comfort him. Instead I had to sit here, clenching my fists under the table, watching helplessly as he considered Rosie’s words.

“Just talk to him, Dylan,” Rosie begged. “Please.”

“Why should I?” he said bleakly. “He’s the one who fucked up.”

Rosie said, “I know. I’m not asking you to make the first move, only, not to leave yet. To give him a chance to sort this out.” She paused, then added, “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure you need this as much as he does. But I think you do, Dylan. I think this makes you really sad.”

Honestly, I didn’t know if I agreed with Rosie or not, but it was impossible to ignore her sheer force of belief. Was she right? Did Mack need to mend things with Derek, if only for his own peace of mind? He’d gone all these years without his dad, and it wasn’t as if over these last few months they’d grown any closer. Did he need Derek in his life at all? Was he just better off without him?

I watched Mack, trying to read him. He huffed out a long breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he finally looked up again, his expression was anguished.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t even know how to start the conversation. I’m no good with words.” He glanced at me, then away quickly, as though he hadn’t intended to do it, and my heart ached for him.

“Well,” Mum said slowly. “it doesn’t have to be a big, heavy thing. You don’t have to launch straight into talking about the past. Just arrange to spend a little time with him. Find some common ground. You’re both musicians after all—it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Invite him to your gig on Saturday!” Rosie said excitedly. “Take Nathan—you can call it a—a boys’ night out.”

“What about me?” Mum said, indignantly. “I was planning on going.”

“You talk too much,” Rosie said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. “They’ll never end up speaking to each other if you go.”

I couldn’t help chuckling at Mum’s offended expression. “Oi,” she said. “I’m not that bad.”

Rosie looked at Mack. “Will you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Mack said, but I could tell the fight had gone out of him. He was going to agree. And Rosie’s smile told me she knew it too.