Cerys
Meinir Davies was like a well-aged Caerphilly — sharp, a bit crumbly, and impossible to ignore. If I could box her up and ship her off to a fancy London cheese shop, I would.
No, really, I would...
Oh, who am I kidding? She owned the land my cheeses called home, and worse, she was my late boyfriend’s mother.
But bloody hell, some days she made me want to tear my hair out and run screaming into the hills of the Brecon Beacons. And today? She’d outdone herself. I swear, that woman could try the patience of a saint — or a stubborn Welsh cheesemaker, which might be the tougher test.
The meddling pain in my ass had topped herself today. I never thought she’d manage to strike getting me to socialise outside the farmer’s market off the list, but she’d done it. Probably been plotting this longer than it takes to age a decent Cheddar, the crafty old goat.
I just wanted to do my job, get the next batch of Snowdonia Blue into the ageing room, pack some orders, and maybe clock out before the sunset for the first time in a bloody year.
But no, Meins hadn’t agreed with those plans and had twisted my arm into lunch with that knowing look of hers. The one that made me feel like a naughty schoolgirl caught sneaking extra bara brith.
Had she spilled the beans on who she’d invited to lunch, I might have put up more of a fight.
Might have rubbed my fingers raw testing cheese textures to avoid it. Might have mysteriously developed a case of cheese cave fever. Anything to avoid... this.
But I hadn’t, and now I stood in her old farmhouse kitchen, staring at the one man who could still make my heart do a jig worthy of the Eisteddfod with just a look.
Nick bloody Lewis.
I’d rather face a cranky ram than deal with this. At least the ram would be honest about wanting to knock me on my ass.
Nick stared back at me — or more at the spot to the right of my shoulder — appearing just as shocked as I felt, his blue eyes wide and darting between me and Meinir. The kitchen suddenly felt as stuffy as my ageing room in midsummer.
Christ, is the room shrinking?
“Cerys,” he said, his deliciously gruff voice curling around my name exactly as it had in school. Only then I’d been his best friend, doing everything I could to pretend that he couldn’t make me shiver with just a word.
Now? Now I was doing everything I could not to show how much it still affected me. Stupid, traitorous body.
His gaze skittered around the kitchen, bouncing from Meins to the kettle boiling on the stove and back. “I... didn’t know you’d be here.”
“That makes two of us,” I said, my voice sharper than a well-honed cheese knife. I turned to the mischievous meddler, who was busying herself with the kettle, a suspiciously innocent expression on her face. “Meins, a word?”
But before I could drag her into the pantry for a proper Welsh telling-off, Nick cleared his throat. “Look, I should go. This was obviously a mistake—”
“Oh no, Nicky,” Meinir said, her voice soft but with that edge I knew all too well. The one that could guilt a saint into eating another slice of cake. “You’ve only just got back from tour. Surely you can spare me an hour for lunch? I’ve made your favourite shepherd’s pie and there’s bara brith for dessert. Please stay. It’s been ages since we’ve all sat down together. Gareth would want that, don’t you think?”
Low blow, Meins.
I watched his resolve crumble. Though really, no one would be surprised. The woman was more tenacious than a choir director at the Eisteddfod.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Right, of course. Sorry.”
Before I could make my own escape — maybe I could fake a cheese emergency? Runaway Camembert? — she turned to me, her eyes twinkling like she’d just won Star Baker on the Great British Bake Off. “And you, Cerys bach. That cheese of yours can wait an hour. It won’t kill you to take a break and eat your lunch sitting down for once.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Meins was already pushing us both towards the table. This was going to be a long, awkward lunch. And if I survived it without lobbing a wheel of cheese at someone’s head, it’d be a miracle.
Preferably a nice, heavy wheel of Caerphilly.
At Nick’s stupidly handsome face.
I glared at the placemat. “I’d rather be elbow-deep in curds and whey right now.”
Nick snorted. “Some things never change, do they, Evans?”
I shot him a look that could curdle milk. “And some people never learn when to keep their mouths shut, do they, Nicky?”
His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that used to make my teenage heart flutter, darkened. “Right. Because you’re the expert on knowing when to stop talking.”
I bristled, my fingers itching for that wheel of cheese. Why hadn’t I thought to bring one in from my workshop? But before I could unleash a retort that would make a sailor blush, Meinir swooped in, her voice saccharine sweet.
“Now, now, you two. Let’s not bicker. The pie is ready, and I’ve made a pot of tea. Shall we sit?”
I glanced at Nick, catching his eye for a brief moment. The silent communication we’d perfected years ago hadn’t faded, it seemed. His slight eye roll matched my barely concealed sigh. We were both trapped in Meinir’s web of good intentions and nostalgia.
“Fine,” I muttered, dropping into a chair at the worn wooden table. Might as well get this over with.
If I ate fast enough, I could escape before Meins tried to make us sing Kumbaya or something equally horrifying.
Nick pulled out his own seat, the basic, simple action making deja vu brush against my mind. How many times had we sat at this very table with Gareth, laughing and planning our futures back when the future seemed limitless and unbreakable? Back when we were young and stupid enough to believe that nothing could tear us apart.
God, we were idiots.
Meinir busied herself, setting out mismatched china cups and plates with a cheerful clatter at odds with the tension humming between Nick and me. The rich, spicy scent of freshly baked bara brith filled the air, a comforting aroma that usually made me feel at home. Today, it just made my stomach churn.
Funny how even the most comforting things can turn sour when mixed with regret and resentment.
Outside, the December rain continued its relentless assault, pattering against the windows and streaming down the glass in fat rivulets. The gloomy Welsh winter had settled in with a vengeance, turning the world beyond the farmhouse into a grey, sodden mess. I suppressed a shiver, grateful for the warmth of the kitchen, even if the company left something to be desired.
“I hope you’re both hungry,” Meinir said, setting a steaming casserole dish in the centre of the table. “Nothing beats a good shepherd’s pie on a day like this.”
I had to admit, it did look delicious. Golden-brown mashed potatoes crusted the top, hiding the lamb and vegetable filling beneath.
On any other day, I’d be salivating. Today, I wasn’t sure I could stomach a bite.
“It looks great, Meins,” Nick said, his voice warm. “Just like I remember.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Careful there, rock star. Wouldn’t want to ruin your fancy tour diet with home cooking.”
“Don’t be stupid. You know I’ve always loved Meins’s cooking.”
“Sure you do. That’s why she barely sees you.”
Nick shrugged, attempting a nonchalant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The band’s been busy. Big tours, new music… You know how it is. I visit when I can.”
“So you say.” I’d never seen him on any of those visits. In the first few years after Gareth’s death, he’d gone out of his way to make them as last minute as possible so Meins couldn’t invite me. “I remember a time when you cleared your calendar for us.” But that was before. I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the pang in my chest.
“It’s hard for young artists,” Meinir said, buying his empty excuses yet again. “I understand, and I appreciate every moment you gift me.”
Nick nodded, but I continued to glare at him. He’d done everything he could to avoid us after Gareth’s death. The kitchen fell silent, save for the soft tick of the ancient clock on the wall and the persistent drum of rain against the windows.
Meinir began serving generous portions onto our plates and despite my churning emotions, my stomach gave an involuntary growl.
Traitor.
As we ate, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, couldn’t stop myself from taking in all the changes eight years had wrought. He was still unfairly attractive, damn him. His dark hair was longer now, artfully tousled in that way that probably took ages to perfect but was meant to look effortless. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and I could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.
He looked... different.
Older, of course, but there was something else. A weariness in the set of his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that spoke of more than just jet lag.
For a moment, a flicker of concern jolted to life inside of me. Then I remembered the last time I’d seen him, at the hospital while the doctor delivered the news that Gareth had passed. The way he’d avoided my gaze, muttered some platitude about being sorry, and disappeared. The concern shrivelled, replaced by the familiar burn of resentment. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice... Well, I wasn’t about to let that happen.
“So, Nicky,” Meinir said, breaking the tense silence. “Tell me all about your tour. America, wasn’t it?”
Nick shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Good. Let him squirm. Let him feel a fraction of the discomfort I’ve been living with for years.
“Yeah, we’ve been supporting The Brightside on their US tour. It’s been... intense.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “Intense? What, the groupies too demanding?”
His eyes snapped to mine, a flash of hurt quickly masked by annoyance. “It’s not like that. You know I’m not—”
I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to slice one of my prize-winning cheddars. “I don’t know anything about you anymore, Nick. Eight years is a long time.”
His face fell, and for a second, I glimpsed the boy I used to know — vulnerable and a bit lost. But then his jaw set, and he was back to being the stranger who’d walked into Meinir’s kitchen. The boy I knew was gone, replaced by this... this rock star who couldn’t be bothered to remember where he came from.
“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve tried—”
“Tried what?” I shook my head. “To set a world record for avoiding your hometown?”
Meinir cleared her throat. “Now, now, let’s not—”
“It’s okay, Meins,” Nick said, his eyes locked on mine. “Cerys has something to say. Let’s hear it.”
The challenge in his voice made my blood boil. Who did he think he was, waltzing back in here like nothing had changed?
“Oh, you want to hear it? Fine. How about we start with how you vanished after Gareth’s funeral? Or how about the fact that you couldn’t even be bothered to call in on his birthday last year?”
Nick flinched. “I was on tour. We had a gig—”
“Right, because heaven forbid you miss a show to remember your best friend.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I couldn’t stop them. Years of pent-up anger and hurt were bubbling to the surface like an overflowing cheese vat.
This is why I’d avoided him for eight years.
“That’s enough,” Meinir said, her tone stern. “Both of you. This isn’t why I invited you.”
I turned my glare on her. “And why did you drag me out of my cheese room for this? To reminisce about the good old days? News flash: they’re gone. Just like Gareth.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Her face crumpled, and even Nick looked horrified. Shame washed over me, hot and suffocating. My throat closed up, choking on words I wished I could take back. Why had I said that? I never brought Gareth up to Meins. It was an unspoken rule, a line I’d never crossed.
Until now.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to croak out. “That was... I shouldn’t have said that.”
Meinir took a deep breath, composing herself. “It’s alright, cariad. I know you’re hurting. We all are.”
Nick pushed his food around his plate. “I should—”
“No,” she snapped, surprising us both. “You’re staying. Both of you. We’re going to finish this meal, and we’re going to talk. Like adults.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she gave me a look that would make a dragon think twice. I shut it again, feeling like a scolded child. Which, to be fair, was pretty much how I was acting.
“I’ve been meaning to give you something,” Meins said before the silence could stretch any further.
She walked over to the old oak sideboard. Opening a cupboard, she pulled out a worn, cardboard box and set it deliberately at the end of the table where neither of us could escape it. My stomach plummeted.
“It’s Gareth’s things. Bits and pieces I thought you both might want.”
I stared at the box, my throat going dry. “Meins, I don’t think—”
“No,” Nick said, his voice strained. “I can’t go through that.”
Her expression hardened. “You’ve avoided this long enough. Both of you. It’s time to face the past instead of running from it.”
“I’m not running,” I snapped, though the quiver in my voice betrayed me. “I just don’t see the point.”
“If you won’t take the time to go through them, I’m throwing them out.”
“You wouldn’t,” I whispered, shocked. Gareth was her son. She kept everything of his, from childhood drawings to his old rugby boots. His room was like a freaking shrine.
“Try me.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I’ve held on to this for eight years. It’s time to let go.”
Nick swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the box. “Meinir, please. Not today.”
“Yes, today,” she said, her tone hard. “You two need to confront this, together.”
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen, broken only by the relentless rain hammering against the windows. It felt like the walls were closing in on me, the air thick with unspoken words and suppressed emotions.
“Fine,” I finally muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “But don’t expect miracles.”
Nick glanced at me, his expression a mix of relief and resignation. “Alright. We’ll get it over with.”
Meins nodded, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you. Both of you.” She took her seat again. “Now,” she said, her voice softening. “Did you get to see much of America, Nicky?”
He hesitated, glancing at me before answering. “Not really. It was mostly hotels and venues. We did get a couple of days off here and there.” His lips curved into a little smirk, a look he got when he was about to wind me up.
My eyes narrowed on the little shit, bracing myself for whatever bullshit was about to come out of his mouth.
“I finally got to see Boston, though.”
Envy instantly speared through me, sharp and hot as a knife through soft cheese. Just like he knew it would.
Boston. He’d gone without me.
I felt like I’d been sucker-punched. It wasn’t fair.
“What was it like?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Nick’s eyes lit up. “It was great. We had a whole day off, so I did the full tourist thing. Walked the Freedom Trail, saw Fenway Park. But the best part? We passed by the Boston Police Headquarters — you know, the one from Rizzoli & Isles? And I swear I saw a café that looked just like the Dirty Robber.”
“Did you get to go inside?” I asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. The words came out softer than I intended, betraying my interest. Betraying the part of me that still cared, that still wanted to share this with him.
“Yeah, actually.” Nick’s grin widened, and I could see the excitement dancing in his eyes. “I convinced the guys to grab a drink there. It wasn’t exactly like in the show, but man, it felt surreal.”
The image hit me like a ton of bricks. Nick, sitting in the bar we’d dreamed about, living out our shared fantasy without me. It shouldn’t hurt this much, not after all this time. But it did. It felt like he’d taken a piece of our past, of us, and made it his alone.
“That’s… that’s great,” I managed, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. “I’m glad you got to see it.” The lie sat heavy on my tongue, but what else could I say? That I was jealous? That it should have been me there with him? That he had no right to our dreams anymore?
“I took some photos,” Nick said, his voice softening. “If you want to see them later, I mean.”
Later. As if we’d be hanging out after this forced lunch. As if we were friends again, sharing stories and swapping photos like old times. As if the last eight years hadn’t happened, hadn’t changed us both.
I stabbed at a piece of lamb, focusing on my food to hide the conflicting emotions on my face.
Don’t fall for it, Cerys.
He’ll be gone again before you can say ‘cheese curd.’ This isn’t the start of something new. It’s just a reminder of everything you’ve lost.
Meinir leaned forward, her eyes shining with pride. “Did you get to try any of the local food?”
While Nick gushed over Boston cream pies and clam chowder, I found myself torn between wanting to hear every detail and wanting to plug my ears. Each word was a reminder of what I’d missed out on, of the life he’d lived while I’d stayed behind, tethered to this place.
Part of me wanted to lash out, to hurt him like his words were hurting me. But another part, a part I thought I’d buried years ago, wanted to ask if he’d thought of me while he was there. If he’d wished, even for a moment, that I was there with him.
Instead, I sat there, silent, letting his words wash over me like the rain outside. And all the while, that traitorous heart of mine kept beating, kept hoping, kept wondering what it would be like if things had been different.
“...and the gig tonight is huge,” Nick was saying, pulling me back to the present. “If all goes well, we could be signed by tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, cariad, that’s wonderful!” Meinir clapped her hands together, beaming like she’d just won first prize at the county show. “I always knew you’d make it big. Didn’t I tell you, Cerys? Our Nicky, a real rock star.”
I forced a smile, ignoring the twinge in my chest. “Yeah, great.”
He met my gaze, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of... something. Uncertainty? Guilt? Before I could decipher it, he looked away, focusing on Meins again. Coward.
“It’s not a done deal yet,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But the label seems interested. They’re sending some execs to the show tonight.”
“You’ll blow them away, I’m sure,” she said, reaching out to pat his hand. “You always had the talent.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Christ, why don’t you just build him a shrine in the living room, Meins?
“I’m sure the fancy hair and tattoos don’t hurt either.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not about the image. It’s about the music. Always has been.”
“Right,” I scoffed, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Because nothing says‘it’s all about the music’ like playing support for the pop band flavour of the month.”
“One, The Brightside aren’t a pop band,” Nick said, his voice tight. “Two, they’re a multi-award winning, international rock sensation who helped Marable put Wales on the music map. Third, they’re incredibly talented musicians and they’ve given us more amazing opportunities than we deserved.”
Bitterness burned inside of me and I despised the person it turned me into around Nick. This angry, spiteful version of myself that I barely recognised. But I also didn’t want to stop it. It was easier to be angry than to admit how much his absence still hurt.
“And here I thought you might have had the chance to write something original instead of riding their coattails,” I said, my fork stabbing through a piece of meat with unnecessary force. The screech of metal on china made me wince, but I didn’t back down.
A muscle ticked in Nick’s jaw. “You know what? Sometimes support slots are just the beginning. It’s how you build your career.”
“Now, now, children,” Meins said before I could come up with a cutting retort. “Let’s not turn this into a battle.” She narrowed her eyes on me, silently telling me to get my shit together. If only I could. Then she turned her focus back to him. “Tell me about your new music.”
His brow furrowed, and he hesitated, searching my eyes. “We’re working on our next album. It’s more... personal.” The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard. “Like we finally decided to stop hiding behind the noise and actually write about things that matter.”
“Really?” I feigned interest, but the anger simmered below. “What kind of things? Girlfriends and parties?”
He shot me a look filled with disdain, sharpening that undercurrent of connection we so desperately tried to ignore. “No. I write about life, Cerys. About loss. Regret.”
It must be nice to think that the world could be reduced to mere music notes and catchy lyrics for him. Meanwhile, I lived here, surrounded by the memories of what we’d had and what we’d lost. The idea that Nick could wrap his loss in a melody and suddenly feel better felt like a sick joke.
Before I could fire back, Meinir stood up abruptly. “Oh! Oh dear, I’ve just remembered. I have an appointment in town. I have to go.”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion creeping in. “An appointment? Now?”
Pull the other one, Meins. It’s got bells on.
She was already gathering her things, moving with a speed that belied her years. “Yes, yes. Very important. Can’t miss it. You two finish your lunch, alright?”
“Meins, wait—” Nick started, but she was already at the door.
“Sorry, cariad. We’ll catch up again. Must dash. Enjoy your lunch!”
Rockstar Regret releases Feb 20th, 2025. Preorder now.