RIVER - Part One
RIVER - PART ONE
I had no idea what Rubi and Nash talked about while we left them alone together. Just that Rubi came out a fraction less frazzled than when he went in.
A tiny fucking fraction.
He was still acting weird as fuck. “Did you rinse Nash’s tramadol?”
Rubi glanced up from the joint he’d rerolled three times. “What?”
“You seem off your tits.”
He was already frowning, but it deepened to the earth’s core as he stared at me—like I was talking to him from another continent and he was trying to listen through a nineties dial-up connection. “The trammies made Nash sick.”
“Yeah, you said. Then he had a nap, took some more, and it was fine.”
“When did I tell you that?”
“When I drove you home.”
“In what car?”
Genuine alarm bells screeched in the back of my head. “The same dickhead Audi you drove yourself there in. Cam’s car. I stole it and delivered the rest of your pies while you were in bed with another man.”
“I was in bed with Nash .”
“Dude as pretty as that still counts as another man, boo.”
“He’s fucking your sister.”
“You think Nash is the serious bit of this conversation?”
Rubi gave up on the joint. He dropped it in the tin and I was glad of it. He seemed fucked up already and I couldn’t see a reality where adding weed into the mix would help. “I…”
He stopped and squinted at the wall. Then the speakers stacked up by the TV. Deep, deep confusion coloured his handsome face and it freaked me out enough to push off the doorway and go to where he sat on the coffee table, big legs spread wide as he fucked with the ganja tin.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hmm?”
I gripped his chin, toppling head first into his gold-flecked stare. “You’re acting weird. Did something happen while you were with Nash?”
“Happen? You think we messed around?”
“Not in a million years. I’m not talking about sex.”
“What are you talking about then?”
Jesus fuck , I wasn’t built for conversations like this. The love of my life was gazing up at me as if I had the answers to the fucking universe when six days out of seven I put my bike keys in the fridge and the milk in the bowl by the door. Rubi was the brains of our operation. The brawn too. I was the parasitical gremlin along for the ride, and I lived in constant fear of moments likes these—when he needed more from me than I actually had—more than I was.
Looking down on him messed with my head.
I crouched, my hands on his knees, the warmth of him forever fucking perfect. “I’m not talking about sex. I’m wondering if you necked some of Nash’s prescription. For a headache, maybe? Did you get a migraine while you were there?”
Another stark difference between us was that he wasn’t the type to bang benzos for fun. Getting his meds down him, even when he was in enough pain to howl at the moon, was fucking horrendous. Some days, he’d only take them for me , not himself. And for Nash, which gave my theory more weight—thank fuck. Cos the alternative was that he was having a fucking stroke.
Rubi didn’t answer my question. I rose so he could hide his face in my abdomen and drift while I dragged my phone from my pocket. “You have a headache, boo?”
“Hmm?”
“Never mind.” I rubbed the base of his skull and his tense as hell neck muscles. “Just relax, okay? We can go to bed in a minute.”
River: If Nash is awake, can you ask him if Rubi took any of his benzos?
My sister was a fast texter. Her reply came before I’d clicked out of the message app.
Orla: He’s asleep. Let me check the pack
Orla: There’s four missing. The two doses Nash had, unless Rubi lied in the four page note he left me
River: He wouldn’t do that
Orla: What’s wrong?
River: Not sure. Probably nothing
Orla: Do you want Locke to come over?
Hell no. I’d grown to love Locke as much as I admired him, and I craved his calming presence while Rubi’s was absent, but Nash needed him. Orla needed him. And Locke…he needed to be with them just as much.
River: No. We’re okay. Gonna get some sleep. Love you x
She didn’t argue, vindicating my theory, and I dropped my phone on the coffee table, anxiety creeping over me as I pondered what to do. There were any number of other brothers I could’ve called on—Folk, Embry, Saint, but the last few days had been horrific, even by our standards. My brothers needed to be home with their people as much as I needed to be here with Rubi.
I stooped to study him again.
He smiled, loopy and soft. “I love you, Riv. Sorry I’m messy right now.”
“You have points in the bank.”
“Points?”
“Yeah.” I helped him up from the table and steered him to the stairs. “I’ve been the messy one for ninety-five percent of our fucked up lives. It’s definitely your turn.”
Rubi didn’t respond. He trudged upstairs, dropping most of his clothes along the way. Then he stopped and spun around in the bedroom doorway. “Why do I feel like I’ve been upside down all night?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s weird, though, right? That’s what you said?”
“Just because I say something, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me.” Rubi gripped my chin and stared , but his focus was off. Hazy, like he had a fucking migraine, but without the skull-crushing headache. “Why am I so tired? I’ve had two naps today.”
“You’ve barely slept all week.”
“Nash said I looked mental.”
“Nash is rude.”
“No, he isn’t.”
It was true. Nash was tough when he needed to be, and he could take the piss as well as anyone, but he didn’t say shitty things to the people he loved. And fucking hell, he loved Rubi.
Also, he was right. And it scared the fuck out of me.
I coaxed Rubi into bed. Forced him to settle down. “Stop getting up for shit you don’t need to do.”
He lay down and scooted close to me, cold, his big body devoid of its usual furness temperature.
I wrapped his hands in mine, holding on—clinging to him. Rubi was an emotional soul. He couldn’t bottle life up like Cam, or Saint, or Mateo. And he was too nice to take it out on other people, like me and Orla did. But that meant he took it out on himself, and I wondered if that’s what this was—a physical manifestation of the wreck he’d been earlier.
After you fucked him when he probably needed a six hour hug instead.
I hugged him now.
Rubi burrowed into me, sighing. “Love it when you’re mean. Love it when you’re nice.”
Then he fell asleep, sinking into a coma like state that relieved and scared the shit out of me in equal measure.
I reached for my phone, wishing I had a joint to calm me the fuck down. To help me sift through the thoughts that turned to a racing mess now Rubi wasn’t awake to ground me. They were like unwrapped presents on Christmas Day. Ripped paper. Messy boxes. Knotted ribbons with no end. Rubi was safe in my arms, but a demon in my head told me it wasn’t real. That I’d been happy with him when I didn’t deserve it, and now he was going to die in his sleep.
Welcome to my fucked up brain.
I tapped out a message to Skylar.
River: Can you get migraines without headaches?
Skylar: Yes. Google it
He went offline immediately and didn’t come back. Because he was working the week of nightshifts he’d told me about when we’d last spoken. About Nash and the fact that he’d nearly died under a lorry. That my brother had been out cold at the side of the motorway for ten fucking minutes before he’d come round.
I buried my face in Rubi’s hair, fighting the flood of emotion, letting it turn to the rage I was so much better at accepting these days.
Thanks to Folk.
Thanks to Rubi.
He’s hurting.
I couldn’t fucking bear it, and it became one of the only moments I could remember recently when I missed banging ket up my nose.
Text Folk .
I could have.
He’d have answered. He’d have come to the house if I’d asked him to. Even if I hadn’t. But it was late. Everyone was knackered and needed their people. Folk needed Decoy and Ivy. So I willed myself to sleep and by some fucking miracle, it worked.
I woke before dawn.
Rubi was still out, sleeping like the big, quiet bear he became when he hadn’t had a skin-full. Still breathing . Slow, deep, and even. A world away from the rough hyperventilation threatening my lungs.
Restless, I rolled out of bed and crept downstairs. It was still dark, Rubi’s kitchen—our kitchen—dancing with shadows, but shadows didn’t scare me. Losing Nash did. Losing Cam. And thinking about Locke’s kids if my brothers hadn’t done something so wildly selfless made my brain feel like Rubi’s face for the last few days. Sick. Devastated. So relieved I felt fucking guilty.
In the cold light of day, I didn’t really miss drugs. Everything—every one —that had filled the void they left behind was too bright and fucking strong to let me. But in moments like these, when I was alone, I understood myself better than I ever had. Why my life had panned out the way it had. What I felt for Rubi like it was brand-fucking new, not a piece of me I’d carried since I was a gangly teenager.
You’re still gangly, Riv.
I left the lights off and put the kettle on, needing tea, needing sugar. Needing any comfort I could find while Rubi rested.
My phone had been quiet overnight, only a message from Locke to the group chat—a photo of Nash’s tattooed hand flashing a thumbs up.
I sent one back.
A moment later, Mateo chimed in with his own tattooed thumb, then Decoy, and the newfound sense of belonging wrapped around me. I’d spent so long believing I didn’t want or need extra brothers. Now they meant everything to me.
The kettle came to the boil. I reached for it, but a light tap at the front door derailed me.
I knew that knock. I dashed for the door and opened it in time to catch the man behind it halfway back to his car, a paper-wrapped parcel on the doorstep. “Legging it already?”
Oscar spun around, his bright grin all the sun I needed so early in the morning. “River, my friend. You are awake.”
“Just about.” I hopped over the parcel to hug my former housemate, absorbing his spicy ocean scent, and the familiarity of a man I’d shared my home with for three years. “What are you doing here?”
Oscar squeezed the breath out of me, then let me go. “I brought some brain food from the boat. Mackerel and bass. Some samphire too. In case you’ve been living on Squashies and Wine Gums.”
He knew me too well. And I didn’t mind it. Oscar was as much of a brother to me as anyone. “Come in?”
Oscar checked the watch on his wrist, for more than just the time. “I need to eat.”
“We can make that happen.”
He shrugged, agreeing without words, and followed me back inside. To a kitchen that should’ve been empty unless Rubi had lumbered his giant self downstairs without me noticing. A backdoor that was locked from the inside with reinforced bolts. And yet somehow, Saint was chilling at the table, already drinking tea that looked like piss and smelt like dust.
Yup.
It was going to be one of those days.