Chapter 7
Alex
Acouple of days later, I’m still trying to figure out what made Dane freak out.
One minute he was carrying me upstairs like he wanted to ravage me.
The next he was staring out the window with a haunted kind of expression on his face and suggesting we just cuddle.
He’s being so weird. I’m starting to wonder if he actually has been visited by Christmas ghosts.
Since when does he want to cuddle me without getting something out of it?
And he was so nice. He showed up with Lucozade and lunch and didn’t gloat about my treadmill fall…
at least not too much. He even let me pick the film and he didn’t laugh when I got squeamish about the booby traps.
A few days ago that would’ve been unthinkable.
He would’ve for sure used it against me and mocked me about it during tennis matches to try to get in my head. Probably told half the club, too.
Is it because of my ankle? He feels bad that I’m injured and out of action and can’t play tennis? Is it just pity? But why come around to visit at all? It’s not like I expected him to. We’re not friends. We’re basically acquaintances who fuck. And now cuddle, apparently.
I look at the clock and get a jump scare.
I’m running late. I’ve spent way too long getting ready, trying on ten different outfits and throwing them on the bed in disgust. I want to look just right.
I throw on a pair of ripped black jeans and a sequin top and admire myself in the mirror.
Not bad. Then I remember it’s winter. I have to ruin the whole thing by pulling on a giant, shapeless parka to keep warm.
I go downstairs. Mum is leaning against the kitchen island, watching some Christmas concoction bake in the oven.
The scent of holiday spices fills the whole house.
As long as I can remember, she’s gone big on Christmas and birthdays and any special occasion.
She always wanted to give me a great childhood even without my father being here.
“Going out?” Mum says, clocking the parka.
“I thought I’d drive up to Belfast and surprise Dane at his exhibition match.”
She scowls. “Well, well. Dane is a lucky boy.”
She might be a wee bit biased. She’s never forgiven him for the mistletoe debacle.
She knows the whole embarrassing story and she’s held it against him for years.
We’ve always been close. I’m one of those losers who actually confides in their mum.
Usually she doesn’t give me any reason to regret it.
She gives great advice and doesn’t intrude too much into my business.
But it’s obvious she’s itching to say something now.
“What is it?” I say.
“If that boy breaks your heart, I’ll break his neck.”
I laugh even though there’s a good chance she isn’t joking. “We’re just friends, Mum.”
“You think I came up the Lagan?”
“Really,” I insist weakly. “There’s nothing going on.”
But she can tell that I want there to be something between Dane and me. She narrows her eyes in a warning-type way that can be quite scary.
“You’re too good to be strung along by anyone,” she says. “You deserve someone who’s proud to be seen with you.”
“I know,” I say.
She comes over to give me a hug, the tough love portion of the conversation dispatched.
“Don’t drive too fast,” she says. “And watch out for black ice.”
It’s her constant refrain from November onwards, even if the temperature is miles above freezing.
She squeezes me a little tighter than usual.
She wants to say more about Dane. Possibly wants to warn me off him entirely, or scare him away from me, or both.
But she’ll respect my right to make my own decisions.
“Thanks, Mum,” I say, “I’ll watch out for black ice.”
**
The tennis club that’s holding the exhibition match is much fancier than mine.
For one thing it has a roof. Always useful in winter.
As I walk over to the building, my ankle feels a little sore but not too bad.
I’m off the crutches already, at least most of the time.
It was only a mild sprain and I was told to keep moving around after a couple of days’ rest. Still, it still aches at times and I’m glad my car is an automatic so I didn’t have to use the clutch driving down here.
I go inside the tennis center, feeling a bit self-conscious.
Maybe this is too much. Is this a boyfriend thing to do, showing up to support him like this?
Maybe Dane doesn’t even want me here. A few others from the club are here to watch, at least, so I won’t stand out too much.
Though none of them cuddled Dane in their bedroom (I assume), so it’s not quite the same thing.
I skulk along the sides of the courts, dodging some angry-looking thirteen-year-olds who are getting ready for a match.
I creep around to where Dane is sitting at the side of court four.
He’s rummaging in his huge tennis bag and I can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s carrying himself.
A small crowd has gathered: obviously, this is an exhibition match.
Our coach Malachi sees me, looks a bit surprised, and gives me a wave.
He probably thought I’d still be sulking about Dane’s cheating.
Mia is engrossed in her phone, scowling about something as usual.
Dane glances up and sees me, does a double take.
I hold my breath. His face breaks into a smile.
I go over, keeping my voice down for some reason like we’re in church.
“I came to support you,” I say. “I can leave if I’ll put you off.”
“No, not at all. Stay.” He smiles even wider, looking like he’s seeing a ghost. “But what about your plans?”
“What plans?”
“You told me you had big plans for today. I thought that was why you couldn’t make the match.”
Oh yeah. My lie.
“Oh, er… it got canceled,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay. I’m happy to be here.”
He looks like he’s really happy I’m here, too. Already his shoulders look more relaxed and he can’t stop smiling. Then Mia comes over to ruin the moment. She looks me up and down. I’ve taken off the parka and my sequins are glinting under the artificial lights.
“Love the outfit,” she says sarcastically.
“Thanks,” I say, equally sarcastic.
“I think it looks good,” Dane says.
I almost collapse with surprise—he actually stood up for me publicly?
Mia rolls her eyes but lets it go. I guess she doesn’t want to ruin her concentration for the big game.
It’s time for them to start warming up. The other team is a girl of about fifteen and a man of about sixty, both of whom look a bit dopey.
But if they’ve been selected by their club they’re probably a lot better than they look and shouldn’t be underestimated.
“Good luck,” I whisper to Dane, but not Mia.
I take a seat on a bench beside Malachi.
The other team goes pretty hard with their warm-up, hitting vicious volleys right at Dane and Mia’s heads and not bothering with any polite small talk.
Dane and Mia are very happy in that uber-competitive, asshole zone, as I know to my cost. Dane’s icy Daniel Craig eyes start taking over.
It makes me realize how differently he was looking at me while he was over at my house.
The way his gaze softened when he wrapped that icepack around my ankle.
Especially how it heated up as he pinned me to the sofa to kiss me.
I’m getting a little protective of him now, and kind of want to run into the middle of the court to stop the other team from hitting the ball so hard at him.
Ridiculous. He can take care of himself.
At the back of my mind, Mum’s warning is still there: I shouldn’t let my feelings get carried away just yet.
He hasn’t given any indication that he wants more from me than friendship.
.. except for the lunch. And the cuddling.
And sticking up for me to Mia. It’s all starting to add up something, surely.
Malachi is saying something to me, but I’m miles away and have to ask him to repeat himself.
“I said, these guys are taking it a bit seriously.” He gestures to the opposing team.
“So are Dane and Mia,” I answer.
Malachi nods as Mia sends a final practice shot zipping millimeters past her female opponent’s head.
“Ready to start?” Dane says.
The other team agrees without smiling.
The match begins. It’s tightly contested, like I expected.
The older guy isn’t the fastest but he’s super wily, with an array of drop shots and trick shots that really piss Mia off.
Not as dopey as he looked, then. His teenage partner takes care of the running, covering for him at the back of the court.
A few times she reaches a shot that I was sure was impossible.
But Mia and Dane are on top form. Mia is a pain in the ass, but she can play.
And Dane seems elevated to a higher level than I’ve ever seen before.
His serves are harder and deeper, and his trademark backhand zips down the line to win the point time after time.
I want to tell myself that it’s my support that’s driving him to greater heights.
A possessive, proud part of myself speaks up every time he kicks ass. Mine. He’s mine.
So much for not getting carried away in my feelings.
I can’t help it. He just looks too cute with his mouth all hard with determination, his blue eyes raking the opposite court for any opening, and his athletic body pouncing to finish off point after point.
It’s nice not to be the target of that wrath for once.
To feel like I’m on the same side. When he wins an important point he runs his hands through his sweaty hair and looks right at me in triumph. My stomach flipflops.