Chapter 67
Chris
I press play on the DVD, waiting for Evan to sit down next to me. I chose the film tonight: Collateral Beauty. I need to feast my eyes on Will Smith for an hour or so, just to get through another night without him.
“You’re missing it!”
“I’m coming, I’ll just be a minute.”
“Can you stop just standing there at the window? It’s making me nervous.”
Evan pulls the curtains closed and looks at his watch again.
“What is it? Are you waiting for someone?”
“Who, me?”
I look at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
“I’m not…”
The doorbell saves him.
“Go on, then, open it, seeing as you’re already up.”
“Why don’t you open it?”
“Jesus, what’s wrong with you today?” I get up from the sofa and go to open the front door: when I do, I slam it shut again immediately in his stupid face.
“Christine!”
“Fuck off, O’Connor!”
“Afterwards, if you want, I’ll fuck off. But please, just open this door now and let me explain.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do I have to break the door down?”
“Everyone stop,” Evan says, approaching me. “We really don’t need a broken front door right now,” he concludes, opening it and letting him in.
“You little…”
“At least someone in this house has a brain,” Ryan says, stepping inside with his brothers in tow.
“What is this? Some kind of awful special delivery?”
“More or less,” Nick says, his arms laden with tins of paint.
Ian’s carrying two duffel bags, and they’re both wearing white jumpsuits.
Evan bursts out laughing, but Nick shuts him up straight away,
“There’s one for you, too, kid!”
“Fuck.”
“Go on, go do your job,” Ryan says, pointing upstairs.
“And miss this? Never,” Nick says, slumping down onto my sofa.
“Nick,” Ian warns.
“You’re such a…”
“Upstairs, now!” Ryan orders them.
“Don’t get used to this,” Ian threatens, before climbing the stairs, followed by his brother, then by Evan.
“Do you want to explain what’s going on?” I yell.
“Only if you calm down first.”
“What do you want, Ryan? And what the hell are they doing here? And why the fuck does Evan know what’s going on?” I’m hysterical by this point.
“One thing at a time, okay? Don’t wind me up.”
“You’re getting wound up?”
“Of course I am! You’re already screaming at me and I haven’t even started talking yet!” he yells impatiently.
“I’m only getting worked up because you still haven’t told me what the fuck has happened!”
“You, Christine. That’s what’s fucking happened.”
He steps towards me.
“You know those moments where it seems like the whole world is frozen, waiting for something amazing and unexpected to happen? Well, in one of those moments, something did happen. To me. You happened.”
“Fuck…” Nick’s voice floats down from upstairs.
“Would you mind pissing off?”
“Yep,” he says, disappearing again.
“I don’t get it…”
“Right now, my brothers are up there painting your bedroom walls.”
“What?”
“You think I can sleep in a pink bedroom?”
“It’s more lilac than…”
“Do you think I care about that?”
I shake my head.
“Here,” he says, opening one of the duffel bags. “A jersey, a hoodie, a tracksuit…and it all has my number on it. Because you can’t just go around wearing anyone’s number. So, here you go. Number three. The perfect number.”
“Because you’re perfect?”
“No…because you are.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I smile, even though there should be steams of anger flying out of my ears.
“I have a kit in here for Evan, too; but there’s no number on it. That way, he can write on his own.”
“What…?”
“You think I can let that kid stroll around all day with nothing better to do? Don’t even think about it.”
Tears are almost choking me.
“It’s okay, he’s agreed.”
“How did I guess.”
“And he’s also agreed to me living here,” he says, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. “You see? He gave them to me.”
I nod, incredulous.
“Oh and…season tickets, for both of you, for the Championship Final, and for whole of next season,” he says, waving them in my face. “Because this is going to last, Christine. Tomorrow, next year…forever.”
“But you told me you didn’t want any of that. That you wanted them once, but you’ve realised that you don’t want them anymore. That we have too much baggage, Ryan, and you don’t even want a family…”
“You’re right. I don’t want those things anymore, because I’m not that person anymore and you…fuck, you’re different. You’re you, and I want something different, something new. And I want it with you.”
“N-new?” I babble, confused.
“I’m ready. I’ve never been so ready in my life, but I’m ready now, for us. I need you to be ready, too. Ready to risk everything: and I’m warning you, it’s a huge risk.”
I nod, shocked.
“I need you to really believe in us, without holding back. I need you to believe in this…in me.”
I take a deep breath, as Ryan O’Connor comes out: all his insecurities, his fears, but also his kindness and his heart.
“So I’m asking you now, Christine: can you take a chance on me?”