Chapter 11
Eleven
things could be worse (you could be dead)
Max
Finn: Wish you were here
Finn: Please come home the kids need you:(
Finn: Wow so weird that you got those texts from me when they were actually from Ava
Finn: (as you know, I am an alpha male and very rarely show my emotions)
Finn’s texts come through in a stream, a response to the picture I sent him from our coastal walk yesterday.
‘Who has you smiling like that?’ The chef, Eileen, asks, stirring the salads and pasta at the lunch buffet. ‘A special friend?’
‘Eileen,’ I crane my neck towards her, dropping my voice. ‘I only have room for one special friend.’
She coos and adds yet another chicken breast to my plate. I’m not sure if there’s such thing as too many, but I assume I’ll find out. I throw her a wink before walking away to find a seat, rereading Finn’s texts as I dig into my pasta and eighty-seven pieces of chicken.
Max: Miss you too Baz
Max: I’ll be back before you know it
Max: *I mean, before AVA knows it
I let autocorrect save my spelling the way it always does, and stretch my right leg out below the table, loosening the familiar
ache in my hip that comes on rainy days. If it weren’t for years of learning what the drop in atmospheric pressure does to
my pelvis, I’m sure panic would be spiking my bloodstream.
I’m as sure as I can be that I’m still healthy, but it doesn’t stop the low-level anxiety that always bubbles beneath the
surface whenever I’m waiting for the results of a check-up, tightening my chest and blurring the edges of my vision.
Because the wait reminds me too much of the fact my life is a series of stolen moments. Reminds me that I slipped away once
before. That I left my family in that hospital room and fell into the dark; unreachable and alone.
‘You look very forlorn,’ Dylan’s voice interrupts me, and for a few moments my brain scrambles to catch up. ‘What are you
thinking about?’
‘Dying,’ I reply, then scoop some pasta into my mouth.
‘Oh.’ Her eyebrows draw together, and I feel like she wants to say something more, but instead she hovers wordlessly, shoulders
inched up almost to her ears. I get the urge to push them down. God, I’d be so good at getting her to relax. I think she knows
it, too. After a few silent moments, she asks, ‘Can I sit?’
‘You don’t need to ask. It’s not my chair.’
She peers at me for a couple of beats and then sits. ‘I was being polite. Maybe you were saving it for someone.’
‘Maybe that someone was you.’ I analyse her, honey-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, a crisp, uncannily white T-shirt with a logo on the pocket.
She opens up that bottle she brings everywhere and takes a sip, before delicately replacing the lid with elegant fingers, and I ask, ‘Not in the mood to sit with Bertie today? Is his vibrational frequency off?’
‘Stop that. He’s nice.’
I bark out a laugh. ‘If someone whose pants I wanted to get into called me “nice”, it’d give me a complex.’
‘He doesn’t—’
‘Bullshit. He zeroed in on you immediately and now he’s playing the long game. At least I’m upfront about it.’
Her jaw ticks and she lowers her voice, hazel eyes on mine. ‘You know, I came over here because you were by yourself and you
seemed upset and I wanted to check on you, but Bertie’s ni—a good person who’s explicitly said he’s not looking for that, and if you’re going to behave like this then maybe I shouldn’t have bothered trying.’
She looks uncomfortable at her own quiet outburst, but that’s not what bothers me. It’s that she shouldn’t be worrying about
me on days like this. And with this pre-results anxiety taking up far too much headspace, I’m not in the mood to sugarcoat,
so I reply, ‘Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have.’
Her brow furrows. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Not enough time to answer that question, unfortunately.’ I finish my mouthful and notice the swimsuit tied at her neck beneath
her shirt. ‘You going coasteering today?’
Deep breathing can only do so much at this stage, but scrambling along the coastline and clambering over rocks and jumping
into the waves will hold my attention exactly the way I need. Just my body moving through the world, no chance for the panic
to catch up with me.
Shit, my therapist is going to have a field day in our next session, I can feel it.
Dylan frowns. ‘You’re giving me whiplash.’
‘At least no one can say I’m boring.’ I end the sentence with a yawn I fail to hide.
‘You didn’t sleep well,’ she accuses. ‘It’s that bed, isn’t it?’
‘Honestly? I never sleep great. Doesn’t matter what bed I’m in.’ I bite down another yawn, the memory of my tossing and turning
last night making my lids heavy. ‘But is that a yes to coasteering?’
She releases a huge sigh and replies, ‘Yes. Because apparently you and I are destined to do every single activity together.’
‘I can think of other activities we could do together,’ I offer, seeing if she’ll take the bait.
It’s easy to slip into this. Because adrenaline and new experiences are all great for making me feel alive, but it doesn’t
have to be as big as that. Sometimes, all it takes is another person. Skin on skin, pleasure on pleasure. A quick fix on a deeper emotional
wound, and a fucking delightful distraction.
Her cheeks turn pink. ‘You’re relentless.’
Relentless. I almost want to laugh. If only she knew the way I scrabbled my way back to this world, proverbial hands bloody as I pulled
myself over the edge.
She shakes her head and checks the time on her phone. ‘We should head to the van soon. Don’t want to be late.’
‘I’ll be right behind you, Tiny.’