Chapter 29
ALEX
When Kai sat down next to me - wanted to sit next to me - I didn’t know what to do with myself. I honestly thought after the whole awkward interaction with my mum he’d want nothing to do with me.
I’d been bracing for that, actually.
But I was wrong.
And it felt different outside of school.
I don’t know why, but it did. It felt… easier.
Like we were actually friends. Like he wasn’t just the popular football guy doing me a favour.
And I didn’t hate his company - not even a little.
Especially after Alfie just walked out and ditched me for his friends without a second thought.
While Kai sat next to me, I knew it was bad, but I wished it had been him I was on a double date with. I knew how insane that sounded.
Because there was no universe where Kai Fields was gay.
None.
But I felt it anyway - that stupid little pull in my stomach every time he laughed, or nudged me, or looked at me like he actually wanted to be there.
And when my brother called me… that pull got worse.
Because I wasn’t just afraid - afraid of what he was going to say, afraid of going home, afraid of messing up again - I was also sad.
Sad because I didn’t want this to be over.
Sad because for a few minutes, sitting there with Kai and listening to Callum’s ridiculousness, I forgot everything.
I forgot the stress, the fear, the constant knot in my chest. For a couple of minutes, I actually felt normal.
And I didn’t want to let that go.
“Bye,” I said to him, the relentless swirl in my stomach pulling me under.
“Bye,” he said back, his brows furrowed with something that looked too much like concern.
I didn’t want him to worry about me. I didn’t want him to care.
I’d been fine living my life on the outskirts - lonely, sure, but predictable.
Safe in its own twisted way. With no one sticking their nose in my business, things stayed the way they were.
Not that I liked being my brother’s punching bag.
But I wasn’t na?ve enough to think things couldn’t get worse.
If my brother went to prison, I’d be left with my mum, who I love, but it would only be a matter of time before she brought another abusive bastard home.
It happened before when Connor went to juvie.
His name was Darius, and he was ten times worse than Connor, if you can believe it.
Ended up putting mum through a window and me through a similar version of hell.
And even if that didn’t happen - even if she stayed single, which wasn’t exactly her pattern - she didn’t make enough money to keep us afloat. Whatever the government gave her went straight into booze or whatever else she needed to get through the day.
So no, I didn’t want Kai caring. Because caring meant noticing. And noticing meant asking questions. And questions meant everything I’d worked so hard to keep hidden would come spilling out.
Usually, I was good at keeping my guard up.
Good at keeping my mouth shut. I’d had years of practice.
But something about Kai disarmed me. Something about him made the walls I’d built feel thinner, like they weren’t made of brick anymore but paper.
And before I even realised it, I was telling him things I’d never told anyone before.
And that scared me.
It scared me because if he asked the right questions, I knew I might answer them. Stupidly. Honestly. Like some part of me wanted to be known, even though I’d spent my whole life making sure I wasn’t.
So I left.
And I didn’t look back.
“Where are you?” Connor’s voice hit me like a punch, freezing my heartbeat mid-step. The tone alone made my stomach drop.
Did he know I wasn’t where I was supposed to be?
“Uh… just finishing up with a customer,” I lied, my voice tight. I held my breath, waiting for him to call me out. Even the thought of it made my ribs ache.
“Well, hurry your ass up; I need you home now,” he said, sharp and impatient.
“Okay, I’m coming.” The words tumbled out before he could say anything else, but he had already hung up the phone.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and started running - fast. The sun was beating down on my neck, my hoodie clinging to me, but I didn’t slow down. My legs burned, my lungs hammered against my ribs, but fear pushed me harder than any of that.
When I rounded the corner, the house came into view, and I kept my eyes on the pavement as I caught my breath. It was easier that way - easier than looking at the overgrown lawn or the peeling paint or the windows that never quite shut right. Easier than thinking about who was waiting inside.
I’d spent the whole run replaying Connor’s voice, not the words exactly, but the way he said them. I couldn’t tell if he was angry. And that made everything worse. Not knowing was always worse.
It felt like walking blindly into a storm with no idea when the first lightning strike would hit - only that it would.
And it always did.
I pushed open the door, my heart in my throat, and stepped inside.
What I walked into wasn’t at all what I expected.
Connor was on the phone, pacing, a duffel bag at his feet. He looked like he was in a rush, grabbing things without even checking what they were. When he saw me, he hung up immediately.
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused, my voice smaller than I meant it to be.
“I need you to look after Mum.” He grabbed the back of my neck and steered me toward the living room. It wasn’t rough, but the touch still made every hair on my body stand on end.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, eyebrows knitted together.
“What do you think?” He pointed toward the sofa.
Mum was lying on her side, a bucket on the floor next to her. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, and from the smell alone, it was clear she’d had too much to drink. Again.
“Right,” I muttered, painfully aware of what the next few hours would entail.
“Just make sure she doesn’t fucking die,” he said, letting go of my neck with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t have time for this. I was supposed to leave an hour ago.”
“Where are you going?” I asked as he started stuffing random things into his bag.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he muttered, and I shifted my weight, bracing myself.
He sighed again. “I’m going away for a couple days.”
“What about the line?” I asked, casually putting my hand in my pocket.
“Spike’s got it handled.” He zipped the bag shut. “Can you stay out of trouble for two days?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and grabbed his keys. “There’s money on the side. Hide it in your room. Otherwise, it’ll just go on booze.” He gestured weakly to Mum.
“Okay,” I said, sitting down beside Mum. “Thank you.”
His phone rang again. He answered instantly. “Alright, I’m fucking coming,” he snapped before hanging up. He looked at me once more. “See you later.”
The front door shut behind him, and a moment later I heard the car pull away.
Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I sat beside her for a while, the TV still playing whatever she’d been watching before she passed out.
Every so often she stirred, and I held her hair back if she retched or made sure she stayed on her side.
It was routine by now - the kind of routine no one should ever get used to, but somehow I had.
No doubt the whole Spain thing had set this off. It always happened like that: something hopeful dangled in front of her, then snatched away, and she’d spiral. And after the spiral came the crash - the days where she barely moved, barely spoke, barely existed.
She finally came to after a couple of hours, and once I was sure she wouldn’t choke herself to death, I got up and started cleaning the living room.
The TV was still playing, the sound low and distant.
I emptied the bucket in the bathroom, gagging as I tipped it out, then used the shower head to rinse it clean.
My stomach twisted - partly from the smell, partly because I realised I hadn’t eaten all day.
I’d been sitting there watching her, worrying, waiting, and the hours had slipped by.
She wouldn’t want food. She never did after nights like this. Sometimes she wouldn’t eat for days. I wasn’t going to let it get that far if I could help it.
I went to the kitchen and made the only thing we had left - toast. The last few slices of bread, not mouldy yet, and a bit of butter. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I held my breath as I carried the plate back to her.
“Come on, you need to eat something,” I said quietly, sitting down beside her. She was still lying on her side, staring blankly at the TV, barely blinking. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even seem to register I was there.
“Please, Mum… it’ll make you feel better.” I tried again, hoping she’d at least look at me.
She didn’t. Instead, she knocked the plate out of my hands, sending the toast skidding across the floor. “Get out of my face,” she muttered.
I sighed and bent down to pick up the pieces. When I straightened, she was sitting up, her hands shaking.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, reaching for my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I said, relieved she was at least upright. And then she broke - completely - tears spilling down her face all over again.
“He left me,” she cried, pulling me into her.
“I know, Mum,” I said softly, trying to soothe her as she clung to me. Her tears soaked through my hoodie, warm and heavy.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” she sobbed, squeezing me tighter. The guilt twisted deep in my stomach, sharp and familiar, because I already knew the truth - the moment I could leave, I would.
“I won’t, Mum,” I lied, hugging her back.