Chapter 45
KAI
“Alright, love?” Mum chimed as I walked through the front door. “How did it go with Coach?”
She walked toward me from the kitchen in her nurse’s uniform, a hopeful expression lighting up her whole face.
“There’s four schools interested in me,” I said with a grin, kicking my shoes off and nudging them aside with my foot.
“Four!” Mum said with a yelp, trying - and failing - to contain her excitement. She clapped her hands together once, her eyes shining.
I nodded nonchalantly. “They’re only interested, Mum; it doesn’t mean they’re going to want me,” I stated, trying to control her excitement even though mine was bubbling under my skin.
“Of course they’re going to want you,” she said, looking up at me with that stubborn, unwavering belief she always had.
She reached out and squeezed my arm, her thumb brushing the fabric of my sleeve.
“Don’t be silly, you’re amazing,” she added as she walked through into the kitchen and I followed.
Her loose hair bounced with each step, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement.
“My son, the footballer,” she squealed again, throwing her hands up like she was announcing me on stage.
“Alright, Mum.” I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Tone it down just a fraction.” I leaned against the counter, watching her buzz around the kitchen like she’d had three coffees.
“I can’t help it.” She started spooning some pasta bake into a container, humming under her breath. Then she jumped again - actually jumped - and the tomato sauce flicked up off the spoon, splattering across the counter and her uniform. “I’m just so excited.”
“Mum, you’re getting it everywhere.” I chuckled again, stepping forward to grab a cloth before she made the kitchen look like a crime scene.
She swatted my hand away, laughing, sauce on her cheek and absolutely no awareness of it.
“And now it’s on your face.” I shook my head, dabbing her cheek quickly.
She took the cloth and then stared up at me, her blue eyes glinting. “Your dad would be so proud.” She said it with a smile that reached her eyes, the kind that made the corners crinkle.
She cupped my face, her palms warm against my cheeks, and I leaned into it with a smile, closing my eyes for a second as the familiar comfort washed over me.
“Oh, is that the time?” Her eyes narrowed at her watch, her expression flipping instantly. “I’ve got to go.” She closed the lid on her container with a snap and shoved it into her tote bag, already half-turned toward the door.
“Night shift?” I questioned, watching her tie her hair back with the elastic around her wrist as she nodded.
“I’ll be home in the morning.” She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, the scent of her perfume brushing past me. “Eat something.” She gestured to the pasta bake with her spoon, and I nodded because she’d ask again if I didn’t.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.” She squeezed my arm once before heading out, keys jingling in her hand, and then she left.
When the door shut, I became painfully aware of the silence she’d left behind. The only thing breaking up the emptiness was the soft whir of the oven cooling, a low hum filling the house like it was trying to pretend it wasn’t hollow.
I’d gotten used to being alone - only child, mum working nights, early mornings, doubles. But for some reason today, the emptiness caught me off guard. It pressed in around me, thick and heavy, like the walls were listening.
Because today I needed a distraction. Something to busy my thoughts. Something to take my mind off Alex Taylor.
I could still feel his eyes on me during practice - that sadness behind them, the kind that made my chest squeeze.
He was the one who said he didn’t want to be friends.
He said it, not me.
So why did he look so hurt when I ignored him?
Why did he go to Coach and take the blame for something that wasn’t his fault if we weren’t friends?
And why did it hurt so fucking much to ignore him?
My brain was whirring at a million miles an hour.
Distract yourself.
I walked back over to the kitchen counter, the sound of my socks brushing over the polished marble suddenly too loud in the quiet.
I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and scooped out a portion of pasta bake.
It was still warm. Mum had left grated cheese out, so I sprinkled a handful over the top, watching it melt.
But still my brain betrayed me.
Alex . No.
I shoved a spoonful of pasta bake into my mouth, swallowing hard, trying to think about anything else.
Alex . For fuck’s sake.
My hands twitched as I ran them through my hair, tugging slightly at the roots.
Alex.
Fuck. I didn’t even have his number. No way to talk to him. And it was driving me insane. We weren’t friends. He didn’t want to be friends. He pushed me away. He did.
I found myself drifting toward my home gym, leaving the pasta bowl on the table without a second thought. On nights like this - when it was too quiet, when my mind was too full - I did the only thing I knew how to do to blow off steam.
Run.
I turned the treadmill speed up as high as I could take and ran as fast as my legs would go.
The thing with running - especially endurance - is that you have to focus on your breathing.
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
Steady. Controlled. One bad breath could screw you, screw your rhythm, screw your ability to keep going.
So it’s hard to think about anything else.
With my headphones in, music blasting as loud as my eardrums could take, I ran.
In through your nose. Out through your mouth.
Alex.
I pushed myself harder, speed higher, legs and lungs burning with anticipation.
Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex.
Before I even knew what I was doing, the treadmill was off and I was sprinting up the stairs, two at a time, my chest heaving. I shut my bedroom door behind me like I had a secret to keep.
Then the Xbox was on - my hands moving before my brain could catch up - led by the part of me that knew the only way to speak to Alex was through the game.
ALEXT15.
My fingers typed his name like they’d been waiting for an excuse. His avatar popped up - fluffy brown hair, dark brown eyes, hoodie. As close to him as he could get.
And I hated how much I liked that.
But now, staring at the screen, my brain finally caught up to my heart. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if he’d even reply. I just knew I wanted to say something .
I wasn’t going to push. I’d already scared him off being way too fucking intense.
No. I’d give him a choice this time. See if he wanted to talk to me.
‘Call me,’ I typed, then added my number.
I switched off the game immediately, like I could hide my own neediness, and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, phone clutched in my hand.
He wasn’t going to call.
He didn’t want to be friends.
My cheeks heated as frustration crawled up my spine.
Had I overstepped again?
All he asked was for me to leave him alone, and I couldn’t even do that.
It shouldn’t have been hard. I’d only known him a week.
We didn’t even hang out in the same circles.
I was still breathing heavily from my workout, my t-shirt sticking to my back as I sat up and dragged my fingers through my hair, staring at my phone, just waiting for the screen to blink. He didn’t have to call - I’d be happy with a text.
Thirty minutes passed. Still nothing.
He wasn’t going to call.
The disappointment settled like stones in my stomach. Heavy. Cold.
“Fuck,” I muttered, catching a whiff of my armpits. I reeked and desperately needed a shower. With a sigh, I got up and headed for my ensuite door - but just as I reached for the handle, a sound stopped me in my tracks.
My phone was ringing.
It was in my hands faster than I could think, and after just one ring, I’d already answered it.
“Alex,” I said, feeling a rush of hope explode through me. I hadn’t even looked at the caller ID; I just hoped it’d be him.
“Hi,” he answered - small, unsure - and relief bubbled up inside me so fast it almost hurt.
“Hi,” I replied back, sounding like an idiot. A pause. “Um, how are you?” I scrambled for words, anything to keep him on the line.
“I’m fine, Kai,” he said with a sigh. “Why did you want me to call?”
“Uh… I just wanted to say thanks,” I muttered awkwardly. “I heard about what you said to Coach.” I tried to quiet my breathing, like he could hear how loud it was.
“Oh,” he murmured. “That’s okay. You shouldn’t be punished for something that was my fault.” His voice cracked a little, and my heart stuttered.
“It wasn’t your fault, Alex,” I said, the urge to take that guilt off him hitting me hard. “It was Alfie’s. Not yours.”
He sighed again, then a small “Okay” left his lips like he didn’t really believe it.
“Look, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said… about how we shouldn’t be friends,” I took a breath - not long enough for him to interrupt - “and I think you’re wrong.”
“Kai,” he breathed, like he was about to argue, but I cut him off.
“Look, I know I overstepped with all the questions and assumptions, and I know that was wrong of me,” I admitted, eyes scrunched shut, holding the phone tight. “I promise I won’t do it again. I just… really want to be your friend.” The last part came out breathy.
“You do?” he asked, sounding almost confused, and let out a shaky breath. “Why?”
“Because I like hanging out with you,” I said simply. “And trying not to be friends with you has been really hard.”
There was a pause between us, like static, and I could hear my heart thumping like bass in my ears, until he finally spoke. “I like hanging out with you, too,” he said softly, almost in a whisper. “I should’ve thanked you for helping me with my mum. I’m sorry,” he sighed.
“That’s okay. How is she?” I asked, hoping he’d tell me. There was a pause again as if he was trying to find the right words to say.
“She’s good,” he replied in one breath, and even though I wanted to ask more, I held my tongue.
“Good,” I scraped out. “Well… now that we’re friends again, fancy a game of COD?” I scratched the back of my neck, hoping I wasn’t being too intense again.
“Only if you fancy losing again,” he chuckled - and I could hear the grin in his voice.
Thank god.
“Oh, it’s on,” I shot back, now suddenly realising how tightly I had been gripping my phone the whole time. I relaxed my shoulders, allowing the relief to wash over me.
We were friends again.
Alex and I.
“So, how did you like being Coach’s assistant today?” I spoke into the headset as I mowed down as many zombies as I could, thumb tapping the trigger like it owed me something.
“It was okay,” he replied, his voice small through the static. I heard the faint click of his controller, like he was fidgeting with it.
“You hated it, didn’t you?” I said with a chuckle, leaning back in my chair as I knifed a zombie clean in the head.
“Yeah,” he laughed, the sound soft and embarrassed. “How did you know?”
His breathing shifted, like he’d sat up straighter.
“You looked kind of sad,” I breathed, shrugging even though he couldn’t see me. My thumb tapped the joystick, pretending I wasn’t paying that much attention.
He paused. The silence stretched just long enough for me to glance at the corner of my screen, checking if he’d disconnected.
“I thought you were mad at me,” he said finally, his voice dipping, quieter than before.
“What? Why?” I frowned at the screen, nearly missing a shot as I sat up straighter.
“After Coach said about the Alfie thing. You looked annoyed.” His voice dipped, like he was bracing for impact.
“I wasn’t mad at you.” I sighed softly, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see it. “I was mad at Alfie.” My jaw tightened just saying his name, my fingers gripping the controller a little too hard.
“Oh,” he added, almost under his breath, like he wished he hadn’t said it.
“I don’t think I could ever be mad at you,” I said honestly, my voice coming out softer than I meant. I shifted in my seat, suddenly too aware of how warm my face felt.
“Even when I keep beating you on Xbox,” he chuckled, the joke sliding back into his tone, lighter now, like he was testing the waters.
I chuckled back, shaking my head as I reloaded. “Well, no, then I’m a little mad.” I laughed, knowing he’d hear the smile in it.
“Only a little,” he teased, and I could practically picture the grin he was trying to hide - the small one he got when he thought he was being clever.
But then his breath quickened, a sharp inhale cutting through the headset just as a door banged open on his end, loud enough to make me flinch.
“I’ve been calling you, dammit. What are you fucking deaf?” The voice was deep, angry - the kind that filled a room whether you wanted it to or not.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Alex breathed, his voice shrinking instantly. I could hear him fidgeting - the rustle of fabric, the scrape of his chair. “I didn’t know you were back.” He said in a shaky breath.
“Yeah, well, I am, and I need you downstairs, so turn off the fucking game.” The voice hissed again, like it demanded respect.
“Alex?” I whispered with a quiet urgency, leaning forward like that would somehow get me closer to him.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, barely above a whisper - and then the line cut, his avatar disappearing from the screen as he logged out.
The room felt colder instantly, the hum of the game suddenly too loud, too bright, too empty.
Alex.