26. He Saw His Nightmare Come to Life
He Saw His Nightmare Come to Life
Aiden
The day before my twelfth birthday, I broke my arm in three places.
The whole thing was Ruth’s fault.
We didn’t know the creek was flooded until our bikes skidded to a stop on the muddy bank. Murky brown water blocked off our usual shortcut home from school. No way around. No way over.
I was happy to take the long way, but Ruth had the bright idea to cobble together a ramp out of old bits of wood so we could jump the creek.
Sure, I hauled over most of the wood, found a few good rocks, and built the ramp. But it was Ruth’s idea.
She pedalled her pink BMX like a demon, dark hair whipping in the wind, and her lip curled with fierce determination. Her bike flew up the ramp, and she launched into the sky like a warrior princess riding on the back of a pink Pegasus.
“This was a bad idea!” she hollered as her bike soared over the creek.
She was ten and braver than any other kid in town—nothing like me. I was cautious, always plodding a few steps behind, taking the world in nice and slow, and overthinking everything. But that was one time I didn’t need to worry.
A spray of mud signalled Ruth’s safe landing on the other side. Her bike skidded to a stop, and she threw her head back, laughing. Another challenge conquered.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted from the other side of the creek. “You coming, slowpoke?”
I eyed off the ramp and the distance across the creek. I wasn’t convinced I’d make it. “I—I dunno.”
“For reals?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a wuss.”
Twelve-year-old me was as thick as a stump, too.
Hearing Ruth’s taunt turned off all my good overthinking.
I forgot she was a champion equestrian rider and the self-proclaimed Queen of Pony Club.
I forgot how she was lighter than a feather, and I was already shooting up and spending half my afternoon in front of the fridge looking for more to eat.
If Ruth could do it, I could do it, right?
I definitely couldn’t do it.
I pedalled like hell, got up the ramp okay, but had no clue what to do once my bike got airborne.
I soared through the sky on nothing but silent prayers and the pride glowing in Ruth’s eyes.
Reality crashed me against the edge of the muddy creek bed, my head cracking against the edge, until I tumbled into the water with a splash.
Dazed and twisted in a mangled heap, I was alive—despite Ruth screaming like I’d croaked it—but my helmet was cracked clean in half, and the front wheel of my bike was bent all out of shape. My arm was even worse.
I limped home, one arm around Ruth, the other cradled against my chest, the pain searing so hot I couldn’t speak. Shock and the promise of Mum were the only things that kept me shuffling along. It didn’t matter I was twelve. Her cuddles still made everything better.
But Mum wasn’t home.
My father’s shadow blocked the final step to the back porch.
“Where the hell have you been?” he roared.
I swiped the mud off my cheek and held out my arm, but his words slammed down harder than I had in that creek.
“Man up. You’re twelve, not two. Quit that sniffling.”
I hugged my arm close to my chest and dropped my eyes to my muddy shoes. “Y-yes… S-sir…”
My stuttering only made him angrier. “Get your shoulders back. Don’t be so damn weak.” And when I tried to stand tall, but the pain shot through my arm so bad I whimpered, he shook his head, ashamed. “Four generations of police officers, and look what I ended up with—nothing but a bloody crybaby!”
In the end, my arm healed up okay. Mum took me to the hospital, and Ruth was jealous as shit because I got a week off school. I broke my arm another time playing football, too. No big deal. That was the thing about broken bones—they heal.
But whatever my father knocked out of me that day never came back. I shut down. No emotions. No weakness. Everything that hurt was buried so deep I wasn’t even sure I knew how to feel properly anymore.
For a long time, it worked to live shut off from that part of myself.
But…
Did it still work?
My gaze shifted from the damp coaster I’d been tracing with my finger to the couples on the dance floor.
I was grateful when the Games Night master had announced a break for dinner and dancing.
There was too much noise. I was running close to the wire, my nerves frayed down to only a thin thread, ready to snap.
The music was quieter now, and without constant noise slamming me from all sides, I could finally patch myself up.
I might just make it.
Another frayed thread knotted back together when Ruth flashed me a crooked smile over Ryan’s shoulder.
The farmer was nothing like me. He was a good sort of man.
He’d shimmied her bad foot onto his boot, and after anchoring her safely against his chest with a protective arm around her back, he took it slow and steady to waltz her around the dance floor with all the oldies.
“Aiden! Look!” Ruth’s dark eyes sparkled as he spun her. “I’m dancing!”
Smiling, I nodded, trying to hide the tears stinging my eyes. We were still the same after all these years—me, plodding a few steps behind, always too cautious, so Ruth could charge ahead knowing I’d always be there to catch her.
Ryan carefully tipped Ruth into a bend. Her laugh lit up the room.
I’d have to be thicker than I was at twelve not to see those two falling for each other.
Not that I minded. Ruth had been suffering more than I knew.
This was the hope she’d been searching for.
Another chance. And the farmer had proven himself a good sort.
I trusted him. He was nothing like Matthew.
“Ruth looks like she’s having fun.” Lola’s hand touched my shoulder before she settled into the chair beside me.
“Yeah.”
Her eyes flicked around the empty table. “Still abandoned here on your lonesome?” Her smile was as perfect as those little hands of hers. “I let the church ladies corner me by the bar to give you some space. You seemed lost in your thoughts.”
I lifted a shoulder. “There’s a lot to think about.”
“Do you want to talk about anything? My offer’s still open if you want to go outside. We can escape all the noise”—she nodded at the crowd shuffling on the dance floor and waggled her eyebrows—“and the waltzing.”
I shook my head. Her eyes dropped to her hands. She was probably feeling as on edge as I was, but… because of me. My heart twisted like an old dishrag.
Why did I keep following my father’s rules? When had locking away my feelings ever helped me?
Maybe, once upon a time, it’d made me a good police officer, but a group of men in suits had decided a long time ago my days in a uniform were over. And every stupid step I’d taken to keep acting the way my father had drilled into me had already risked losing the precious woman sitting next to me.
“Lola, I…” My words stuck in my throat, but I wouldn’t let those old fears beat me. “I’m not good with words, but I’ll try to speak up more. Explain myself more. Not just walk away and keep you guessing. I promise. And that’s an actual promise. Not one of those loophole promises.”
Lola bit her lip in a nervous smile. Sweet girl. The best thing that ever happened to me.
“Incoming!”
Brooke was a blonde blur, delivering drinks from a tray balanced on one hand like it was nothing but air.
I bet she was a waitress before she whipped the clinic into shape.
Her new ginger-haired shadow trailed only a few steps behind.
The kid flopped into his chair, still grinning like a dopey idiot, and the second Brooke emptied the tray, he snatched her waist and dragged her onto his lap.
Brooke’s delighted squeal was like a love-dipped nail driving into my skull.
“Oh, brother,” Lola giggled. She bumped her shoulder into mine. “We’ve created a love monster.”
I grunted. No kidding.
“Hold still.” Brooke squirmed in Harry’s arms and reached over to snatch a napkin off the table. She zeroed in on the outline of red lips staining his cheek. “I didn’t realise. There’s a big red ma—”
“Hey, back off!” Harry jerked his head away. “No one’s messing with my kiss mark. Not even you, Princess. Why don’t you fix me up?” He tapped his other cheek with his index finger. “Gimme one on this side, too?”
Brooke didn’t need to be asked twice. She smacked a matching red kiss on Harry’s face, and he looked around proudly, chest puffed out, grinning like a fool. The dumb look on his face only got worse when Brooke jiggled in a dance and hummed along to the music.
The kid was in heaven, but this was my worst nightmare. The waltz had faded into the beat of something louder, faster, and every pound of the heavy bass splintered through my ears like broken pieces of wood.
I struggled to get in a breath. I was okay. Yeah. Just music. I could ignore the beat speeding up just like I ignored Harry’s god-awful bangers playing on the radio sometimes.
I was only just clawing back a shred of control when a burst of rainbow lights lit up the dance floor. My eyes darted around, scrambling to get my bearings, a twinge of panic jolting through my fingers. I wouldn’t be able to talk myself out of this one. There was no escaping Hell’s Disco.
My gaze snapped to the dance floor. Flickers of blue and red swirled over Ruth’s face. Even though her smile still beamed at me across the room, I was dizzy, the bile racing up my throat like I was back on the highway ten years ago.
“Aiden?”
I could barely hear Lola’s voice above the roar of blood in my ears.
My hand bolted down to the table for support, desperate to keep myself grounded, my fingertips bleaching white. Just a little bit longer. I could do it.
“Aiden!”
Was that Harry?
I couldn’t tell anymore. The lights made my mind hazy, old and new memories blurring into one. I tried to count to ten, reminding myself to breathe—just like Lola had taught me—but panic surged through my veins. No matter how many times I told myself to calm down, no air reached my lungs.
“Dancers, it’s time to take it up a notch!”
The piercing screech of the microphone being dropped sliced through my last fragile thread of control.
Images of that dark night ten years ago hurtled faster than the squad car. And when the only noise I could hear was the constant tick of the indicator as I pulled out onto the highway, I shuddered a breath, clawing frantically to drag myself from the memory before it was too late.
But when I closed my eyes, raindrops danced in the fog of broken headlights. And then I shouldered my way out of the crumpled wreck onto the broken glass littered all over the road…
Fuck.
I bolted upright out of my chair. The squeal of wood on wood only pushed me closer to the edge. The chair tumbled to the ground, but I didn’t stop to pick it up.
I had to get out of there.
Nothing else mattered. Not Harry stumbling to his feet, confused, his face scrunched up. Not Lola’s frantic call after me.
I just had to get the hell out of there.
Ruth couldn’t see me break.
Not ever.