I blame myself. After my accident, Pen was there for me, supporting me, lifting my spirits. We became close. Then Darra announced she was pregnant, and my life seemed to spiral. I’d always been in control. My swimming had my future planned out. Suddenly, I was on a merry-go-round, and there was no getting off. I could have walked away from Darra, but that wasn’t how I was raised. Darra and our unborn child were my responsibility. I wasn’t going to tarnish the family name by walking away. I made my bed, and I had to lie in it.
The main problem was that Darra was jealous of everyone. My friends and my family. Once she had a ring on her finger, she changed. Gone was the easy going woman I dated. In her place was a new Darra, who flipped between tears and screaming. In order to keep the peace, I backed away from those who triggered her, not wanting to cause her or our unborn child additional stress.
And now, Pen and I are not the same people, even if she does still love toasted sandwiches and coding. She’s no longer the prickly woman I met at university, and I’m no longer the carefree bachelor I was. It’s almost like our roles and personalities have reversed. Pen now being the relaxed, easy-going one, while I’m the one with a rod stuck up my backside, sniping and barking at those around me, shutting people out and holding them at arm’s length. Learning about Darra’s betrayal isolated me further from everyone I cared about. Her ultimatum kept me trapped in a toxic situation with no escape. The strain of being with someone I despised broke something inside me.
I shake my head, glad Pen can’t see me.
I watch as she walks ahead.
I wonder what I’ve done to earn myself such a friend? Instead of chastising me for being a grumpy ass and telling me to go to hell, she dropped everything to come to my aid. Or has she? Is she doing this for me or my siblings and her love for them?
“Right, let’s see what we have,” Pen says, snapping me out of my melancholy as we re-enter her she-cave.She drops into her chair, sliding it into place in front of her keyboard, her attention focused on the task at hand.
I grab a chair and draw up alongside her. Her proximity and scent do strange things to my chest.
She taps away, her fingers like lightning across the keyboard. When she said she keeps a hand in, she meant it.
I don’t want to interrupt her. I recognise the intensity of her expression. I know my time will come. I just need to trust the process.
Lines disappear. Whatever parameters she’s entering are removing changes from our search.
“Interesting,” she says, biting her lip, a habit of old when she used to chew on her lip ring. She scoops up her necklace and once again places it between her lips.
Her fingers move again at high speed. Her head tilts as she stares at the screen. Her finger comes up to tap her lip and move her chain, sliding it back and forth. My eyes locked on the movement.
She opens another set of files on another screen. The speed at which they open draws my attention. My eyes flash between the screens. Whatever she’s doing, I’m struggling to keep up. At uni, I would have made her slow down, ask her to explain. But she’s in the zone, and I have a deadline.
The thought takes me by surprise.
I trust Pen completely.
Trust her to identify what whoever broke into my system has done. Know if anyone can uncover it, it will be her.
We sit there for hours. Pen directing me, and me following. Surprised at how quickly my skills return.
“Like riding a bike,” Pen says, grinning when I let out a whoop, having achieved what I need to.
I make us both coffee, and keep her hydrated with water and isotonic drinks. I even raid her fridge and make her a cheese toastie.
I wait while she and Tiffany process and break down the changes in patterns.
“What thefuck!” Pen says suddenly. “You sneaky bastard.”
I jump at her outburst, stopping myself from throwing my coffee across the desk.
Her head is now moving between the screens as she double-checks her findings.
“Look,” she says, pointing to several rows of code over several screens. “We’ve got you, you bastard,” she mutters. She slips into the code itself and I scan alongside her, but find myself unable to keep up. She shifts backwards and forwards through the various changes.
“Clever,” she mutters.
My heart races. I’m dying to know what she’s found, but don’t want to disturb her. I berate myself for letting go of this particular skill set. A time existed when I might have kept pace with Pen or at least attempted it. Now—no chance.
I’ve had my head bitten off and spat out in the past for interrupting her when she’s on a roll, so I stay silent.
Eventually, she sits back, grabs the large bottle of water I have placed within reach, and unscrews the top. She closes her eyes as she takes a deep swallow, her throat bobbing as she drinks her fill.
My mouth dries as I watch the motion, picking up my bottle and drinking half in one go. Get a grip, Elijah!
