The door in front of us opens. Ryan’s the first to jump to his feet, possibly even more anxious than me – he takes everything to heart. For him, everything is a reason to suffer; everything Ryan feels is amplified, dangerously sensitive. It makes him weak sometimes, even though he tries to hide behind his tough-guy exterior. But I’m hardly one to talk: I know what he’s like, just as he knows what I’m like.
I get up slowly, shoving my hands into my pockets – but when I see the last person I ever thought I’d find here, something inside me shatters.
His face is masked in shock and fear. He didn’t expect to see me here, either.
We look each other in the eye for a few moments, undecided as to whether to say anything, or to pretend that this meeting never happened. Then he clears his throat.
“O’Connor.” My name escapes through his gritted teeth.
“Coach Madigan.” His name comes right from my stomach.
“I never thought I’d see you here, kid,” he says, his usual threatening tone gone. There’s a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes.
“Me neither, sir.” I take as deep a breath as I possibly can, before asking him: “Do you reckon you could not mention to Casey that you saw me here?”
The coach nods. There’s a pain in his eyes now, heavy and pressing, that transmits into my own.
“Could you try not to hurt her?” His response.
My pain is probably even more devastating than his – because now, it’s doubled.
I nod, too.
He smiles sadly at me. And this smile isn’t terrifying at all – it feels like understanding. He turns and heads down the corridor, with a new weight on his heart that feeds mine.
53
Casey
Istep into Dad’s house and am immediately hit by the smell that drifts out of the kitchen.
“How come you’re cooking?” I ask, peering into the saucepan, where meatballs are bubbling away in a tomato sauce.
“Catherine’s coming for dinner.”
“Catherine, eh?”
He scoffs, pretending not to have heard me.
“You guys have been having dinner together a lot, recently.”
He stirs the sauce, turning down the heat. “Sometimes.”
“Is she staying after dinner, too?”
Dad glares at me.
“What?” I ask him, laughing. “It was just a question.”
“Too personal.”
“Oh, come on. I’m a big girl. You can tell me these things.”
“Doyousleep at home every night, then?”
“That’s none of your business,” I say defensively.
“Just like my life is none of yours.”
