He’s running through my veins. I can feel it.
I’ve already been contaminated, and there’s no way of saving myself.
“Oh, Casey,” he says, smiling. “I never give up. You should know that by now.”
“Of course. You’re a guy who doesn’t like to lose. Someone who’ll do anything to make sure his team wins; even if that means making a few fouls, bending the rules. You’re capable of anything, Nick O’Connor.”
“When it comes to you, I’d do anything.”
“Even send the other team off the pitch?”
“Are you talking about that surgeon? He’s already sent himself off, by kissing you and making you think of me.”
“You’re such a bastard, Nick.”
His smile lights up his face. It’s a victory smile, of someone who’s run the entire length of the pitch just to cheer with the crowd. Someone lifting the trophy with both hands. And that’s what I am to him: a trophy.
Nick’s playing his match, and I’m the winning prize. A prize he’ll get bored of as soon as the next challenge comes along.
“I’m not just going to be something to keep you occupied for a while; something for you to win.”
“Fuck, Casey. How have you still not realised yet?”
He steps towards me again, forcing me back against the door. He places his hands either side of my head and leans into my lips. He doesn’t brush against them with his, but tickles me with his breath.
“I’m only playing for you.”
His eyes dig deep into mine, searching for himself. Because he knows that he’s there, inside me, hiding under layers of anger, bitterness and nostalgia. But he’s still in there; and now, he’s desperately seeking out what he left behind.
Unfortunately, I know that he’ll find every single crumb of us.
“And I’m going to keep playing, until you realise that the only thing I want is you.”
He turns away, vanishing back into the bushes. I let myself sink slowly onto the bottom step.
I’ve lost. I was playing the whole time, knowing I could never win.
Some people never truly leave you. The miles, the countries, the continents mean nothing. Neither does your silence, their absence: the pain they’ve caused you.
Some people simply stay; and I always knew that Nick O’Connor would be one of those people. Just as I knew that, for all these years, all I did was sit around and wait for him to come back.
32
Nick
Ian and Ryan are attempting to get the barbecue going out in my parents’ garden, as I make the most of some time alone with the love of my life, who is lying on my chest as I lean back into the sunbed. I breathe slowly, trying not to wake her, as my heart fills with her scent, watching my family get ready for Evan’s end-of-exams party. He’ll get the results to the admission test pretty soon, so everyone is trying to lift his spirits. His dad has also come along to join in the festivities, much to my brother’s delight; he’ll set his own hand on fire if he keeps glancing over at Martin – who is sitting contentedly on our patio, next to Chris – instead of keeping an eye on the barbecue. Evan, on the other hand, is in a terrible mood. If you ask me, it would’ve been better to celebrateafterhe found out his results, but everyone wanted to cheer him up, show him how much they believe in him, all of that shit. And when Mum gets these ideas, no one is brave enough to go against her: especially not me, given that I’m the most current victim of her watchful eye. It’s best not to give her any more suggestions about how to “get Nick’s life back on track”.
“Hey.” Riley approaches us, perching on the end of my sunbed. I budge up a little to give her more room.
“She’s asleep,” I say, nodding down at Jamie.
“Of course she is. She’s with her Uncle Nick: she feels safe.”
“With me? Seriously?”
Riley smiles at me. “She couldn’t be in better hands.”
“Have you been drinking? Has someone slipped you a beer – or maybe a rum and coke? Or did you steal some of Chris’ wine? Let me see,” I say, pretending to scrutinise her hands, as she laughs. “Nope, still got all your fingers. So I’d say you didn’t even try.”
