“Are the butterflies for your mum and sisters?” I assume they are, but I wonder if there’s more to it.
“Y-yeah. I got it shortly after moving to Embershire. Wanted to keep them close.”
“I like it.”
“And your tattoo? The one on your hip. Does it mean anything?”
Despite how open he’s been, I’m not ready to share that piece of myself. So I give him a half-truth.
“My name translates to lightning. Seemed fitting to get a tattoo of a lightning bolt.”
He hums his understanding and says nothing more. Neither of us is desperate to fill the silence.
I ruminate on all the details of his personality I could be missing out on for fear of growing too close to another person I could break in the end. The thoughts leave me hollow, andit’s not long before I'm seated in the stands, surrounded by a boisterous crowd with beers in their hands and smiles on their faces. Their moods are such a contrast to my own, and as overwhelming as it is, I try to soak in the adrenaline, getting lost in it, if only briefly.
Time passes in a blur of movement on the pitch, and I beg my body to do as it’s toldfor once.
Sweat beads along my forehead, my clothing clinging in a way that makes me want to crawl right out of my skin. I try to focus on the pitch, but my discomfort grows.
I suck in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. It does nothing to curb the unease. Acid splashes up my oesophagus, worsening the nausea. I feel useless, unable to help myself, which only makes me squirm in my seat. I nearly gag when my arm brushes against the burly man beside me—his hairy, sweat-coated skin sliding against me. The loud cheers, feet stomping on the metal stands, the sun beating down, and the sounds of chewing and slurping have me ready to flee from my seat in search of solace.
Maybe if you stopped lying to everyone, your anxiety wouldn’t add to the problem…
Listen, you cow, I’m not dragging anyone down with me. I can do this on my own. It’sjusttwo cycles. Four infusions.I can do this. I’m already halfway there.
I should be more worried that I’m arguing with myself, but it’s better than the tyranny happening in my gut.
And it appears my stomach’s soldiers are winning the battle, looking to make an appearance.
I push myself up, legs wobbling as I shuffle along the stands. I break into a clumsy sprint towards the glowing restroom sign—my haven, so long as I get there in time.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
The whistle slicesthrough the air, and the game comes alive around me. My feet are already in motion, the turf beneath me a blur, but my focus is on the ball. It’s passed wide, the gap is there, and I see it—too much space to leave untouched.
My legs stretch, pushing me forward, my breaths coming out hard and fast. Every beat of my heart is a countdown, the crowd dissolving into static.
I catch the winger in my periphery, the urgency in their steps, but I’m quicker. I close the distance, throw myself into the tackle, and the world narrows to the thud of impact, the clash of sweaty bodies sliding against one another. My arms lock around them, and I drive through, powering them to the ground.
The crowd’s roar is distant, muffled by the blood rushing in my ears, but it’s over in an instant. The play’s finished. I straighten, my chest heaving, the adrenaline still alive in myveins, but I can’t help looking for her in the stands, even if it means taking my eyes off the prize.
Iknowthere’s something going on with Adhira, and it feels like I’ve lost all sense to that notion.
I want to be wrong, but I’m convinced that I’m not seeing things, not drawing parallels between how Mum looked and felt after chemo and how Adhira looks each day I’ve lived with her.
We’re approaching the sixth anniversary of the day Mum went into remission, and I worry that’s colouring what I see, but I can’t be sure.
Surely she doesn’t have cancer; she’ssoyoung, but she’s definitely sick.
I try to track the ball but keep finding myself searching the stands for her. She’s not where I last saw her, and seeing as I was her ride here, I don’t think she’d have run off. Adhira strikes me as a capable person, so I suppose if she’d wanted to leave, she’d have found her own way.
“Elliott!” Coach Auclair shouts from the sidelines, dragging my attention back tomy job. You know, the thing that should be holdingallof my attention at the moment. “Get over here!”
I jog to him, my stomach flipping.I’m fucking this up.He’s given me a second chance at having everything I’ve ever wanted, and I’m proving to be a disappointment when it really counts.
“Yes, Coach,” I pant out.
