We push through the crowd and Zayden reaches out, grabbing some random girl’s drink and sculling it. She shouts in protest, and he tosses it over his shoulders, whooping with glee as we fall through the door, laughing wildly.
Zayden has always been a wild one. We both had some issues with anger in the past, and I’ve dedicated a lot of time and energy to working on them, but Zayden still seems to be stuck in his ways.
I knew I needed help after one distinct incident. I got in a fight with a player from a rival team in a game a few years ago, when we still played for our home town. He made a comment about Anya to me, knowing it would rile me up. Everyone could tell there was something between us, even though I was determined to quash those rumours as best I could. When I tried walking away, he tackled me really hard – an illegal tackle – and I just lost it. I blacked out momentarily, and when I realised what I was doing, people were screaming. Blood soaked my hands and the grass around us. When I looked up and saw the fear in the onlookers’ faces, I felt sick to my stomach. Because I was just like him. My father.
I never want to feel like that again.
I remember Zayden’s face when I met his gaze ... it will haunt me forever. He looked so disappointed in me, despite his own battles with self-control. He didn’t have to say anything, but I knew exactly what he was thinking.
You look just like him.
Playing football means being among high-level tension and mind-consuming competitiveness, so it’s a given that fights break out, but I’ve never raised a hand since. It was the wake-up call I needed.
We sprint down the street, passing people who stare at us in shock. When we are finally free we slow to a stop, leaning on the wall of a bakery, unable to catch our breath from laughing so much.
‘That must have felt so good!’ Anya says.
‘Been wanting to do that for years.’ Zayden grins, breathless.
‘The look on his face!’ Anya exclaims, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s imprinted in my brain now.’
My eyes drift to Zayden for a moment. I’m positive he didn’t see us dancing, otherwise this night would be going in a very different direction. He has always been overprotective of Anya, taking on a father-like role, as their dad hasn’t been around since they were young children – their stepfather not counting. But when it comes to me around her, he isespeciallyoverprotective.
‘Hey!’ someone bellows, and the three of us exchange quick glances before running off again. We dive into the first taxi we see in a tangle of limbs, hair and Anya’s handbag, which smacks me in the face.
‘Go!’ Zayden yells at the poor man trying to eat his sandwich.
He jumps in fright and quickly starts the car. It jolts forward and I fly into the back of the seat, my head connecting painfully with the leather headrest.
‘Ow,’ I mutter, leaning back and rubbing my head.
‘I can’t believe Dylan dropped like that.’ Anya laughs so hard a whistle escapes her nose, making me laugh too.
‘He folded like a lawn chair!’ Zayden calls from the front, and the driver winces at his volume.
We erupt into more laughter and the taxi driver frowns at us, his bushy grey eyebrows bunching together to form one. He doesn’t seem too impressed with our behaviour, but the more we try to stop laughing, the harder it gets. Zayden slaps money into his hand once we stop in front of the house. He glowers at us as we climb out, muttering under his breath. I’m glad it wasn’t an Uber, otherwise he would have given us a bad rating.
As we walk up the path, Zayden throws his arms around our shoulders.
‘Always a good night with my two best friends,’ he sings. He stumbles into me, almost knocking all three of us over in the process, but I manage to right us again. He gives us a wobbly smile. ‘Love you guys.’
I reach out, ruffling his hair. ‘Right back at you, bud.’
When we make it inside, Zayden walks two steps before collapsing onto the lounge. I go to help him and realise my own movements are a bit wonky. I give him a quick once-over and confirm he’s okay, then make my way up to my room.
Turning, I go to talk to Anya, but she is already gone.
An hour later, Zayden is passed out face-first on the lounge and I am sitting on the kitchen bench, handfeeding myself cereal. Anya wanders into the kitchen, dressed in a hoodie and sleep shorts.
‘Well, that was a good time,’ I say, leaning back on my free hand.
Rolling her lips into her mouth, she leans against the counter. I offer her the box and she takes a handful. Now that we’re semi-sober, the reality of tonight is starting to sink in.
‘Thank you,’ she murmurs. ‘For what you did.’
My eyes sweep over her rosy cheeks to the pretty freckles that I love, then up to those round eyes.
‘Any time, Blush.’
