Physics wins. Eighteen stone against a drunk bloke bracing with one arm. The door slams inward, catching him in the chest, and he staggers back with a grunt. I’m inside before he recovers, scanning the room. There’s a hole in the hallway wall. And at the end of the corridor, a closed door with a strip of light beneath it.
That’s where she’s hiding.
‘Get out of my flat!’ Nevin finds his feet, plants himself between me and the rest of the hallway. His right fist is wrapped in a bloody rag. ‘You fucking psycho.’
‘Where is she?’
‘None of your business.’ He gets on his toes and right in my face. ‘She’s my girlfriend. This is my home. Get the fuck out before I call the police.’
‘Where. Is. She?’ My voice is flat. A tone I don’t recognise, stripped of everything except the next three seconds.
Nevin’s lip curls. ‘You want her? Is that it?’ He squares up to me, breath hot and sour. ‘Been sniffing around that cunt for months. Thought I didn’t notice? Thought you could?—’
‘I’m not asking again.’
He lets out a sick little laugh. ‘She’s mine, Kerr. And you’re nothing. A nobody. You think she’d ever want?—’
‘She texted me.’
His face contorts – and he swings.
I see it coming. The telegraph from his elbow. The sloppy rotation of his torso. He throws with his right – the injured hand – and I sidestep, let the punch sail past my face, and then I’m coiling my arm back and driving my fist into the hinge of his jaw.
The impact travels up my arm as his head snaps sideways. His eyes roll back. And then he’s falling, a sack of wet sand, crumpling onto the floorboards with a blunt, dead-weight drop.
He doesn’t get up.
I stand over him. My fist is screaming with the impact. Two knuckles split, blood welling in the creases. Bile climbs my throat. I cram it down and fight the urge to spit. This violence triggers an instinctive sickness I thought I’d burned out of me years ago.
I punched my teammate the way I wish I’d punched my father. Shame, regret, and anger leave a sour film on my teeth.
His chest rises and falls. Part of me – the part that remembers the same helplessness – wants to hit him again. And again. Until the memory stops.
He’s still breathing. Pity.
I step over him and move down the hallway.
There’s a mangled noise from behind the door. Worse than a scream. The sound of a cry crushed so hard it turns into a long, pained groan.
My chest seizes, but I force my feet to move.
I knock. Gently this time. ‘Ava. Hey. It’s me.’
Silence.
‘Ava. I’m here. Please. It’s okay.’
A click, and the door swings open.
She’s on the tiles, knees still drawn up, cowering. Face tear-streaked. Eyes wide and wild, darting past me toward the hallway, searching for the threat.
‘Is he?—’
‘Unconscious, but alive.’ I crouch in the doorway, making myself smaller. A difficult trick considering my size. ‘We need to go. Now. Before I fucking kill him.’
She doesn’t move. The fear and the fury I’ve seen her fighting down for months – at the cinema, at the pub, in every careful smile – has finally broken free. Her whole body is shaking with it.
‘Ava.’ I kneel in front of her. My hands find hers. ‘Look at me. You’re safe. He’s not going to touch you. Never again.’
