Judging by the deep cherry colour on her cheeks, Ava’s mortification reaches new heights. But she’s smiling. We’re both smiling.
* * *
Ava spends four hours training at the studio above the charity shop, while I repair the boiler. I learned how to do it from watching YouTube tutorials back when Mum couldn’t afford the emergency call-out fees. It’s satisfying work. Better than thinking about what happened upstairs and what it means.
By the time she returns, I’ve rinsed the dirt off my hands. Wrestling with the pipes tore my knuckles open again, but the sting is a welcome distraction from the riot inside.
As soon as she’s out of the shower, she insists on tending to my wounds properly. ‘Sit still,’ she orders.
‘Honestly, Sergeant. It’s fine.’
‘I have eyes, and it’s very obviously not fine.’ She dabs antiseptic on the worst of it, and I hiss through my teeth.
As she blows on the sting, her tenderness nearly undoes me. Being the one looked after chafes in a place I can’t reach. Every instinct says pull the hand back, tell her it doesn’t hurt, be the one who’s fine so everyone else can fall apart.
Carefully, she wraps clean gauze around my knuckles. I take in her face as she works – the furrow between her brows, the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating.
‘There.’ She secures the bandage with tape, smooths it down and looks up with a pleased expression. ‘That’ll do.’
‘Thanks, Marzipan.’
‘Always.’
And then she kisses me, and those fucking butterflies are back with a vengeance.
* * *
We lose the rest of the day on the sofa, cuddling and watching the telly. She leans into me, wedging herself under my arm, her breathing slow and even. Rain patters on the glass as the fire crackles. Erin’s upstairs, Mum’s visiting gran, David’s out with his girlfriend. The house has settled into itself.
‘Tomorrow.’ Ava traces a scar on my arm. ‘What happens tomorrow?’
The question I’ve been avoiding. ‘I need to go back to Duncraig.’
‘And me?’
‘You can stay here, or you can come with me. Whatever you want. It’s up to you.’ I tighten my arm around her. ‘But this doesn’t end when I leave. Not on my account.’
She’s quiet for a long moment. ‘What if Nevin… If the team…’
‘Then we deal with it.’ I tilt her chin up, so she has to look at me. ‘Together.’
She doesn’t retreat. But she doesn’t lean in, either. Her fingers still follow the ridge of my scar, back and forth, back and forth, as if she’s rubbing at a stain only she can see.
‘I need to find somewhere to stay eventually,’ she says, and my lungs harden in my chest. ‘I can’t keep imposing on your mum.’
Imposing. The word scratches against my sternum. She’s already building the exit. Already making sure she can disappear without inconveniencing anyone. And the thought of her disappearing that cleanly, as if she was never here at all, makes my blood run cold. Because if she doesn’t need my help, I’ve no fucking idea how to convince her to stay. Why would she?
‘You’re not imposing. But aye, we’ll sort it.’ More words are crowding the back of my teeth. I want to lay out a plan. Move into mine. Stay. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle all of it. That’s what I do.
And then there’s a fist of certainty squeezing my heart that says when the dust settles, she’ll realise she doesn’t need the structure. But I’m ready to risk it. For her.
‘For months I’ve watched you,’ I say. ‘Kept my distance. Tried to be your pal. Guess how surprised I was when I realised that it’s been you all that time. You’re my friend, but you’re a hell of a lot more to me. Fuck, I’m so far past friends I can’t even see the line anymore. So aye, I’m all in, Ava. Are you?’
She searches my face. Her reflex to vanish before she can become an inconvenience is right there. ‘I’m not really low maintenance. I can be…a lot.’
‘And I can’t wait to see that.’
An amused huff slips out of her. She climbs over the cushions, straddling my thighs, and wraps her arms securely around me.
