Page 12

Chapter twelve

Ryann

I scoff and stalk backwards and forward in my bedroom. “Welcome to the family, indeed.”

But I can’t get those words out of my head or the way it felt seeing them all together. Like it used to when I had family.

I sit on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the quilt cover. Mum liked to have the neighbours over. She liked cooking and preparing big feasts, the whole nine yards. It was her thing. Dad liked to stand around the grill.

I remember the way it felt with all our neighbours. People who had been in my life forever and who I thought I would always know. It takes just one tragedy, and you’re a stranger. No one would help me other than giving me a few clothes. No one would listen.

I hook my finger in the curtain and pull it away from the window, just a little bit, so I can look out.

There is nothing obvious on the street. But why do I have this sense of impending doom?

It really sank home when they welcomed me, like they could, like it was a done deal. They don’t know anything.

I turn away from the window and stalk to the door. I put my hand on the handle and pause, frozen, trying to figure out the best way to deal with the pack. No, that’s a lie. I’m too scared to see what’s on the other side of the door.

Ha! Callan thinks I’m brave? I’m the opposite of brave. A big, huge coward.

My hand trembles, and I let out a hissing noise that comes from the ball of shame that lives in my gut rent free .

No matter what I do, I can’t force myself to grab that handle and turn it.

I stalk back to the bed and sit down. Immediately, my mind flashes me an image, and I lift my legs up, holding perfectly still, waiting to see if anyone jumps out from under the bed.

Because that’s what normal people do.

They get scared that there is a person lying on the floor under their beds. Or on the other side of the door.

I swallow hard, but I’m sweating, and I’m so thirsty. All I need to do is shout. One scream, and the pack would rush up here and storm the room.

I can’t make a sound. I’m frozen, lost in the irrational fear that grips me by the core of all of who I am and refuses to let go.

“One.”

It takes everything I have to force that whisper of sound. I make myself take a breath in. It doesn’t feel like it gives me any air.

“Two.”

I force my eyes closed and lock myself in the dark.

“Three.”

I twitch my index finger. It takes a phenomenal amount of effort to get it to bend.

“Four.”

I clench and unclench my muscles one by one, rolling through them.

“Five.”

I force one leg down and then the second.

“Six.”

I stand up and walk to the door. I am in control. I am safe. Everything is going to be fine.

“Seven.”

I put my hand on the doorknob and push down.

“Eight.”

I pull the door open, flinching slightly as I wait for someone to jump out.

“Nine.”

I step out, just one half a step, then another.

“Ten, I’m safe. I’m safe.”

I walk away from the room and the stench of my fear and almost trip on the way down the stairs. I feel wrung out and completely exhausted. My mouth has a weird taste, and I’m jittery like I can’t get my eyes to shut properly or my body to work like normal.

Kit is sitting on the couch when I get to the bottom of the stairs. He watches me but doesn’t say anything. I get the impression he really wants to .

I go into the kitchen and get a glass of water and down it. Then drink another. I grab an apple and wander back into the lounge.

“Where is everyone?”

“Emergency practice meeting.”

“Ah.”

“Ryann-”

Here we go. He’s going to ask, and I’m going to have to lie. I don’t want to lie. I’m sick of lying.

“Would you like to play Drunk Yoga with me?”

The question completely knocks all my spiraling thoughts out of my brain, leaving me racing to catch up.

“What?”

Kit pulls a bottle out from under the blanket and shows it to me. It's some kind of liquor that smells like chocolate and oranges.

“Drunk Yoga?”

“Mmm, everyone said to do yoga to relax, but I couldn’t, so, one day, I tried it drunk, and I discovered that everyone was right. Drunk Yoga is the way to go, all the way.”

I blink, trying desperately not to laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

I nod. Aw, what the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose. “Okay.”

He takes a swig and then holds the bottle out. “First, we drink, then we put on some soothing creeks or mountain goats and do our salutations.”

I reach for the bottle and drink deeply because I want to forget. I want it all to go away.

I sit beside him, and we pass that bottle back and forth every few minutes, and the buzz hits me fast. I throw the apple up and catch it. Over and over.

“It’s Bailey.”

“What’s Bailey?”

“Bailey coming in here, pissing on my stuff like he owns it.”

“He doesn’t own shit. He’s half the Raider of Raider.”

“That didn’t make sense, but I agree!” Kit shouts and stands up, throwing the rug away from him. “People like Bailey, people who walk in and throw their dicks around, thinking they are all that and a bag, they ain’t shit! Raider’s the bomb.”

I stare at him, only understanding what he’s saying after my brain sluggishly translates it.

“He’s a showoff!”

“He’s a bully!” Kit snarls and thumps the bottle down on the coffee table.

“We hate bullies! ”

“Its time to find our calm,” Kit says with a sigh. “We need to forget about the pain and screaming. Forget about the assholes who shoved me into tiny lockers and beat me every day. Forget about how they hurt Callan. Let it all go because it’s in the past!”

His sarcasm reaches even my alcohol-soaked brain. The importance of those words try to break through my drunken state, but they can’t.

I grab his cheeks and pull him close, pressing my lips to his. “Fuck the past. And fuck those bullies.”

Kit exhales and leans into my hold, pressing his lips to mine. He tastes like fruity gum. He pulls back, but I lean forward and lick his cheek.

“I licked you, so you’re mine.”

Kit gives me a lopsided smile that is just adorable. I wrap my arms around him and laugh.

“Come on, let’s do yoga, and then we can cuddle.” He frees himself from my hold, skips down the hallway, and opens a cupboard. He returns a minute later with two rolled up mats.

Kit unrolls them with great ceremony and sets them near each other before stumbling five steps to the left and staggering back. He presses a button on the remote, and the TV turns on. A few seconds later, and we’re listening to the sounds of nature.

I’ve never done yoga like this before, but I can’t take my eyes off Kit. He moves with a grace that I envy, and he’s far more flexible than I am.

Even drunk.

Which adds a whole lot more fun to the experience. I fall a lot and laugh until my stomach aches. By the time Kit finishes, I have to wipe tears away. He crawls over to me and flops down beside me.

We’re both lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, when I realise that Kit isn’t okay. Not even a little bit. I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it, but I feel stupid.

I roll towards him on my side and put a hand on his heaving chest. The thin t-shirt is barely a barrier.

“I wanted to be something more for them. I wanted to be braver and better.”

“Kit, you’re awesome. You are stronger than you know. They don’t want you to be anyone but you.”

Kit shakes his head and reaches for his phone. He opens up a voicemail and plays it.

“What the fuck did you go to the game for? You embarrassed them both. You should have stayed away.”

I sit up, glaring at the phone like it’s a snake. “Who is that?”

The vile man continues to spew insults .

“Callan’s dad.”

I swallow hard. “That’s Callan’s dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Does Callan know?”

“Of course not. I would never tell him his dad calls me to say this shit to me. Callan loves his dad. He keeps hoping that he will come round.”

“You need to tell him.”

Kit looks haunted. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

Does anyone in this pack communicate? I realise I’ve been stroking his chest, but I don’t stop.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m scared he will wake up one morning and realise that I’m not worth all the pain and sacrifice.”

“Dammit, Kit, you aren’t a damn sacrifice. And you don’t cause pain. Raider is so proud of you. So is Callan.”

Kit scoffs and rolls to his hands and knees. “We aren’t drunk enough. Let’s get more drunk and play twister.”

He sits on the couch, but I take the bottle and straddle him, drinking a bit while his hands find my hips.

“Kit?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want to know something?”

“What?”

“I want to kiss you, too. I have since I first saw you. You are gorgeous.”

Kit’s eyes flutter closed, and I lean forward, pressing the softest kiss to his eyelid.

“You are beautiful and strong and every inch the equal of Raider, Wren, and Callan.”

He scoffs, but I take the opportunity of his parted lips to kiss him, dipping my tongue into his mouth. He’s frozen for a moment, and then he responds, his fingers tightening, his lips softening, moving against mine.

I intended it to be a quick kiss, but we kiss for a long time. Until my lips feel swollen and sore. Until I’m a wet, throbbing, wanton mess, desperate for the addictive taste of him. Desperate for the feel of his fingers roaming and pulling me closer, pressing into my skin.

My t-shirt is long gone, and I’m sitting in a bra, but there’s no attempt to go further. This is just making out .

It’s incredible.

I could do this forever with him.

I pull away and reach for the alcohol, pouring some into his mouth and then mine.

He kisses up my chest. I tilt my head back, one arm around him. He groans and pulls away.

“We should stop?”

“We should?”

We both look at each other and break out into giggles. I’m drunk, and the room is spinning. Kit’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s weaving. I try to stand up, but end up falling sideways and face planting on the couch.

Nice.

I start laughing.

CRACK!

I yelp and explode into helpless giggles as Kit caresses the curve of my ass.

“You have the best ass.”

“That hurt!”

“You loved it,” Kit says and grabs the bottle. He tries to stand up but trips over and ends up lying on the ground, laughing.

I slide off the couch and take the bottle, putting it back on the coffee table.

Kit blinks at me, and his eyes fill with a strange warmth.

“You should stay.”

I stare at him, wishing he would take the words back because it's mean. I want to give him an answer that will make him smile.

“I can stay for a while.” I reach out and pick up the envelopes that are sitting on the coffee table. “What are these?”

But Kit doesn’t answer. He just rolls into me and lets out a sleepy little sound that has me forgetting all about the strange, empty envelopes. I reach out, stroking his cheek. He’s so much more than he appears, and I want to know all of him.

I stroke his hair and look up at the ceiling. It offers me no answers but helps to unlock the door on my memories, slamming in a million unwanted images that only leave me feeling more alone than ever.

You should stay.

I wish I could. I really, really wish that it were possible.

The room spins a little, so I close my eyes, curling up in Kit’s arms on the lounge room floor.

My last thought is that I really like Drunk Yoga.