Page 13 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

Chapter thirteen

T he knock echoed down the hall of the Richardson house.

It had been two days since Ana had taken care of Cathy. It had also been two days since Byron had attended school.

Sylvia opened the door with gum snapping between her teeth.

Her dark brown hair was dyed black now, uneven and harsh, hanging over one eye.

Her eyebrows were plucked within an inch of their lives.

She looked just like Byron, hazel eyes, razor-cut cheekbones, but thinner, meaner, like life had already started shaving away the softness with a razor-sharp blade.

"Well, well," Sylvia said, voice dripping with attitude. "If it isn't the second coming of-"

Ana cut her off, tone flat. "I wouldn't finish that if I were you. Say one more smartarse word and I'll rip every one of your nose rings out. Got it?"

Sylvia's mouth snapped shut with a click .

"Now get a bath or something. And the smell of that gum's making my head hurt."

As Ana brushed past, Sylvia wrinkled her nose and surreptitiously sniffed her armpit.

The house hadn't changed, and yet it had.

The living room was in chaos Empty beer bottles stacked like a sad kind of sculpture on one side, cheap whisky bottles rattling among crisp packets and overflowing ashtrays.

The curtains were the shade of ageing skin-yellowed and thin.

The carpet looked more worn than Ana remembered.

Sylvia followed her, caution and embarrassment warring in her eyes as she took in the mess through Ana's gaze.

Gareth Richardson once a towering figure, now skin and bone, was passed out on the sofa.

One arm dangled off the edge, a bottle on its side near his fingertips.

The crotch of his pants was wet, and there was the reek of urine in the air.

His sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes told the whole story of what demons could do to a man who'd stopped fighting.

Ana cleared her throat.

"Is Byron here?"

Sylvia hesitated, then gave a small nod and jerked her chin toward the stairs. Her eyes were still those of the child Ana used to know.

Ana took the stairs two at a time.

The hall upstairs smelled faintly of mildew and something metallic. The carpet was threadbare under her boots, the wallpaper curling at the edges. This used to be a house full of life, laughter and the smell of cooking. Now, it just sagged under its own weight.

She stopped at Byron's door.

After a moment, she raised her chin and knocked.

No response.

Knocked again, louder .

"Not now," came the muffled response.

She knocked a third time.

This time the door yanked open so hard it nearly came off its hinges.

"What the fuck do you-"

He froze.

Ana stood there, arms crossed.

"Ana..."

Byron blinked at her, momentarily stunned.

He was in just a pair of shorts. His skin was pale, his eyes ringed with dark circles.

His shoulders slumped, defeated, and his hair was a mess of curls, flattened in some places, sticking out in others.

The faint trail of hair on his chest dipped down into a V toward the waistband of his shorts.

His mouth opened slightly- and then he realised his state of undress. "Shit. Just... hang on."

Ana turned her head away as he shuffled around, pulling on a T-shirt and joggers in jerky, rushed movements. When she looked back, he was standing by the bed, rubbing his hands over his face.

She walked in and shut the door behind her.

"I've taken care of Cathy," she said abruptly after a moment of awkward silence. "She won't be bothering you anymore. If she does anything stupid or even thinks about threatening you, call me."

Byron blinked owlishly at her. "What... what did you do?"

"Nothing illegal," she said coolly. "Though I might be toeing the line with assault and criminal damage. But your contract's safe. That's all you need to know."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking like someone had knocked the air out of him. His hands came up, covered his face. His shoulders began to shake.

Ana watched. Her hand twitched, she wanted to place it on his shoulder, offer him comfort. But she didn't .

"Are you in withdrawal or something?" she asked, quieter now. "Do you need to detox? Get help or something?"

Byron looked up at her, his hazel eyes shining with unshed tears. "Why would you do this for me?"

"I didn't do it for you," Ana said. "I did it for Sylvia and your dad. Your dad helped my dad once, and now we're even. No more favours."

She turned, hand on the door, in a rush to go home.

"Ana," he said.

She stopped.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "So sorry."

She gave a short nod and stepped away, more than ready to leave.

Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she turned back.

"No. That's not enough."

He looked up, confused.

"I'm angry, Byron. You hurt me. I don't understand you anymore.

How could you?" Her voice trembled in a rare show of vulnerability, her hands clenched into tight fists.

"You used me. You lied. Let me think,God, I don't even know what I was thinking.

You need to get your head on straight. No more drinking, no more smoking, no more.

.. doping or whatever the hell you've been doing. "

She exhaled, hard. "Because I'm not going to be here the next time. I'm not going to pick you up again. You won’t get too many second chances."

Byron's voice cracked. "Ana... can we…can we start over? Can you give me another chance to... I mean."

Ana looked at him, eyes wide to keep the tears in. Her weariness was bone deep.

"I think..." She sighed. "You know I've loved you for a while. But I don't like games. I don't like lies. So, tell me, Byron. Did you ever genuinely want me? Or was it always about your selfishness? Were you always using me?"

The room felt quiet. Even the crumbling house seemed to hold its breath.

Byron held her gaze for a moment too long.

Then he looked away.

Ana stilled.

"So... if Cathy hadn't blackmailed you..." she began, but didn't finish.

His silence was answer enough.

Her breath hitched, sharp and silent, like she'd taken a punch to the ribs. She stepped back a little, her expression was cooling rapidly, but her eyes, her eyes were still gutted.

She turned without a word and walked out.

Down the threadbare stairs, across the worn hallway.

Sylvia was halfway up, her back against the wall, trying to look casual but clearly eavesdropping.

Ana didn't meet her eyes. She brushed past, stiffly, and let herself out the front door with a soft click.

Sylvia waited until she heard the gate creak shut. Then she crept up the rest of the stairs and pushed open Byron's door.

He was lying on his bed, arms behind his head, staring blankly at the water-stained patch on the ceiling. His legs were stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, still and pale.

Sylvia walked in without a word, lay down next to him, mirroring his pose, elbow to elbow.

They stared together at the ceiling in silence.

Then, quietly, "Why did you tell her that?"

Byron didn't respond. His jaw clenched slightly, but he kept his eyes fixed upward .

"She thinks it was all a lie," Sylvia said as she side-eyed him. "You know you've been in love with her for years."

Still nothing.

"Ever since you were, what, ten? The stupid facts you made up just to make her look at you, the way you used to save your snacks so you could trade for her favourites. The way you used to check your breath before talking to her." Her voice was soft now. "Don't pretend it didn't mean anything."

Byron's chest rose and fell. But his face didn't change.

He just whispered, "Look at us."

Sylvia blinked. Turned her head to him.

"Look at where we are," he continued, voice barely audible. "What do I have to offer her? What do I even have?"

Sylvia sighed, "She is never going to come back."

Byron's eyes stayed on the ceiling, but a tear slipped sideways across his temple, trailing down into his hairline. Another soaked into the pillow. Then another.

He lifted one arm and draped it over his face, covering his eyes, breathing ragged and uneven.

"I know," he said.