Page 8 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)
But I’ll do what I’ve always done. Push it down, pretend it doesn’t exist because it’s the only way I can survive.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t worry about you too,” she says. I feel her adjust the bag of vegetables on my face, making sure it’s fully covering my eye. My skin is tingling and numb because it’s so cold, but still I let her keep it there.
If there’s one soft spot I have in the world, it’s Aisling.
She’s the only good part of me that’s left. The best part of me.
“I’m really proud of you, Kill. Not just because you didn’t hit him back—and I know how hard that must have been—but because I know this whole thing hasn’t been easy for you. Even though you make it all look so easy,” she says softly.
Reaching up, I pull the bag away so I can look at her.
She pushes her thin, purple glasses up on her nose, peering at me through the thick lenses. My little sister has always been fragile in a way. Soft and delicate. Smart, emotional, empathetic in a way I would never be.
She’s always needed me to protect her, and I would. No matter what.
“You don’t need to be proud of me, Ais. Not getting into trouble and handling my shit is the least that I can do after everything I’ve put you through since…
” I trail off, hating to even say it out loud.
It’s been almost two years and thinking about Mum still makes my chest ache.
It’s too raw, and the moment that I feel the pain, I run from it.
I’m fucking terrified that I’ll end up back where I was.
I’m a coward, and that’s nothing for her to be proud of.
She blows her dark bangs out of her eyes, shaking her head. “You deserve to have someone be proud of you, Cillian. You’ve come so far, even if you can’t see it yourself.”
My throat feels so tight I can’t breathe, thick tendrils of emotion clogging the passageway.
“Thanks, Ais,” I say softly. The corner of my mouth tugs up in a small smile and she gives me the same as she pulls her knees to her chest and rests her cheek on top. She’s wearing a pair of Mum’s old worn flannel pajamas pants with an oversized jumper that has a photo of fluffy gray kittens on it.
We got it for Mum for Christmas one year, mostly as a joke, but the stupid thing ended up being her favorite. She wore it all the time till it practically had holes in it.
After the accident, Aisling would wear her jumpers around the flat, her eyes red and puffy from crying, and my chest would physically ache. I was grieving in ways I’d never known were possible and still trying to keep it together for her.
Aisling said that the jumpers smelled like her, and she was scared that if she took them off, the scent would fade and then she’d forget. She was terrified she’d forget.
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice breaks through the memory, and I swallow, pushing down the thick lump that’s settled at the base of my throat.
“Home. I bloody hate America.” I laugh, placing the peas that have begun to defrost back on my eye, desperate to change the subject.
“It’s not that bad. They have amazing food, and their toilets are much better than ours.” She giggles. “I’m just glad that we have each other. It’s only been a few weeks, Kill. Give it some time, and I know you’ll find your place. A new routine.”
Ais is halfway through her freshman year and is seemingly taking the move, and all the changes in our lives, in stride, unlike me. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life right now.
Like I’m a stranger walking in someone else’s shoes.
I miss home. I miss the flat we grew up in even though everything there reminded me of Mum and the fact that she was gone.
Some days it hurt too much to feel her surrounding me everywhere, but not truly there .
Her rain jacket still hung on the coatrack, her favorite pajamas still folded on top of the dryer like she was going to walk through the door the next morning after her shift.
Neither of us could bring ourselves to touch any of it, not until we had no other choice.
As if the moment that we packed it up, put the things away in boxes, and donated it, we’d be erasing what was left of her.
A fucking nightmare. One I’m still living.
I didn’t know how much I would miss all of it until we were gone, now living in this small apartment just outside campus.
We had to sell the flat and the majority of the furniture when we moved to America.
I couldn’t afford a mortgage, and by the time everything had happened we were already three months behind on the note.
We didn’t have much equity, so most of the money from the sale went to the solicitor fees handling her estate.
Thank God she had a meager life insurance policy or there would be no way I could afford to live anywhere.
Especially not at Prescott. Aisling being on scholarship has helped with cost, but for the most part, we cook at home and use any extra money we have to pay for rent and utilities.
The place isn’t much, but it’s ours.
“You and your routines,” I mutter.
“Don’t make fun of my type A personality. I just like things… organized. I feel more at ease knowing that I have a plan and the proper tools to execute it.”
Chuckling, I reach behind me for the blanket that’s stretched across the back of the couch. “Okay, Ais, whatever you say. You know, I was thinking, if this whole rugby thing doesn’t pan out, at least you’ll be able to take care of us with that big brain of yours.”
“Way to look at the positives. Don’t worry, if rugby doesn’t work out, I’ve got a backup plan.”
My shoulders shake with a laugh as I pull the old, soft blanket from home over me, suddenly dead exhausted from all the shit that’s managed to transpire today. “I know. You always do, Ais.”