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COMFORTABLE COMPANIONS

Hugh

APRIL 5, 2004

T ODAY MARKED L IZ’S NINETY-NINTH DAY IN TREATMENT, AND LIFE, FOR THE MOST part, had been chugging along steadily. School was a breeze, and work was enjoyable. Our school rugby team was going from strength to strength, while I was consistently breaking my personal best in the pool.

Gibsie and Claire were as happy as clams, dreaming up notions of running their own animal sanctuary, while Johnny continued to bulk up in the gym. The only one slightly off-kilter was Feely, but his issues weren’t Liz related.

Meanwhile, all my issues were.

I still felt her absence everywhere, and nothing I tried could fill the hollowness under my rib cage.

Liz didn’t have a phone in there, which was both a blessing and a curse, because while I desperately wanted to talk to her, I knew it wouldn’t be good for either of us.

Mike used to call me every week to fill me in on her progress, but Mam politely put a stop to the calls last month, saying it wasn’t healthy .

Yeah , Mam knew about Liz being in hospital, but it wasn’t because I told her. Mam had overhead one of my phone calls with Liz’s dad and put two and two together. She was as supportive as always and had vowed to keep it a secret if I continued to live my life and not lock myself away from the world.

I was trying.

I hung with Gibs and Claire in the evenings, and the rest of the lads on the weekends when I wasn’t working. Oh, and I spent a lot of time with Katie, who turned out to be excellent company.

While we didn’t seem to have a lot in common when it came to our chosen school subjects and hobbies—I was a science geek, and she was a musical prodigy—we seemed to enjoy each other’s company enough to find a middle ground.

She was surprisingly easy to talk to, and when she opened up to me about her shaky relationship with her musician dad, I found myself divulging details about the shaky relationship I had with my father.

Tonight marked the eighth Friday I’d spent in her company, and instead of going to the cinema like we usually did, Katie suggested we grab a bite to eat.

However, twenty minutes into the first course, I had the distinct feeling this wasn’t the usual Friday night catch-up. Katie was dolled up extra nice in a pretty, black dress, with a full face of makeup, and her gorgeous, dark-coppery-red curls pinned up in a fancy style.

Was this a date?

Was I on a date?

Holy fuck, she’d texted me earlier saying wear something smart .

I was on a date .

“So, what happened?” Katie continued to probe in the chapter of my life labeled Lizzie Young , as she sat opposite me at a table in Spizzico, the fancy Italian restaurant in town. “I know you guys had a bad breakup, but you’ve never divulged the juicy details.”

“Because there aren’t any,” I replied, taking a sip of water. “We just broke up.”

“Bullshit.” Katie smirked and took a sip of her water. “So, come on, out with it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know what they say about a problem shared.”

I sighed. “It just ended, okay?”

She looked at me. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

My shoulders stiffened. “It’s over.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Her voice was soft. “It’s okay, Hugh. You don’t get over a breakup overnight.”

Feeling guilty, I exhaled a heavy sigh and said, “Ask your questions.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “I’ll give you as much as I can.”

“Was she your first girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Was she your only girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Were you together for a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No.”

“But you did other things with her?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s the only girl you’ve ever been with?”

“Yes.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Yes.”

“Did she break up with you?”

“No.”

“You broke up with her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you plan on getting back together with her?”

“No.”

Katie watched me carefully, looking for the lie, and when she didn’t find it, she smiled. It was a nice smile. She had good teeth. And freckles. Her freckles were adorable.

“But she’s best friends with your sister?”

“She is.”

“So she spends a lot of time at your house?”

“She does.”

“So, by default, you spend a lot of time in her company?”

“I do.”

“And that doesn’t tempt you to work things out with her?”

“No.”

“Wow.” She leaned forward, engrossed in the conversation. “She broke you good and hard, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“That was more of a tactless observation than a question.” Katie reached across the table and placed her small hand on mine. “You didn’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, attention riveted to her tiny wrist. Instead of jagged scars donning her flesh, her porcelain skin was littered with freckles.

It was a relief.

It was different.

“What about you?” I turned the tables and asked. “You still haven’t told me how you ended up transferring to Tommen.”

“I did tell you,” she laughed. “I won a scholarship.”

“No, I mean, why transfer so late?” It wasn’t uncommon. Tommen was renowned for accepting late transfers. They came in all different years, but third year and sixth year transfer students were the most common because those were the exam years, and the academic performance at Tommen spoke volumes. The school had a 98 percent graduation rate, combined with a 4oo-point leaving cert average rate. There was no doubting the quality of education provided, so it wasn’t surprising to see parents moving their children during exam years, and the athletic programs on offer were unlike any others in the province. “If you’re smart enough to snag a scholarship, and you clearly are, then why weren’t you offered one in first year?”

“Originally, I was enrolled at Tommen for first year.”

“You were?” My brows shot up. “What happened?”

“My dad happened,” she replied with an eye roll. “He was supposed to send the tuition money to my grandparents, but it never happened.” She took another sip of her water before adding, “Meanwhile, I never anticipated having to compete for a scholarship to get in—hence the two years at St. Bernadette’s.”

“Whoa,” I mused, intrigued by her backstory.

“Because my skill set rests in music and not academics, I had to work incredibly hard to get my grades and portfolio up to a level where I’d even be considered for a scholarship,” she explained, still smiling. “It took a while.”

“But you did it,” I replied, feeling beyond impressed. “That’s pretty fucking badass, Katie.”

“That’s me, all right,” she chuckled, blushing.

All I could do was smile in response.

“Do you want to keep doing this?” Katie asked when I walked her to her door after dinner. “On an exclusive basis?”

Repressing the natural instinct to decline, I forced myself to pause and think this through with a level head and not follow my heart. It couldn’t be trusted to make sensible decisions. It couldn’t be trusted to keep me out of trouble.

“I don’t know.” Mirroring her actions, I shoved my hands in my pockets and studied her face. “What do you want to do?”

“I like spending time with you,” she replied softly.

“I like spending time with you, too,” I told her honestly.

“But?”

“I didn’t say but.”

“Yeah,” she laughed softly. “But you have one, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what kind of a relationship I can offer you,” I admitted honestly. “I’m not exactly back on the horse.”

“Yeah, but you’re getting there.”

Was I?

Maybe I was.

I certainly enjoyed her company. But the thought of going further wasn’t even close to being on my radar.

“Don’t look so stressed. I’m not going to tear your clothes off,” Katie teased, giggling. “I’m nowhere close to being ready for that , either.”

Feeling relieved, I let out a small laugh. “Good to know.”

“But it would be nice to hold your hand sometime,” she added, nudging my shoulder. “Or who knows? Maybe we could even kiss again sometime before the next New Year’s Eve countdown.”

My brows shot up. “You want me to kiss you?”

She blushed. “I thought I made it obvious.” When I stared blankly back at her, Katie laughed. “You know, for a boy who’s spent most of his life in a relationship, you’re as clueless as I am.”

“Should I be offended?” I laughed.

“No, it’s a compliment.” Blushing, she took a step closer to me. “And a hint.”

Do it , my brain commanded. She’s lovely .

Don’t you fucking dare , my heart protested. You know how it’ll end .

Deciding to go with the organ that hadn’t led me down a decade-long rabbit hole of pain , I closed the space between us and cupped her pretty face in my hands.

Filled with a fucked-up concoction of uncertainty, guilt, and excitement , I threw caution to the wind, leaned in close, and pressed my lips to hers.