Page 97 of The Long Way Home

I hate that he has new things on his body that I haven’t seen and she has.

I squint at it, tilting my head. I blink twice, my mouth falling open.

“Is that…?”

BJ looks over at me, down to his chest, then back up to me. His eyes look caught and he goes quickly to close his shirt, but Jordan grabs his hand.

“Don’t be weird!” She laughs. “It’s not like she’s hasn’t seen you naked before. Show her.” She reaches over, undoes an extra button and flashes me his chest, grinning back at me proudly. Never mind that that alone — her touching him that capriciously, that mindlessly, like he’s hers and not mine — is enough to kill me dead on the spot, but there, on his chest, is a cartoon—

“Dead baby Bambi!” Jordan grins. “Isn’t that cool?”

(“Weird!” Taura sing-song whispers.)

“It’s my favourite.” Jordan shrugs, not noticing how tense everyone else has become. Henry’s pinching the bridge of his nose. Christian’s shaking his head, avoiding all the eyes. Jo throws back his drink. I’m nodding. I’m nodding a lot.

“Is it?” I say, my voice breaking. “Wow.”

Beej — he’s just staring over at me; our eyes catch but I can’t — so I turn away, look at Henry who would never dare tell me he told me so and instead slides me his Vieux Carre, which I throw back in one gulp.

I wave my hand impatiently at Christian who obediently slides me his. Sazerac. Yuck. I don’t know why he likes those. Still one gulp though.

I blow out of my mouth to steady myself and wonder if my life in London will just be a series of moments where I numb myself to survive watching the person I love be with someone else.

A little bit later into the night, Beej manages to work his way over to me and Henry.

Jordan’s nearby, but she’s found some girls she works with and they’re all watching on, staring over at us, pretending they aren’t.

The way BJ angles his body makes it look like he’s talking to Henry rather than me. He’s trying to be covert. “Can I talk to you?” he says quietly.

I turn away a little from him and cuff his brother’s sleeve. Black oversized patch-work distressed cable-knit rollneck sweater from TAKAHIROMIYASHITA TheSoloist. “No.”

“Please, Parks. I need to—”

“Beej—” Henry gives him a look.

“Henry.” BJ glares at him. “Don’t start now. Magnolia, I just want to—”

I shake my head at him curtly and point to Jordan.

“You have a girlfriend, remember?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “You made that abundantly clear to me the other evening. You also killed me—” I can barely say it without my voice choking up. His eyes go heavy with a sorry he won’t say out loud. “—on your chest. You killed me on your chest and it’s your girlfriend’s favourite tattoo.”

“Magnolia…” He sighs.

“So fuck off, Beej. Go talk to her. Go plan a little day trip up to Dartmouth together — make a day of it, take a chainsaw, why don’t you?”

His jaw goes tight and he gets up close in my face like he does when we’re going sour. “Don’t you fucking ever say that to me.”

I blink as though I’m unfazed by it, as though merely uttering those words doesn’t feel like a whip I’m cracking against my own back.

“Or what?” I arch an eyebrow. “You’ll kill me?”

His head rolls back and his breathing is jagged as I push back from the table to get away from him.

I walk to the bar just so he has to watch me walk away from him.

And then a providential thing happens.

Surrounded by a cloud of radio presenters and London-based bands is Rush Evans.