Page 37

Phoebe

Then

I stare at them for what feels like hours. Two lines that change everything. That cleave my life in two.

I think of how it happened. I do the math, count the days back to our time in the Whitsundays. And then I think about my options.

I’m still on the bathroom floor when I hear the door to the room open. Quickly, I shove the test in the trash under some used tissues so Claire won’t stumble across it.

“Phoebe, you still sick?” she asks through the closed door.

Taking a deep breath, I open it to see Claire, a slight sunburn across her cheeks.

“I’m feeling a bit better,” I say. It’s partially true. My nausea—or morning sickness, I now realize—has gone, only to be replaced with a soul-crushing anxiety.

“That’s good,” she says. I’m about to ask how her day was, more out of politeness than curiosity, but she beats me to it. “We’re planning on going out tonight. There’s a place down the street that apparently does drag karaoke. In the middle of Jagged Rock, can you imagine?”

“You can’t be serious.”

If Claire can tell that I’m referring to the olive branch she’s extending me, rather than the existence of a drag bar in the middle of the Outback, she doesn’t show it.

“It’s what Tomas would have wanted,” she says.

And there it is. The blame that laces through her words, twisting in my gut. This is your fault.

I’m pretty sure Tomas would not have wanted to be lying in a morgue in the middle of Australia somewhere while his friends partied in his name, but I force myself to stay quiet.

“Please say you’ll come,” she pleads.

I stare at her for a moment. Days ago, she was volunteering me as tribute for her fuck, marry, kill game. Up until now she’s barely looked at me, let alone spoken. Why the sudden about-face? I’m trying to articulate that in a way that doesn’t sound completely bitchy, but she beats me to it.

“Something’s going on with Declan.”

And there it is.

“He’s been so distant. And I can’t seem to reach him. It’s like he doesn’t want me around.”

I know she wants me to tell her she’s wrong, that Declan is just as head over heels for her as he’s always been. But I can’t. I’m exhausted, too drained to protest.

“Fine. I’ll come.”

***

I immediately regret my outfit choice—jeans and a tank top—when we get down to the Inn’s lobby. The others are all dolled up, Adrien in a sequined dress, the guys in button-up shirts. Even Ellery is wearing a nice red top in lieu of her usual ripped band T-shirt.

It’s then that I remember. It’s Christmas Eve.

We’ve seen a smattering of decorations—lights strung up through the boulevards of Cairns, a blow-up Santa outside our Whitsundays hostel—but it’s been so difficult to reconcile the holiday with the ninety-plus-degree weather we’ve been experiencing.

Thankfully, our group agreed to forgo gifts, but I listen as they all regale the others with talk of their calls home, how much their family misses them. I didn’t even bother calling my parents. I haven’t received so much as an email from them since I started the program.

Music floods out of the front door of the Royal Hotel as we walk up, Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” reaching our ears before we even come into sight of the enormous pink building, which is wrapped in lights.

When we get past the bouncer, wristbands biting into our skin, the others head straight for the bar.

I meander onto the dance floor, feet away from the stage where the drag queen is crooning into the microphone, a red and green boa around her neck complimenting her barely-there shorts. Someone grabs my shoulder, and I flinch, but it’s only Claire, pulling me towards the bar.

“We’re doing shots,” she yells over the music.

I want to yell back, to tell her I don’t want to join, that I have a human growing inside me who probably wouldn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol, but I don’t.

I let her lead me back to the group, take the shot glass she shoves in my hand, and stand in a circle with the others, ignoring the hatred sparking from Adrien’s eyes, the disdain from Kyan’s.

Ellery is the only one who makes eye contact as we clink our glasses together, shooting me a small sad smile.

When the others throw back their shots, I dump mine on the floor.

Soon enough, everyone’s made it back to the dance floor, but I resist Claire’s drunken pleas—evidently now that she doesn’t have Declan, I’m back in her good graces. Instead, I hang back by the bar, watching from afar. The song changes from something upbeat to far more romantic.

“This one’s for the lovers,” the drag queen croons, and I flinch. God, now of all nights, I could use a drink.

Josh grabs Claire’s hand, and she follows him out to the dance floor, shooting a look back at Declan, who avoids her eyes. I watch them for a moment, jealousy swirling in my gut. Claire’s miserable, clearly. But from where I stand, she has everything.

“Not having fun?”

I turn to see Declan with a glass of amber liquid in his hands, elbows propped against the bar.

“Not really feeling it tonight,” I say to him. “You either?”

He shrugs. I look out onto the dance floor, and my gaze falls on Adrien, her head tipped back, Kyan’s hands resting territorially on her hips, and before I can stop it, the burn behind my eyes becomes solid, tears welling.

Hormones , I think, trying to push the emotion away. But I know it’s more than that.

“You alright?”

I try to hide the emotion on my face but it’s useless. Declan’s already noticed. His eyes are laced with concern, but I note how tightly he’s holding his glass, his knuckles gleaming white.

“I think I just need some air,” I say lamely.

“I’ll join you,” he says, finishing his drink in one gulp.

***

We walk far enough down the street so that the music doesn’t weigh down our words. I take in deep gulps of the night air, nausea once again brewing in my stomach.

“I wanted to ask you before,” Declan says, his eyes avoiding mine. “Have you been okay? Really, I mean. I can only imagine how hard it’s been with everything that’s…happened.”

I start to prepare a shallow joke in response, something that’ll make light of the situation, that’ll bring us back to safer, more comfortable conversational ground.

But to my utter shock, my throat constricts, the throwaway comment lodging itself in my windpipe.

And I realize Declan is the only person who’s asked me this since Tomas’s accident. The only person who’s cared.

The emotion that has been leaking out of me in drips and drabs—mostly in private, thankfully—suddenly erupts. Through sobs, I try to explain how it was an accident, how I loved Tomas and would never want to hurt him, but how no one will ever believe me. Not even Claire.

Declan listens wordlessly to my tearful monologue. When I finish, my shoulders hunched and my breath coming in rapid puffs, he rubs my back thoughtfully, and I want to melt into him.

“I’ve made mistakes too,” he says eventually, so softly I can barely hear him.

I expect him to leave it at that, but he continues, his eyes glued on the street in front of us.

“I grew up with a younger brother, Malachy. When I was about thirteen, Mal was only five. My mum asked me to watch him one weekend, but I’d already agreed to play in this community football match.

I’d had it planned for ages, but Mum had to go out of town to visit her sister at the last minute and Da was doing God knows what.

“So, I told Mum I’d look after Mal, and I also told my mates I’d be at the match.

Thought I’d rigged the system. I’d leave Mal on the sidelines, he’d entertain himself, and I’d get to play.

And it all went well, at the beginning at least. But once the match was over, I couldn’t find him.

I looked everywhere. At first, I was angry.

It was just like Mal to wander off, but as the hours passed, I got more and more nervous.

Eventually, we had to call in the Gardaí. ”

I swallow hard, waiting for him to finish.

“They found him the next morning.” Declan’s face is drawn, his skin bleached of color.

“He’d wandered onto a nearby farm at some point during the match.

He must have been so excited, seeing all the machinery.

He loved trucks and tractors and all those things…

” His voice breaks, and he shakes his head.

“He found an old dried-up well on the property. He must have leaned over too far and…the fall broke his neck.

“If I had just done what my Ma had asked, he would still be alive. But I was fecking selfish. I couldn’t bear to take a day off to do her a favor, to look after my little brother. My own family. It was all my fault that he died.”

He balls his hands into fists, and I delicately rest my hand on his shoulder.

“It’s why I decided to come here. Even after I moved away from Sligo, started university in Dublin, I couldn’t get away from what I’d done.

I needed to get out of Ireland, as far away as possible.

I figured Australia was about as far as you could go to get away.

” He smiles, but it’s one of sadness, and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I think of how similar we are, how we had nearly the same motivation for going on this trip.

I look at him, really look for the first time.

Ever since day one of the program, he was always Claire’s, nothing more than a guy for her to lust after.

But there are so many different layers to him, so many things for us to connect over that Claire could never appreciate.

“Does Claire know?” I ask after a moment.

He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think she’d look at me the same if she did.

And it’s been difficult to talk to her after what happened to Tomas.

It feels like she was so quick to move on, whereas I can’t stop thinking about him.

She’s never been close to death before so she doesn’t know how to feel, and I can’t be the one to help her through that. ”