Page 50 of The Reunion

‘I don’t think you’re stupid, Ryan, I just think you’re severely lacking in logic and common sense. Act first, think later. Which may have served you well in school, and maybe it works for you in the world of politics now, but it’s not going to open that door. God, I cannot believe I’m stuck in here with you, of all people …’

‘It’s not exactly peachy for me being stuck with you either, you know.’

I huff, stalking back to the door. I know it’s futile, but I try the handle again – as if it might magically give way for me, when it didn’t for Ryan. Which, of course, it doesn’t. I press my forehead to the door, leaning my body flat against it, eyes sliding closed, forcing my breathing to become slow and measured and even.

Maybe it’s a good thing the power went out. Ryan was getting … I was getting …

Things got weird. Intense.

I’m not sure what would’ve happened next if the lights hadn’t cut, and my heart gives a sickening little somersault at the possibility of what might have …

No, I’m not going down that road. Definitely not with – because of – him. It was just biology, that’s all. My body reacting to his body, to proximity and heat and touch. Not the way he said my name, or the light caress of his fingers against mine, or the vulnerability in the things he said …

‘I guess we’ve just gotta wait it out, then,’ Ryan says, somewhere off to my left. I hear the scrape of a stool as he drags it out, takes a seat. The soft wince and thump as he props his leg – the left, I’m sure – up on another stool, most likely to stretch it out. I wonder if he still has physiotherapy appointments for that old rugby injury, or if he did half a dozen and thought that was fine; he was Ryan Lawal, untouchable. Achilles.

Not that I spent any amount of time looking up the wound when they reported on it, or read any medical journals online about the surgery and healing process and the recovery statistics.

Not … any considerable amount of time, anyway.

Scientific curiosity, that was all.

My head makes a quiet thud against the door, and I lean further into it, like it might swallow me whole.

‘C’mon, Easton, it’s not that bad being stuck in a room with me, is it? It’s hardly the first time the two of us were here by ourselves after hours.’

‘That was different.’

‘Why? We were arguing pretty much all the time back then, too. Seems just like old times, if you ask me.’

‘This is not—’

‘Isn’t it? You’re still incapable of holding a friendly conversation, still putting me down at every opportunity—’

‘You’re still winding me up at every opportunity,’ I bite back. ‘And don’t pretend like you ever so much as tried to have a “friendly conversation” with me.’ I spit the words like the poison they are. ‘All you ever did was taunt me, act like you were better than me because you were so popular, like every mean, nasty little joke out of your mouth was soooo innocent.’

‘I never—’

‘Don’t. Just … don’t.’

I don’t want to hear it. I can’t stomach listening to Ryan defend all the immature crap he said to me when we were teenagers. The flirty lines that would make other girls blush, but always had a cruel, teasing edge whenever he used them on me, with that look like he wanted to make sure I knew I was the butt of a joke, not the subject of flattery. The whip-smart remarks about me being boring and a square and uptight and frigid and haughty that made everybody else laugh, and which I had to learn to let roll off me, water off a duck’s back.

He thinks I was mean to him? He doesn’t know the half of it.

‘You know,’ he says, ‘it’s not my fault you thought you were too good to give me the time of day whenever I tried to talk to you. I tried to include you. I, at least, tried to be nice, which is more than you ever did. I invited you to parties—’

I scoff, teeth bared in a snarl, and I sway slightly against the door, fighting every impulse not to turn around and fly at him in a rage. If I want to keep the high ground, I have to keep my cool. This is just another one of his games.

‘Please. Like you wanted me there. The one time I did show up, you dragged me into the middle of a drinking game and I was humiliated playing Never Have I Ever, and nobody ever let me live down that I’d never done anything, and then you “accidentally” spilled a can of beer all over me.’

‘It was an accident! RJ fell into me.’

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Never Have I Ever didn’t start till after you showed up anyway, so I didn’t do that to you on purpose, either. And, from what I remember, I offered to give you my T-shirt so you had something dry to wear—’

‘And from what I remember’ – my hands curl into claws against the door, body shaking – ‘your mates had a good laugh after Elise made fun of my bra, because you could see it through my wet top, and then you were busy showing off your washboard abs and winking at me, telling me to get a good look while I had the chance.’

‘I …’

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