Page 64 of Fire Fight

“Nice?” She gives a soft snort, pulling the cord on her robe tighter. “That isn’t the word for it. Exciting. Luxurious.” With her head tilted to the side, a mischievous smile plays across her lips. “Almost engaging.”

“Almost?”

Her hands clench as she gives an excited wriggle. “He talked about commitment and planning and how he’d given up hope of ever finding the perfect someone but now thinks he might have given up too soon.”

I reach out for her, grabbing her hands and bouncing on my toes. “And…?”

“Nothing yet. He talked about Drake maybe joining his firm and taking away some of his workload.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “He wants to mentor him to take over the business and start that process sooner rather than later. Apparently, he has no plans for continuing his education, so it’s the perfect opportunity.”

I lean against the bench, thinking how nice it would be to attend Ashcroft without looking over my shoulder or being threatened with forfeits. Far less confusing.

A wriggle of disappointment also makes itself known, but I stifle it. I haven’t got around to checking the counselling services on offer at school, but I should make it a priority.

Get my head straight before I let something happen that I’ll later regret.

“What are your plans after school?” Mum brushes strands of hair away from my face, tucking them behind my ear. “Should I ask him if there’s a place for you in his office?”

I shake my head. The idea of Drake and me working in the same jobsite is just asking for trouble. “I thought about going overseas on a working holiday. See the UK and Europe while I figure out what I like to do.”

Her eyes light up at the idea. “Now, that’s a good plan.” She leans forward. “If things don’t work out with Arnold, I might come with you.”

She turns back to the bench, giving the pill organiser a doubtful stare. “Does this look right to you?”

I see immediately they’re wrong and tip the medication out, pulling them into separate piles to reallocate them; the extra anti-psychotics going back into their bottles while I add the skipped mood stabiliser to each day.

When I’m finished, her lips tremble in a weak smile. “No wonder my head’s so fuzzy.”

“You know you can always ask me or Arnold for help.”

Although, errors aside, it’s a joy to see her take control of her meds, especially since the extracurriculars are now off the menu. Yet another sign things are on the right path.

Mum nods, putting the organiser and pill bottles back in the cupboard, yawning as she does so. “I’ll take that as a sign I need to go back to bed.” She pulls me into a hug. “See you again at a proper time in the morning.”

I put the coffee machine on once she’s gone, quickly downing the first cup and immediately pouring a second that I takethrough to the lounge, curling onto one of the comfy seats and staring into space, not even thinking.

A series of beeps makes my heart seize, then I hear the soft pad of Drake’s footsteps on the outside patio. Curious why he’d be awake at this hour, I pop my head through the doorway and see the back door wide open, jammed with a wedge to stop it accidentally swinging closed.

When I tiptoe nearer, I’m just in time to see Drake heading down to the beach.

I count off the seconds, waiting two minutes before I venture outside, giving a sigh of relief as the cool salt breeze off the ocean blows through my hair. At the top of the path, I lean against the railings, my eyes easily adjusting to the moonlight, finding Drake’s figure a second before he wades into the sea.

He swims with effortless grace to the platform, levering himself onto the wide boards. He sits with his arms supporting his weight behind him, head tilted back to expose the long length of his throat.

Part of me wants to head down to the beach and swim out to join him.

The rest of me wants to crawl back into the safety of the wardrobe.

Then he yells, a wordless roar that grows and grows until he’s bellowing at the sky, ending on a choked sob. He swivels to punch into the platform until his knuckles must be bruised and bleeding.

The sight guts me.

I stagger backwards on shaking legs, two steps, three steps, until I’m out of sight, heart thumping. An echo of the same urge roars inside me, wanting to rail at the universe for all the ways it has failed me, failed my mother. For all the little things that pile on each other until the world becomes too monumentally unfair to accept without screaming into the void.

But I can’t help Drake with his pain, his grief. I wouldn’t even know where to start.

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