Page 36 of Star-crossed Betas

Bollocks.

Me:Gtg. Twenty mins to shower and pack. I’ll text you when I land?

Fee:Yep, have a safe flight babe xxx

“Why do I always have to have the middle seat?” Niamh whinges.

“Because you’re practically a hobbit,” Sam points out.

“I’m five foot five!”

“Exactly.”

The cabin crew stands in the aisle and begins their demonstration of how to fasten a seat belt. I can’t help but think if someone is unable to figure that out and dies as a result, it’s merely natural selection.

I dig out my noise-cancelling headphones from my rucksack and stick some music on to block out the noise of Niamh and Sam bickering. I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours, and I’m starting to feel nauseated. When I press shuffle on the playlist I created for me and Fee a few years ago,‘The Time of My Life’ from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack comes on. I have to turn my face toward the window to hide the smile that spreads over my face at the memory.

One night last summer, Alice joined us at Ingleton Falls. Fee wanted to try doing the lift from dirty dancing, but Alice kept freaking out at the top. In the end, he coaxed me into doing it, and we managed it on the first attempt. We didn’t have a speaker with us, but Fee insisted on singing (very badly) at the top of his lungs. On the third attempt, he almost dropped me because I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to hold the position. As soon as I got home that night, I added the song to the playlist.

Nobody has ever made me laugh like Fee does. The fond memory only adds to my determination to do better for him. I can’t lose him.

Sam, Niamh and I are spending just over a week with our grandparents in Northern Ireland, which will give me plenty of time to figure out how to make all of this better again. We love each other; we’ve made this work for years. This is just a rough patch we need to work through, I’m sure of it.

Fourteen

January 2021 - One Year Ago

Connor Kelly

“Mother fucker!” I shout loudly enough to startle my cousin.

“You better not be bleedin’ on that fuckin’ table, Con,” Mikey yells from the other side of our workshop.

When we opened our business building bespoke furniture a year ago, we set up shop in a small industrial estate in north Manchester. It’s not a huge space because we didn’t want high overheads when we were starting out.

I turn off the bench saw I was using and look down at the piece of wood I’d been attempting to cut through; there is definitely alotof blood on it. For fuck’s sake. Looks like I’ll be starting over on this one.

My hand is throbbing where the jagged blade cut through the muscle, and my eyes are watering profusely.

“Thanks for the concern. I almost lost my fuckin’ hand,” I gasp, wincing at the pain. I take some deep breaths and count to ten, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Ouch, how’d you manage that?” Mikey asks when he wanders over to inspect the damage.

“The blade caught on an edge, and the wood kicked,” I tell him through gritted teeth.

“Bet you’re glad you’re not a human right about now,” he says, looking at the tissue in my hand knitting back together. He’s not wrong; I definitely appreciate the sped-up healing time, but it still fucking hurts like a bitch.

My head is in the clouds today, and if I wasn’t a shifter, I’d be on my way to a hospital. I managed to cut a jagged slice through the fleshy part of my hand between my thumb and forefinger. Thankfully my left hand. Still, it looks gory as fuck.

“Come on, let’s have a brew while your hand heals up,” he suggests, slapping me on the back.

We put in a small kitchenette when we set up in the workshop, but it only has a kettle, a microwave, and a mini fridge. I plonk myself down on the sofa nearby while Mikey puts the kettle on.

“Not like you to be so distracted, what’s up?” he asks.

To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong. I think it’s a build-up of all these different things in my life that are completely out of my control. I’ve seen Fee once since I got back from Northern Ireland, but we only had a couple of hours, and neither of us wanted to ruin it by bringing up heavy shit. Lately, it feels as if we never have enough time to sort through anything.

I can’t exactly tell Mikey my head is fucked because I hardly get to see my boyfriend—the one nobody knows about.

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