Page 124 of Treacherous
Me:
Can I have your blueberry pancake recipe, please?
Her reply is almost instant.
Mum:
Of course! I’ll send it through.
I thought you hated blueberries.
Me:
I do.
I shake my head as I pocket my phone, not wanting to be interrogated by my mother. She will know something is up, butI don’t want to be lectured for my behaviour. Even though I deserve one.
Last night was a fucking disaster. I was already on edge from the moment Cooper uttered the wordparty,and when I saw Willow succumbing to the alcohol, I needed to step in.
In hindsight, I went about it the wrong way and regret all the words that slipped from my mouth. It scared the shit out of me seeing her on the verge of a panic attack. Because of my sister's history with them, I've studied the signs and symptoms, ready to step in if she needed help.
Now, I'm the cause of one.
This morning’s gym session was my avoidance tactic but I can’t do that any longer. I owe Willow an apology. Honestly, she deserves more than that.
The game we played yesterday proved her skills gel perfectly with the rest of the team. We want to win the Frozen Four, every competitive hockey player does. So, civility is key.
The house is quiet when I arrive, the floor creaking under my feet. I sneak into the kitchen, finding all the ingredients from the recipe mum sent me.
I measure every cup of flour and sugar, not wanting to fuck this up too. I’ve never been the best cook, but I can follow a recipe.
Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse than blueberries in pancakes, but it is Willow’s favourite breakfast. I always knew when Willow had stayed the night because the smell of cinnamon and maple syrup drifted through the house.
One day in particular sticks in my mind.
Meadow Beach – Two Years Ago
Willow’s sobs stop me from moving down the stairs. I shouldn’t linger, but I can’t help myself.
“I don’t know what to do, Ashley,” Willow says, hiccupping in between her words.
I press my body against the wall, not moving a muscle. Glancing around the corner, I can make out Willow sitting on a stool, leaning against the kitchen bench. Her red hair sits below her shoulder blades and has waves running through them. Mum is on the other side, mirroring Willow’s posture. She reaches over, clasping their hands together.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you. Have you told anyone?”
“No.” The words are rushed, and I can hear the fear lacing her tone.
What are they talking about? Mum’s words are soft, yet they imply something different.
Is someone hurting Willow? I grit my teeth, channelling the anger building in my blood into my clenched fists.
Willow seemed like herself yesterday–bold and loud. She came home from Nevada as our colleges are on break for the summer. Although her parents now live in Nevada, she prefers Meadow Beach. I have always been able to tell.
Willow’s hazel eyes light up at any mention of the beach or taking a trip to Books & Brews, the best cafe in town.
In the hockey season that recently passed, I only played Willow once, the other times, she was on the bench. It was weird. Especially considering her team was being thrashed on the ice. They could have used her multiple times.
Willow’s next words hit me like a fucking bullet to the heart.
