Page 140 of You Had Me At Thirteen

The worthless prick drops his head, his shoulders shaking as he sobs into his hands. That man is no-one to me anymore. Not that he was before. But at least I could say I had a father, even if he is void of all human emotion.

Maybe that’s where I learned to be so hard. Showing emotion got you nowhere, according to him, but looking at Matilda’s beautiful tear-stained and bloodied face, I know that’s not true. Having her love cracked me wide open, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

Not now.

Not ever.

As I tear down the dirt road and onto the main one, I glance back in my rear-view mirror, the figure of what was once my father growing smaller and smaller the further I get away from him. When he’s out of view, I let my shoulders sag as I let it all go.

Matilda is sleeping, her legs curled up underneath her, her hand in mine. Taking in her soft features, I rub my thumb over the back of her hand, savouring the silkiness of her skin.

She said I saved her. Physically, I did, and I’d do it all over again. But what she doesn’t realise is that she’s the one who saved me.

From myself.

SIXTY

Matilda

* * *

Wren leans against the doorframe of my room while I dart around, collecting everything I need. We still have an hour’s drive ahead of us, and I can’t afford to fuck this up.

‘Shoes?’ Wren says, holding up a finger. He’s super adorable this morning, but I wish he’d put a fucking shirt on. He stayed here last night, so he’s only half-dressed in a pair of black running shorts he put on after his shower.

‘Yes.’ I grab my runners from the wardrobe, ignoring the beautiful specimen that is my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

‘Shorts, and top?’ Wren holds up two more fingers.

‘Yes, and… yes.’ I grab those two items as well and throw them on the bed.

‘Bag?’

I nod, pulling my sport bag out from under my bed. ‘Bag.’

‘What else?’

I hold up a finger. ‘Drink bottle. Downstairs.’ I shove all my gear into my bag, throw Wren his grey t-shirt from my bed and we head downstairs into the kitchen.

Mum is already there, making breakfast. She turns when she hears us enter, a hot pan in her hands as she makes her way to the island to dish up crispy bacon and scrambled eggs.

‘You feeding an army, Sue?’ Wren says and sits on one of the stools.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘I am feeding you, aren’t I?’ She grins and mounds Wren’s plate with bacon and eggs.

‘Touché,’ he says through a mouthful of eggs.

Mum plates up mine and pushes the plate over to me. I stare at it for a few seconds, my stomach disagreeing with the sight and smell. I’m not usually this nervous before a meet, but this one has me scrambling. When the athletics association called to tell me I’d been granted a position at nationals when Wren was in hospital, it was Audrey who took the call. When I finally spoke to her about it, I didn’t know how to feel about it because Wren was still in a coma and just thinking about racing again didn’t excite me if he wouldn’t be there to cheer me on.

‘You need to eat babe,’ Mum says placing the pan back on the stovetop.

‘Feel sick.’ I rub my stomach and pout, attempting to quiet the grumbling now threatening to expose me.

‘It’s just nerves, baby. Here,’ Wren says, shoving a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

Christ, he’s adorable. So, I take a small mouthful and let it sink down into my stomach. It tastes so good, and I can’t disappoint my mum. Plus, I need to eat something if I’m going to win today.

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