Текст книги "Someone Else's Life"

Автор книги: Katie Dale

Соавторы: Katie Dale,Katie Dale
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someone

else's life

Katie Dale

For my wonderful parents.

Thank you so much, for everything.

And for all those whose lives have been touched by

the shadow of Huntington’s disease. Your courage

and strength are humbling and truly inspirational.

May a cure be found soon.

Prologue

“Are you turned on?” Josh whispers, his breath

tickling my ear in the dark.

“Shh,”

chide, my eyes glued to the screen as

Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore sit at the potter’s wheel,

their hands sliding over each other in the slippery clay.

“It’s romantic.”

“And very suggestive …,” he says, delicious shiver

thrilling down my spine at his touch in the dark—secret

and sensual.

Is this how it feels?

gaze at the screen as the lovers’ kisses get

stronger, deeper, the pot long forgotten, goose bumps

tingling all over my body as Josh’s skin strokes mine.

bite my lip. Is this what I’ve been waiting for?

watch as the lovers come together for the last time

in this life—their love for each other real and passionate

and achingly visible.

Is that what we have? True love?

look at Josh.

love that will last forever, no matter what …?

He smiles, his deep brown eyes sparkling in the

dark as he gently cups my face.

“God,

love you,” he whispers, his gaze deep in

mine.

stare at him, my heart thrumming madly against

my chest. He’s never said it before—neither of us has.

This is it …

“I love you too.” smile, my grin splitting my face,

my stomach erupting with butterflies as dissolve in his

arms, pulling him closer than ever before

This is really it …

PART ONE

Someone Else’s Footprints

What’s in a name?

That which we call a rose by any other

name would smell as sweet.

—William Shakespeare,

Romeo and Juliet

Chapter One

Sunlight dances over the little girl’s dark curls as she

toddles clumsily through the dry grass. Her rosy cheeks

dimple as she grins, her green eyes sparkling as she lunges sticky fingers toward the camera. Suddenly she trips

The picture immediately jolts and twists into the

grass, continuing at

skewed angle as

chestnut– haired

woman rushes over to the child. But she is not crying. The

screen fills with silent giggles as her mother scoops her up, her beautiful face filled with tenderness as she cuddles her daughter tightly, protectively, holding her so close it seems she’ll never let go The picture begins to blur …

click the remote and the image flicks off, plunging

the room into darkness. stare at the blank screen. It’s

weird watching your memories on TV, like watching

movie. It’s like somewhere, in some wonderful world,

those moments are trapped, bottled, to be enjoyed again.

wonder if heaven’s like that—if you get to choose the best

moments of your life and just relive them over and over.

hope so.

The world outside looks different already.

desert

of white—the first white Christmas Eve in Sussex in years.

The snow hides everything, glossing over the lumps and

dips and tufts to leave perfect, smooth surface. Like icing

7

on

Christmas cake. It’s all still there, though. The dirty

gravel that hisses and spits as you drive over it, the jagged

rocks in the garden, the muddy patch where nothing

grows—they’re all still there, hidden, sleeping, beneath

the mask of snow.

Like my mother.

Nothing on the inside changed, the doctors said. She

could still understand what we were saying, she just

couldn’t respond like she used to. Couldn’t hug me and tell

me everything was going to be all right, like she always

had. Like needed her to. Because everything was not all

right.

pull the blanket tighter, but it makes no difference.

I’m already wearing three sweaters. Ever since Mum got

ill I’m always too hot or too cold—I can’t explain it.

Yesterday was one of the hot days, even though it snowed

practically nonstop. Everyone looked at me like

was

crazy, standing in the snowy graveyard in Mum’s strappy

stilettos and my red velvet dress among the whispering

sea of black, disapproving sighs rising like smoke signals

in the frosty air. But didn’t care—the biddies could tut all

they liked—she was my mother and the dress was her

favorite on me. She called me her Rose Red.

The shoes were her favorites too—I remember her

dancing in them at my cousin Lucy’s wedding. was about

four or five at the time, hiding beneath the buffet table in

protest at the fuchsia meringue I’d been forced to wear as

flower girl. But when Mum started dancing

forgot all

about that.

crawled out and just stared at her,

8

mesmerized. God, she was graceful. Everyone stopped to

watch her whirling, swirling form as she glided around

the room, those heels clacking like castanets.

When the song ended she stopped, breathless and

slightly dizzy, and looked around as if unsure where she

was. Then someone started to clap. Embarrassment

flushing her cheeks, she ran hand through her hair and

scooped me up into

tight hug, her eyes shining with

tears. It was only later that discovered it was the first

song she and Daddy had danced to at their wedding.

The stilettos were one of the first heartbreaks of the

diagnosis. remember hearing Mum crying in her room

one day and padding up to find her sitting on her bed,

placing them carefully into

silver box like

coffin,

shrouded with beautiful rose-colored tissue paper. The

doctors said high heels were just an accident waiting to

happen, and that, with everything else, was something she

really didn’t need.

watched as she kissed each shoe

before pressing the lid down gently and tying the whole

precious package together with blue ribbon. The first of

many sacrifices to Huntington’s.

That was

long time ago, though. That Mum died

long before her heart stopped beating last Tuesday. The

real Mum. The way I’ll always remember her, wearing

those precious shoes and swirling and whirling away to

her heart’s content. Not lying alone, small and frail and

empty, in hospital bed.

9

The sharp ringing of the telephone makes me jump.

count the rings—one, two, three—and the machine kicks

in.

“Hello!” Mum’s voice sings, and my heart leaps.

“You have reached the Kenning residence. Trudie and

Rosie are out at the mo, but if you’d like to leave

message—you know what to do!”

swallow painfully. Aunt Sarah’s been on at me to

change it—and

know

should—but

just can’t bring

myself to erase her voice. She sounds so happy. So alive.

The caller clears his throat uncertainly.

familiar

trait, no matter how much time’s passed. My eyes flick to

the phone.

“Um, hi—Rosie? It’s Andy. It’s uh, it’s been while,

huh?” Awkward pause. “Listen, I’m—I’m sorry about your

mum, it must be …” Another pause. “Shit. Look, I’d really

like to see you—call me, okay? No pressure. Just as

friends. Okay? You know I’m always here if

You know

where am. Bye.”

Wow. Andy. He’s right, it has been long time.

“You should call him, you know.”

twist to see Aunt Sarah in the doorway. Is it that

time already? Sarah works long hours at the local hospital,

but that hasn’t stopped her checking up on me whenever

she can—to make sure haven’t slit my wrists or burned

the house down or anything.

shrug. “Maybe.” No think. No, no, no

“And why not?” She leans accusatorially in the

doorway.

10

“I didn’t say no said maybe,” protest.

“Same thing,” she replies. “I know you.”

It’s true, she does. She’s known me my whole life—

literally. was my mother’s last hope for child, at the age

of forty-two—the miracle baby—and Sarah was the

midwife who delivered me that night. The night my father

never came back.

She’s not really my aunt, or even relative at all, but

she’s Mum’s best friend and our next-door neighbor, and

she’s been there at every major event of our lives. Our

guardian angel—younger than Mum, but older and wiser

than me. fact I’m never allowed to forget.

“Seriously, Rosie, you should go out, see people—

enjoy the snow! God knows it won’t last long!”

“I’m fine,” tell her.

“I know you are, sweetie

but it would be good for

you, you know?”

hate it when people tell me what’s good for me—

Have

nice cup of tea, it’ll make you feel better. Go on,

Rosie, have

good cry, it’s good for you Yeah, coz that’ll

bring my mother back.

get up and cross to the stereo.

“Look, Rosie, this isn’t easy for any of us, you

know?” Sarah sighs, smoothing

hand over her frazzled

ponytail. “But you shouldn’t hide away like this—it’s

Christmas Eve. You should be with people—family. know

you’re going to your nana’s tomorrow, but she’d love to have you to stay with her, not just for the holidays—”

flick through the noisy radio stations.

11

“Rosie …”

can see Sarah’s reflection in the glass cabinet. She

looks tired, drained—and old. Sarah’s never been old. But

don’t care. How can she be like the rest of them?

Patronizing and clichéd and telling me what to do? turn

the volume up high, and

choir belts out “Joy to the

World.”

“Rosie!” She battles with the racket. “Rosie, turn it

down!”

“I don’t like that one either!”

yell back. “How’s

this?” “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” replaces the

choir. turn the volume higher. “Have happy ho– o– liday!”

“ROSIE! Turn it down!”

“What?!” yell back, cupping my hand to my ear.

Maybe now she’ll know how it feels.

“ROSALIND KENNING, YOU LISTEN TO ME!” Sarah

yells, and

flick the radio off, her voice echoing in the

sudden silence as

turn round. She is flushed and

breathless, the light from the hallway behind her showing

up every frizzed hair like frenzied halo.

“I’ve come to decision,” say. Calmly, rationally. “I

need to know.” take deep breath. “I need to know if I’ve

got Huntington’s.”

There it is. Out in the open

The color in Sarah’s cheeks melts away, leaving her

pale and serious. “Rosie …”

“I’ve made up my mind,” say, swallowing hard. “I

can’t live like this, not knowing.

need to know if I’m

12

going to get it too, if I’m going to …” The words stick in my

throat. “I need to know the truth.”

“Rosie.” Sarah swallows, steps closer. “You have to

think about this, take some time …”

“I have.” round on her. “Don’t you think have?”

“Look,

know that with your mum gone

everything’s strange and scary—”

“You don’t know anything!” scream at her, my legs

trembling. I’ve never shouted at Sarah, never yelled,

never

but suddenly all the feelings that have been

bottled up for too long gush out in one big mess. “You

don’t know.” shake my head. “You don’t—you can’t …”

look away.

Sarah sighs. “All I’m saying is that it’s too soon to be

making choices like this, to take the test—”

“Too soon When do you want me to find out? When I’ve got kids too? I’m not

child anymore, Sarah—I’m

nearly eighteen!”

“I know, Rosie, but this is

life-changing decision

we’re talking about here. There’s no cure, and once you

know, you can’t go back …”

“I can’t go back anyway!”

choke on the words.

“And no, actually. It’s not life-changing decision because

nothing actually changes, does it? It’s already decided whether live or die—I’d just quite like to know which it’s

going to be, okay?”

Sarah looks beaten, hopeless.

13

“What kind of

life can

have otherwise?” ask

quietly. “Not knowing? Not knowing if one day I’ll end up like—”

“You won’t.”

“Sarah, it’s hereditary.” sigh. “It hangs on the toss

of coin.”

“No.” She takes my shoulders gently, her eyes so

sad. “Rosie, sweetheart, you don’t have Huntington’s. You

don’t need the test.”

“I’m not asking your permission, Sarah,” tell her

quietly. “I’ve got an appointment at the clinic on

Wednesday, and—”

“No,” she says. “You don’t understand.” She takes

deep breath. “Rosie, you don’t have the disease.”

“Sarah,” say gently, as if to child. “There’s fifty

percent chance that do—it’s genetic fact.”

“That’s what mean,” Sarah says slowly, not looking

at me. “There is no chance.”

“I—” blink. “I don’t understand …”

“Rosie …” She sighs, rubs her hand over her brow.

“Oh, God!”

don’t move. Don’t dare breathe.

“Rosie, you don’t have the disease—you can’t

possibly, because—” Desperate pause. Swallow. Breath.

“Because Trudie wasn’t your mother.”

Her eyes meet mine at last and flick mine away.

There’s red stain on the carpet by the door, where

Mum spilled red wine as she was handing it round one

14

New Year’s Eve. She’d said she was just bit tipsy, but

knew she hadn’t had drop to drink all night.

Now it looks like blood.

“Rosie, I’ve wanted to tell you for such long time,

especially with Trudie getting worse and worse, to put

your mind at rest, give you one less thing to worry about,

and because you deserved– deserve—to know. But

couldn’t while she was alive, don’t you see? You were

everything to her.”

tug at my sweater. It’s hot again. Insufferably hot.

“God, this is awful! I’m so sorry, sweetie—this isn’t

how wanted to tell you at all. But if you take the test they

might compare your DNA, and just

didn’t want you to

find out from someone else.

had to tell you—to

explain …” She trails off. “Rosie?”

blink hard, trying to concentrate, focus.

She sighs. “Rosie, you had to know—you have to

know—because it’s the only way you can move on with

your life—your own long and healthy life!”

The room whirls faster and faster.

“I don’t understand.”

Another sigh. The same gentle voice. “Rosie, you

haven’t inherited the disease. She wasn’t your mother—”

“NO!” scream, the loudness of my voice startling

me. “She was—she is!”

“Rosie—” Sarah reaches for me.

“No! You were there!”

accuse her, wrenching

away.

15

“You were there when

was born, you delivered

me—how can you …?” gasp for breath.

She nods. That weak smile again.

“Yes, yes, was, which is why know that Trudie

wasn’t—”

“Stop it! Stop lying to me!” yell. “This is sick! This is just some sick way to stop me taking the test—admit it!”

My eyes search hers, desperate for some sign that it’s not

true, that she’s made it all up, but she just looks sad, tired.

feel faint, giddy. She was! She was my mother.

Wasn’t she? close my eyes. She would have told me– she would have told me if was adopted. Wouldn’t she …?

“Rosie, sit down, you’re swaying. Let’s talk about

this—please, let me explain …” Sarah reaches out, guiding,

helpful.

swipe her away and run, just run. Out of the back

door, through the gate, the woods, hurtling down the hill

toward the fields, yanking off the sweaters and sprinting

blindly through the snow. can’t breathe. The flakes swirl

faster and faster, dancing and whirling and twirling with

my lost mother in my mind.

I’ve lost her, and she wasn’t even mine

The words tumble clumsily into the dance, cold and

hard and heavy.

She wasn’t even my mother to lose

I’m losing him.

16

Josh’s words tumble painfully around and around

my head:

“We need to talk.”

know what that means.

Ever since he started college I’ve been expecting,

dreading, fearing those words.

“Coming for

swim?” Melissa grins, running up

beside me. “I’ll race you fifty lengths!”

“Not today.” shake my head. “I’m not in the mood.”

She sighs. “You’ve been moody for days now—this

must be record!”

hug myself tightly.

Her face softens and she hooks her arm through

mine. “Have you tried hot water bottle?”

“What?”

“That works for me—or camomile tea?”

stare at her. Why does everyone think anything

can be solved with cup of tea?

“Or read that lavender oil can really help, if you

rub it in.”

“Where?” ask, totally bemused.

“Your stomach, silly—it’s supposed to help ease the

cramps.”

Cramps? Suddenly understand.

“No, haven’t got—” The words stick like thorns in

my throat as calculate quickly.

“Oh, get it!” Melissa grins. “You’re just scared I’ll

beat you, huh? Frightened of little competition?”

smile weakly, my head pounding painfully.

17

Five weeks nearly six …

“Come on,” she laughs. “Don’t be baby!”

She drags me numbly down the street, my legs

threatening to buckle any second as my blood rushes

deafeningly in my ears.

Don’t be baby …

18

Chapter Two

The ground rushes up to meet me, and it’s only

now, collapsed in the snow, that realize where am.

Stark silhouettes of skeleton trees clutch at the first

evening stars, and the vast expanse of snow is littered

with row upon row of cold black headstones.

And there she is.

GERTRUDE KENNING

BELOVED DAUGHTER, WIFE, AND MOTHER

“Liar!” The scream rips from my throat, Sarah’s

words stabbing my brain as screw my eyes shut, trying

to drown out her voice, her pitying face. Her expression

shifts into smile, and now the face see is my mother’s,

her brown eyes shining with warmth and love and life.

“Liar!” sob, clawing at the snow, hurling the lumps

of ice and mud at the grave—at the lies set in stone—

flinging them harder and harder, my fingers bleeding, my

eyes blurring, until finally my legs buckle beneath me, hot

tears streaking down my cheeks. “You weren’t my

mother!”

19

But she was! She was my mother. The only one

had. And now this

this is all that’s left.

crumple into the snow, the crisp pain stinging my

skin as my tears mingle with the ice.

miss you, miss you so much …

close my eyes, remembering how we used to lie

like this, making figures in the snow—a mummy angel

and baby angel.…

Tears flood the memory.

She was never my mother, never mine. My whole

life– my whole life– is one big lie …

struggle to my feet, bombarded with

kaleidoscope of memories—bright, garish, fake memories.

All fake– all lies

My throat burns with tears.

Why didn’t she tell me? Why did she lie?

had

right– have right to know who am …

The graveyard spins around me.

Who am …?

close my eyes.

“Rosie?”

whirl round, my breath caught in my throat.

He looks different, older, his chin spattered with

stubble, his hair longer, but I’d still know him anywhere.

“I thought it was you.” Andy smiles hesitantly. “Are

you okay? Did you get my message?”

nod silently, glad of the dark hiding my tears.

20

“I was going to call round, but …” He shuffles his

feet. “I wasn’t sure whether

if you …” He swallows, his

shoulders hunched, his hands deep in his pockets.

hug my arms against the icy breeze, staring at my

shoes.

“Besides, I’ve been under house arrest—Gran’s

visiting.” Andy clears his throat. “We’ve just been to the

Christingle.”

follow his gaze to the brightly lit church, its

stained-glass windows spilling colored light over the

chattering families huddling together outside.

Suddenly shiver.

“Bloody hell, Rose, you’re freezing. Here.” He pulls

off his jacket, and as he wraps it round me

bottle falls

out. Vodka.

“That’ll help too!” He laughs nervously, picking it

up.

stare at it, surprised.

“Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Sermons can get

little dull …” He grins that familiar lopsided grin and my

heart flips. “Not really—I’m off to party. This big family

Christmas thing is driving me crazy, and—”

frown

flashes over his features. “I mean …”

take the bottle and tip it skyward, the liquid

burning my throat and making me feel sick. take another

swig.

“Easy!” Andy laughs. “I know you—two glasses of

wine and you’re goner.”

look at him. know you My chest aches.

21

“Well, it’s

it’s good to see you, Rose.” He smiles,

those incredible blue eyes making my insides twist, my

head rushing with memories. Real, bright, happy

memories. “It’s been long time.”

It has, but suddenly it feels like yesterday.

“Can give you ride home?” he offers.

Home

wince, thinking of the dark, empty house

filled with lies. shake my head. It’s not my home. Not

anymore.

“Okay.” He shuffles his feet, turns to go. “Well …”

“Wait,” say quickly. He turns.

hesitate, the night dark and cold around us, his

jacket warm on my shoulders, the sharp vodka racing

through my veins.

“Did you say something about party?”

The door opens, and surrender to the music. The

whole place is throbbing with it– thud thud thud thud—

consuming and obliterating all thoughts, all conversation.

welcome it. Dropping the empty bottle by the door, step

into the throng.

Anonymous faces crowd in as Andy weaves us

through the room, past flashes of blond hair and glittering

earrings; heavy-lidded goths and pouting lip gloss; flesh,

piercings, bottles, lines of shots, shrieks of laughter and,

permeating it all, the unmistakable smell of weed.

“You want something to eat?” Andy mouths.

shake my head, reaching instead for one of the

shots. down it easily, barely feeling the sting as it slides

22

down my throat. reach for another, but Andy catches my

arm, pointing over my shoulder. “Hey, there’s Bex!”

turn and squint into the crowd, but the dark mass

of writhing bodies twine into each other anonymously.

turn back to Andy, confused, and am suddenly shoved

headfirst into his shoulder, beer slopping over my back.

“Hey!” Andy pushes the guy who knocked me.

“Watch it, okay?”

The guy staggers away and collapses on sofa.

“Ow …,”

moan quietly, the taste of fresh blood

salty on my tongue, the scent of Andy’s aftershave tickling

my nose.

Andy looks down at me, concerned. “You okay?” He

brushes my lips carefully with his thumb, and my head

swims with more memories.

“You’re soaked!” He grins, wiping beer from my

hair.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Apart from pile of jackets, the bathroom is empty,

the faint thud thud thud pulsing distantly through the floorboards. Andy grabs damp cloth and starts to gently

clean my cut, his brow furrowed in concentration as he

leans closer, making me dizzy. He cups my cheek and my

skin blazes, my heart pounding as his eyes meet mine.

Without thinking, lean forward and press my lips

against his.

He pulls back, surprised. “Rosie—” search his eyes

anxiously, his gaze deep in mine.

23

Then suddenly we’re kissing, the taste of his soft

lips so sweet and familiar, my heart thumping frantically

against my ribs.

God, haven’t been kissed– haven’t been touched– in so, so long …

press closer, the kisses deepening, lengthening, as

my mind spins into oblivion, my body on fire.

This is it. This is what need. To escape. To just lose

myself completely. To forget …

kiss him harder, pushing my chest against his, my

hand moving to his zip.

“Mm …,” Andy groans.

tug at the little metal pull.

“Rosie …”

push closer, my tongue sliding against his as slip

my hand inside

“Rose, no—Rosie!” He pushes me away, my lips

stinging in the empty air.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, running his hands through his

hair. “I’m sorry, can’t

can’t do this.”

“What?” blink, his face swimming in front of mine.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He looks away and

frown, trying to search his

eyes, but they won’t keep still, won’t focus.

“Andy?”

“Rosie,

just

can’t.” He looks at me, his eyes

pained, then looks away, sighs.

Then realize.

24

“You don’t want me.” swallow painfully, my throat

sour as shiver, cold suddenly. “You never did.”

“Rosie, no, that’s not what I—”

push past him, my chest tight, the room blurring

as stagger for the door.

“Rose, wait—” He reaches for me

“Get off me!” wrench away, reeling as lurch into

the corridor.

There are bodies everywhere—leaning against

walls and sprawled over the floor, yelling at me as

stumble over their limbs, my own legs threatening to

buckle at any moment. clutch at the wall, feeling my way

along, trying to keep going, stay upright, get out of here,

breathe

Suddenly the wall ends.

feel myself falling and

can’t stop. wince, ready for the slamming pain. But it

never comes.

“Whoa there, tiger.”

guy’s face swims in front of

mine as he pulls me upright and he leans me back against

the wall.

“You okay? Nearly had little fall there.”

“Another one falling for you, Kyle?” his friend jokes.

Kyle laughs, and hear myself join in. He takes

swig of beer, then offers me the bottle. take it eagerly—

too fast—the glass crashing against my teeth as the cool

liquid slops down my front. Kyle laughs, and smile up at

him, licking my lips, the taste of beer bitter and cool in my

mouth.

25

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asks, brushing my

hair out of my eyes. “Do know you?”

“I …”

try to concentrate, but his face keeps

swimming out of focus. “Um

Ro …”

“Ro?” He has dimples when he smiles. “Well, Ro,” he

says, leaning in closer, “you’ve got very pretty eyes.”

He moves to tuck my hair behind my ear, and

suddenly I’m kissing him, hard. He smiles in surprise, then

kisses me back hungrily, pressing his body against mine.

My head bangs violently against the wall, but the pain is

welcome, the kisses rough, desperate, his stubble

scratching my cheeks, his tongue writhing in my mouth.

His grip tightens, and clutch fiercely at his back, my eyes

screwed shut, blotting out everything else.

Suddenly he’s ripped away, my lips burning as

gasp for air.

“Hey! What’s your problem, Andy?” Kyle snarls.

Andy. Shit

“Leave her alone, Kyle.”

“It was her! Couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

Andy grabs my arm. “Come on.”

“Hey.” Kyle stops him. “She’s big girl, Hunter, she

can do what she wants.” He winks at Andy. “And she

wants me.”

“She’s had too much to drink.”

“What are you, her mother?”

wince.

“Just

Leave her alone, okay?” Andy says.

“What’s it to you?” Kyle challenges.

26

“I said”—Andy steps closer—“leave her—”

“Yeah, Andy,” hear myself slur. “What’s it to you?”

Andy stops. He’s looking at me, but can’t see his

eyes.

Kyle laughs. “Oh, dear, Hunter. Seems you’re not

needed after all. Do us all

favor, eh, mate? Get

life.”

Kyle drapes his arm round my shoulders. “Come on,

sweetheart, let’s find somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”

He pushes past Andy.

“Wait.” Andy catches my arm.

“Back off, Hunter!”

“Rose,” Andy says. “Rose, look at me.”

stare at the floor.

“Rosie!”

“Whoa—hold on

minute.” Kyle’s arm drops from

my shoulder. “Rosie? Wait, you’re Rosie Kenning?” He

swipes my hair from my eyes and peers down at me.

“Jeezus Christ.” He smirks. “Now, what’s Crazy Kenning’s

daughter doing on the loose?”

What? My face burns.

“Hey everyone! It’s Crrrazy Kenning’s kid!”

“Kyle!” Andy grabs him, and Kyle holds up his hands

in mock surrender.

“Hey, she’s all yours, Hunter. My mistake, mate.” He

staggers off along the corridor, drunkenly toppling from

one wall to the other. “Should’ve recognized her by her

walk, eh, lads? Just like her old lady—remember the

prom?”

They

laugh

and

whoop

appreciatively.

27

“Whoaoaoa! And as for that fall—whoops!” Kyle falls into

chubby guy’s waiting arms. “Classic trademark.”

“I …” can’t think. Can’t breathe.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He dances over and slings his

arm round my neck. “Nothing personal. You’re very cute,

really. Just crrrrazy genes.”

Hot. Too hot.

“Yeah?” Andy growls. “Why don’t you come over

here and say that?”

“Look,” Kyle coos, “Hunter. Mate No hard feelings,

okay? She’s yours, and respect that.” He slaps Andy on

the shoulder. “In fact, owe you one, mate—any longer

and might’ve caught something!”

Andy swings at him, but Kyle ducks just in time,

laughing. “Uh-oh, looks like we might have another one for

the loony bin, eh, lads? And don’t they make

lovely

couple? Him all macho honor and her—Oof!”

My knuckles sting like mad and the room spins

crazily as my back slams against the wall and slump to

the floor as Kyle crashes headfirst into the drinks table.

Merry Christmas

think as everything fades to

black.

slump to the floor as Melissa locks the bathroom

door behind us.

“Okay,” she says. “Spill.”

28

chew my cookie, tasting nothing as it crumbles

dryly in my mouth, buying time.

“Sweetie, what is it?” She wraps her arm around my

shoulders. “You’ve been quiet all day. This isn’t like you.”

close my eyes. How can tell her?

She sighs. “As if don’t know.”

My eyes fly open.

“I know you.” She smiles sadly. “And you’re going

about this all wrong—you need to pick yourself up, get

back to the party, drink some punch and have some fun!”

stare at her.

“You need to show my idiot brother just how lucky

he is to have you!”

look away, exhale. She doesn’t know …

Someone knocks on the door.

“Just

minute!” Melissa calls. “Sweetie, trust me,

hiding away up here piling on the pounds is seriously not

going to help anything.”

She snatches the cookies and pull my top down

over my belly self-consciously.

“Yes, Josh is going to meet college girls—that’s

given. He’s at college.”

nod miserably, flinching as the knocking turns to

battering.

College

girls.

Older,

more

sophisticated,

uncomplicated …

“I said, just

freaking minute!” Melissa hollers,

slamming her own fist against the door. “But sweetie, you

have absolutely nothing to worry about.” Melissa

29

squeezes me tight. “Because there’s another, much more

important, given.” She smiles. “Josh loves you. Just the way you are.”

No

think, closing my eyes as the hammering

continues inside my head.

Just the way was …

30