Page 68 of Second Song

“You think they’ll come? Your friends?” Because that’s who he misses, friends not just workmates, people who care enough about him to keep texting over and over. Of course they’ll pay close attention to me.

Liam pays close attention as well, only to his phone. “Yeah.” Here’s a new tone, both soft and gritty. “I think they’d come if I call.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “Probably won’t need them. A week’s plenty to do the work myself.”

I have to ask this. “But if they did come, you said one of them liked stupid games?”

“As much as you do?” He snorts. “Not playing them, but yeah, Twin Two does. He always was a TV addict.” He dips his head, his hand covering mine on the fence for a too-brief moment, squeezing. “Just like his brother. They both watched no end of mindless shit together.”

“That means he… It means he might recognise me.”

That trauma workbook mentioned making baby steps alongside students. Slow and steady, small exposures right there with them.

This feels the opposite.

I make myself keep speaking.

“I told you about someone who played the same game as me. A soldier. The one I could have helped more. The one painted as…” I’m meant to have a good voice. A strong one. This squeak isn’t anything like it. “Painted as too scared to keep serving?”

“And?” Liam turns in Luke’s direction, taking a few steps backwards while showing me that granite profile.

I force myself to say this. “I’m who said it.”

He’s still in profile, still not looking at me after this confession. He raises a hand. Not at me. He’s focussed on Luke, signalling to him that he’s coming. The few more steps he takes away seem a withdrawal, and I don’t blame him. I’m also falling again, only this time I’m going to hit rock bottom until he asks a question. “And what prize did you win, Row?”

“Guilt.”

Don’t ask me how I make it through my next music session.

Or through a game where children make naming emotions so easy that I have to excuse myself and ask for permission to go off duty.

“Only for a few minutes,” I tell Charles. “I’ll be right back.”

I do manage to walk all the way across the playground until I enter the woods. I run then, feet pounding along with my heart until the woods stop me.

Luke wasn’t joking about needing someone to manage them. The further I get, the more the pathway narrows, overgrown and indistinguishable from the wildness.

I’m soon hemmed in, lost until I hear water. I follow it to a bridge that’s seen better days, and that’s where I hear Liam.

Not because he’s working on it. I don’t hear the strike of his hammer. It’s his footsteps that pound, coming closer, and he emerges from the woods to stand under a spotlight. Not a real one like I used to—this beam is made from bright and golden sunshine, and I’ve never been so pleased to see him. Never been more worried either, so I start with what I can’t keep in.

“I love you.”

I’m standing on one side of a bridge but I might as well be back on a ledge with nowhere to go when Liam advances.

He also touches his ear. “What did you just say?”

I take off my glasses. Rub at the lenses instead of looking at him. Put them back on. The world still blurs. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

Maybe he only heard one part of what I told him. He asks, “You’re sorry?”

I’ve seen waves crash against rocks and wished they didn’t. Held a wriggling lamb and wished it wouldn’t. Fell for a hero and wished I’d been a better person who deserved the rope he threw me.

Now he throws a second.

“I just went back to find you.”

“Back?”

“To your classroom, to ask you this. How long have you been feeling guilty, Row?”

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