Page 12 of The Beginning and End of Everything
"Ah, nah. They're well cute… Just like you.”
My cheeks warmed, and I clung to him a little tighter, the scent of soap and boy swirling around me. Brandon O’Kieffe had just called me cute.
My weight shifted when he nudged Connor, laughing. “Doesn’t she look like one, holding onto me for dear life? Huh, Con?”
But Connor didn’t say a word.
6
Brandon
March 2000
Iswung my legs back and forth as rain droplets fell on me from the canopy of leaves above our heads. We were only about five feet off the ground, but Connor’s legs were wrapped around the branch so tightly, and he clung to the trunk of the tree like he was terrified he was going to slip on the wet bark and fall. If anything, the branch was more likely to snap from his fat arse.
“You aren’t going to fall, Con.”
“I shouldn’t have come up here,” he mumbled.
“Even Poppy would get up here. And she’s a girl.”
His spine stiffened, and he slowly released his death hold on the tree trunk. “Yeah, if you carried her.”
“Why would I carry Poppy up a tree?”
“Why would you carry her on your back the other day?” He snatched a leaf from a limb and shredded it. Tiny, green crumbs drifted to the ground before he grabbed another leaf and tore it to bits.
I studied him, sensing something was wrong. “She hurt her knee,” I said, slowly. “If it didn’t get you out of breath, you would carry her.” I laughed, but Connor stared at the ground, frowning.
The wind rustled through the trees, and after moments of silence, Connor finally huffed. “You like her.”
“Youwantedme to like her! You told me to be nice to her.” I shrugged. “Now I am.”
“Well. You’retoonice to her.” He crossed his arms over his chest and sank against the trunk. “You’re supposed to bemybest friend.”
Guilt tightened my chest. He thought I wasn’t his best friend? “Con, I am. We’ll always be best friends.” He was more like a brother to me than a friend. We were bonded in ways that most people could never understand.
“Promise?”
I spat on my palm and held it out. “Promise.”
He did the same, and we shook. A small smile pulled at his lips, and the hostility from only moments before disappeared.
“Connor!” His ma yelled from the house. “Tea.”
I jumped down, and Connor landed beside me before he slipped on the damp grass and fell on his arse. I hid my laugh with my hand and hurried through the rain, beating him to the back door.
“You staying for tea?" Connor yanked off his wet hoody then kicked his shoes to the side.
"I can’t. My dad’s taking me to watch a fight tonight."
"Why would you want to watch a fight?"
"My dad said it’s time.” After he had smacked me one the week before and I’d gotten right back up, he said I was ready. “He says next year, I'll be fighting. It’s a gypsy tradition. Uncle Darren used to be a bare-knuckle champion, you know?"
"I thought you didn't like your dad?"
I hated my dad. I had told myself I only wanted to learn to fight so I could hit him back when he hurt Ma, but the truth was, like any kid, I wanted his approval. Despite the things he did, I craved his attention because I’d never had it. Not once. At twelve years old, I didn’t understand why he hated me, and it was that hatred that made me feel like there was something wrong with me. If I learned to fight—especially if I were good at it—then maybe things would change, but that was the foolish hope of an innocent mind. I found myself spinning in a never-ending tornado of anger and hate. For him, for myself, for the crappy hand I’d been dealt. "I don't, but I want to be able to fight."
