Page 41 of One More Shot
‘Because they need me?’ My response comes out sounding more like a question than I expect it to.
‘Who told you that?’ Dane has stopped with the tiles and is staring directly at me, forcing me to hold his gaze.
‘Nobodytoldme,’ I say. ‘It’s just – That’s just how it is. How it’s always been.’
I think I was nine when I finally realised that my relationship with Mum was never going to be the kind of mother–daughter one I watched on television. I was equal parts her therapist and personal assistant before I even hit secondary school. I remember being fifteen when Grandad got officially diagnosed, and knowing that I had to keep the harsh reality – that Grandad was sick,reallysick – from Leanne. I almost didn’t even go to university because Nan and Grandad got really sick at the same time and I didn’t know if Mum would be able to handle it by herself.
‘That sounds exhausting.’ Dane’s voice cuts through my memories like a hot knife through butter.
‘It is,’ I say quietly.
So exhausting.
‘So, why do you keep doing it?’ There’s no judgement in his tone. He sounds genuinely curious. Like he can’t possibly fathom why someone would choose to live their life the way I do.
I’ve told myself this answer so many times, I don’t even have to think about it. ‘Because I love them. And if I can do something to make life easier for them, then I should do it. Right?’
I expect him to agree. To accept the universally recognisedtruth that, when you love someone, you just do things for them if you can.
‘Who makes life easier for you?’
‘I—’ I stare at him. ‘What?’
‘Who makes life easier for you?’ Dane repeats. He’s staring me at me so intently, I’m surprised he’s not burned a hole through my skin yet. ‘You’re busy worrying about everyone else, right? Who worries about you?’
The lump in my throat is back and bigger this time. ‘I don’t need anyone to worry about me,’ I manage to choke out.
‘That is—’ His jaw ticks slightly and he shakes his head, cutting off whatever train of thought he was on.
‘No, no.’ I stand up and cross the short distance between us. ‘Say it. Go on. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.’
The wind whirls around us and sends a few stray curls whipping around my face. I raise a hand to brush one away, but Dane gets there first. His fingers lightly ghost along my cheekbone as he pushes a strand away.
‘You shouldn’t have to handle it, Eliott,’ he says softly, fingers still dancing along my skin. The moment can’t last for any longer than a second, but it feels like it stretches out for an eternity. He clears his throat and finally pulls away. ‘That’s the problem.’
Since he refuses to bring Cash, Dane is working on the patio in a kind of piecemeal way. He comes over to Nan’s house every Friday evening to work on the patio and I, despite my best intentions, always end up spending the evening sitting on the garden steps watching him work.
Before I know it, we’ve started to develop a routine of sorts. It’s completely unintentional, and I don’t even realise we’ve fallen into it until it’s almost over, but I’m not complaining.
Sometimes we sit in silence; me with my tablet working on some edits while Dane methodically tears up broken tiles and replaces them with newer ones.
And sometimes we talk.
The conversation flows like we’ve been friends for years and… It’s nice.
It’seasy.
‘I need your opinion on something,’ Dane says suddenly. ‘As a wedding expert,’ he clarifies when I shoot him a wary look.
‘I wouldn’t sayexpert.’
It’s that weird time of the year where it’s not quite winter, not quite spring. The sky is a mix of dark blues and purples and the sun is just a tiny orange blip on the skyline. Nan’s one pathetically flickering garden lamp is doing very little to illuminate the space between us. This is normally the part in the evening where Dane heads home, mumblingsomething about it being too dark to work and that he’ll be back to finish the job next week.
But not tonight.
I jump slightly as he drops down into the empty spot next to me on the garden steps. Something in the back of my mind vaguely acknowledges that this isn’t part of the carefully crafted routine we’ve put together over the last few weeks.
This is new.
