Page 24 of Playing for Keeps
“Can we leave a light on?” His voice trembled.
“Okay.”
After that, every time Ethan came to sleep over, my bedside lamp stayed on. I learned to sleep with the brightness.
Two years later, at school camp, Ethan completely freaked at the prospect of a night walk. He tried to hide it, but I saw how wobbly he was as we approached the section of bush where the walk began.
I made sure I was next to him in the line, and as soon as the camp instructor told us to turn off our headlamps, I reached back and held his hand.
We were ten-year-old boys, way past the stage of holding hands. But he clutched mine as if it were a lifeline and let go only when it was time to switch our headlamps on again.
I never asked him why he was so afraid of the dark. But the next time his mother went into hospital, I kicked up such a fuss that my mother agreed to let him stay with us. And so for the rest of our childhood and teenage years, whenever his mum went into hospital, Ethan would come to us.
I finally reached the corner of the cabin where Ethan had tucked himself. His breathing was rapid, bordering on hyperventilating.
“Take some deep breaths,” I instructed.
“I’m…trying.”
Fuck. I hated hearing Ethan’s voice like this, raspy and strung-out.
Before I could overthink it, I crouched down, reaching out to touch him. Initially my hand collided with his chest, but I quickly moved it around to his back.
“I’m here,” I said.
I could feel his rib cage expand and contract with each shuddering breath. Feel the warmth of his skin soaking through his T-shirt into my palm.
Shit. How many times had I touched Ethan over the years? As a kid I’d touched him without thinking. By the time I was a teenager I’d done a one-eighty and would completely overanalyze anytime part of his body brushed against mine. It appeared I was still in my teenage mindset—it felt as if all the nerve endings in my body had migrated to my hand, which tingled where it pressed against him.
This close, there was something about his scent that I instantly recognized. Which was weird, right? I mean, he must have changed brands of shampoo and soap in the last six years. But there was something familiar about the mild lemony smell.
“Just breathe,” I said in a low voice.
“Distract me,” he pleaded.
I delved into the well of Ethan memories that I usually kept soldered shut and grabbed one at random.
“Do you remember the time you asked Mrs. Hayes if she’d had a pet dinosaur when she was a kid?”
I felt an extra puff of air from Ethan that I interpreted as a laugh.
I continued to talk, blurting out the next memory.
“Remember going eeling? Until you did that project and found out eels only breed once, and after that you refused to catch any?”
Under my hand I could feel Ethan’s breath start to slow.
“I…remember,” he said.
“Have you taken Theo eeling or fishing?’
“Only fishing,” Ethan got out between gasps. “Never eeling.”
“Huh. Nice to see you’ve stuck to your moral stance and I’m not the only one who was deprived.”
Ethan huffed out what sounded like a choked laugh.
“Remember the time you took the blame for me breaking the window in the hall? The day I was made prefect.”
