Page 8 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "But I'm honest about it. And don't you dare wipe that kiss off."
There was a small silence as they both ate, the silence feeling charged, unlike before.
"Why do you act like everything's a massive joke?" Ana said, her voice quieter now.
Byron looked out at the street, chewing slowly. "'Cause if I stopped, I'd have to think about... everything."
Ana studied him for a moment. That wasn't a joke. The words hung in the air like heavy fog.
There was a slump to his shoulders now that he usually hid beneath cocky grins and rolled-up sleeves. His hazel eyes, usually bright and teasing, were distant now, staring through the lamplight at nothing.
She knew what he was talking about. Everyone knew. His mum had walked out the year before and left her family for a bloke who lived three streets over. Byron's dad had never really recovered. Most days, the man was either on the couch with a bottle or at one of Byron'sgames. The Robertson house looked smaller now, like it had sagged under the weight of what was missing. Home didn't feel like home.
Byron had never talked about it.
Ana's fingers crumpled her burger wrapper and threw it into the bin.
"Yeah," she said softly. "That makes sense."
Byron glanced at her. He didn't smile, but the small line between his eyebrows seemed to ease.
They didn't say anything else for a while, just sat there, side by side on the pavement as the last light of evening soaked into the concrete around them. And when they stood up to leave, she didn't say anything when he bumped her shoulder lightly as they stood to walk back. And when his hand brushed hers, she didn't pull away.
***
Gray and Cadi had already declared their med school intentions to their closest friends, revising together with the kind of absurd discipline that made Ana feel guilty. Gray still played rugby, but he wasn't like Byron. Rugby was Byron's life.
There was something magical about the way he moved, like he was born knowing where to be, how to drive forward through contact, how to turn the chaos on the field into victory. Whether it was a blistering line break or a low, brutal tackle, Byron made it look natural.
Ana brought snacks and screamed sarcastic commentary from the stands.
"Nice knock-on, Robertson. All you need is a four-leaf clover."
"If you'd memorise your plays like you memorise excuses, maybe we'd be winning."
"That tackle was dramatic. Are you sure you're not auditioning for 'Guys and Dolls'?"
"If you were any further offside, you'd be in the car park."
Byron, to his credit, always laughed. Sometimes, with a shake of his head, sometimes with a wink sent up to where she sat.
And after every game, win or lose, he’d find her in the stands. Then, he would eat what was left of her snacks.
Grinning. Sweaty. Flushed from the pitch. Looking right at her, like the noise of the crowd, the mud, the bruises-none of it mattered half as much as the girl with crisps and a sarcastic mouth. The one who was there for every game.
Cathy Liston hadn't come up in conversation for weeks. But Byron now sat beside her at lunch with the rest of her following. That stolen kiss over hamburgers seemed all but forgotten.
But sometimes, just sometimes, he looked at her like he had no idea why he'd ever looked anywhere else.
Chapter five
Chapter 5
Ana and Byron (Results day)
GCSE results day ended with cola fizzing in paper cups and grease-slicked fingers at Pizza Corner, the appropriately named hole-in-the-wall on the street corner. They’d celebrated birthdays, exam endings, and even Cadi’s brief flirtation with vegetarianism there, always over Margherita pizza.
Earlier in the day, they had stood just outside the school gates, clutching brown envelopes filled with what felt like sticks of dynamite.
