Page 52 of The Home Grown
Fucking Johnny—leaping to the mother of all conclusions.
“No. Not Rochelle … it was honestly just a friend’s house.”
Friend? Wife? Same thing, right?
“For fuck’s sake, Betts?—”
“Just so you know, my battery is going to die soon so you can’t waste precious moments shouting at me,” I say, cutting him off.
“Well, I need to talk to you,” Johnny says.
There’s a clock on the wall that tells me I have absolutely no time for chit-chat.
“Mate, I need to get back to my folks’ place and then get home to grab my shit. Coach wants me to stop off and see him before I leave.”
“Do you need me to come and pick you up?” he asks.
I consider it, but figure if Johnny sees the state I’m in, Coach isn’t the only one who’s going to kick my ass, so I pass.
“Right, well, call me when you’re home. I only need ten minutes.”
We say our goodbyes and I hang up, knowing that I absolutely will not be calling him when I’m home.
All I need to do is call Hutch, get him to pack up my essentials and meet me at the rink with my stuff. That way I won’t risk bumping into Johnny.
I begin drafting a message, but before I can add so much as a single time, Ellie appears in the doorway, still wrapped in the duvet.
“You need to leave,” she says, sort of half-waddling into the room under the restriction of the duvet. “I just remembered my sister is due any minute, and you can’t be here.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, blinking at her.
“Mike. Please. You need to go … if she finds you here?—”
“She’s not your mam, Kitch. Surely you can have guys over … in your own house?”
Ellie purses her lips. “You don’t understand … last night—it shouldn’t have got to that point. I mean—the booze and…”
Damn. She looks like she’s almost pleading with me.
She meets my eyes; her face blotchy and her eyes watering a little.
And because I’m a gentleman, I nod. I’m an embarrassment. Not someone anyone would actually want to be seen with—I get it.
“Can I at least get dressed first? I mean—I can’t leave like this.” I gesture to my dick, still proud, despite my rejection.
Ellie glances towards me briefly before looking away again.
“Well, yeah, but quickly—please, Mike. You can go out through the back garden, as she will park out front.”
She scrambles around in a drawer, pulling out a t-shirt and slipping it over her head, layering it on top of the duvet, before shimmying the quilt to her waist.
Then something creeps into my consciousness.
“Wait, what does it matter if I’m here? I’m a friend, aren’t I? As a minimum. Hey—maybe I want to see how your sister is. It’s been a while.”
I stand up and reach for my trousers, stepping into them and pulling them up over my hips.
“Is she still a controlling bitc?—”
