Page 140 of The Secret We Keep
“Yep.” I give him a nod.
“You’ll be drinking with champions.” Danny downs his pint and stands.
“Christ, is the final next weekend?”
Danny threads his arms into his sleeves. “Yeah, lad. Don’t you be missing it. I let you off once. There’ll be no second chances.”
Jake laughs slipping his hands into his pockets. “Is that right?”
I do up my jacket. “Better check my calendar. I might be busy.”
Danny’s eyes land heavy on me as we exit the pub. “Are you serious?”
“No.” I exhale letting the door close behind me. “I wouldn’t let you down.” I give him a pat on the back.
“Thank the fucking Lord. You had me shitting bricks for a second there.”
I shake my head at his poor use of a metaphor. “Chat soon.”
“Bye, boys.” Danny takes the first lane next to the pub while Jake heads to his car.
I wave him off, then begin the half an hour walk back to my parents’ place.
It’s only as I’m through the front door do I recognise the pink wellies neatly placed on the doormat.
Morgan.
“Hello?”
“In here, love,” Mum calls from the kitchen.
My feet move quickly through the hall to where everyone’s sitting around the table. “What’s up?”
Fi starts laughing at me. “Not your flies.”
I look down, falling for her antics, but clip her head with the palm of my hand as I walk past.
“Wanker,” she throws at me.
“Fiona, please.” Mum shakes her head.
I’m mature enough not to say anything back, but that doesn’t stop me from smirking at her as I make it to the girl sitting at the head of the table.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” Morgan smiles widely.
I feel like I missed something here, given how everyone’s smiling at us. It’s like the first week I was back and they wanted us both to talk.
“You okay?” I ask Morgan.
Morgan nods, taking my hand in hers. “I need to talk to you.” Dragging me through the kitchen, she swings open the door to the living room. “Here.” She quickly passes me a letter.
I look down not recognising the handwriting on the front. “What is it?”
“It’s from America.” She works her teeth into her nails as she bobs up and down on the balls of her feet.
“America?” I begin, slipping the paper from the brown envelope.
