He shrugs. “Better than nothing.”
“I’ll take nothing.”
Rachel flutters her lashes at me, and uses a baby voice when she says, “Maybe you’ll be somebody’s hero.”
“Or maybe there’ll be a cute teacher who wants to use the crash mats in the gym for some extracurricular activities.” I wink at her. “If you know what I mean.”
She snorts. “Maybeyou should do a safe sex talk too, with all you’ve been having overseas.”
I blink, stunned, and her lips open in shock, and she quickly adds, “I was joking. It was a joke. I didn’t mean . . . anything by it.” Rachel cringes hard and walks away with Justin following at her heels.
I have a reputation, I know that. One that precedes me apparently. It’s true that I’ve been away most weekends, I’m a social butterfly after all, and I’m good at meeting new people and having fun, but my skyrocketing air miles haven’t been forsex. I know I’m tagged in a lot of photographs, in group pictures, but that doesn’t mean we’re all sleeping together in some suncream-fuelled orgy. They’re friends, the brief kind you meet on nights out. It’s simple, skin deep, and I’ve needed those disposable friendships because they’ve stopped me seeking out Freddie.
It’s been weeks since he asked if I wanted to meet up, weeks since I passed on the opportunity, and now he doesn’t reply. I message to check on him, and he doesn’t even read them, and I’m left wondering whether he’s signed out of the group chat like Liam has and it’s me on my own speaking into the void.
If that’s the case, it doesn’t matter what I write . . .
Out of sight of my crew, I pull my phone from my pocket.
I really miss you, Freddie. We both do.
I don’t have the right to say that. We’re the ones who have distanced ourselves from him. But I hate it, and I know Liam does too.
One single tick appears by my message to show it’s been delivered.
I’ve spoken into the void, and now I wait to see if the void speaks back.
9
Freddie
My temples throb. My eyes itch from lack of sleep. When I make my way up to the canteen to make myself a quick coffee, I find myself swaying, lifting onto the toes of my feet then dropping back down to my heels with a thud that makes my teeth click. I stumble and slap a palm down on the table behind me for balance. Screw this. I’ve been standing downstairs, working for six hours straight. I need to sit down. My collapse onto the nearest chair is as ungraceful as it can get, and I ignore the coffee machine as it beeps in impatience.
It’s too much effort to grab my cup.
I’m having my break today and to hell with the consequences.
I need these thirty minutes for my heart to slow and my dizziness to ease. The doctor would simplify my exhaustion with the word stress, but I know why I’m drained like this. It’s the job. It’s the lingering effect of my dad. It’s the tension with Keegan. And it’s my ended friendship with Ryker and Liam.
I sit in the canteen, hunched over with my elbows on the table, as I move my fingers in slow circles against my temples.
The door opens and closes a few times, and there are hushed whispers as others use the break room.
“Fuck it,” someone says.
Chair legs knock against the tables as they’re dragged out, and I realise I’m not the only one who’s hit breaking point. Rather than grab a coffee, or a chocolate bar to scoff down while leaving the room, my colleagues sit at the tables. I crack an eye open to spy on them. It’s been so long since any of us have sat up here, and the sight of me seems to have had a domino effect. More and more people come into the breakroom and stay for anactualbreak.
Someone turns the TV on, and the voice that comes out puts a hitch in my breath. It’s Ryker. He’s on the local news being filmed as he presents a fire safety talk to a school assembly. Kelly and Olivia fawn over him, calling him sexy in his uniform, and I’m tempted to tell them he’s gay and whatever fantasy they’re creating in their heads won’t ever happen.
The door to the breakroom swings open on Stephen. He takes us all in with his hands on his hips. We brace ourselves, but instead of clapping his hands and driving us out of the room, he deflates. His eyes ping-pong between all the tables, all the haggard, worn-down expressions, then he zeros in on me.
“Freddie?”
I have to lift my head to meet his eyes, and I wince at the bright lights buzzing above. The pain at my temples radiates to my jaw.
“Headache,” I tell him.
He gives me a once-over, then turns his attention to the TV. Ryker’s still on screen but is no longer the focus of the broadcast. The news reporter speaks over him, explaining why the fire department have deployed him to the local schools.
