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“Yes, Alice broke up with me, okay? Her sister’s boyfriend is moving to Auckland and has proposed to her, and Alice wants her to go with him, which means she has to stay in Gisborne. So she’s told me it’s over.”
“What the fuck?” He looks bemused. “And you’re just going along with that? Didn’t you suggest she move down here?”
“Of course I suggested it, and a hundred other things, but she’s made up her mind, and anything I say now is going to look as if I’m bullying her.”
“Suggesting isn’t bullying.”
“Well you know that and I know that…”
“Want me to talk to her?” he asks. “I’m better at it.” His lips curve up. He’s probably referring to the moment I told Catie I’d teach her the guitar because I’d do it better than him, but for some reason I feel a flare of jealousy, maybe because I had the same thought a few minutes ago. All I can think is that he got his girl, and I didn’t get mine.
“You’re really starting to piss me off,” I say irritably.
“Am I? I’d never have guessed.”
“Boys,” Dad says. “Act your age and not your shoe size.”
Saxon raises an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, bro. Grow up.”
I know what he’s doing—he’s goading me, trying to make me get it all out in the open. He’s always done this—whenever I’ve had issues in the past, when I’ve said I didn’t want to talk, he’s always provoked me until I’ve lost my temper and we’ve had it out. To be fair, it does normally resolve the issue. But Dad’s right, we’re not twelve anymore.
I step around him. He steps as well, blocking my exit.
Irritation flares through me. “Get out of my way.” I place both hands on his shoulders and push him hard, so he stumbles back.
Normally that would have made him lash out, but this time his lips curve up and he holds both arms out to the side, palms up, like he’s Jesus. “Whatever you need, bro.” Because he’s so grown up, and I’m so immature.
Looking at him has always been like looking into a mirror, and I recognize his smug superiority, his insistence that he knows best, because it’s such a big part of me. Both of us are used to getting our own way, but although his determination to go after Catie meant he got the girl, it’s not going to work for me. I’m so envious that fury blazes inside me, and all the anger that’s been building up explodes behind my eyes.
I draw back my arm and, being left-handed, give him a left hook, feeling my fist connect with his nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood sprays over us both. Catie squeals, Pongo barks, and both babies begin to wail.
“Fuck!” Saxon holds his nose and his eyes blaze.
“Not so grown up now, are you?” I ask him. I try to be smug, but I’m talking to myself, and I wish I was the one feeling the pain.
He comes for me, and, numerous whiskies down, I’m slow and unsteady, and I lose my footing. Amidst squeals from the girls and yells from the guys, I fall back onto the carpet with him on top of me, and for a moment we grapple, as furious with each other as we were the day after our sixteenth birthday, when he told me he was going to ask Sarah Cunningham out, and I asked her first just to annoy him, and she said yes.
He punches me, catching my cheekbone. That’s going to give me a black eye. His blood drips onto my face, making us both slippery. We roll and, welcoming the pain at last, I lift up to hit him again, but I’m stopped as Damon grabs me by the back of my collar. An inch taller and twenty pounds heavier, he hauls me off Saxon, half-choking me. I cough and scramble to my feet, but my father puts a hand on my shoulder and bellows, “Kristopher Chevalier! Stop this nonsense right now!”
I shake myself loose from his grip, chest heaving, but stay put, watching as Saxon sits up, putting a hand to his nose. Blood is pouring down his face, covering his clothes, with droplets scattered all across the carpet and table. “Feel better now?” he asks sarcastically, taking the towel that Kennedy has rushed to get him and pressing it to his nose.
Jackson, who’s a GP, bends to take a look at him. “We need some ice, Kennedy,” he says, and she runs off to get some.
I glance at Catie, who has tears rolling down her face as she tries to comfort the baby in her arms, and at Mum, who’s rocking the other twin, also looking upset. She’s always hated us fighting. It wasn’t a frequent occurrence when we were kids, but it did happen. It’s been years since we’ve scrapped like this, though. I look at my hand—it’s covered in his blood.
Damon looks at Dad, then picks up my glasses and slots them in the front of my shirt. “I’m going to take him home.”
“Good idea,” Dad says grimly. He points to me and then to Saxon. “But I want you both back here tomorrow morning, and we’re going to talk about this.”
I hesitate, feeling guilty at the sight of Catie sobbing and Kennedy trying to stop the bleeding of Saxon’s nose, but Damon slides a hand under my arm and propels me toward the door. “Come on, bro,” he murmurs, “I think you’ve done enough damage here tonight.”
“I should say sorry to Catie,” I say hoarsely as we go out. “We made the babies cry.”
“She’ll be all right,” he says, closing the door behind us. “She was upset to see you both fighting, that’s all. She hasn’t grown up with you like Kennedy and I have.” He takes me to the passenger side of his Bentley, opens the door, and pushes me into the seat, putting a hand up to make sure I don’t hit my head. It’s only as he does it that I realize how drunk I am. My head’s spinning, and I feel sick.
“Are you going to throw up?” he asks as he gets in.
“Dunno. Maybe.” I swallow. “Yes.”
