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‘Gabi, you don’t have to,’ I say quietly into the phone. ‘I’m fine, I promise. Get some rest.’
‘I’m coming, Noah,’ he says, so fiercely it leaves no room for argument. ‘You need someone to be there for you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
Gabriel hangs up on me, and I lean back onto the hard pillows of my hospital bed. The ward’s quiet save for the quiet chatter of the staff around the nurses’ station. Margie’s somewhere down the hall, and the police have already taken both our statements. I’m tired, but way too hopped up on adrenaline and whatever drugs they gave me when they stitched my brow back together to sleep.
Gabriel bursts through the door like a hurricane twenty-five minutes later, with his frizzy hair pulled into a bun on the top of his head and bandaged feet shoved into Adidas slides.
He looks horrified when he sees me.
‘I promise it’s not as bad as it looks,’ I say, easing off the bed. Gabriel takes my chin in his grip, eyes roaming over my face, taking it all in.
‘It was him?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘Yeah.’
‘I willkillhim,’ Gabriel snarls andwow, that’s a lot. ‘You do not deserve this, Noah. You don’t deserve tolivelike this; in fear, in pain.’
My eyes prickle with tears, and ithurts—physically hurts—to cry. ‘I know, okay?’ I say, my voice wet with emotion. ‘I don’t want this either. I don’t wantanyof this.’
‘Move to Paris with me,’ Gabriel says, sliding his hands down my shoulders. ‘Come home with me.’
I can’t do that. He’s asking way too much of me right now. ‘You’re away most of the year, you said it yourself. I have a life here; friends and a job that I like.’
‘But you would be safe with me!’ he almost shouts. Suddenly, Gabriel takes a step back, his chest heaving. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looks away. ‘I just—I’m angry, and I don’t know how to say the right things. All I know is that I wanted you to be there tonight, and I kept wondering why you weren’t, what I had done that meant you weren’t there and I—’ He takes in two fast, deep breaths, struggling to keep control of his emotions. ‘I feel so stupid and selfish and—’ Gabriel presses the ball of his palm into his eye socket as a sob escapes his mouth.
Without a word, I pull him towards me and feel him settle against my collarbone.
Gabriel wraps his arms around me, clutching my shirt. ‘It feels like I’m being torn apart. I am . . . I have fallen in love with you. I want to do everything with you, and I hate knowing that I can’t.’
I pull him closer, crushing him, my heart faltering at his words. This isn’t just about my dad, or anything that’s happened in the last twelve hours. The tournament’s over, and that means our relationship, in its current form, is over too. Soon, no matter what we decide to do, Gabriel will be on a plane back to France, preparing for the next tournament, and I’ll be here, doing whatever comes next.
I smooth a hand over his hair. ‘Oh, Gabi. Me too. We just have a lot of shit to work through.’
‘I know,’ he murmurs weakly, then pulls back, sniffing. ‘You really stink of apple cider.’
I laugh, pushing him away. Gabriel takes my chin in his hand again and, mindful of my split lip, kisses the very corner of my mouth.
37
Gabriel
Somehow, I manage to sleep for a few hours in the armchair beside Noah’s bed until we’re discharged.
Despite feeling like death warmed up, I have a full morning of media appointments. But with my throbbing knee and blistered foot, I’m barely able to walk. As I’d re-wrapped my blisters this morning, I’d felt a bit like Victor Frankenstein’s monster, held together by twine and bandages, my limbs not quite my own.
‘I feel like I’m about to go play tennis,’ Noah says as he emerges from the hospital bathroom in a pair of Nike shorts and a loose cotton shirt, sourced from my suitcase.
I roll my eyes. ‘Sorry it’s not off the two-dollar rack.’
‘I won’t hear you talk badly of the two-dollar rack.’ Noah slips his hand into mine. That’s something we can do now, I realise. Hold each other’s hands. Kiss in public if we want to.
Margie’s room is down the corridor. Her bed is positioned beside a big window, and the early-morning sun streams into the room.
‘It’s Noah and Gabriel,’ Noah calls ahead as we enter the room, and I realise I like the sound of our names together, the way the vowels sound, the ring to it. Margie sits up in bed, smoothing her hands over her curly hair.
‘Oh, what a treat.’ She reaches out her right arm to pull Noah in for a hug. Her left, I notice, is in a sling. ‘Noah, my boy, look at your face.’
He presses a hand to his cheek self-consciously. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m made of strong stuff.’
