Page 129 of Tiny Fractures
I notice Steve’s Challenger parked in the driveway when I get home, and I walk noiselessly into the house and up the stairs to my room where I collapse onto my bed without undressing, passing out immediately and falling into a deep, restful sleep.
Saturday, August 28th
Ronan
“Ran! Are you coming or not?”
My brother’s voice pulls me out of my sleep, and I squint against the sun streaming into my room, momentarily blinding me.
“What time is it?” I mumble, covering my face with a pillow.
“Uh, it’s like eight-thirty,” he says, banging around in the bathroom, the door to my room wide open. “If you want to ride with me, you better get your ass up now!”
“Go ahead, I need a couple more hours of sleep,” I mutter as the sleep threatens to pull me under again.
“Okay. Cat and Vada won’t be done with practice until eleven anyways.” I hear him spray some cologne. “What time did you get in last night?”
“I don’t know, like four-thirty,” I respond groggily.
Steve laughs. “Nice! Alright, I’m gonna head out. What time do you think you’ll be at Shane’s?”
“I’ll be there by eleven-thirty,” I say, and pass out again as Steve heads down the stairs.
It seems like just minutes later when my phone rings and I jerk awake. My eyes are still shut when I answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you on your way?” Steve says on the other end of the line.
I open my eyes and squint at the screen. It’s 11:27. Shit. “No, I overslept, I’m getting up right now,” I tell him sleepily, clearing my throat.
“Okay, cool. The girls are here, but Zack needs to pick up the charger for his camera, so we can just swing by and get you if you want. We should be there in about half an hour.”
“That sounds good, actually. I’ll just take a quick shower. See you in thirty.”
I roll out of bed and stretch, cracking my back in the process. Despite the interruptions, I haven’t slept this well in a long time. My unconscious hours were filled with dreams of Cat, her face reappearing in my mind again and again, filling me with a kind of happiness and contentment I don’t recall ever feeling before. Is this what love does? Is this what it’s going to be like now that I’ve admitted to myself the depth of my feelings for Cat? I wouldn’t complain one bit if it was.
I leave a trail of clothes on my bedroom floor, discarding my shirt, jeans, and boxers as I make my way to the bathroom, where I turn on the shower and step under the hot water, letting it bead down my neck and back.
Memories of last night flood my mind. Cat trusted me completely, and I smile as I recall her soft body, her sexy moans, her expression when she came undone, what it felt like when I was inside her. God, it was perfect. It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Cat was right, it was sort of like the first time for both of us. I get hard thinking about her and decide a cold shower might be a better idea than a hot one. She doesn’t leave my mind, though, resulting in a near-constant smile on my lips, and I’m determined—obsessed, actually—with telling her how I feel about her as soon as I see her. She needs to know.
When I’m done with my shower, I dry off and get dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a heather-gray t-shirt before putting on my shoes. A quick look at my watch tells me it’s ten minutes until noon, so I grab my wallet and phone and make my way out of my room and down the stairs, checking my phone as I go. I should send Cat a text, letting her know I’m on my way, that I’ll be there soon. I wonder if she is as anxious to see me as I am to see her.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, startled, when I reach the last step and my mother appears in front of me. She’s so close to me that I almost run into her. The expression on her face—which is contorted in anger, her pupils large—is one I recognize, and I instantly know this isn’t good.
“Where the fuck were you last night?” she asks, her voice sharp and pitchy. How she even knows I was gone is beyond me. For a split second I wonder if I was mistaken and that she wasn’t actually working last night, but she’s still wearing her signature light-blue scrubs as well as her wooden clogs, her hair braided as if she just got back from work.
I don’t answer. I know better than to try to talk myself out of these situations. Instead, I decide to slip past her, inching my way toward the front door, planning to bolt as soon as I can. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
But she blocks my path, mimicking my steps, my movements, and shoves me back hard. It catches me off guard and, unable to brace against her force, I hit the back of my head against the wall with a deafening thump. Instant pain spreads through my skull.
My mother is in my face. “You are such a screw up, Ronan. Just like your father,” she yells at me as I step to the side and slowly start backing up into the hallway, hoping to make it to the living room, to the sliding glass door, and to the back porch. I just need to make it outside. My hand reaches for the back of my head where I just hit the wall, and pulling it away, I realize I’m bleeding. Fuck. I must have hit the corner.
“You were with your little girlfriend last night, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” she hisses, her voice getting louder. “I know you fucked her, Ronan. Just like your father is fucking that woman. He’s on his way now to get his shit and leave me. For another woman,” she adds with a short, maniacal laugh.
I have a hard time following my mom’s stream of consciousness. Her words spill out fast, and she’s getting more worked up by the second. The pain in my head is spreading, and I feel dizzy as I stumble backwards into the living room, my mother stalking my every step like I’m prey to be hunted.
She’s just feet away from me, and, to my horror, I see her grab my hockey stick. It’s a brand-new stick, barely broken-in. After practice yesterday and before heading out to celebrate Cat’s birthday, I spent some time taping it, then applying wax to make the stick sturdier, harder, less likely to break during hard drives. My mistake was leaving my hockey stick downstairs instead of taking it back up to my room with my other equipment.
I forged the perfect fucking weapon for my mother, who’s about to use it against me.