The presenter continues to talk. He tells us about the light at the end of this dastardly tale. They found the boy. Alive and, for the most part, well. He was given a new life and a new beginning. I know this better than most because it was with us. With me. The presenter clears his throat, pauses, and then looks straight at Konnor.
I smother my outward gasp.
"We have a very special guest with us today," he says, his voice hesitant. "I only just realised this myself, and I have been wrestling with what to do about it. I wanted to leave him his anonymity. But I also wanted more than anything to shake his hand. To pat him on the back. To share my deepest respects and admiration. Madeline's boy is here today."
A high-pitched crack breaks the quiet beside me. Glancing over, I see Butch holding a shattered glass in his fist, blood leaking out from between his fingers. No one outside of our table has noticed. He quickly grabs a white cloth napkin, wraps it around his hand, and excuses himself. I'm sure he forgets his own strength, just like Max does on occasion.
My gaze is pulled back to Konnor, who is struggling to keep his composure while everyone looks at him in awe. He breathes in deeply and then slowly stands. When everyone applauds him, I can no longer hold back my tears of joy. For the first time in his life, he's close to having a relationship with her. He's right there, standing opposite her image, being referred to as her son. As the clapping continues, the genuine nature of the applause becomes apparent and Konnor's face transforms from tight with discomfort to soft with emotion.
I wipe at my tears, rolling my eyes when I notice the smudge of black mascara on the side of my finger. "He's so brave."
Konnor's eyes find mine for a moment and his well up too.
He mouths, "I love you."
And my throat tightens further. "I love you too."
Cassidy
I hitshuffle on my after-dinner mix, letting the mellow tunes hum through the car. We cruise down the empty, dimly lit coastal road with the river to our right and the hills to our left. I lower the rear passenger window to feel the crisp night-time breeze stroke my face, to smell the fresh ocean air. I close my eyes and inhale it, thinking about tonight. About Konnor's closure. About the glistening of his eyes. I'm glad I went.
The sound of a base guitar fills the Chrysler. Hypnotic, sad, and passionate, "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You, Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex, rolls from the speakers, and my heart expands. This song can pluck you from the earth. Defy gravity. Lift you into the clouds so that you can view yourself from above. It is state altering. The lyrics start and I flush a little. This song reminds me of Max. A smile hits my lips and I turn to find him grinning at me, his hair messy, his top buttons open, his legs spread casually in his black satin-lined trousers.
Twisting towards me, he slides his hand across my red dress, fingers grazing the floral embroidery. He stops at my neck, circling the arch with his warm palm. "This is an interesting song." His thumb follows the roll of my throat down and then up.
The title is the basis of the song's story, so Max probably suspects that it reminds me of his promise to never let anyone hurt me again, but he'd be wrong. Nothing is going to hurthim. A month ago, when I heard this song for the first time, it filled me with this urge to protect him - protect that rare fragile gentleness he hides from everyone other than me. Protect that fiercely guarded heart with my life.
I try to stay strong beneath his burrowing stare. "It reminds me of this guy I like."
"Do I need to kill him or is that guy me?"
I giggle. "You don't know him."
His brows draw a straight line above his serious expression. "Not funny, little one."
Leaning in close, I kiss his stern face until it softens. Pulling back, I find him now contemplative with a thought but hesitant to share it.
He finally says, "I'm going to work for Clay at the council. How do you feel about that?"
Blinking at him, I say, "What does that mean?"
"I'll be using my degree. It'll be nine to five."
I nod, unsure why he's looking at me as if he's waiting for approval. "But you'll hate working in an office." I glance around the back carriage.No. No."You'll hate it. Why can't you play rugby?"
His face pulls in tight, teeth locking, eyes defensive. "I thought you'd be happy."
"You can go pro, Max," I say. "You can-"
"Leave my brothers. The District!" he snaps. Sighing with strained breath, he bites down his anger. "Sorry. But that's never going to happen."
I understand family loyalty.Frick, my whole life has revolved around Konnor, but I want more for Max. He's so talented. "But they have their own lives-"
Max clears his throat. "On weekends."
The words have no context and I'm left staring wide eyed at his angry expression - an expression that is smothering a kind of uneasiness. "What?"
"You said the fairy-tale would be nine to five and rugby on the weekends. I can give you that now."