Hold Me Close

by Talia Hibbert

  And, of course, Rae couldn’t forget herself. That gauche divorcée, as she’d heard one old man tell his wife at the supermarket just last week. She was considering putting the phrase on a T-shirt.

  The beer garden was close to full despite the cool evening air, so it was impossible to miss the attention their group garnered. The flick-knife looks from two middle-aged women in the corner, with their £300 Barbour jackets and rapid whispers. The hard jaws and low mutters of three young men to the right, who nursed their beers like baby bottles and glared mutinously. But it wasn’t all bad. There was also a group of giggly women in the corner who’d nodded at Ruth as she’d come in. And then there was the sweet, older couple—the man wearing a cap that read CLARKE’S PIPES and the woman in a shiny, blue wheelchair—who sent over encouraging looks like proud parents.

  This town had its ups and downs. So far, the ups were worth it.

  “So,” Hannah said, clapping her hands. “We’re all here.”

  “You know what that means,” Zach piped up.

  Rae smiled blandly at him, shaking off her introspection. “The ritual sacrifice begins?”

  “The inquisition begins,” he corrected. “You have sacrifice on the brain, woman. I’m starting to worry.” Then he steepled his fingers under his chin, his usual grin replaced by a serious stare. Gravely, he began. “You know my stance, ladies and gentlemen. Before the night goes any further, we have a problem to solve. A tongue-twister in our midst. Rae and Ruth. Ruth and Rae. They’re practically the same name. It’s too confusing.”

  From her place further down the table, Ruth snorted. “They certainly are not. They have entirely different vowel sounds. The body of each word is fundamentally—”

  “Way too confusing,” Zach went on. “Something’s got to give. And I have the perfect solution.”

  Evan—long-suffering, eminently reasonable, and somehow Zach’s best friend—sighed. “Mate. You do this every time. She’s not going to tell you.”

  “Shut up. As I was saying, something’s got to give. Rae…” Zach turned to face her, flashing what he obviously considered to be his best and most charming smile.

  Unfortunately, he was right.

  “Tonight will go much more smoothly if you tell us your real name.”

  He was trying to cheer her up, and she knew it. Adored him for it. This wasn’t a new topic; ever since Zach had learned that Rae’s first name wasn’t actually Rae, he’d been on a mission to find out ‘the truth’—which he usually said with as much dramatic emphasis as the voiceover on the trailer of a Hollywood blockbuster. Since Rae’s real name was truly terrible, he’d be waiting a long bloody time. But she rather enjoyed it when he asked. His frustration was delicious.

  His attention was even better. Sweet and rich.

  She maintained a purposefully bland expression, just to irritate him, and said, “My real name is McRae.”

  He arched a brow. “Stop being smart. What’s your first name?”

  “If the issue is confusion—if Rae is too similar to Ruth—why don’t you just call me McRae?”

  Zach narrowed his eyes and actually growled a little bit. Her vagina became a fountain. Of champagne. “Come on, sunshine. Take pity on me. What’s your name?”

  “Susan,” she said. “What’s everyone drinking? I’ll get the first round.”

  Zach gave her an exasperated look. “You don’t need to do that. Why do you always do that?”

  She ignored him.

  “I’ll have a G&T,” Hannah said, rising to her feet. “But I’ll come with you. You can’t carry everything on your own.”

  “Your name is not Susan,” Zach declared, as if no-one else had spoken. “It’s not.”

  “You’re right. It’s Sarah. Ruth, what’ll you have?”

  “Lemonade,” Ruth said. “Zach, I know Rae’s name. It’s Natalie.”

  “Nah.” Evan smiled, crossing his muscled arms behind his head. “It’s Kate. You ladies want a hand?”

  “We should be good,” Rae said.

  “Then I’ll get a beer. Thanks, Kate.”

  “Her name isn’t Kate,” Zach snapped.

  Nate smirked, flicking his brother’s ear. “You sure about that?”

  Zach threw up his hands, a reluctant grin spreading over his face. “Fine! Act like you don’t want to know. Fuckin’ traitors.”

  Rae shook her head and led Hannah inside toward the bar. But something made her turn back at the last second, and she caught a glimpse of Zach through the swinging patio doors. He was talking to Duke. Really, properly talking to her dog, the way only Rae did. And she could guess what he was saying.

  I bet you know her name, don’t you, boy?

  “Hey. I’m sure that dog’s a great conversationalist, but I’m gonna have to drag you away.”

  Zach bit back a smile, gave Duke one last scratch between the ears, and turned to face his older brother. “Yeah?”

  There was something careful and considering in Nate’s eyes. He drummed his fingers against the table, and the swallow tattooed on the back of his hand seemed to fly with the movement. Finally, he asked, “How are you?”

  It was a question they’d repeated regularly, purposefully, ever since Nate’s return to Ravenswood. Getting to grips with Ma’s illness had been a shitstorm. Of course, having Nate back home for the first time in years was one hell of a silver lining.

  “I’m good,” Zach said, and it was the truth. He felt more like himself than he had in… forever. Ma was doing better on her new medication, Nate was on cloud nine with Hannah, and Evan was across the table right now murmuring to Ruth like a lovesick sap. Everyone was happy, except, possibly, for Rae—but he was determined to fix that.

  There was just one niggling worry at the back of Zach’s mind: his own quiet, growing anger. It was heavy and secret and pointless, and no-one wanted to deal with it, least of all him—he didn’t even know where it came from, because he refused to explore it. Zach Davis wasn’t an angry person. He was cool. He was chill. He was easy. He made other people feel good. So this burning, teeth-gritting frustration would fade if he ignored it long enough. It had to.

  But Nate didn’t look convinced. With a weirdly shifty look around the patio, he leaned in close and lowered his voice. "Hannah says everyone’s talking about you.”

  Zach arched his brows. “Well, if Hannah says so…” He wasn’t being sarcastic. Hannah knew everything. She was the town crystal ball—or a very nosy woman with Machiavellian tendencies. One of those.

  Nate nodded. “You remember the night we got Ma’s new diagnosis?”

  As if Zach could ever forget. If discovering his mother had a dangerous chronic illness wasn’t memorable enough, there was also the part where he and Nate had gotten wasted and finally talked about all the heavy shit they liked to avoid. Like the past. And death. And depression. And…

  “You said you weren’t interested in sex anymore,” Nate went on. “But you’re better now, right? Except, according to Hannah the All-Knowing, you still… aren’t. What’s up with that?”

  Jesus Christ, this fucking town. “You know,” Zach said mildly, “I’m not in love with how much you two know about my sex life.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m serious here. Are you okay or not?”

  Zach took in the harsh line of his brother’s brow, the worry in his pale eyes, and felt a flash of guilt. A few months back, on that messy, drunken night of confessions, Zach had wanted to tell his brother what he was learning about himself. He’d wanted to say, I’m not what everyone thinks I am. I don’t experience attraction the way you do. I’ve been pretending this whole time.

  But he’d still been unsure, back then, still been confused, so he’d lied. Just a little. Just to test the waters. He’d acted like his sexuality was a strange new phenomenon instead of something he’d been avoiding his whole life, and Nate’s supportive response had been reassuring.

  Now it was months later, and Zach was confident in his identity—but for some reason, he still
hadn’t come out to his brother.

  For a moment, he felt a flare of temper at the fact that he even had to. After all, Nate had never come out to him. Nate had never sat him down and said, “Hey, sometimes when I see a nice arse or a pretty smile, I get this lurch of sexual attraction, so I wanted to let you know that I’m straight and allosexual.” So why the fuck did Zach have to sit Nate down and say, “Hey, attraction doesn’t work like that for me because I’m demisexual”? Why?

  The anger was irrational, so Zach crushed it and focused on what mattered. His brother thought he was hiding something, and technically, he was: Zach Davis, Ravenswood’s notorious man-slut, was actually a bullied, ostracised little nerd who’d grown up so self-conscious about his demisexuality that he’d slept around for years to overcompensate.

  Just the memory of it made him sweat. Thank God he was himself now.

  He should probably let his brother in on that fact. Evan, too. But the beer garden of the Unicorn didn’t seem like the best place to discuss it, so Zach settled for clapping his brother on the shoulder and looking him in the eye. “Listen. I swear to you, I’m okay. We can talk about this later. We will talk about this later. But you don’t need to worry about me.”

  Nate stared at him in silence for a moment, clearly searching his face for something. He must’ve found it, because he nodded and relaxed. “Good.”

  There. Everyone was happy. All was right with Zach’s world.

  Until Nate knocked him on his arse all over again. “So when are you and Rae going to get it over with?”

  Zach frowned. “Uh…?” Then his brother’s meaning sank in. “Wait—as in—wait—you don’t think—?”

  Judging by his steady, slightly amused stare, Nate did indeed think. Shit.

  Zach swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. Me and her, that’s not happening.”

  “Okay,” Nate snorted. “Why the hell not?”

  Zach rolled his eyes. “You know what your problem is? You want everyone coupled up.”

  “No. But I think you’re into her, and I see why. Rae’s smart like you. She writes those books—they’re exactly the kind of shit you like. She’s funny. She has a great dog.”

  At their feet, Duke opened one beady eye as if to say, You’re damn right she does.

  “And she’s...” Nate waved a hand over his face. “Striking.”

  For some reason, that word irritated Zach. He pried his back teeth apart and said, “You could just call her pretty, you know.” Maybe he sounded pissed off, but he was sick of the way people looked at Rae. Like she was a few scars surrounded by a person, instead of a person with a few scars.

  Nate gave him an odd look. “She is pretty. But striking is better.”

  Zach pushed out a breath, nodding sharply. Of course Nate wouldn’t use a word like pretty. He was a photographer obsessed with people who were visually interesting. “Right. Yeah. Whatever. She’s great, but it’s not like that.”

  Nate arched a brow. For some reason, that slight movement made Zach want to smack his brother’s face off.

  Instead, he took a breath and told the only truth he knew. “I’m not into Rae.”

  “Not to be that guy,” Nate said, “but… I think you are.”

  “Yeah. Just like, once upon a time, you thought I was into Hannah.”

  A rueful smile. “Okay. Fair point.”

  Zach’s spike of alarm faded. There was no need to panic over his brother’s mistake. He’d know if he was sending Rae mixed signals, right? He’d made it clear that they were just friends, right?

  Of course he had. With Rae, he didn’t need to worry about crossed wires, come-ons and awkward rejections—so he didn’t need to worry about hurting her.

  Which was good. Because he was suddenly really fucking disturbed by the idea of causing her pain.

  Nate finally let it go, and they dragged Evan and Ruth away from each other and into the conversation. A few minutes later, Hannah and Rae reappeared with drinks. The sun set, and the laughter rose. The night grew colder, but none of them felt it. Hours ticked by and Zach grinned until his cheeks hurt. It was good.

  Someone else got the second round, and the third. On the fourth, he found himself heading to the bar with Rae beside him. As they waited for the freckly sixth-form kid to pull their pints and pour their spirits, he leaned against the polished wood and studied Rae’s face. Bright eyes, snub nose, lips half-curved like she was remembering a joke. She was tipsy, which was typical for a Friday night. Her alcohol tolerance was adorable.

  She caught him looking and her smile faded. “What?”

  “Your hair’s curling.”

  She sighed, blowing out her lips like a little kid. “I hate spring.”

  “What does it look like? When you don’t straighten it.”

  “I don’t straighten it,” she told him. “This is a blow-out. I—” She paused as her phone buzzed loudly to life. When she dragged it out of her back pocket and checked the caller ID, all the colour and comfort drained right out of her. She lost her happy, relaxed air in an instant.

  Something viciously protective unfurled in his chest. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She lowered her hand, but she was still clutching the phone like it was a grenade she wanted to throw. And she didn’t decline the call.

  “Who is it?”

  “My mother,” she said.

  That left him speechless for a second. When he regained the use of his voice, he wasted it with a pointless question. “Your mother makes you miserable like that?”

  She scowled. The phone finally stopped ringing. “We’ve fallen out. It’s nothing.” But then the phone buzzed again, and her face…

  “Rae,” he murmured, with no idea what to say next. He just needed to catch her attention, to get between her and the phone that had frozen his sunshine. But she didn’t seem to hear him, so he said again, louder now, “Rae.” His hand caught her wrist.

  She looked up at him, her gaze shuttered. “I have to go.”

  He stared. “What?”

  But she was already pulling away, breaking his grip, hurrying through the crowd toward the front doors.

  “Hey,” the bartender said from behind him. “That’ll be—”

  “Hold those for me, would you?” He followed Rae without waiting for an answer.

  She was outside, a few paces away from the smokers, her gaze distant and her hands pressed against the brick. Like she needed to feel something against her skin just to remind herself she was still there.

  He felt like that sometimes.

  He approached her slowly, the way he would a wounded animal. She stiffened when she saw him, but she didn’t turn away. Instead, she took a breath, wrapped her arms around herself, and said, “Sorry. I just needed some air.”

  “You don’t have to apologise,” he murmured, coming to stand beside her. They leaned against the wall together, both staring up at the sky, and he waited to see if she’d explain.

  She didn’t. “You’re alright, Davis.”

  The comment surprised a laugh out of him. “Just alright? Damn.”

  Her lips twitched into a smile. Her eyes seemed bigger and darker than usual, slamming into him like a touch—like an exploration. “You don’t hurt people. You help people. I’ve noticed that.”

  He didn’t know if he was meant to answer. Her gaze still burned sensation over his skin, but her words floated, directionless, between the two of them, as if she was thinking aloud.

  A second later, she went on, her sentences meandering tipsily. “You’re a good friend. A real good friend. I can trust you with some things, can’t I?”

  Trust me with whatever’s tearing you up inside. “Yes. You can.” She nodded and remained silent. Apparently, that conversation was over. But he didn’t want it to be, so he thought fast. “One more round, and everyone will be leaving. Nate’s babysitter gets off soon.”

  She sighed. “These nights always end too early.”

  “Ours doesn’t have to,” he s
aid. “How about we don’t go home?”

  She turned to stare at him, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. “What?”

  “When everyone leaves, how about we don’t go home? You, me, and Duke. We can roam the streets terrorising pensioners, or something. It’ll be fun.” And I’ll drag your secrets out of you if it’s the last thing I do.

  “Oh. Right. Yeah.” She hesitated for a moment before that sweet, one-sided smile curved her lips. “Two trouble-makers and a dog running around in the dark? Isn’t that how horror films start?”

  “Nah. It’s how adventures start.”

  “I see.” Her right cheek plumped, as if she were pushing her tongue against the inside. “In that case, let’s do it.”

  3

  Rae wasn’t drunk, exactly. She was drunk, perfectly. That final round had tipped her from level two of intoxication—Excessive Sensitivity—to level three: Excessive Joy. Her mind was a shimmery blur that made everything warm and brilliant, even though it was actually night-time and the world was black-and-streetlight-orange.

  At Ravenswood’s play park, the shapes of swings and climbing frames cast odd shadows across the spongey, child-safe floor. But as Rae approached, Duke trotting happily on her left, Zach strolling along on her right, she didn’t care that the park looked like the scene of a possible haunting. They were having an adventure.

  That delightful fact expanded in her chest like a balloon, obliterating the last of her sadness. She said aloud, “I never would’ve done this before.”

  Though it was mostly dark, she felt Zach’s gaze on her. He didn’t ask what she meant by before. Instead, he said, “What? Gone to the park at midnight like a reprobate?”