I’m not convinced I’ll ever be ready, and I’m not entirely sure what’s about to take place. This suddenly feels too last minute for something so monumental.
“This time, Connor, you’ll make a slightly deeper cut across Phoenix’s left palm, and he will do the same to you. It’ll be easier if you both kneel as you do it so the blood can spill to the ground before the cuts heal.”
We both kneel on the cold, unforgiving ground, and she joins us. I don’t enjoy cutting Phoenix’s hand as much as I anticipated. Once again, we join our palms and keep them close to the ground. I watch as the crimson liquid mixes together and runs down our wrists in rivulets before the droplets escape and are soaked up by the earth below.
Nina doesn’t touch us this time, her hands hovering over the top of ours.
“As the joined familial blood of Connor and Phoenix is absorbed by the Yorkshire land, this territory has a pack once more. Please both place your palms on the ground.”
My eyes go wide as my bleeding hand adheres to the earth as though it has its own magnetic force pulling me down. I glance at Phoenix to see if he looks as stunned as I feel, but his expression is calmly focused on Nina.
“You are bound to this land, and the land is bound to you. May your pack and the Yorkshire territory go forth and bask in a symbiotic and enduring relationship.” When Nina finishes speaking, the sensation ebbs away, and I’m able to lift my hand back up. Across my left palm is a very faint silver scar. I’ve never had a scar before, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, fascinated by it.
When I eventually look up, Phoenix’s brow is furrowed, looking at me in confusion. I stand up abruptly, dropping my hand and dusting off some dry mud from my knees.
“Congratulations,” Nina says conspiratorially before walking off and joining our guests, who have begun chatting amongst themselves.
After everyone has left, I slide down the wall of the small reception room where we had our 'celebratory' meal with ourfamilies. Sitting on the floor with my legs outstretched, the wall is cool against my back, and I thunk my head against it.
I’ve lost track of how many panic attacks I’ve had over the years as I would spiral, fretting over what would happen if the truth about Phoenix and me ever got out. He joins me on the floor, leaving enough of a gap between us so we’re not touching.
I hate that gap.
And yet, if he’d sat closer, I would have shuffled away and created the gap myself, so all rational thought has clearly left the building.
I’m sitting on the floor next to myhusband.My husband, who coincidentally is my ex-boyfriend.
Over the years we were together, Phoenix would periodically get frustrated from all the hiding and declare we should run away together. I would always nip those ideas in the bud because I knew that if I chose him, I’d lose everyone else. After seeing the chasm my mum’s death created, I couldn’t put my family through another loss.
Of all the scenarios I obsessively played out in my mind, though, our families viewing our relationship as a potential way to bring peace between the two packs never even crossed my mind.
A hysterical cackle bubbles out of me, and suddenly, I can’t stop. My eyes water from laughing so hard as I lament over the cruel irony of it all.
“This was not on the list of reactions I anticipated today,” Phoenix says as I try to calm myself down. “What’s so funny?” he asks, nudging his foot against mine. It takes me a moment to gather myself enough to answer coherently.
“It’s just the absurdity of it all. I spent most of my adult life worried someone would discover us. And now, a year since we broke up, those same people we were hiding from have forced us to get hitched.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Phoenix says before a deep, throaty laugh escapes him. “Fuck it, may as well laugh about it.” He sets me off again, and we’re both sitting, shoulders shaking at the ludicrousness that is our life.
After we’ve both calmed down, I move to stand up, but Phoenix reaches out and grabs my forearm, twisting me to face him. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt earlier, and his fingers press into my bare skin. I’m so overly aware of the point of contact; it’s like a brand being burned into me.
“For the record, though, nobody forcedme,this time,” he says seriously.
“It’s not as if either of us had much choice in the matter either,” I reply.
Once I’m standing, I reach out on autopilot to help him up. He looks at my hand, momentarily assessing whether it’s some kind of trap—not that I can really blame him—but he takes it and stands. There’s a brief moment where neither of us drops the other’s hand, and I see his thoughts and emotions play out across his face. He gently lets go, and it seems to pain him to do so.
My hand feels cold and empty, which is familiar now; it’s been cold and empty for the past year.
Five
September 2017 - Five Years Ago
Phoenix Campbell
Ican’t help but wince as Alfie takes a rough tackle on the pitch. He’s a good player for his age, but he's overdue a growth spurt, and his scrawny frame isn’t built for taking hard tackles yet.
We’re nearing the end of the season, and it’s cold where I’m standing on the sidelines. My breath lingers in the air like a puff of smoke as I breathe out. I’m not training today; only coaching the under-twelve team my younger brother plays for. Keeping an eye on my stopwatch, I blow my whistle to let the kids know the drill is over.
