9
Chris
We leave the restaurant, and I can finally breathe, clear my mind. I knew the wine was a bad idea – I should’ve stopped after half a glass, at most after a full one, but Ryan’s presence put me on edge. So, without knowing what to do to avoid talking to him or looking at him, I threw myself into eating and drinking.
Terrible decision.
Vic’s in an even worse state than me, but that’s nothing new. Teetering on her heels, she clings to Ian’s arm, who kindly helps her over to the car. Ryan hangs back a few steps, in silence. I get that he’s a man of few words, but it’s really unnerving. He only let out a few grunts, incomprehensible monosyllables. He’s the kind of guy who makes you nervous right from the beginning. I can’t believe he’s Ian’s brother.
“Thanks, Ian, I’ve got it from here,” I tell him, taking Vic’s arm and trying to get her into the car. But I’ve drunk a little too much as well, and the lasagne hasn’t helped. Maybe I should’ve had a coffee before we left.
“Are you sure you’ll manage?” Ian asks me, worried, coming over to us.
“It’s all under control.”
“Haven’t you been drinking too?” he asks, doubtfully.
“Just a glass,” I say, playing it down, using the rule of three.
“I think it was more like three or four.”
Hisvoice, sombre and unwarranted, gets under my skin.
What the hell does he want? It’s none of his business.
I shoot him a look, trying to make him understand that it’s not his problem, before Ian speaks again.
“You’re both over the limit. I can’t let you drive.”
“I only live ten minutes away, Ian, I can handle it.”
“I don’t trust you, Chris. I can’t just leave you to make your own way back. How about I take Vic home in my car, while Ryan drives you home in yours, then I can come and pick him up? That way, we all make it home in one piece.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, through my teeth.
Ryan comes over and takes my keys out of my hand.
“Excuse me?” I turn towards him, annoyed.
“Don’t make a scene. Come on, I want to get home, too.”
I give Ian Vic’s address, and he helps her over to his car, while I reluctantly sit myself in the passenger seat next to Ryan.
He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the engine, then turns to me to check what area I live in. I nod, without even looking at him, turning my head away and crossing my arms over my chest.
I let my eyes wander over the road flying past me, an unexpected wave of alcohol-induced sadness washing over me. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the scent of his aftershave filling my car and my lungs, throwing my thoughts into confusion. I can’t ignore all of them.
It’s the smell of a man. A real man.
He doesn’t smell like alcohol and cigarettes, broken promises and nights filled with tears. He smells like laughter, evenings in the garden and intertwined fingers. He just smells good, like safety, like warmth.
I realise how long it’s been since I breathed in something strong, intoxicating and damnenjoyable.
Suddenly, the space we’re sharing is too cramped. I feel a strange stirring, and a retch climbs up my throat, making me instinctively throw my hand in front of my mouth.
I can’t be sick in my car, and I definitely can’t be sick in front of him.
“Everything okay?” he asks in his usual, gruff way. I force myself to nod, so that I don’t have to open my mouth and risk losing control.
