Non Pratt - Trouble

She is, which means I’m in the back because Hannah gets carsick. Jay makes a joke about evening sickness and I get a kick out of informing him that pregnancy hasn’t made Hannah ill. I know he was only joking, but it’s fun to be arsey to an arse. Obviously Hannah doesn’t think so since her shoulders are creeping up with every bit of one-upmanship Jay and I engage in. I’ll stop.

It isn’t long before I discover that Jay drives like a maniac. After he drives straight over the middle of one those painted roundabouts, I hear Hannah hiss at him to slow down. He drops to a petulant ten miles an hour below the speed limit.

The journey passes in silence before Hannah starts directing Jay to my house, until he pulls up outside, a squeal of the tyre scraping the kerb.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say.

“You talking to me or Hannah?” Jay laughs as I get out. I stop for a moment as the door shuts. I try to walk away, but I find myself opening Jay’s door, leaning in until my face is close to his ear and I can see my knuckles are white as I grip the doorframe so hard that I lose the feeling in my fingertips.

“I don’t know if you’re being a twat because it comes naturally” — my voice is quiet and precise — “or because you’ve been studying it, but that’s your stepsister you’re talking about.” I take a breath and tighten my grip on the door. I must not let go. Of the door. Of my temper. “Show some fucking respect.”

I swing the door with the full force of my outrage and turn away. There’s no clunk as it shuts — instead I catch Hannah’s voice issue a warning “Jay…” at the same time as a shove from behind sends me sprawling onto the bonnet with a squeak and a thunk .

Scrabbling upright, I swing round to find Jay right in my face. “I don’t know what you think you know about me. But you don’t get to talk to me like that.”

My hands squeeze up between my chest and his so I can push him out of my space. Bad idea. He pushes me back harder. I don’t mean to grab his shoulder to stop myself from toppling backwards, but there you go. All of a sudden I am in a fight. There’s a sting on my jaw where his knuckles catch me, but I know exactly how much it hurts to throw a punch so I yank a fistful of his top and twist so he falls face first onto the bonnet.

How can I stop this? I need to shut things down. I can’t be here, I can’t do this…

But Jay’s back up and swinging at me. I jump back and pain blossoms as his fist catches me full in the nose, then that’s it — I’m lunging for him with my hands balled up, aiming for his head. I catch a hit somewhere and we’re grappling and shoving. I kick out and at the same time I see a splatter of blood fly across his jeans. Jay’s thumb is digging painfully into my jaw as he pushes my face away and I reach up and clamp my hand around his wrist as I ball my fist up, ready to—

“STOP IT!”

The scream is right in my ear and it rings in my hearing along with the blood pounding in my head.

“Just fucking stop it!” Hannah is shouting at Jay now and she’s between us, pointing a very straight finger at his face, daring him to disobey. Jay says nothing, licking his split lip and shaking his hand out, reminding me of the pain in my own. My nails are digging into my palms and my whole arm feels jarred. The ache I feel in fingers I once broke reminds me why this was such a bad idea.

“Get back in the car, Jay.”

He doesn’t move.

“Just do as I say — all right?” Hannah looks weary and Jay switches his gaze from me to her before doing as she says.

He shoulders his way past me, forcing me to stamp down a burning need to pull him back and lay into him once again.

Instead I walk towards my front door, Hannah following me up the path.

“OK, so now we’re even,” I say with a thin smile. “I save you from Marcy and you save me from Jason.”

“It’s not funny, Ty.”

I close my eyes. I wish she wouldn’t call me that.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…” I bump my head gently onto the window in the door and rest it there. “He was being such a tool.”

Hannah says nothing. A car turns into the road and in the sweep of its headlights I catch the glisten of tears in her eyes.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. Your stepbrother is a class A—”

“He’s the father.” The whispered words are so quiet I could have imagined them. I want to have imagined them. “Jay’s the father of my baby.”

There must be a right thing to do, but I don’t know what it is and I can feel the distance stretching between us with every second that passes. By the time I realize that anything is better than nothing it’s too late and she steps back from the hug I reach in for.

“I can’t…” She waves me away.

“Hannah—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that she runs away down the pavement. I step after her, but the hall light clicks on and, just as I pause, I see Jay get out of the car and run after her. And I stop dead, because even if I run after her, even if I beat Jay to it, what am I going to do when I get there?

I don’t know where I’m running. I don’t know this part of town too well. I stop at the first bench I see and sit down. Running is probably a bad idea in my condition.

Stupid baby. I wish—

That almost-thought makes me cry even harder. I hadn’t meant it. I’ve never even slightly wished that, but…

Tears keep coming and I’m nearly choking on my misery. Only I can’t seem to stop.

Someone sits down next to me and rests a hand on my back. I look up to see Jay.

A little part of me was hoping it was Aaron. That part is disappointed. The rest of me? Jury’s out. I’m still very angry with Jay.

“Hannah, I’m sorry.”

“You–should–be,” I manage to say between hiccupy sobs. I breathe deeply and try to get a little control here. “You’re such a… tool.”

My voice catches on the last word and I think about what just happened with Aaron — not when I told him the truth, but the fight beforehand. Aaron. In a fight. One I think he might have won. That’s not the Aaron I thought I knew.

“Come here, Han.” Jay moves closer, his arm sliding all the way around me until I’m nestled into him and I can almost hear his heart through his jacket. “I’m so sorry.”

What is it that he’s saying sorry for? For fighting with one of the best friends I’ve ever had? For asking me if I’m really sure that he’s the father? For it never being the right time to tell people? For saying he doesn’t need a picture of the scan? For everything that’s happened between us?

I don’t want him to be sorry for that.

Because I’m not.

I watch at the window, lights off, waiting for them to come back, worried about Hannah. When they finally do I see that Jay has his arm around her and she’s leaning into his shoulder.

“Hannah…” I whisper, a wave of disappointment washing over me. When they get to his car, Jay opens the door for her. Neither of them makes a move to get in.

I turn away, not wanting to know what happens next.

The last time Jay looked at me like this was the night I got pregnant.

“What are we doing?” he whispers, eyes searching mine, one hand on the door, the other on the roof of his car, circling me in the space between. I take him in, concentrating on every little detail of his face — the stubble on his jaw; his nose and eyebrows; his lips and the way his tongue moves behind his teeth as he speaks. “It wasn’t meant to be like this.”

He turns away and I sink into the car, my body charged with wanting. As Jay slides into the driver’s seat, he puts the key in the ignition, but he doesn’t turn it. Instead he turns to look at me. “I don’t know what to do.”