Page 78 of If We Were Young

I elbowed past Matthew and smiled at the man with all my teeth. “I apologise about the confusion. It’s just this is a business trip, and that’s not entirely professional. Are you sure there is nothing that you can do; no one else can be swapped about?”

The man stared at the computer screen for a whole two seconds. “No. They are bunk beds though.”

“Oh.” I turned to Matthew and cranked my neck back to look up at him. His face had morphed into a mask of anger, with hard lines and his lips pressed into a straight line. Nothing unusual there.

For the millionth time in the last week I wondered what the hell had happened to the guy.

“Bunk beds aren’t the end of the world. It’s only a few hours, and I guess we could have dinner if you wanted?” I lifted my shoulders but then let them fall.

What I wanted to do was grab him by the lapels and ask him how things had changed so significantly in the last forty-eight hours.

“I can suffer it, I suppose.” He reached a long arm past me and snatched the tickets off the counter.

“Thanks,” I mumbled to the man.

“I’d say have a good trip, but…”

I stared after the retreating figure of the giant Scot, my stomach plummeting. “Yeah.”

My eyes were stinging by the time we found the cabin. He opened the small door and then stepped back so I could squeeze past. I refused to breathe as I brushed across his coat. It would make it hurt all the worse if I had his scent in my head too.

The cabin was like any long-distance train. White plastic walls, two fold-down bunks. A small door which must have led to a washroom the size of a wardrobe.

“I’ll take the top.” I didn’t look at him. “I’d hate for the bed to break and you crush me to death.”

He would. He was a giant. I’d be an imprint on a cheap mattress.

“Fine.”

Ignoring his eyes on me, I clambered up and then laid face first on the bed.

“What are you doing?” This was followed by a deep sigh.

“I refuse to talk or look at you anymore.” I pressed my face further into the pillow. Maybe I’d just stop breathing. I’d take that right now.

“Fine.”

Another sigh.

Then there was a creak as he must have sat on his bunk below.

Gah. The man.

I lifted my head so I could wipe at my cheeks. Bloody hot and sticky, my hair stuck to the trails of my tears.

“Fuck, are you crying?”

Not on the bunk below then.

“Please go away.”

“Ronnie?” I quivered as his hand landed on the back of my head. There was a long chance he planned to finish my suffocation project.

I held still as his fingers swept through my hair.

“I’m sorry, Ron.”

He genuinely sounded remorseful and I turned my head so I could crank an eye open and look at him. Still stood in his coat, his black hair messed up; his eyes were bright but pinched around the edges with a squeeze of concern.