Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,93

the part that brought bile to his throat no matter how many years passed—the feel of his brother’s nose breaking beneath his fist, bone and cartilage crunching, blood spilling out.

He’d thrown up right after. And when it was all over, his dad had made him clean up the vomit.

Samir cleared his throat, pushing past the regret that clogged it. “Well, the second I did it, it was like a spell broke or something. I realised straight away—of course it wasn’t Hassan. Of course he wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t fuck me over just to protect himself. It couldn’t be him. That’s when I realised it was my mother.” He laughed, but the sound was forced. “You know how she was. My parents liked to fuck with each other’s heads. Ma liked to fuck with ours. To try and turn us against each other. One minute you’re looking for someone’s lost keys, the next she’s convinced you that you ate the fucking keys and now you’re losing your mind. I don’t know why I fell for it, even for a second. Usually when she pulled stuff like that, I just kept my mouth shut and took the punishment but…”

But it’d been a week since Laura and her family had left, since her holiday had ended, and she’d disappeared from his life beyond snatched phone conversations. So he hadn’t been thinking straight, and he’d wanted to argue, wanted to fight.

Just like his parents.

“When I realised it was her, I… lost it. I started screaming, throwing shit at her, throwing shit at Dad, and I told them they were both crazy bastards and I was reporting them to fucking Childline or something.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. I was pissed. They were pissed too, I guess. What’d they tell you, when you called?”

“They… they said you’d gone to boarding school,” Laura murmured. “They told me not to call. Because you weren’t coming back.”

“I suppose that’s right, really. I went to a boarding school for kids with behavioural and emotional issues, to deal with my ‘explosive anger problem’.” He rolled his eyes. “It… it wasn’t fun. I heard those schools are a hell of a lot better now, but then… it wasn’t fun.” He shrugged. “They didn’t send Hassan, either. They separated us. That part was almost easier, though, because I didn’t have to worry about him anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about me. We could survive on our own.”

He wasn’t surprised at her silence. It was probably a lot to take in. But he was surprised that, when she finally spoke, it was to ask, “So who broke your nose?”

“Hassan,” he said. “Hassan did it.”

“And you let him, didn’t you?”

“Well… yeah. I broke his.”

Out of nowhere, he felt the brush of her hand over his in the dark. The first time she’d touched him since they’d met again. It shot through him with the force of a tidal wave.

She laced her fingers through his, slowly, methodically, as if it was important that they do this completely and successfully. Once she had him, their palms locked together, that single point of contact anchoring him, she lapsed into silence again.

And he was content.

6

“You okay locking up?”

“Stop asking.” Max rolled his eyes, slicing mushrooms without even looking. The sight would never not worry Samir. He had very few friends, and the last thing he wanted was for one of them to chop their own finger off.

But if Max hadn’t dismembered himself yet, he probably never would.

“Cool.” Samir put the keys beside Max’s chopping board and clapped him gently on the back. Wouldn’t want to nudge that rapidly-slicing knife. He had plans that didn’t include taking Max to A&E, and he’d hate to leave his best mate bleeding tragically all over the kitchen. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Max said, his voice far too innocent. “Good luck.”

Samir scowled. “What? I—why are you wishing me—wait, no, never mind. Doesn’t matter. You’re just trying to wind me up.”

Max’s answering laughter followed him out of the kitchen.

It had been almost four weeks since Laura had arrived in Beesley. Three weeks since he’d started taking his lunch break at her table—which was categorically not a date, since he was at work and she was just his friend. His friend whose presence, whose smile, whose growing trust in him, felt as fresh and untouchable as sea foam.

Platonic sea foam, obviously. As opposed to adoring, lustful sea foam, which Samir knew absolutely nothing about.

Two weeks since he’d offered to drive