Cornered

Chapter 3-2

RAIN MADE IT HARDER to see the road, as it splashed against the visor of my helmet. Like the country was being punished for some misdeed, the downpour had started up again while I’d taken my shower. The dull headache that’d taken up permanent residency inside my head didn’t help matters either. Nor the almost empty tank of my bike, adding to my already low mood.

The trouble with building work was the law stating we couldn’t begin making noise before certain hours. Meant we got stuck with the main run of morning traffic. Even though I’d left the house before everyone else, it still caught me. Luckily, my bike could squeeze through spaces cars couldn’t, and on reaching a queue six-deep into the petrol station, I just weaved a line around the lot of them, between a couple of cars at the rear pumps, and straight next to a newly vacated pump at the front.

Not even bothering to look at what glares I’d earned, I slid off my helmet, hooked it over my handlebars, and climbed from the bike.

The overhanging roof kept the rain from me as I unlocked the tank and detached the fuel nozzle from the pump. Keeping one eye on the gushing petrol as I filled up, I glanced about the forecourt, taking stock of the cars at the four pumps visible from my angle, an additional one over near a hole-in-the-wall cash machine. Some guy checked the air pressure in his Subaru tyres, to the left of the main building, while a row of three vehicles filled the kerbside right in front of the shop.

As soon as the gaseous liquid neared the top, I clicked off the nozzle. After relocking the tank and collecting my helmet, I headed inside to pay.

Five others stood before me in a line to the counter, and I joined them like some kind of sheep. To my right, shelves of confectionary stretched the entire wall beneath the window, and I picked up a Bourneville. As I grabbed a second choice of a Fry’s Chocolate Cream, fingers folded over my left arm.

“My God—Josh?”

Turning back, I found a female staring up at me. Though grey streaked her temples and parting, enough blonde remained in the rest of her shoulder-length hair to identify its colour.

It wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken me for my little brother, but I didn’t know the woman before me. Inhaling didn’t stir any definite answers, either.

Giving a slight shrug, I shook my head, but she didn’t let go.

Creases I’d noticed around her eyes deepened, like she studied me a little harder. “Josh Larsen?”

Okay, she had my attention. I still didn’t know her, though, and held back any reaction as I took in her slender frame, made even more so by the pressed black trousers she wore, the pressed black shirt that matched.

When I brought my attention back up to her face, some kind of familiarity tugged at me that I couldn’t place. There was a softness to her jaw, supporting lips she held slightly parted. Her nose seemed a little too long for her face, but it was her eyes that had me stalled, and I knew they’d been where the hint of recognition had come from, even if my brain didn’t seem up to working out why.

“I’m not Josh Larsen,” I finally said, but my voice didn’t sound as sure as I’d aimed for.

She released me. “Sorry. I thought you were someone I used to know.”

I twisted to track her as she walked away. Even her walk seemed familiar—everything about her bugged the crap out of me.

When she tacked herself onto the end of the queue, I spun away and took a couple of steps toward the counter before she could catch me staring. Even still, my mind strayed back to her. To those damn eyes. The way she’d looked at me—they’d held such hope, such anticipation, yet, at the same time, a whole lot of anxiety had given a frantic edge to their hazel tones. Damn, even her voice had my head shot.

Though, neither of those bugged me as much as her calling me Josh. Not just Josh, but his full name, too. Like she knew him. Really knew him.

I thought you were someone I used to know.

I barely registered the cashier as he reminded me of my bill, nor as I handed cash over.

As soon as I had my receipt, I swung back around and marched the length of the line.

As if she’d been watching my every move, her eyes tracked each step I took, right up until I reached her.

I leaned in closer until blocking her way forward. “How do you know Josh?”

Her gaze flickered across my face. When she lifted a hand and cupped my cheek, I should’ve jerked away, but something—something deep inside—kept me rooted. In less than a second, the uncertainty in her eyes shifted over for warmth. “Danny Boy?”

With those two words, I knew.

I knew why she knew me—us. Why she seemed so familiar. Why I’d gotten so stuck on her eyes.

Because I looked at those eyes every b****y day of the week. In my memory, as I fought to cling to the reality of the most important female in the world to me. In the photographs—all we had left—that we all had dotted about the house.

In Kyle, every time I glanced at him.

“Aunt Maghon?”

She pressed a hand to her lips as she nodded, and I had no idea how to interpret the tightening around my heart. Could’ve been that she was the closest thing I’d seen to my mum in almost twelve years.

“You’re just like her,” she whispered. “God, you’re just like her.”

“Next!” came from the checkout, and she snapped a glance that way before turning back to me.

“Wait here,” she said, clinging to my arm again even as she stepped away. “Just ... don’t go anywhere, okay?”

I think I might’ve nodded, but couldn’t be sure. I just couldn’t take my eyes off the female as she covered the few steps to the counter and paid.

Mum’s sister. Mum’s older sister who I hadn’t seen in over eleven years. Since Mum’s funeral.

Aunt Maghon didn’t know 'of’ us—our origins. Mum had kept that side of our life private from her whole family. When Mum had died—killed by an outside pack—Dad’d had to concoct a believable story to keep them off his back.

He’d never told us what tale he’d made up. He’d never told us why her sister stopped talking to us, either. In no time, that estrangement had extended to her entire family—parents included. Dad said it probably made things easier for us that way. Josh and I were still teens and hadn’t even had our first change at that point—so what did we know? We just did as we were told.

It’d been so long, I’d stopped thinking about Mum’s family. I’d probably even forgotten they were about, somewhere, if I delved deep enough to be honest.

The moment Aunt Maghon pushed away from the counter and fixed those hazel eyes on me, though, it was like those memories had never gone anywhere at all.

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