The Path We Take (Young Love Book 2)

by Kylie Key

  "You don't live with him," I joked. “That was just an act. He's really very bossy and old fashioned and strict. Incredibly strict."

  "He didn't seem strict," Malachi said, and he raised his hand, my heart skipping a beat as I clasped it.

  "He won't let me drive at night. He texts me when I'm at parties. He always wants to know who I'm with."

  Malachi chuckled. "Is that why he came by? To check who you were with?"

  "Oh no," I said, worried he was going to get the wrong idea, that he would think Dad was in fact scrutinizing him. "Though it did sound like an interrogation,” I said, with a wink.

  Malachi's hand moved up my arm, stroking my skin, making me inhale loudly. "Thank you Dominique. You're so sweet."

  It was a compliment, I know, but I couldn't help but feel that sweet was a word used by a friend, a big brother. Something Damon would say. Something Damon did say when I was dressed in my cut offs and bikini top, with my hair in a French braid at his pool party before graduation. His friend Braeden had said the same thing. Maybe that's all I was. Sweet. Maybe that's how Malachi saw me, like a kid sister.

  I didn't want to be sweet.

  "Thanks," I said, trying not to sound deflated. "I probably should let you rest." I looked over towards the door, surprised to see Dad and Jill still talking. I wondered if he was waiting for me.

  "I haven't had my story yet," Malachi said.

  "Oh, okay," I said, pulling from his grip. Maybe I was just a volunteer visitor to him, because having someone talk and read books was better than staring at the ceiling or watching daytime television. "I've got Benji Bear Goes Swimming."

  I CALLED LUCY TO SEE if we could meet up before she flew off to gymnastics camp. It was Mom who made me. I would have been happy talking to her by phone, but Mom insisted I be more supportive and told me to stop sulking.

  She was right; I was sulking. I didn't want to hear how Lucy's training was going, or what the upcoming camp was going to focus on, or who would be there. I didn't want to be reminded that I wasn't going.

  It turned out that Lucy was extremely nervous about camp and that surprised me.

  "We were supposed to be going together," Lucy said. "But without you Domi, I'm terrified."

  "But you'll be fine," I said, "you'll be a star."

  "But it won't be the same without you. We were supposed to be in this together."

  I nodded. I had wanted that camp more than anything, worked hard to earn my place there. Sure, I was devastated by it, but now I was devastated that Lucy felt so uncertain about going. That I hadn't been the friend I should have been.

  "I want daily reports," I said, "I want to know everything."

  "I will," Lucy said, "but you need to promise to get well soon. I need you next season at sectionals. Get that surgery done."

  I nodded enthusiastically. More than anything I wanted to be fit and healthy, but surgery wasn't scheduled for another four weeks. Full knee reconstruction was going to be necessary and this involved a graft from my hamstring. It was going to require a long rehab, between 4-6 months and there was no guarantee I'd ever regain my original form. But surgery was my best shot. I'd read stories of athletes who had returned to their sports as good as new.

  "If I don't get a gymnastics scholarship, I'll probably get one for cycling," I told her. That was an indication of how many hours I'd spent training on the bike.

  And that's exactly what I was doing, music on loud, phone in hand as I pedaled and scrolled through my social media accounts. Ainsley was in Rome, Trieste was lounging around the pool at her father’s condo, Selina was at a cafe drinking a vanilla latte, Ella was in her kitchen baking brownies. The clock said I'd done forty five minutes but I'd barely put in any effort, my legs turning the pedals too easily. It had been too hot to go hard and my mind was already preparing for my visit to Malachi. I was going to wear my new dress today, one I'd bought from the surf shop. It was pale blue and it had buttons and lace, and I hoped Malachi was going to like it.

  Dad burst in waving his phone in his hand. He picked up the speaker and attempted to turn down the volume, but of course he turned it up to ear blasting level before finally silencing it. I rolled my eyes at him. He shook his head and waved his phone again.

  "That was the hospital," he said. "You're booked in for surgery tomorrow morning."

  "Whaaaat? No way!" I slowed my pedaling.

  "There's been a cancellation. You need to be there at nine tomorrow morning."

  "Really?" I stopped my pedaling all together.

  “Yes." Dad looked as thrilled as I was feeling, and he proceeded to give me pre-surgery instructions. I heard him say I had to stop eating from nine tonight, but my mind had already lost focus. All I wanted was to tell Malachi. He'd be so pleased for me. Secondly, I thought I should tell Cassian. He'd likely be pleased too.

  I thought that by the time I did my pre-admission and blood tests, I’d be able to visit Malachi, but there were no delays and when I finished I had an hour to kill before I could see him. He'd probably still be having his bandages done, so I thought I'd go to the cafeteria and have a bite to eat. But as I stood in the crowded elevator, it stopped at the burns unit floor. Someone behind me pushed their way forward and impulsively, I followed. It wouldn't hurt to check and see if he'd finished early today, and if he hadn’t, I would go with my original plan.

  No one was at the reception desk, so I went to Malachi's window, expecting to see an empty room. Not only was he in it, but so were four other people. The smile vanished from my face as I scanned the situation. A girl with blonde and pink hair sitting on the bed, in a short skirt with a black leather jacket across her lap, a girl with long, platinum blonde hair, wearing denim shorts with tattoos down her thigh, a boy in a beanie with tattooed arms and a boy in a cap, with a beard behind the face mask, also with tattoos.

  And all of them laughing.

  Malachi included.

  I was too stunned to think, to even breathe, and I could only stare.

  And then Benji Bear flew through the air, the boy in the beanie tossing him to the girl with the tattooed thigh. Benji was a seven dollar teddy bear I'd bought at the mall. He wore a blue and white striped jacket and cap, and he was the perfect representation of Benji from the books. Malachi had instantly loved him, but now the girl was tossing him through the air. The boy in the cap moved to the end wall, just under the television and Malachi threw Benji to him. Threw him hard. The boy caught Benji in his fingertips and threw him back to Malachi. Malachi reached his right arm out, but his timing was wrong and Benji skimmed past him, landing on the floor. The girl with pink hair kicked Benji toward the boy in the cap.

  The laughter continued.

  I turned. There was still nobody at reception. I limped as fast as I could to the elevator, my heart beat so manic, like a drum machine in my chest. I slunk to the back of the elevator, wanting to disappear.

  I limped in a walk/run all the way out to the parking lot, berating myself for my foolishness.

  For thinking I was the center of his universe.

  For believing that I was his reason for waking up every morning, that I was the sunshine in his world of pain and suffering.

  That I was the only one who could make him smile.

  How wrong I'd been, how delusional. How I thought my flowers, the books, his name sign, a teddy bear had made a difference. How he'd fooled me with his gratitude, Thanks Dominique, that's great, that's so kind.

  Just words, meaningless. And that's probably all I was, meaningless, a distraction from the hours of lying helpless on a hospital bed. Wow, any company would be appreciated. He'd be just as grateful for a talking parrot.

  And love? How had I ever thought I loved him?

  I had no idea what love was.

  I reached my car, my knee aching as I eased myself into the driver's seat. My chest was tight, air unable to get in or out. My quivering hands fumbled with the seat belt.

  I checked my phone, there were texts from Magdala a
nd Grandad wishing me well for my surgery. It was typical of Dad to have informed everyone. I stared at my screen, my breathing getting louder as I tried to suck in more oxygen. And a heaviness came to my heart, as tears trickled down my cheeks.

  I was stupid, a silly little girl, with a silly little crush on a boy who was too old, too rough, too mature for me. I was supposed to be a volunteer visitor, but I'd made a fool of myself, flirting, thinking he needed me, thinking I was in love with him, thinking that he might love me back.

  And a horrible realization dawned on me: I was a loser, no good at relationships, a lousy kisser, a dreamer with a bad knee, a has-been gymnast living in a fantasy world.

  SPIDER

  Be grateful.

  That's what my Grandpa taught me.

  Be grateful you have a roof over your head and a place to sleep.

  Be grateful you have one black eye, and not two.

  Be grateful your ribs are bruised, not broken.

  So I'm grateful...

  that only half of me got burnt

  CHAPTER 7

  The days after the surgery were a bit of a blur. I'd come home from the hospital that same day, but the effects of the anesthetic meant all I wanted to do was sleep. The next day I'd settled myself on the living room couch, my swollen knee elevated, Dad becoming my personal slave delivering cold drinks and snacks on demand. The novelty wore off by the afternoon, but I knew that until the swelling went down, I was pretty much confined to bed rest.

  I had plenty of visitors dropping by, Grandad, Magdala and her boys, Aunt Kate, Paola and Selina, who was about to go on a cruise. Ella was away camping, Ainsley was in Europe, Trieste in Florida and Lucy was at gym camp. I tried to keep Malachi to the back of my mind, tried not to think about those beautiful, sexy girls in his room, and instead focused on getting myself ready for gymnastics.

  Because of my surgery the plans for Washington DC had to be changed. Whereas originally it was going to be a trip for Mom and me, it was decided to make it a week long holiday for all four of us. With Damon about to leave for college in the fall, Mom and Dad thought it would be nice to share this last vacation together. They made it sound like Damon was leaving the planet and never coming back again. When he would only be a six hour drive away.

  They also thought we should spend a few days in New York, so Mom went online and did a full tourist itinerary for us, putting us on a military-like schedule. We'd been to New York once before, when I'd been five or six years old, so I didn't remember much. She wanted to make the most of our time, so the Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, Empire State Building, and the Metropolitan Museum were all on the list. Mom said life couldn't only be about roller coasters and water parks, that we needed a little culture in our lives. However, after one day of battling crowds and tourists and my knee not liking all the walking, we agreed to chill in Central Park and wander at a more leisurely pace.

  In Washington Mom had plans to see Lincoln's Memorial, the National Gallery of Art and the Smithsonian, which thrilled Dad, but Damon and I had the attitude, "Seen one museum, seen them all." Damon had already planned to watch some tennis at a major tournament with top players, and I was happy to keep him company. Because of Cassian's passion for tennis, we'd all learnt to play and while I'd been quite good when I was younger, I only played for fun now. Daniela, at age six, was already showing promise in the sport.

  Even though Damon and I had grown our own identities as we'd gotten older — we had our own separate interests, sports and friends — we were still close, bonded by being Dad's "Second Family" as we called it, with Cassian and Magdala jokingly calling themselves "The First Family."

  My Dad had only been seventeen when Cassian was born. Cassian's mother had been in a car accident when she was seven months pregnant. She had been kept on life support until it had been safe for Cassian to be born. Then Dad met Martha, and they had Magdala, but their relationship didn't last. Dad ended up raising Cassian and Magdala on his own.

  He met and married my Mom eight years later.

  Damon's senior year meant he'd been engrossed in a bunch of activities, and during competition season my gymnastics had increased to twenty five hours training a week, so we had fallen apart a little. Damon, surprisingly seemed intent on catching up with everything in my life. And not just on a superficial level.

  He probed about my relationship with Taylor Jensen. I was blatantly truthful. "It was the worst. I hated kissing him. I must be a loser."

  Damon laughed. "If you think you are, it's probably true."

  I sneered at him. "Yes, of course it is. Why else would I be on vacation in Washington DC, sharing a hotel room with my brother? Only a loser would do that.”

  Damon's laugh rang out loudly. "He's a jerk anyway," he said. “You're better off without him."

  “Oh, now you tell me," I scoffed. "You could have told me before I went on a date with him."

  "Sometimes you need to have your heart broken," Damon said, suddenly sounding mature and philosophical.

  "Really? Have you had your heart broken?" Damon had dated a girl called Lauren on and off throughout his high school years. At the moment I had no clue if it was on or off.

  "Maybe," he said, promptly changing the subject. "What's going on with Ainsley?"

  "What do you mean? She's my bestie," I said, but my voice had little conviction.

  "Ainsley is turning into an airhead.”

  "No she isn't," I defended vehemently, my best friend after all.

  "Yes she is Dom. She's changed," Damon stated matter-of-factly. "She only cares about boys and clothes and internet fame. You know it."

  I pouted, not wanting to concede that Damon might be right. We never had discussions about reducing plastic bag usage or dolphins in captivity anymore. She talked about YouTube channels or the latest tv reality shows.

  "And you," Damon continued, "only care about your gymnastics scholarship, your reconstructed knee and," he paused, making me look at him anxiously, "and apparently a burnt boy."

  I gasped in astonishment. "What? What? That's not true."

  “Really?"

  “No. I mean yes," I fumbled my words. “Yes, that's not true."

  Damon chuckled in a way that made him seem older and much more knowing than me. "You do know that Cash talks to me, don't you?"

  I frowned, trying to process this. We were a close family, I knew that. There were no secrets. I could just imagine the two of them playing tennis, gossiping on the end change. I wasn't sure how I could get around this. "But, but doctor patient confidentiality," I spluttered, "isn't that a thing?"

  Damon drawled, "Next you'll tell me he's a just a volunteer project."

  "He is. He is exactly that! Mom says I need it for college applications!"

  Damon smiled, clearly amused by my outburst and I felt sad that soon he'd be moving on. I would miss him. I also realized that I missed Malachi. I missed Malachi a lot.

  "He was a good summer project," I said, with a false bravado, "but I'm going to have to do heaps of work to get my knee right. It was an eye opener to see someone so badly injured, but Cash will probably get him another volunteer when I go back to school."

  Damon arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I got the impression you were quite..."

  I butted in, going off on another tangent. "Did I tell you Mom suggested I go to med school? She thinks I should be a doctor. Can you imagine? Me? A doctor!"

  Fortunately for me, he took the bait. "Well, you do all the sciences don't you? No reason you couldn't."

  I was flabbergasted that he thought it was possible. My grades had never been as good as his, and I couldn't imagine eight years of study. But the main thing was the subject was off of Malachi.

  "Are you sure about Computer Science. Like, that’s what you definitely want to do?"

  Damon said he was 90% sure, but he was open to options. He was thinking of doing a psychology paper and was also interested in doing a paper in musicianship. I gulped; I had no idea he had any musical talent.
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  The important thing was that we weren't talking about me and my issues. It was good that we could discuss somewhat serious topics, and then ridicule Mom and Dad for every decision they'd made on this trip. Especially Mom's idea that we get tickets to a Russian ballet. Luckily for us it was sold out. Or Mom's suggestion that every morning we could go for a brisk three mile walk after the buffet breakfast. I’d pointed at my knee, and she’d scowled as if I was deliberately sabotaging her plans. She’d found her willpower had deserted her and was terrified of gaining a few pounds. Dad told her to ease up on herself, this was a vacation, she could pig out for a week and then go back to her kale and celery diet.

  Strangely, she was not amused.

  I was almost disappointed when we flew back home. It wasn't just that summer was ending, or that Damon would be leaving, or that I had a mountain of rehab to do, or that senior year awaited me, it was also knowing that there was something I had to face up to, something I had to address.

  It had been three weeks since I'd seen Malachi. Or more correctly, three weeks since I'd seen Malachi and his friends abusing Benji Bear. At the very least I should offer him best wishes for his future and say goodbye, to Jill and Angie and Rosa too. I'd hand all story telling duties to Mrs Marshall and hopefully get my résumé updated.

  After all, that was the real reason I had agreed to get involved.

  CHAPTER 8

  Cassian visited as soon as we returned from our vacation, bringing Daniela with him. They wanted to see photos of the tennis players we'd watched. Daniela checked to make sure Nonna wasn't around and then presented me with a box of sweet treats, chocolates and truffles. She proceeded to divide them onto plates for me, her, Damon, Dad and Cassian, as if we were having a tea party. She took an extraordinarily long time in deciding who got which and I could see that she was giving her father the best ones.

  "Hey," I said, "I like the caramel one."

  "It's Daddy's favorite," she said, placing it on his plate.