“No,” she whispers breathlessly. “Lachlan…”
“Aye,” I tell her, reveling in how much stronger I feel for admitting it. “He died and I watched him die before my eyes. Me and my stray dog. We watched him die and I couldn’t do a single thing to help him. I couldn’t even help myself. I just sat there beside him, rocking back and forth, until my high wore off. Then I got up and ran. I just ran away. I don’t remember the next few days, though I’m working through them with my psychologist now, but I knew I made my choice to save my own life. I remember knocking on Jessica and Donald’s door and everything after that. It was the day I realized I only had one life and that’s when I was born all over again.”
She breathes heavily against me and the darkness creeps closer. But I feel no fear over what I’ve told her. The truth has set me free.
“Why are you telling me this?” she finally says, her voice barely audible.
“Because I know what guilt is. And I know what death is. And I’ve finally learned that you should never attach one to the other. Or it will fucking destroy you.” I kiss the top of her head. “I know you’re going to hurt for a long time and you’re going to hate yourself but please. None of this was your fault. Don’t let the guilt tell you otherwise. Grieve for your mother with all your heart but never poison that very heart with shame. There’s no room for it there. Let it go.”
She trails her fingers down my chest but doesn’t say anything.
There’s nothing more for either of us to say.
We just breathe. Our hearts beat.
We cling to this sliver of time until she falls asleep against me.
I hold her in my arms, truth setting me free.
I just hope that same truth can save her heart.
Just as her heart saved me.
***
I decide to stay around for the funeral.
Alan is not happy.
Thierry is not happy.
Edinburgh is not happy.
No one is happy with this decision. It means I’m missing a game. It means I’m in big fucking shit and that I’ve potentially screwed the team over, especially since we’re up against Leeds.
But I’m not about to leave Kayla yet. Not when she still needs me. And she needs me more than anything. I’m there by her side as she navigates funeral arrangements and her brothers and lawyers and wills. I’m there to hold her when she breaks down and she breaks down time and time again. The strain is sometimes too much for me to bear but I handle it all because she can’t.
After my confession over Charlie’s death, we don’t discuss our relationship anymore. She’s said what she needed to say. She doesn’t think she can be with me, even though she loves me, and as much as I want to shake her, to explain that I’ll be there waiting anyway, I know there is no getting through to her. Right now, there is no us. Right now she thinks there never will be. Right now I’m just the arm around her shoulder, holding her tight. She’s walking through a sea of death and the current isn’t letting go of her anytime soon.
I see Bram, Nicola, Linden and Stephanie at the funeral. It’s the only bright spot as of late, even though none of us quite feel like celebrating our reunion. I talk with Bram a bit about his development and how well it’s doing, how Justine’s father has brought in more investments from society folk. He’s forever grateful to me but I can only tell him to maybe shoot some of those investments over my way. I could sure use them for the dogs.
Saying goodbye to them is hard, especially to Bram. Saying goodbye to Kayla’s mother, as the casket is lowered into the ground, is hard.
Saying goodbye to Kayla, probably for the last time, is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.
She takes me to the airport and I’m flooded with the memory of the last time we were here. I was just about to check in, nervous as hell that she wouldn’t show up, that I’d have an empty seat beside me on the plane back home.
And then I felt her behind me, like the sun rising on your back, and I turned around to see her gorgeous face, full of hope and nerves and wonder, pulling a ridiculously bright suitcase.
I fell in love with her at that moment.
And every moment afterward.
Now, now everything has changed, even my feelings for her.
Because that was just a taste of love. What I feel now is the whole spectrum.
“Lachlan,” Kayla says to me while we stand by the security checkpoint. She reaches for my hand, grabbing it tight, her eyes on the floor. “I can’t thank you enough, you know. For everything.”
“No need to thank me,” I tell her, squeezing her hand back. “I’ll always be there for you. I hope you know that now.”
She nods. Sniffs. “I know.” When she looks up at me, her eyes are gleaming with tears. “I want to be ready. I want to be with you again. I just don’t know how.”
I give her a half-smile. “Oh, love. You know where I will be. If you ever need me, want me, you know where I will be.”
“Would you even take me then?”
I shake my head, fighting back tears. “How can you even ask that?”
I pull her into my arms, holding her with as much strength as I can. “How can you even question it?” I whisper harshly. “I love you. My heart is yours.” I pull back, knowing the tears are running down my cheeks. I grab her face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs along her skin as she stares at me with the love I know is buried deep behind her grief.
I kiss her, soft, yielding, never-ending, a kiss that says so much. More beautiful than any kiss before. I whisper against her lips, “Please come back to me. When you can, when you’re ready, if you’re ready. Please come back.”
Then I step back, unable to stand there for one minute more. She’s seen my ruin once. She doesn’t have to see it again. I grab my carry-on, turn, and go.
I wonder if she’ll stay until I’m gone.
Or if she’s already left.
I’m too afraid to look, as if that will give me any indication of our future together.
I show my boarding pass to one of the guards, then quickly look over my shoulder before I disappear behind the wall.
She’s still standing there.
Palm up.
I raise my palm in response.
And smile.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lachlan
Three months later
My phone rings as I’m walking down Queen Street, barely audible over the barrage of Christmas carols that practically scream from the stores. I fumble for it out of my leather jacket, trying to juggle that, carrying a bag of groceries, and handle Lionel, Emily and Jo as they pull eagerly at the leashes. Even with their muzzles, Lionel and Jo seem to charm the pants off of everyone they pass. Emily is still a snarling little mess, but you win some, you lose some.
“Hello?” I answer it, not really able to check who was calling. It’s hopefully one of two things: one of Britain’s biggest footy players wanting to donate to the organization, or it’s Kayla.
“Hey,” Kayla says, the sound of her voice sounding spring sweet over the air. “Catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all, just being a superhero, that’s all,” I tell her. “How are you doing? We haven’t talked since…the dawn of man, I’m guessing.”
“It was four days ago,” she says dryly. “And you know on my salary I’m not exactly rolling in the long distance money.”
“I can always call you back,” I tell her as I’ve told her a million times. But she’s stubborn. No surprise there.
“I know, but I like the air of spontaneity,” she says. “So how are things?”
“Good,” I tell her. Over the last three months since I last saw Kayla, things have been a bit challenging, a tad tumultuous, but otherwise great. Good changes are happening, anyways, and with change always comes an adjustment period.
I’ve been sober for nearly four months now. Four long, difficult, challenging months, but I’m fighting the good fight, day in and day out. The only thing I’m taking is a low-grade, non-addictive medication for my anxiety. I see my doctor once a week and because of that I don’t have to use any anti-depressants. It’s hard though, digging deep through my past and pulling up a million memories that I would have rather stayed buried. But at the same time, it’s making me more self-aware. It’s letting me accept the blame where it needs to be and to pass it off when it doesn’t. It’s helping me come to terms with the cards I’ve been dealt and why exactly I act the way I do. It’s painful but it’s fascinating and it’s worth it just to be able to manage my depression and anger without medication. Addiction starts from somewhere and you can’t ever get better until you attack the cause.