“You want the truth, that’s the truth. I have many truths. That is one of them.”
I toss his boots to the ground and place my hand on his shoulder. “Well, thank you for telling me your truth,” I say earnestly.
But he doesn’t respond, and a loud snore escapes his mouth instead. Strange after everything he just did and said, I can still find him and his lips so damn kissable.
I sigh, getting into my t-shirt, and crawl into bed next to him, my back pressed against his back. “Goodnight,” I tell him, pulling the covers over both of us.
He’s fast asleep.
There’s one more day left.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lachlan
I wake up feeling like absolute arse.
My first thoughts are of regret. Not just because of how I feel but because of what I might have done. I knew being around constant company and constant wine was a dicey gamble on my behalf, but I hadn’t wanted to say no. I hadn’t wanted it to seem like something I couldn’t handle.
But she knew now. She could see it, and when I told her, she hadn’t seemed all that surprised. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. A bad thing because I couldn’t be sure how obvious I was. A good thing because she acted like she wasn’t bothered by it.
Unless she was a good actress. It was hard to tell with Kayla. Part of her wanted to wear her heart on her sleeve, but the other part was always trying to cover it up.
The sound of the patio door sliding open is like a cheese grater to my brain. I open my eyes carefully and see Kayla stepping inside with Emily on the leash.
She sees I’m awake and gives me a soft smile while closing the door.
“Good morning,” she says gently, unhooking Emily from the collar. The dog immediately jumps on the bed, licking me on the nose. I want to move my head, but it hurts too much. Shit, I can’t remember the last time I was hung over, and my body is making sure I’m up for maximum punishment.
“Hey,” I croak, wishing my voice didn’t sound so weak.
I also wish she didn’t look so bloody beautiful, the light coming through the gauzy curtains, lighting her up from behind like an angel. She walks over to me, dressed in another sundress I want to fuck her out of, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with not a trace of makeup on her glowing, fresh-scrubbed face.
Something inside me bleeds for her. It’s a nasty cut in the heart, a slow, deadly leak. It pains me to look at her knowing I’ll be leaving. That pain outweighs the one in my head. It’s no wonder I drank last night. It wasn’t just about the peer pressure. It was about relieving the pressure in my chest, the one that has been slowly building, brick by brick, all week.
I swallow, licking my lips, as she places soft, cool fingers on my cheek. I close my eyes, breathing her in, letting her touch soothe me.
“How are you feeling?” she asks. I open my eyes to see her crouched down at my level, looking at me with those warm dark eyes of hers.
Tomorrow I won’t see those eyes of hers again.
How am I feeling?
I’m not fine.
But I couldn’t quite tell her that last night, when I was drunk and trying to erase the feelings, feelings I do not know how to handle. It has been years and years since I was with a girl that I remotely cared about, and even that scared me halfway to hell. It didn’t end well for either of us. I drank myself into a rehab center and she went screaming the other way.
This, whatever it is between us, wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I should be back at my flat, packing, making phone calls to Alan, our coach, making arrangements to meet with my brother Brigs when I get off the plane. I should be getting ready to return to my old life, the one I’d put on hold for six weeks.
Instead I’m lying helplessly in bed, lost in a woman I don’t know, wishing I could know her better.
What a bloody mess.
“You don’t want to know how I’m feeling,” I tell her.
“I thought as much,” she says, kissing me on the forehead. It works like a blast to my heart.
She gets up and goes into the washroom while I struggle to sit up. I need to wake the fuck up and push past this bullshit, or my last day with her is going to go to waste. When she comes back out, she hands me a glass of water and two ibuprofen.
“Take those, drink it all,” she says, and sits down on the couch across from the bed to watch me.
I do as she says, forcing it down while she looks on in concern.
“Tell me,” she says suddenly, pointing to the lion on my arm. “About the lion.”
My head jerks back in surprise which only makes the pain pound back in response. One eye scrunches up as I wince through it. “Now?”
She folds her arms. “I had to put you to bed last night. I think I’m owed an explanation.”
I frown at her. “I’m not sure my tattoo will answer your question. What is your question?”
“The lion,” she says. “When did you get it? What does it mean?”
“Why?” I ask her carefully.
“Because you’re always looking at it.”
My eyes widen and I’m hit with a wave of self-consciousness. “I am?” Fuck, I had never noticed.
“From time to time,” she says. “You may not be seeing it for what it is, but it’s one of the many places your eyes go.”
I exhale noisily. She’d sunken into my skin, just like the tattoo. I could open another page for her. I could give her another glimpse inside. She couldn’t throw it back in my face if I was leaving. The pages would just flutter to the ground.
“All right,” I say, holding out my forearm for her to see better, for me to remember. “This is Lionel. Not my dog. My lion. I got this tattoo when I was sixteen. I’d been living with the McGregors for a while by then, but…” I pause, wondering how I can explain such a thing to someone who has never gone through it. “When you grow up in a boy’s home, when you don’t have anyone to love you, to care for you, to think of you, then you cling to whatever is lovely in the world. Lionel was my stuffed animal, given to me as a birthday present. The very same day my mother gave me away.”
I reluctantly meet her eyes, but I’m surprised not to see any pity in them. She’s involved in my words, as if she’s living it as I had. I swallow hard and continue. “Lionel was what I truly loved and the only thing that loved me back. It was soft, you know, in a place that was very hard and very cold and very black. The lion gave me hope, even when everything seemed hopeless. Through many foster families who couldn’t…handle me. And sometimes, sometimes I couldn’t handle them. Finally the McGregors took me in, but…” I lick my lips. “Sometimes the good things have a hell of a time outweighing the bad. Demons follow you everywhere. All the time.” I tap the back of my head. “Mine are here, and they are dark and they are always looking for the weakness in me.”
You’re my weakness. You’ll bring them out again.
I close my eyes to those thoughts, pinching them together tight.
Kayla lays her hand on my arm, and I open them, taking in a deep breath.
“You don’t have to say any more,” she says. “I get it.”
I shake my head. “Nah. Nah, you don’t, and I’m glad you don’t.” I exhale sharply. “So, Lionel the Lion reminds me that there is good in the world. There’s always something worth holding on to. It’s just another word for hope, you know?”
She nods slowly. “I know.” She looks away briefly, her eyes awash with sadness. “Shit. Lachlan, you’re breaking my heart.”
I sit up straighter and put my hand on her chest. “No. There’s no breaking this thing.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, mouth twisted into a smile. “Let’s hope.”
Our eyes lock, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning in, pressing her soft lips to mine, letting the feel of her, the taste of her, wash away the grime.
We kiss for a long time, a slow, lazy, desperate meeting of the mouths, and I find everything in my body stiffens, hot and tense.