The Play

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 ru

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.

I’ve also taken up boxing. I know it’s not exactly something that flows well with rugby and I know my body doesn’t want to be under any extra strain, but boxing is something I’m naturally good at and it’s another way for me to get my aggression out. And, according to my physiotherapist, I’m still in excellent shape, maybe more so now than I was in my late twenties thanks to the absence of alcohol and the extra exercise. It might be more of a brain/body thing too, where your body responds better when your head and heart are happier, but I’m not too sure about that.

Because my heart…well, it’s happy enough. It’s beating. But it not operating at full capacity, to put it mildly. Kayla and I have been talking at least once a week and texting, emailing and messaging way more than that. But the space between us is always there. It’s not that we even have a long distance relationship because we stopped referring to ourselves as us a long time ago. After everything that happened, her mother’s death was too much for us to survive. The last time I told her I loved her was over a month ago and I got no answer. A few weeks after that, she casually mentioned that she met a guy at a bar and was going on a date. I guess she was asking me permission or something.

Obviously I wanted to be sick at the thought. It took a long time before I had the courage to talk to her again. I’m guessing nothing ever happened with the guy because she never mentioned him again and I’ve never seen anything on her social media either. I’ve even talked to Bram a few times and asked him. He said she’s been single, just trying to move on. I don’t know if that’s moving on from her mother’s death, from me, or both.

But my love for her has never wavered. Never ebbed. I might not say it anymore but only because I don’t want to make her uncomfortable if she’s clearly moved on. And the last thing I want is to rush her when she’s been through so much.