“You said before that she was sick,” he says, putting his hand behind my neck and rubbing his thumb against my skin. “What’s wrong with her?”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m not really sure.” I lick my lips, trying to remember. “It started after my father died. She was a wreck for a long time. We all were. She was severely depressed, and I guess all that pain inside started making its way outside. Some doctors say its chronic fatigue syndrome, others say it’s still depression and anxiety. She doesn’t sleep well and her blood pressure is always through the roof. Her muscles ache all the time. I don’t know what to think. But it’s been going on for years.”
And her shaking hands, well I hope that’s just because she was overexcited about Lachlan and me being there.
“Do you have good doctors here in America?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. Well, yeah. If you can pay for them. She never worked, so she doesn’t have benefits that a lot of people her age would. But my brothers and I, we pay for it. We try and get the best for her, a whole bunch of different opinions. Honestly,” I say, eyeing him briefly. “I think she’s still suffering from a broken heart.”
He gives me a tight smile. “There are big risks to falling in love.”
I nod and look back to the road. “Big risks.”
When we get back to his apartment, Lachlan invites me up. I hesitate. I want to go, I want to be with him every way I can. But there’s something heavy on my chest, and if I sleep with him tonight, I feel it will get even worse. I need to be alone to process it. I need to build back my strength by myself. For such a strong man, he only makes me weaker.
That night, alone in bed, I stare at the empty pillow beside me and wonder what it would be like to always have someone there.
Then I wonder what it would be like to never have someone there again.
How far can you fall for someone until you have to call it love?
I hope I never find out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kayla
At work on Friday, the time passes by like molasses. I stare at the clock on my computer monitor, counting down the minutes, the seconds, until I can go home, get my bags, get Lachlan, and head to Napa.
But when the proverbial whistle blows and I’m all ready and waiting outside his apartment, whatever excitement I had all day has been replaced by acute fear. This is the last time I’ll be here, picking him up. After Sunday, he’s gone.
Even though I didn’t sleep with him after my mother’s on Wednesday night, yesterday was a different story. I went right over to his apartment after work, strode inside, and fucked his brains out. In his bedroom, of course, away from the judgemental eyes of Emily. Whatever strange melancholy that had gripped me at my mother’s house wasn’t present. I lost myself to his body in every way that I could, literally screwing him sideways until two in the morning, when I finally pried myself away and went back home to sleep.
But now, now that I’m waiting for him, now that we’re about to embark on our last few days together, that melancholy is back, humming in my soul like a tune you can’t forget.
It gets a little better though, as things often do, when I finally see Lachlan.
He takes hulking strides toward the car, duffle bag on one shoulder, pet crate in hand. He’s wearing his hiking boots, blue jeans with rips in them, a white t-shirt that perfectly showcases those traps, those shoulders, the swirl of tattoos down his arms. My breath hitches, my legs clench, the heat inside burns and burns. His effect on me will never be duplicated.
He opens the back door and puts the crate inside. I look behind me at Emily. Her scruffy little face is at the gate. I’m prepared for her to growl or at least show some teeth, but she just eyes me for a moment before her gaze goes back to Lachlan. It’s obvious the dog adores him; she can barely look away. I wonder if that’s how I appear.