“Tony was my brother-in-law.”
His voice is low, measured, controlled. He’s keeping it that way, and it takes some effort. My head spins. Tony, who was killed in the same explosion that left him with those horrific burns.
“I introduced him to Sara, they hit it off. They got married within the year.” He takes a deep breath, wincing as if it causes him physical pain. “And now she’s a widow, bringing up Danielle by herself.”
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes glaze over and he stares blankly somewhere over my right shoulder. I’m not the only one who zones out occasionally. I let him go, because sometimes you need time to compose yourself. I hold his hand, because sometimes you just need to know that when you’re ready to come back, there’s someone there, waiting for you. I don’t speak, because sometimes there just aren’t words.
We stay up till the wee hours, talking. Luke is much, much more than I’d imagined he would be. He draws things out of me that I never thought I’d ever tell another living soul, especially one I’d only known for a matter of weeks. There is laughter, and a few tears, mostly from me. He’s still holding back, and I can’t blame him for that. It hurts, dredging these things up. It’s not something you do willingly. Besides, we have time on our side. The world will wait. For now, it’s just us. We make the rules.
It’s my idea for him to stay over. We’re both so tired, we’re almost falling asleep in our chairs, and they’re not built for sleeping in.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, squeezing his hand. “It’s kinda crazy.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he smiles. “But I’d need to know what the question is first.”
“Will you stay here tonight, with me?”
His smile fades, and he studies me, assessing the situation in a heartbeat.
“If that’s what you want,” he says earnestly. “But only if I can sleep on your couch.”
I don’t want him on the couch. I want him beside me, in my bed. I want to feel his body next to mine, warm and strong. I want him to keep the demons away, just for tonight. I’m not ready to say goodbye to him yet.
“That couch is half your size,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “There’s a spare bed –”
“No, the couch is fine.”
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and I lower my head so he can’t see, nodding to hide my embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, as if he’s the one who’s embarrassed. “I just can’t.”
“We could sleep under the stars again? On a blanket, like the last time?”
I’m desperate, and I hate myself for it, but I’m just not ready to be separated from him yet, not after everything that’s happened tonight. The old wounds have been opened up again, and I know they’re not going to close up on their own. It feels like I’ve taken two steps forward, only to take three steps back.
He lays his hand over my hair, gently squeezing the back of my neck.
“I just don’t trust myself to be so close to you right now,” he says gently. “We’re taking it slow, remember? The couch is safer, honestly.”
He means it, and I can hear it in his voice, the same gravitational pull I’m feeling. It softens the blow, and I look up at him.
“Okay.”
He nods, as if that settles it, and we let go of each other. I stand up, stretching. It feels as if we’ve been here for days, not hours. Geezer has long since abandoned us, sleeping on the deck by the door. Luke follows my lead, yawning and stretching. It makes him look young, and vulnerable, and I have to stop myself from just stepping straight into his arms. I just want to hold him, and for him to hold me.
“What?” he asks blearily.
I shake my head.
“Nothing.”
“You had this weird look on your face.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did.”
I roll my eyes and start to walk away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back into his arms. Looking up at him, I remind myself that he’s a virtual stranger and we’re taking it slow.
“I just want you to know that I’m here,” he says. “If you need me, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’s looking at me with such intensity that I can barely remember my own name. I recall the first time we met, and how the feeling was so similar to this. Was that a sign? Is this? God, I’m so over signs. I just don’t know anything anymore.
I want to say ‘what if I don’t need you?’ but I don’t bother. It’s a lie and I think we both know that now. I have no idea when it happened, or why, but I do need him. The question is, do I need him for the right reasons? Is he filling the hole left by James and Kieran, or is this something else? It’s impossible to tell, and I feel wholly unqualified to make that decision. I feel like I’m floating above myself, looking down on us, and I’m watching and waiting for something to happen.
Then something does. He reaches up and gently touches his thumb to my chin, his eyes delving into my soul. They shine out from his face, lit from within by something I recognised a long time ago as desire.
I hold my breath, because I can’t breathe properly when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s squeezing my insides and everything goes haywire. Then his lips are on mine and I close my eyes, surrendering to him. He’s so much taller than I am, he surrounds me when we kiss, and I can barely tell where I end and he begins. When he releases me, my head is spinning.
“We should get some sleep,” he says huskily, his eyes still holding me even if his arms are not.
I try to draw myself up straight, hiding the fact that my knees are weak and my heart is racing.
“Yeah. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
I back away slowly, afraid to take my eyes off him in case he disappears. Then he smiles at me, because he knows. Of course he does. I smile back, my cheeks hot.
“G’night,” I say.
“Night.”
And then I make myself turn away and walk through into my bedroom. I stand there for a moment, wondering whether to close the door or not. It feels rude, locking him out when I’ve asked him to stay, but I need to get ready for bed. So I compromise, pushing the door shut but not latching it, then quickly change into a t-shirt and pyjama shorts. I sit on my bed, listening to him in the living room as he talks quietly under his breath to Geezer. The couch creaks gently, and I can hear him fluffing pillows. There’s one of Nanna’s knitted rugs on the back of the couch if he needs it, so I know he’ll probably be okay. I creep across the floor and turn off the light, then pull the door open just a bit. It’s ridiculous, but it makes me feel closer to him. Climbing into bed, I hunker down beneath the sky-coloured cotton sheet and wait for sleep to come.
***
“Mumma!”
Kieran’s cry pierces my dreams, razor sharp. I bolt upright, listening for him. My heart races. He cries, sobs his little heart out, and it rips me apart.
“Kieran?” I call, throwing off the sheet and climbing out of bed. “Where are you baby? Mumma’s coming!”
His cries echo through the cottage, but standing in the middle of my bedroom, I can’t tell where they’re coming from. My pounding heart forces my ribs to expand with every beat, as the sobbing continues. Where the hell is he? As his cries get louder, I feel the panic blooming inside me. I need to find him. He needs me to find him.
“Kieran!”
I race through the cottage, checking each of the small rooms. He’s nowhere, but he’s everywhere because I can hear him, I just can’t find him.
“Sian, stop.”
Luke’s voice. Luke’s arms around me. I look up at him, but it’s like I’m looking through a thick fog.
“Kieran,” I say urgently. “Can’t you hear him? I can’t find him.”
He pulls me close, but I struggle against him, trying to push him away. I don’t have time for this. Kieran needs me.
“Sian, stop,” he says again, holding me tight. “It’s just a dream. It’s only a dream.”
I push him away, my heart exploding. What’s he talking about?
Then it happens. The crying dies away. Reality seeps in through the cracks in my brain, peeking under the door, before flooding me with light so bright that I cringe, shying away from it.
“What?” I whimper, drawing in on myself.
But it’s too late. I already know he’s right.
“It’s just a dream.”
He pulls me close, and I can’t stop the trembling that takes my entire body hostage. He holds me up – literally – as I struggle to deal with the fresh wave of grief that threatens to suck me under.
“Sit with me,” he whispers, pulling me gently down onto the couch beside him, his arms still around me.
I try to stop the whimpering from becoming a full-blown sob, but it’s impossible. It’s like holding back a waterfall with your finger. It rushes in on me, pulling me under, making it difficult to breathe. I feel like I’m drowning, gasping for breath between sobs that tear me apart, piece by ragged piece.
He doesn’t say anything. He just holds me in his arms, his chin resting on top of my head, keeping my broken pieces together by sheer physical exertion. All I can do is sit there until finally, I can wrap my arms around him in return. It takes every last ounce of strength I have.
Eventually, the tears dry up and somehow, that’s worse. How can I run out of tears for my baby boy? What kind of mother am I?
Luke eases us both up off the couch, whispering something that I don’t hear because of the guilt that races through my bloodstream like a drug, feeding off itself, hollowing me out. He urges me into bed, climbing in beside me, and we lean back against the pillows. He wraps himself around me, his long arms pulling me close as I curl into his side, seeking his warmth, his comfort, pulling my knees up and resting them on his thighs. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to ever move from this spot.
I fall asleep eventually, dreams eluding me this time. For that, I’m grateful. I don’t want to dream anymore. My heart can handle it no more than my brain can. Both are full of holes, leaking memories. I’m bursting at the seams and the only thing keeping me together at this moment is Luke, wrapping himself around me, holding me tight.
***
When I wake, I notice three things, almost simultaneously.
It’s still dark.
My throat hurts.
I’m alone.
The bed feels empty again and my soul shudders. It felt so full last night, with Luke here beside me. Now I’m alone again and it feels worse than before. I sit up, my body aching from being curled up beside him all night. I don’t remember him leaving. I glance around the room, reacquainting myself.
That’s when I see him.
He’s lying on the floor, near the door, which is still open because last night we had more on our minds than whether or not to keep the door open. He’s on his side, his head resting on his arm, which is curled under his head. At first, I’m confused, but then the memory comes back to me through the fog.
“I can’t sleep in a bed. I’ve tried, but I can’t. I always wake up on the floor.”
Curled up on my bedroom floor, he doesn’t look like the rock he was to me last night. He looks smaller, somehow. The air of vulnerability that I rarely see surrounding him is suddenly neon. He battles demons just like I do, only he does it silently.
I’m not the only one who needs a willing ear and a warm body to curl up beside. I’m not the only one who’s living with ghosts.
I’m in the kitchen when Luke wakes up. I tried to be quiet about it, but I’m guessing it was the flushing toilet that woke him.
“Morning,” he says, standing there bleary-eyed, while I try to make coffee without making noise.
“Morning.”
I’m not sure exactly why I’m nervous, but I am. I’m also embarrassed. He bore witness to my madness last night. I should feel indebted to him, but in reality it’s more complex than that. It’s not the first time he’s seen me unhinged. It is, however, the first time I’ve seen him sleep on the floor beside my bed. I don’t know how to talk to him about that. I don’t know what he needs from me. So I turn my back on him, pulling my cotton dressing gown closer around me and tying it tightly around my waist as I concentrate on making coffee, for both of us.
His hands on my shoulders still me and I can feel my heart pounding beneath my t-shirt. Can he feel it? It feels like it’s reverberating through my whole body.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I’m conscious of him towering over me from behind.
“Why are you apologising?”
I feel his sigh through his hands.
“Because I wanted you to feel safe. I know you wanted to wake up beside me.”
He thinks he’s let me down. How can he think that? If anything, it’s me who should apologise. I was the one who wanted him to stay. I had no idea it would mean giving him a front-row seat to my crazy circus. I turn around to face him, my throat burning with the effort it takes to hold back all of this from him.
“You don’t need to apologise – for anything,” I say, finding his eyes and holding them with my own.
I settle my hands on his hips, a stance that’s both familiar and intimate, only not with him. My eyes sting with unshed tears.
“Thank you for last night,” I whisper. “I know it’s not easy… I’m not easy. I know that, believe me.”
He doesn’t speak, but I can see by his expression that he knows what I’m trying so hard to say. He pulls me close and I let him. He smooths my hair gently, and once again I get the feeling he’s holding me together. I just wish I could do the same for him.
“If you’re making coffee, I’ll have some.”
I pull away, looking up at him with a half-hearted smile. I didn’t cry. I won’t cry. What I will do is make us coffee.
“In your special mug?” I ask, as he lets me go.
“Is there any other way?”
He leans down to kiss me gently on the forehead, smoothing my bed hair down one last time.
“I’m going to take Geezer for a quick walk, okay?” he says, backing away slowly.
I nod, watching as he turns to go into the living room. Then he pauses, turning back to me with a solemn expression.
“And for the record, I don’t think either of us is
easy
, as you delightfully put it. But I’m thinking that’s probably part of our collective charm. Right?”