My lungs feel like they’re filling with water. All the emotions are stuck in there, fighting, fighting against the waves. But there’s no Keir to swim in after me and carry me to shore.
“I’m not…” I finally manage to get. “I’m not running away. I’m protecting myself.”
“I know,” she says softly. “That’s what you did when you left home.”
I give her a sharp look, feeling like a wounded animal.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I didn’t understand at the time why you left but as I got older I did. I knew you had to protect yourself. I didn’t want dad to hurt you too.”
I can barely swallow. “You call him dad?” I ask with disgust.
She smiles. “Yeah. Because he was my dad. Yours too. A monster in some ways, a horrible sick man. He fucked up my life, fucked up mom’s, fucked up yours. But he was still dad, you know? I still had him as a dad, even though I wished I didn’t. You can still…try and remember the good, when all you remember is the bad. Maybe that’s the most important time to do so. To hang onto those little sweet spots in your life. They don’t excuse anything.” She exhales softly. “They can just make living a bit easier when you’re not hating everything you came from.”
She sounds exactly like Keir when he was sharing his childhood memories with me, how much he hated and feared his father but was still able to look fondly on that one trip and not feel guilty for it.
Tears tickle the back of my nose, my face growing hot. I blink rapidly, not wanting to cry again.
“Jess,” Christina says. “I don’t blame you for what he did. I never once thought it was your fault. How could I? We didn’t talk about it…but all I could do was pray he never went after you too. And he didn’t. I asked mom, a lot, and I know he didn’t. You were spared and, yes, you were lucky, but I was so happy that you could stay pure. That you didn’t have to go through what I did. It wasn’t your job to protect me. It was just your job to love me. And you did.”
The lump climbs up my throat. I blink and the hot tears blur my vision. “I’m so sorry,” I tell her through a gasp. “I love you too. And I hate myself for what he did to you.”
She takes in a deep, shaking breath, her blue eyes – my mother’s eyes, my father’s eyes – are growing wet. “I know you did. I know. Because that’s who you are. You take on other people’s guilt and problems all while dealing with your own. But you’re not dealing, you’re drowning. You’re too hard on yourself. Always have been, always will be. And you know what, I’m like that too. For the longest time I didn’t know how to deal with what was done to me. But then you left. And it was just mom and me and I learned to be strong for both of us. I learned to deal with my shit. I’ve been in therapy since I was nineteen and I only stopped last year. Lee had been in therapy with me for the last two of them.”
I rub the tears away from my eyes. “How is that possible?”
She shrugs and reaches for the scotch. I hand it to her. “I didn’t think you wanted to know so I didn’t tell you. I figured you were too.”
“No. I haven’t been. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Yeah, for your leg. Which is a valid reason in its own right. But it’s not just your leg, Jess. You have a whole life behind you that you need to deal with. You need to stop pretending you’re okay, that you’re strong enough to take it all on by yourself. You need to face it head on and fix it, face it, even if it hurts.”
She pours herself a glass and then fills up mine. “And you need to call up Keir and give him your forgiveness. The man deserves it.”
I bristle at that. “I’m not mad at what he thinks he did. I’m mad that he lied.”
“But can’t you see why he lied? It wasn’t out of malice, Jess. He lied because he loves you.”
I shoot her a weak glance, my nose blocked up and numb. “Did he tell you that?”
“No. Like I said, he said you’re special. But I know special in guy speak. He’s in love with you. Hell, I knew it when he came to get your cast taken off. He wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you. Looked at you like he was going to marry you some day.”
Ouch. Ouch.
God it fucking hurts.
“He loved me out of guilt,” I tell her, the words coming out, holding all my fears.
“Is that how you love me, then?” she asks. “Out of guilt?”
“No,” I say, breathless. “Of course not.”
“Then how is it any different for him?” She gets to her feet. “I better go join Lee. If I don’t watch this damn Ab Fab marathon with him, he’s going to eat all the crisps.”
She starts off toward the door and gives me a look over her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, you know this, right? Just…let him in. Again. Sometimes you have to do something twice before it finally sticks. But just let him in.”
She closes the door behind her and I’m left with a bottle of scotch and a mountain of words.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Keir
I should call her.
I tell myself this several times a day.
I should call her, just so she knows I’m here.
But like every time before, I don’t.
I’m too afraid. And like all the fears I’ve faced before, I’m letting this one get the best of me.
I was beside myself after Jessica left. Afraid for her. I’d never seen her so angry and I know I betrayed her at the deepest level. I worried as I drove back to the hotel and found that she’d already gone (in my despair I’d accidently taken the longer route back to the hotel). Worried knowing she’d left Skye on a bus and was catching a flight. Worried even as I called Christina to find out if she’d heard from her.
I’m still worried now. Not so much over Jessica’s well-being because I know she’ll be fine now that she’s back here and she has her family. But I’m worried that I’ve damaged some large part of her that will never let her trust me again.
Which mean I’m holding out for hope.
Even when it seems futile.
The only good thing to come out of all this mess is the fact that Brick has gotten in touch with me and we’ve been texting a few times a week. He’s living in Aberdeen and I’ve made plans to come up and visit him and his wife in November. It will be nice to have someone to talk to in that respect, someone who understands, who has been there in it with me.
“So are you going to call her or what?” Lachlan asks.
We’re at the St. Vincent pub. Old habits die hard. It’s still just around the corner from me and yes I come here on Tuesdays hoping to see her. This Tuesday I brought Lachlan with me.
I actually never thought he’d step foot in this place, being a recovering alcoholic and all, but it was actually his suggestion. I got a beer, he got an alcohol-free pilsner, and we got a seat in the corner, facing away from everyone else.
He told me that he’s got to learn to be around drinkers at some point. He’s been off the stuff for a year now and though he struggles every day, he’s got to face it head on.
Somehow, every time my cousin talks to me I can’t help but think it’s a metaphor for something in my life. Maybe we’re just that much alike.
We were talking about tattoos and that he wanted to get a pin-up girl version of Kayla on the back of his calf. It made me think about Jessica, how much I’ve entertained the idea of a Sailor Jerry-style mermaid on my arm.
“I’m not a stalker,” I tell him, explaining why I’m not going to call her. I clear my throat. “Well, not anymore.”
He knows the truth about everything now. God bless him, he didn’t even bat an eye when I told him that the girl I was seeing was the one that Lewis had shot and that I’d basically hunted her down to make amends before falling in love. Okay, he batted a bit of an eye at that. Lachlan may have his demons but that’s a new one for him.
“You could text her,” he says. “That’s less stalker-ish.”
I sigh. “I did. A few days after I got back to Edinburgh. I texted her. I didn’t get
a reply. She could have changed her phone number for all I know and there’s no way I’d call up her sister again. That family is fiercely protective of each other.”
“Well then you’re going to have to fight for her.”
He says this so simply.
“How? Show up outside her house with a boombox held over my head?”
“Don’t date yourself.” He grins at me. A few girls enter the bar and give the whole “Oh my god it’s Lachlan McGregor!” gasps to themselves. It doesn’t seem to matter that the man is happily engaged and getting married next year and that everyone in Edinburgh knows about it because it’s supposed to be the fucking wedding of the century or some bullshit.
The girls giggle to each other and take a seat at a nearby table. I know by the time he leaves, they’ll have already approached him and asked for his autograph.
Naturally he pretends not to notice. “Boomboxes are a nice touch, sure,” he goes on. “But the best thing you can do is try and be the best version of yourself possible. You have to examine your cracks and you have to fill them in from the ground up. With cement. I had to seek help. I had to stop drinking, start seeing a shrink, start fixing myself and everything that was wrong with me. Face my devils, face my fears, face myself. It wasn’t about coasting by in life anymore. Kayla deserved more than a man who coasted by. She deserved a man who knew how to be better than he was yesterday and who strived for it. That’s what I became. That’s what I still am.”
Damn. It’s like I’m talking to bloody Tony Robbins here.
“By the way,” Lachlan says, palming his drink. “I talked to my dad. He said a buddy of his is selling a garage out by Leith. Been in operation for almost fifty years, all in the family. But the guy is getting old and his son doesn’t want to take over the business. He brought up your name. Maybe you could work out a deal. You said you had savings…”
He gives me the guy’s information and for once in a long time, I feel a current of hope run through me. Honest and true and shining a faint light in the dark. Not just over the prospects of getting my own garage again, but the prospect of getting Jessica again. To become a better man than I was yesterday.
Just before we leave, the girls come over to our table, giggling and flirting and asking Lachlan to sign their coasters. He says he will, only on the condition that they donate money to his animal charity. When he makes them do it on their phones, only then does he sign them.
But if the girls seem put off at having to basically pay for an autograph, he also kisses them each on the cheek and poses for photos with them, which probably makes the girls’ year. It certainly will make the dogs happy.
And me…I feel like I know exactly what I have to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jessica
“Should I dress up like Lady Gaga or Khaleesi? I’ve got a long blonde wig I don’t know what to do with.”
I look up from my beer and give Anne a puzzling look. “What?”
“Next week is Halloween. I’m having the party, remember? You’re coming.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah but that party is for your daughter’s friends. They’re, like, eleven.”
She shrugs. “So? Who says I can’t have fun at my daughter’s party?”
“No one says you can’t,” I point out. “I’m saying, I can’t.”
“I’ll have beer,” she says, sitting back in her chair. “For us, not the kids.” Her eyes twinkle. “Oh and Ted might bring a friend.”
I narrow my eyes at her. Around the same time that Keir and I broke up, about three weeks ago if you’re counting and I’m certainly not, Anne started seeing a guy called Ted. I’ve never met him but I know she’s smitten. Completely. Which is great. Really. I mean, she deserves to finally fall head over heels for someone.
But now she’s obsessed with trying to fix me up with one of his friends and my heart is too raw, too shattered still to even consider it. I don’t think I’ll be getting over someone like Keir anytime soon. Maybe not even in this lifetime.
“Don’t give me that look,” Anne says. “I know Keir turned out to be an asshole but you have to move on.”
Ugh. My heart is fucking killing me. Actual solid pain.
“He wasn’t an asshole,” I mutter, trying to breathe through it. “He was just a liar.”
She raises her brow. “Kind of the same thing, isn’t it?”
I take another sip of my beer.
No. It isn’t the same thing. Keir lied for a million reasons and each one of them was wrong. But I know him enough – knew him enough – to see that it came from the right place. From fear. From guilt. Things I know too much about. I don’t doubt what he felt for me was true. He loved me the best that he could. But it wasn’t enough to save the betrayal.
It’s a fucking shame that it ended the way it did. It could have been perfect. It was perfect, in the most imperfect way. For all our faults and flaws and secrets, we still knew and saw each other on another level. We saw who we really were.
And Keir. Poor Keir was suffering the entire time, living in this shame. Every time he looked at my leg he must have blamed himself for it. I’m amazed at how well he was able to hide it. In some ways, he was stronger than I thought.
God I miss him. I miss him with every part of me. The nights are the worst, when I reach for him and he’s not there. It’s just this cold empty space, a blank sheet.
My heart feels the same. Blank. Cold. Wiped out.
Anne sighs, the sound bringing me out of the pain. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I know he really did a number on you. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile in a long time.”
“Beer helps,” I mumble, taking another gulp. I sigh. “The meetings help too.”
It’s Tuesday evening and we’re going to the meeting when we finish our beers. Obviously we’re not at the St. Vincent. I can’t even walk on that side of the road, I’m so terrified that I’ll run into Keir. So we’ve found a pub in the opposite direction. When Christina drives me here I make her drop me off far far away from the vicinity of Keir McGregor.
The meetings have been helping with my heartache a bit. The people in the group have gotten an earful from me every now and then and I tend to talk more about Keir and what he’s done instead of my injury. Maybe it’s both the wrong thing. I felt I deserved both tragedies. Now I just feel wronged, like the universe got my plan and someone else’s mixed-up.
It’s a step in the right direction though. After my heart to heart with Christina I’ve been able to put some of the guilt past me. I’ve started seeing a psychiatrist too. Have had a few sessions already, trying to deal with everything. There’s a lot of work ahead of me but I’m quietly optimistic that I’ll come out stronger.
As for my leg, the splint has come off though I still have to use the cane. I don’t mind. It’s progress. The physio is tough, Kat is putting me through my paces, and we’ve started to use water therapy, which begrudgingly reminds me of Keir and the time he took me swimming.
The way he carried me in the water, strong and gentle and testing my limits, anything to make me stronger.
Ugh. Fucking hell. Am I ever going to be able to think of him without wanting to double over?
“Do you still have nightmares?” Anne asks.
I’m surprised at her questions. “What do you mean?”
“At the beginning you told me that you often dreamed that Lewis Smith was running you down in an alleyway.”
Right. Ironically those nightmares and panic attacks stopped when I met Keir. He made me feel so safe, it was like nothing could harm me.
“I haven’t had those for a long time,” I tell her.
“That’s a great sign,” she says. “It took forever to stop dreaming about the fire. But when I did, I knew it was because my soul was able to move on. You know? It wasn’t snagged on that moment anymore.”
I liked that. It made sense.
My soul was unsnagged from the past.
The only problem was, it was floating fre
e out there and wanting to go in one direction only.
To him.
We finish up our beers and head out into the street. It’s been raining all day – hello Autumn – though it’s stopped now and the streets are dark and shiny and scattered with leaves. I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck as we make our way to the church, the spires of the clock tower a dramatic silhouette against the dim sky.
Anne continues to babble on about Ted. She can’t help it and honestly it does make me happy to know that she’s happy.
We enter the church and I don’t for a moment forget how hard it used to be to get up those stone steps. It makes the setting more relevant.
“Need a moment?” Anne asks as I stop at the end of the aisle, staring down it to the altar at the end and the giant pipe organ behind it.
“No,” I tell her. “I’m good.” I’ve been giving thanks in more places than here.
We work our way down the steps to the basement and take our seats in the circle, the last ones to arrive as usual.
Pam stands up in front of us with a small smile on her lips, pressing her palms together.
“It’s Tuesday,” she says. “How are we all feeling together?”
“Good,” most of us answer in unison while Reg, the veteran, says “Shitty.”
That’s usually how the meetings start out. She then will go around and ask everyone individually how their week was and then when that’s over, see if anyone wants to talk about something in particular.
“Before we begin today,” Pam says, her eyes settling on me for a moment before looking away. Is it just me or was there a hint of trepidation in them? “I want you all to know that we have a new member of our group.”
All of us look around at each other, brows raised. New member? No, we don’t. Everyone here is accounted for.
Then I notice the empty chair at the front, beside Pam.
“The more the merrier,” Reggie grumbles through a mouth full of shortbread cookies.