by L. A. Casey
“You scared us,” my father said. “Everyone is out looking for you.”
I blinked with surprise and looked to my father when he came up beside me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to tell anyone I was going out. I never have to do it in New York; I guess I forgot.”
My father sent out a text on his phone, pocketed it, then sighed and slid his arm around my shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
I felt bad, but since I’d already apologised, I remained quiet.
“Since we’re alone, I want to tell you something that I should have told you years ago.”
I blinked. “Okay.”
“I’m so sorry for what I said to you the day you told us you were leaving. I should have never said it, and I didn’t mean it. I’ve regretted it for years but was too stubborn to admit it.”
I wasn’t surprised at my father’s apology. I knew what he’d said was out of hurt and anger.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I forgave you the moment you said it.”
My father’s shoulders sagged a little. “I’ve missed you, my love.”
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “I’ve missed you too, Dad. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I have. I just . . . it’s very hard to be here.”
“I know, sweetie, I know.”
Did he really? my mind whispered.
I glanced at him. “You do?”
“Of course.” He nodded. “You think Kale got off easy for driving you out of the country?”
That caused me to stare blankly at him.
“What exactly does that mean?” I asked, my eyes wide with curiosity.
My father grinned. “It means I knocked around a man who is like my son.”
I gasped in alarm. “You didn’t!”
My father shrugged. “Only for a little bit, but I stopped myself before anything serious happened.”
I shook my head. “You hitting Kale is serious.”
“Your moving away because of him was a lot more serious,” he countered.
I looked back down at the earth before me. “It’s complicated, Dad.”
“Love always is,” he said.
I forced a smile. “And don’t I know it.”
My father squeezed my shoulder. “I told him I was sorry – don’t worry.”
“When?” I asked.
He hummed. “About six weeks ago.”
I widened my eyes and pressed my hand over my mouth. “Are you being serious?”
“No,” my father chuckled as I dropped my hand to my side. “I apologised about six months later. It was very hard for me to forgive him. You’re my daughter, and to know you left home partly because of him really hurt me. I hated him for a while because of it.”
My laughter dried up, but my eyes grew damp.
“I didn’t want anybody to hate anyone,” I whispered, and licked my dry lips.
My father exhaled. “I know that, but sometimes emotions can’t be tamed, as you know.”
I knew that very well, so I nodded.
“He was very forgiving when I did eventually say sorry,” my father continued. “He actually judged me for apologising at all. He said he deserved the beating I gave him and more.”
That, again, surprised me.
“So why didn’t you beat him further that day?” I quizzed.
My father was silent for a moment and then said, “Because he did a good enough job of beating himself up about it. Everything about his life changed after you left.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Do I want to know?”
“No,” my dad replied instantly. “You don’t want to know, but you’re going to have to know in order to understand how things are with him now.”
That scared me.
“I don’t understand,” I replied.
My father was silent for a long time, but he eventually took me by the arm and led me away from my aunt’s grave. “Come with me, my sweetheart,” he said softly. “I want to show you someone.”
He wants to show me someone in a graveyard?
We walked slowly, passing by grave after grave, me holding my hand in his.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I scanned the dark cemetery, feeling goosebumps rise on my arms.
“You’ll see,” my father replied solemnly.
I nodded and nervously gnawed on my lower lip.
“Can you talk to me as we walk? I’m suddenly scared to be here,” I admitted.
My father tightened his hold on me. “Don’t be scared. I have you.”
“I know,” I said, “but I want to listen to you talk. I’ve missed your voice.”
My father chuckled. “Your mother would laugh hearing you say that. She offered to pay me one hundred quid to shut up last week. She gets sick of listening to me talk.”
My lip twitched. “She just pretends she does.”
“She’s a cracking actress if that’s the case,” my father stated.
My laughter filled the dark space of the graveyard, and I stopped just as quickly as I started. It felt wrong to laugh so loud in a place where many were resting.
“What is New York like?” my father asked, completely catching me off guard.
I glanced around. “It’s not right to say this in a graveyard, but it’s alive. Pulsing with life, day and night. It never stops.”
My father glanced at me. “It sounds exciting.”
It wasn’t.
“It can be,” I murmured. “I don’t get out much, though, if I’m being honest. The constant activity isn’t for me. I like the peace I find in my apartment and my books. New York isn’t exactly my ideal place to live, never mind grow old.”
I knew I shouldn’t have revealed that bit of information to my father, but it felt nice to finally say it out loud and know it was honest truth and not a fabricated lie to please others. Roman thought I loved New York, but that was only because when I was with him, I shared in his zest for life. He didn’t know that when I was on my own I sometimes wished I wouldn’t wake up when I went to sleep.
“Why not move someplace else then?” my father asked, scanning our surroundings as we walked.
I noticed he didn’t mention I should move back to York.
I shrugged. “It seems pointless to move somewhere else, I feel the way I feel because I’m sad, Dad. The environment I’m in won’t change how I feel.”
He nodded in agreement, then said, “No, but you can change how you feel.”
Here we go, I inwardly sighed.
I smiled a little. “I can’t change how I feel until I resolve why I feel the way I feel.”
“Ah, I see.” My dad smiled too. “If that’s the case, then when are you moving back home?”
I pulled on my father’s hand and stopped us walking.
“What?” I asked him, and fully turned in his direction.
My father raised his eyebrows at me. “Your problem started at home. You can’t fix it anywhere but here because your problem is rooted here . . . He lives here.”
I groaned. “Why can’t you just tell me to get over it and move on from Kale?”
“Why should I repeat what you’ve told yourself a million times before? It won’t change how you feel.”
I glared at my father. “When did you become so philosophical?”
“The day you left me.”
I froze. My father’s reply was instant, and it gutted me.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I breathed.
He frowned at me. “I know you are.”
I leaned in and placed my head on his chest. “Being here is really difficult.”
He put his arms around me and kissed the crown of my head. “I know, honey, but deep down you knew you couldn’t stay away forever.”
I sighed and mimicked my father, putting my arms around him. “Staying away – that was my plan.”
“Until Harry?”
I nodded against my father’s chest. “Until Harry.”
“He always did say he would get you to co
me home. Little did he know he was right.”
My eyes welled with tears.
“He understood it wasn’t just a silly crush I had with Kale. He knew that I was devastated when things ended the way they did between us. Then after Lavender . . . he knew I had to leave after she collided with the bombshell Kale dropped. It’s why he helped me. I probably would have started on my downward spiral again without Lavender, as I watched Kale and Drew start a family together while I looked on from the outside.”
I pushed away the thought of Lavender and the surfacing memory of Kale revealing to me that he was having a child with another woman, but I knew when I was by myself I would relive that day over again just like I had a million times before.
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” my father murmured.
I pulled back and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He frowned. “We’re nearly there.”
He took my hand and starting walking again. “I’m sorry if this upsets you,” my father said as he brought us to a stop in front of a grave.
The white marble teddy bear plaque was the first thing I noticed about the grave. My eyes picked up the carved-stone toys and artificial flowers a few seconds later. My heart hurt when I realised what I was looking at.
“You want to show me a baby’s grave?” I asked, annoyed. “Why would I want to see this, Dad? Of course it will upset me.”
I avoided looking at the picture of the little angel on the headstone because I didn’t want to see the face of the beauty that was taken far too soon from the cruel world I still roamed.
“Because I want you to hear it from me before you hear it from anyone else,” my father replied.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, my mind a pool of confusion. “You want me to know what?”
My father looked away from me. “About a year after you left, something awful happened.”
My stomach instantly began to churn.
“Wh-What do you mean?” I asked, my voice tight.
My father rubbed his face with his free hand. “You knew Drew was pregnant when you left, but what you don’t know is that she gave birth to a boy four months after you went to New York. The baby was two months premature. At first everything was perfectly perfect. Even though he was small, he was healthy and everyone was happy. Then when he was two months old, he was diagnosed with leukaemia. He fought hard for a few months, but eight months after he was diagnosed, his little body couldn’t take any more—”
“Dad. Please,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear anything further.
My father ignored me and pressed on, “The doctors tried everything they could, but he—”
“Stop it,” I snapped. “Just. Stop.”
“He died,” my father finished.
I whimpered and flung my hands over my mouth as I took a step away from my father and from the grave. “Dad, no,” I whispered. “Please be lying.”
My father’s features shone with pain. “I wish I was lying, sweetie, but I’m not.”
I looked at the grave and at the grass that covered it. “This baby . . . this is . . .”
“Lane,” my father sorrowfully said, “this is Kale’s son.”
My eyes grew blurry, but when I looked at the gravestone once more, I could make out a single sentence that completely destroyed me: “In loving memory of Kaden Hunt.”
CHAPTER SIX
Thirteen years old (thirteen years ago)
Where is Kale?” my Uncle Harry asked as I pulled on my brand-new leather ankle boots that my mum bought me for fifty per cent off in River Island. They were the cutest boots I had ever seen and possibly were the most fashionable, trendy item of clothing that I owned.
“Lane,” my uncle chuckled, “are you listening to me?”
I looked up when I got both of my boots zipped up, and for a moment I just stared at my uncle. Aside from Kale, he was definitely my favourite person. He was, quite literally, the coolest uncle I could have ever been blessed with. He was like a best friend to me – no, scratch that, he was a best friend to me. We hung out all the time and did a bunch of stuff together. He brought me fishing – which I didn’t like; the quiet time with him was the only reason I went along – and bowling and a million other places that don’t seem fun, but were brilliant because my uncle was the one sharing the experience with me.
My Uncle Harry was my mother’s twin; he was older than her by five minutes, a fact that he liked to remind her about often. And the reason I was so close to him was because they were so close. They saw each other every single day, and I mean that literally. My father had even become close to my uncle; it got to the point where they hung out all the time too. He lived only five minutes away from our house, so I was round at his place just as much as he was around at ours.
I made sure I went round to him every day, even if it was just to say hello, because I didn’t want him to be alone. He was only forty-one years old, but had to endure one of the hardest things a man would ever have to do. Last year he had to bury his wife, my Aunt Teresa. She had breast cancer and didn’t even get a chance to fight it because she found out when it was too late.
I didn’t like to think about her, because it made me miss her. We hadn’t been very close because she was only in my life for a few short years before she died, and I was too young then to make time for her, but I knew my Uncle Harry loved her very much, and that saddened me because I knew he felt lost without her.
I personally thought my Uncle Harry was the bravest man to ever walk the earth because I loved Kale with all of my heart, and I wasn’t even married to him. If he died, I think I would die too because I would be too sad to live without him. That’s how I knew I could never be as great as my uncle – because I could never be as strong as he was. It took a lot of strength to live on without someone you loved as much as he loved my Aunt Teresa. It made me idolise him.
“Lane,” his voice prompted.
I blinked. “Sorry, what?”
My uncle laughed and shook his head. “Where. Is. Kale?”
I rolled my eyes. “Where do you think he is?”
My uncle was silent for only a moment before he said, “With your brothers.”
I wish.
I huffed. “He is with Drew. He is always with her, he never spends time with me or my brothers anymore.”
That was a lie; he still hung out with my brothers. It was me who was getting the elbow recently. I just thought saying that my brothers didn’t receive any of his time either made me sound a little less pathetic.
My uncle’s low rumbling chuckle irked me. I turned to face him and folded my arms across my chest. “It’s not funny, Uncle Harry.”
He smiled lovingly at me. “I’m not laughing at your distress, sweetheart, I’m laughing at your attitude. You remind me of your mother when we were your age.”
I do?
I beamed. “She was also fabulous with brains to burn?”
My uncle laughed loudly, and it brought a smile to my face. I loved his laugh.
“She liked to think so,” he said, shaking his head good-naturedly.
I felt my smile fall as I sighed. “I’m sorry for being snarky. I’m just . . . annoyed.”
My uncle kept his focus on me. “Why?” he quizzed.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The corners of my uncle’s eyes creased slightly as he said, “Yeah, darling, you do.”
I gnawed on my lower lip, looked at my uncle and then to my feet. I felt my stomach churn as the realisation of what I was about to say hit me.
“I’m jealous,” I admitted, still looking down. “I like Kale. I like him as more than a friend, and I hate it because it means I’m always going to be stuck next to him watching him be with older, prettier girls. It sucks, Uncle Harry. It sucks arse.”
I felt heat stain my cheeks when silence fell between us.
“How long have you been feeling like this?” he questioned after a moment.
I blew out a relieved breath that he didn’t laugh at me.
I swallowed. “Since I was around ten, but it’s getting worse now ’cause I keep getting upset about it, whereas when I was younger, I didn’t give it much thought when he was hanging around with other girls.”
I looked up when my uncle snorted. “It’s your hormones, kid,” he said with a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve hit puberty. Shit goes downhill from here.”
I was a little embarrassed to be talking about hormones and puberty with my uncle, but I laughed when he finished speaking, because his expression was dead serious.
He smiled at me. “Why don’t you talk to your mum about this?”
Is he joking? I was horrified at the suggestion.
“I couldn’t,” I stated. “She loves Kale like he is her own. She’d probably disown me.”
My uncle’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“No,” I replied, “I think it’s perfectly accurate.”
My uncle’s eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Your vocabulary is growing.”
I pushed strands of hair that fell into my eyes back from my face. “I read a lot of books,” I said, shrugging. “Some that aren’t for kids either.”
My uncle cocked an eyebrow. “Romance novels?”
I nodded. “Young adult stuff – nothing explicit or anything.”
Nothing too explicit anyway.
“I’ve no doubt those kind of novels make you more upset about Kale,” my uncle said.
I frowned. “Not exactly. Well, they make me want a boyfriend more. I like reading about people’s happily-ever-afters. It seems like it would be nice for someone to love me.”
“I love you,” my uncle quickly stated.
I rolled my eyes. “I mean a boyfriend type of love. Family love is a different kind.”
“Family love is everything,” he specified. “Once you have the love of your family, you can do anything.”
I snorted. “Okay, Oprah.”
“Cheeky mare,” he tittered. “All jokes aside, are you okay? We can skip seeing The X-Men film if you want to.”
“Not a chance. I am dying to see that film.”
