by Ruby Molloy
Frankie pushes a mug of tea between my hands. It’s too hot, too sweet, but I see the concern on her face and I drink.
“Boyd’s on his way,” she tells me.
I think I’ve misheard. Or misunderstood. Either way, it’s not true.
I swallow the sweet tea and watch as the news moves onto other topics. There’s a sad tale about a family who have lost their home. The parents are desperate to provide for their children. My eyes brim over and when tears run into my mouth they taste sweet as my tea.
“Kayla?”
Boyd kneels at my feet and it’s weird because I can’t quite grasp that it’s him. I stare into his green eyes and I know I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. I lower my lids and when they re-open I expect him gone. But there he is, same as he was before, that look on his face. What is that? Pain? Suffering?
“You okay, Boots?”
I nod.
“Jesus, your hands are cold,” he says, cupping them around mine, the mug still in between. “Been trying to find you for hours. Never been so scared in my life as when they told me you’d gone. I fucking lost it.
“Scared shitless all day,” he continues. “Never want to feel like that again, thinking I was gonna lose you.”
I’m crying, though I don’t make a sound and Boyd looks like he’s hurting.
“Do anything to make those tears stop,” he says.
I dip my head and hide my face.
“Kayla? Say something, baby.”
I can’t.
Cursing, Boyd takes my mug and lays it on the coffee table. He sits next to me and pulls us down until I’m laying lengthways with my back to the cushions and he’s facing me. I shut my eyes in an effort to block everything out, but visions crowd my mind: Delta’s blood, Charlie’s red hands, fragments of Mike’s brain splattered against the wall.
Now I’m not only crying, I’m shaking too. And the images won’t stop no matter how tightly I close my eyes. I scramble over Boyd’s body and run for the shower, tearing at my clothes, sobbing when my shirt gets caught round my neck.
Warm hands steady me. “I got you,” he says, helping. “I got you.”
Hot water rains down on my head, soaking my hair, and pooling around my toes. Boyd steps in behind me, turning me, gathering me in. “It’s over,” he says. “You’re safe.”
I want to believe him, but it won’t sink in. I step free of his embrace and tip a handful of shampoo into my palm. Bubbles cover my hair, thick and overflowing, falling in heavy globules at my feet. Boyd leans back against the tiles, giving me space, watching. When my hair is rinsed and conditioned, I lather my body with vanilla shower gel. Again and again I wash my body until exhaustion begins to slow my movements.
Boyd curls a hand around my wrist and takes away the sponge. “Enough,” he says. He shuts off the water and leads me to the towels, offering up one for my hair and another for my body.
In my bedroom I dress in stretchy PJs that cover me from neck to ankle. Boyd, dressed in his clothes again, pulls back the duvet, but I shake my head and move into the living room, towards the sofa. He sits beside me and I curl up against him, my eyes hot and achy. It’s not long before my eyelids grow heavy and my head droops against his chest.
“Sleep,” he whispers.
No dreams or nightmares invade my slumber. It’s only when I wake that I remember. Boyd’s lying on his back and I’m draped over him, warm and semi-rested. I push a hand into the cushions, lifting up so I can see his face. He’s sleeping, his lashes thick and black against his cheek.
“Boyd?”
“Yeah?!” He’s awake before he’s ready, eyes open but unfocused. “You okay?”
I nod, scooting up and away. He grunts when my elbow catches his ribs.
“Do you know if Delta’s okay?” I ask.
“Charlie got hold of me via Mace. He said she’s critical, but she’s responding to treatment.”
“That’s Doctor-speak for ‘she’s gonna be okay’, right?”
“I hope so,” he says.
I nod. It’s quiet for a while. I stare at my hands and pick at my nails, mulling everything over in my head. I’m not thinking about what happened earlier. I’m thinking about Boyd being here, acting like he cares, acting like he didn’t become a Jekyll and Hyde character before we split. I might be suffering from the after effects of shock, but I’m not about to pick up where we left off.
I look up from my nails and turn to face him. “Why are you here? I mean, I appreciate you coming and all, but there’s no going back.”
He seems exposed, the way he’s laying back against the cushions, hurt emanating from his eyes until it quickly morphs into determination. He levers himself upright and sits with his forearms resting on his thighs. “There’s things I need to explain,” he says.
I wait patiently. If he’s here to win me back, that’s not how this is going to end. I love him, but I’m wise and strong enough to know there’ll be no happy ending for Boyd and me.
“First I’ve got to show you something.” He retrieves his phone from his back pocket. It takes him a while to locate what he’s looking for. I think it’s an email. I see him open it and he’s reading, scrolling through as if he’s forgotten what it says.
“Here,” he says.
He hands me his phone, watching while I read. I take my time, scanning each sentence twice because there’s a lot to take in. The email’s filled with obsessive hatred, most of it aimed at me. It tells Boyd how he rammed Steve’s car from behind and how I’m next unless Boyd quits seeing me. It even gives a deadline, beneath which it warns Boyd to stay away from the Police. This last part is typed in capital letters.
“Open the attachment,” Boyd tells me.
It’s a photo, or rather a compilation of photos featuring me, Hailey and Wanda, our faces semi-obscured by hand written numbers in red permanent ink. I’m number one.
“I got it wrong,” Boyd says. “I should have gone to the Police. I thought the best way of keeping you, mum and Hailey safe was to follow his instructions. It was a mistake. Me, Tag and Mace were working on finding him and we were close, but not close enough.”
“You think that was from Mike?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“He hurt your dad because of me?” I asking, pulling my legs up and clasping them to my chest.
“Hey, it’s not your fault. The guy was a fruit loop bent on revenge. None of us knew what was going down at that point.”
“I still don’t get why you’re here, Boyd. If it’s to try and get me back, you’ve wasted your time.”
The light drains from his eyes and I wish he’d look away because it hurts to see that. “Didn’t you read the email? I acted like a dick to protect you, Boots,” he says, as if he thinks that’s sufficient explanation.
“You turned into a monster for me?”
“Think about it, Boots. I’d told you I loved you and asked you to move in with me. You think you would’ve believed me if I just turned round and said ‘sorry, babe, it’s not working for me’. No fucking way. But I knew if I acted like your ex you’d call time.”
I think about this. “Or you could have just told me about the email.”
He turns his head and I catch a glimpse of his frown. “And you would have just walked away? Bullshit. I did what I had to do, Kayla.”
“Your mum and sister were in those photos, Boyd. You think I’d have risked their lives? No way.”
“I wanted you safe. I did what I had to do.”
I laugh in his face.
It’s the wrong thing to do. Boyd doesn’t like it; in fact, I’d go so far as to say he hates it. He jumps to his feet and snatches his phone from my hand. I think he’s about to leave, but he moves to the kitchen area and calls Frankie’s name.
It takes her a moment to arrive. Her grey eyes are huge and she’s glancing between me and Boyd as if she knows it’s bad news.
“You got that envelope?” he asks.
“Sure.” She joins him in
the kitchen and picks up a vegetarian cookery book. “I knew Kayla would never look in here,” she says, opening the book and holding out an envelope towards Boyd.
“Tell Kayla when I gave it to you,” he says.
“The day your dad left hospital.”
“Now tell her what I said.”
“To remember when I gave it to you and to keep it a secret, no matter what.” She’s smiling, as if it’s a quiz and she’s getting all the questions right.
“Thanks, Frankie.”
“You want me to stay?” she asks, her smile almost pleading.
“No, it’s okay. Thanks.”
“Okay. I’ll be at Mason’s if you need anything.”
Frankie leaves and Boyd’s standing there holding out the envelope. “Take it,” he says.
“Boyd ...”
“Take it and read it.”
I do as he says, tearing at the seal. Inside there’s a folded note. I glance up, the corner of my mouth curled up in scorn. “Great magic trick, Boyd. It’s a piece of paper. Are we done now?”
“Read it, Boots.”
I scowl and open it. The sheet is covered in writing. It’s not that there’s a huge amount of words, just that Boyd’s writing is huge.
Boots,
I’m going to be a dick for a while―just until things blow over.
Wish things could be different.
Just know that I love you. Always will.
And I’m not that guy, Boots. I’m not that dick.
Boyd
The paper is fluttering in my hand as if someone’s opened a window and there’s a stiff breeze filtering through.
“Kayla?”
“Give me a second,” I say.
“Not sure I can, Boots. Knowing you might have died thinking I was that guy ...” He trails off.
I’m still coming to terms with all that’s shining in his eyes when he turns and braces his hands on the worktop, knuckles protruding like subdermal implants. I move towards him, trying to insert myself between him and the worktop, but his arms are taut and he won’t give way.
“Boyd?”
His head is bowed, tendons visible along his forearms, veins blue. “I thought he was going to kill you,” he says. “I thought I might never see you again.”
“I’m okay. I’m fine,” I say, as if seeing Delta getting shot and being held hostage was nothing. As if it hasn’t changed me.
“He had a fucking gun on you.”
“Boyd ...”
“Fuck. I shouldn’t be doing this. You’re the one who went through it, not me. But shit ... I read messages about how he was taking revenge for losing his job ... And when it was over and I heard you’d left on your own ...”
“It’s okay, baby,” I say.
He spins and wraps his arms around me, forcing my face against his chest. I can hear his heart beating, its rhythm too fast, the beats echoing in my ear. I dip my hand beneath his t-shirt, stroking, skimming his smooth skin until his heartbeat calms and it’s just us, holding each other.
Boyd shuffles us towards the sofa and I try to pull back and look at him, but he won’t let me. He lowers us to the cushions, twisting so that I’m near the edge and he’s behind me, his chest to my back.
“You’re mine,” he says. “You understand? Not giving you up ever again.”
“Okay.”
“I fucking mean it, Kayla. We had a good thing, you and me. You heard what Frankie said, you read the note. I only did it to protect you.”
“I believe you―”
“You’re moving your stuff back in and we’re putting this shit behind us.”
“Okay.”
He seems to hear me this time. I can feel his body relaxing behind me. “Okay,” he says. And then, “Good.”
We lay quietly for a while, until Boyd speaks once more. “Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what happened.”
I close my eyes. “You know what happened,” I whisper.
“No, Boots, I don’t.”
“You said it. He held me at gunpoint. What more is there to say?”
“You were in there for fucking hours, Kayla. What were you thinking? How did you feel?”
“I can’t ...”
“Yeah, you can.”
“Boyd―”
“What was going through your head?”
“You!” I say, remembering. “I was thinking about you. How I might never see you again. And I couldn’t bear that, not to hold you ...” My voice falters and I take a moment to reflect that I’m with Boyd and I’m safe. “It kept looping through my mind and when I wasn’t thinking about you I was seeing Delta, her blood rushing up through Charlie’s fingers, Mike smiling like it gave him a kick. And Shelley, so fucking brave, standing up to him, phoning for an ambulance.”
“She did that?”
“Yeah. She was like Boudica or something, the way she stared him down and made the call.”
“What else?”
“I can’t―”
“What else?”
“Blood. His blood, like one of those splatter paintings.” I see it now, behind closed eyelids, the scarlet dots random and misshapen, trickling down the wall. Eyes open, I turn to face Boyd. His eyes are shimmering like sea-washed glass fresh from the ocean.
“No more,” I say.
He brings his head closer until our heads meet and my vision’s overflowing with beautiful, blurry green eyes.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” he says.
“I am?”
“Yeah. Going through that and not losing your head. Seen guys lose it under those kind of conditions.”
“I just sat there, Boyd. I wasn’t brave enough to try and grab the gun from him or anything.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he says, kissing me, sweet and soft, his hand warm on my back. “Wouldn’t have you here with me now if you’d pulled a stunt like that.” He ends the kiss before I’m ready. I follow, sweeping my tongue against his, needing this, but he draws back again. “It’s too soon,” he says, frowning.
My fingers reach for his stomach, fingers brushing his skin, teasing him before I take them lower.
“Babe―”
I stall his words with my mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Where’d You Go?
KAYLA
It’s been three months since Mike Archer walked into PNL. I think about it a lot. I figure there’s no sense burying it and letting it fester. I talk about it with Boyd sometimes, when the need’s there.
Delta’s doing okay. She needed a couple of months recovery time, but she’s back at work now, though not yet full time. I guess in our own way we’re all recovering.
Being held hostage, not knowing what was going to happen or whether we’d survive, it kind of put things into context, made us look at what was important in our lives. For Charlie and Violet that meant getting engaged. And for Shelley it meant early retirement. She wants to live a little, see a bit of the world before she gets too old.
For a while I was forever looking over my shoulder until I realised I didn’t want to be that person and I damn sure wasn’t going to be that person because of Mike Archer. So I let it go.
A couple of weeks after it happened Boyd and I took a week off and went to stay with dad and Matias in Barcelona. I’ll admit I was nervous. Boyd’s what they call a man’s man and dad’s an artist. I wasn’t sure how they’d get along and it definitely took them a couple of days to click. Matias helped. He’s a sports fan too, so his and Boyd’s conversations often went on all night. By the end of the week the three of them were getting along fine. Boyd even tried a bottle of red that dad brought up from the cellar. It wasn’t to his liking, but at least he tried it and kudos to Boyd for being himself and not trying to fit in with dad’s tastes.
We’ve been up to Liverpool for a couple of weekends too. Boyd and mum get on great. Not that they sit there chatting all night or anything, but they accept each other for who they are and they’re relaxed with that.
/> I’ve been saving hard these past three months. I wanted to repay Boyd for his furniture. At first I was going to give him the cash, but I know Boyd will simply transfer it straight back into my account. So I had to figure out what to give him. I knew it had to be sports related. In the end I found the perfect gift and I got Tag and Mason involved. I bought three seats for a boxing match that’s coming up in London. They’re not ringside or anything, but they’re good seats and I know Boyd would rather be there with Mace and Tag than with a girlfriend who has no interest in boxing.
He doesn’t know about the tickets yet. I plan on telling him over breakfast. Or at least that had been the plan.
Now I’m not so sure.
It’s been three months since Boyd and I last argued. No spats, no disagreements, no blazing rows. I made a promise and I don’t want to break it but I can’t hold back any longer. The girl who’s standing directly in front of him has been flirting with him for way too long and Boyd’s done nothing to discourage her.
Even Tag and Mason have drifted away, bored with whatever’s going on between Boyd and the raven haired woman. And now she’s touching him, her fingers stroking his forearm, lingering suggestively.
He sees me approaching and he’s no longer gazing at her, he’s watching me with guarded eyes.
I get straight to the point, hoisting a hand on my hip so he can see I’m not happy. “What are you doing?”
He stares right back at me, green eyes unreadable. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
The raven haired beauty smirks. She doesn’t know that Boyd and I are together. Maybe she thinks he’s knocking me back.
“It looks like you’re enjoying some female company and that would be fine, except that female isn’t me.”
Boyd straightens, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond. The woman turns my way, her overinflated chest three inches shy of her chin. “Hey, back off. I was here first. And his name’s Jack, not Boyd.”
I raise an eyebrow and glance at Boyd, totally wounded when he does nothing to set her straight. “FYI, Boyd, this is the point where you’re supposed to step in and explain who I am, after which you’re supposed to tell me you haven’t been flirting with her. But you didn’t and now I get to say my piece. You’re a dick!”
