by Lisa Swallow
I call Steve.
Chapter Thirty-Three
AVERY
I’m preparing lesson plans for next week when Bryn arrives home from his overnight visit to Wales. The door closes in Bryn’s usual loud fashion and his large frame fills the room as he dumps his rucksack on the floor.
I watch warily from where I sit at the table, hoping he left the new Bryn who doesn’t talk to me behind. His face is dark, lined by tiredness and my heart hurts, for both of us and a future slipping between my fingers.
“Hey,” I say and stand. “Good trip?”
Bryn crosses the room, seizes my head, and closes his mouth over mine. I open my mouth in surprise and welcome his tongue with the relief he wants me, unable to move away from the breath-snatching kiss firing the desire for Bryn that I’ve fought in case I lose him.
As quickly as he starts, Bryn stops and grips my face, studying me intently. “I missed you.”
Something remains in his eyes, as if he’s trying to figure me out the way I’m second-guessing him. Bryn gently rubs my cheek with the back of his hand then wanders to the kitchen.
Confused, I sit back down and attempt to focus on the plan I’m writing. A few moments later, I look up to see Bryn leaning against the kitchen doorframe with a bottle of beer in his hand, the same look on his face.
“I have to tell you something,” he says.
Finally, but his expression fills my stomach with acid fear over what the ‘something’ is.
“You can tell me anything, Bryn.” I will him to sit with me, prove he wants the closeness and the kiss wasn’t a one off.
“I don’t know how to say this but I have to. If I don’t tell you, you’ll find out from somebody else and I don’t want that.”
“Oh.”
He drinks slowly, and averts his eyes. “So, the other day, I saw Hannah.”
And with that, my fears push out the hope that I’d imagined all this. The niggling ache following me around the last few days coils around my heart, tightening by the second. “Right.”
“No. Not like that, Avery. She told me something important.” He rubs his face. “Fuck. I need to go to Australia. With Hannah.”
I dig my nails into my palms beneath the table, eyes stinging. Unable to face breaking down in front of him, I stand and ready myself to walk away. “Okay.”
“But I’ll come back.”
I meet his eyes. “Will you, Bryn? Why would you? You have what you wanted.”
“I will. I’m not going because of her.” He looks away as he says the words and I doubt them.
“Why are you going then? What’s happening?”
Bryn laughs softly to himself. “Yeah, guess what? I have an eight-year-old son.”
“What?”
He shakes his head and looks at the floor. “With Hannah. She told me the other day.”
Time freeze frames. Hannah. Son. What the hell do I say to that? Words scramble around my head but won’t find their way out of my mouth. “Bryn…”
I approach him and reach out, but the man looking back at me is the same lost, confused person from the night-time drinking. “Gets worse,” he says flatly. “Connor, my kid, has cancer. That’s why Hannah told me. Needs a bone marrow transplant and wanted my family to get tested.”
If I’m stunned by this news, no wonder Bryn has retreated from the world as he carries the weight of what Hannah told him. Tears spring to my eyes, for Bryn and the little boy.
“I’m sorry,” is the best I can do.
Bryn slumps against the wall and drains the bottle. “When this comes out, which it will and soon, I’ll be crucified. Rock star abandons his love child with no financial support. Lives his life pretending he doesn’t exist. Sick kid ignored by his famous dad. Did you know he’s been sick before? This is a relapse. A fucking relapse, Avery. She didn’t tell me last time!” He looks at me with desperation. “That’s the opposite of what I’d have done. If I’d known about him, I’d have given him the whole fucking world!”
“I know and everybody else who knows you will.” I place a hand on his arm.
He inhales deeply, and then releases the breath. “That’s why I’m going to Australia. I don’t know how long for. I have to see him. Be there.”
“Of course you do,” I whisper and move to touch his cheek. “God, Bryn, no wonder you’re such a mess.”
“Yeah. I’m fucked. I can’t deal with anything else.” He takes my hand.
“Why didn’t you say when I asked?”
His fingers tighten around mine. “I was confused.”
I swallow, knowing what he means, how his confusion is around Hannah too. Whether he admits this or not, he’s drawn back into her life by his bond to their child. They have a kid; and this is Bryn Hughes, the man who does the right thing by everybody he meets.
Bryn will leave me.
“I guess you have some thinking to do,” I say.
“I can’t think straight, Avery. I’m lost in a weird nightmare.”
I pull my hand away, wrap my arms around his waist wishing I could wrap myself around some of his pain and take it away. Tentatively, I tiptoe to place my mouth on his; and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Dragging his lips across my face, Bryn kisses the side of my forehead.
“I want to lose myself in you, instead,” he whispers. “In us.” His hands go to my waist, pushing beneath my shirt and gripping hard, eyes darkening as he looks at me.
As I look back at him, one thought dominates. If Hannah didn’t matter, if this was only about his son, Bryn wouldn’t feel the need to hide the truth.
I want to keep Bryn, for him to be mine, but have I lost him already? “I love you.”
I wait for him to respond but the words don’t come. Bryn told me he was numb, that’s the reason why.
Bryn swears under his breath then tightens his grip on my waist. He roughly kisses me; his tongue invades my mouth, as he claims with a desperate need. I want to fight back, talk more, but when I try to push him away, he grabs my wrists and pulls me closer.
“Don’t walk away. I need you.”
I could yell at him, drag my arms away, and leave. He’s the one against the wall, but we both know I won’t. I stand as he holds my wrists still, looking back at him, into his unfathomable eyes. Even in the days when we danced around each other I could read him, but not at this moment. Bryn kisses me again, rough, hard. I pull my mouth and hands away, relieved he wants me but concerned he’s switched from telling me something earth shattering to this.
Bryn moves his mouth to my neck instead, kissing and nipping at my skin, hand sliding beneath my shirt to my breasts. I shift against him, and he growls, the powerful arms around my waist holding me tighter, as if I might slip from his grasp if he lets me go.
“Bryn.”
“I need you,” he says, his hot mouth searching for mine again, heavy breath against my skin. I want to cry because I want him, to be the person he needs. I don’t want him to go to Australia because I don’t think he’ll come back to me.
“I’m here. I’m always here for you.” I push Bryn’s curls from his face and hold his head, the way he’s done to me numerous times, forcing him to stop and look at me.
My heart rends at the pain in Bryn’s eyes. He’s grasping at his new world, at us, because he’s losing grip on everything around him. How can he hold on when his world has been thrown upside down and broken? Worst of all, his fear reflects mine. Everything we planned, the life we lived, the future we hoped for has.
“When are you going?” I ask hoarsely.
“Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. “How long for?” He looks at me desperately, and I shake my head. “Sorry, we won’t talk about it right now.”
“I’m lost, Avery,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Be the man you’ve always been.” I place my lips on his. “Hold onto Bryn.”
“She lied. For years. Why would s
he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
Bryn stares past me, retreating into his place of safety. I want to be his safe place, his harbour from the storm dragging him under, but am I enough? I rest my head against Bryn’s chest, his heart thumping against my cheek.
“If you’re leaving tomorrow, let’s switch the world off and be us,” I say.
Stroking my hair, he looks back at me, his panic retreating. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Bryn picks me up, the way he effortlessly does, my legs around his waist and arms around his neck, cheek resting against his. When he holds me like this, I feel safe in his strength, held and loved. Our faces can be close enough to kiss, our heights levelled and there’s an intimacy in the action that will always remind me of the first time in the hotel in Rouen.
“Let’s get lost in us,” I murmur against his cheek.
We’ll never be truly lost while we can always find each other.
****
As I lie in Bryn’s arms, I bury my face in his chest, relishing the comfort of the embrace he’s denied me recently and listen to his breathing gradually slow. After tonight, what happens? Is this the last time he holds me?
“I will come back,” he whispers into my hair.
“I hope so.”
Bryn shifts to look at me, tipping my chin. “This doesn’t change anything between us.”
I wish this were true, but he knows he’s fooling himself as much as I am.
This changes everything.
Chapter Thirty-Four
BRYN
I expected Connor to be in hospital, sick and unconscious. I have no idea about the illness, or what he’s been through. Cancer hasn’t touched my life before. So, I’m surprised when Hannah picks me up from the hotel in Perth and drives me away from the city to the suburbs in her small red hatchback.
“He’s at home,” she explains. “Until we find a donor, then he’ll go into hospital for chemo before the transplant.”
Hannah gives me a breakdown of Connor’s illness, past and present, and what’s going to happen to him. The day she told me this was a relapse, I lost my shit again. I don’t care that last time Connor had leukaemia Hannah was in denial that he was hers. Somebody should’ve told me. The thought I might never have met my son sickens me.
I nod, and give ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers but my anger simmers close to the surface. Eight years. Two years of chances for her to tell me. Bloody good thing I’m exhausted after the flight; otherwise, damaging words would be thrown at Hannah.
“Who does Connor think I am?” I ask as we arrive at her house, a quiet street in a new suburb, carefully planned and unusually clean compared to the London streets I’m used to. To my relief, they no longer live with her mum, although she lives nearby and fuck knows what will happen when we meet.
“I told him who you are and that you’re coming to visit him.”
“And he didn’t ask where I’ve been for eight years?”
Hannah pulls the keys from the ignition. “He has friends at school with no dad; it’s not unusual. He’s young, doesn’t understand. I told him I found you and that as soon as you knew about him you decided to come.”
“Right.”
As Hannah climbs from the car into the blinding Australian summer, I don’t move. What will I say? Do? Will he talk to me or hate me? I haven’t even brought him a gift. What’s appropriate?
As Hannah reaches the house, a woman steps into the sunshine and glances at where I wait in the car. For a heart-stopping moment, I think it’s Hannah’s mum but she’s too young. They chat for a couple of minutes and the perspiration on my back grows with the stress and lack of air-con now the car engine if off.
The woman heads to a car parked on the street and Hannah stands under the porch outside the single storey pale-bricked house, waiting for me.
In her shorts and sleeveless tee, I’m shocked at how Hannah’s tall figure has been eaten into an unnatural skinniness by her son’s cancer, and I ache as I look at her. Hannah’s pain is greater than mine, her fear stronger, and for the first time, I’m frustrated at blaming Hannah for all this. She lived with a secret that consumed her life for years. Hannah did wrong by us, but she was unwell. What’s the point in animosity? What’s done can’t be undone and there’s a future that hasn’t happened yet.
The house is cool, the whir of the air-con loud in the quiet space as I follow Hannah through. The hallway opens to a large open-plan space, with blue sofas and a pale tiled floor. Full-length glass doors lead to a small outdoor area and the kitchen counter borders the room, tucked away at the opposite end.
A TV dominates the room and a boy sits on the sofa, legs curled under as he holds the Xbox controller. I smile that we have something in common apart from DNA.
Connor is obscured by the cushions as he lies back against the sofa, but I spot the same curly hair as the boy in the photo I’ve looked at over and over since Hannah sent it.
I sit in the armchair opposite Connor and watch quietly for a few moments.
The boy in the picture is real.
This skinny boy with brown curls focused on his game is my son. I expected a tsunami of emotion but I’m numb, a part of my brain still not accepting what’s in front of me.
Connor glances at me briefly then refocuses on the game.
“Connor, this is Bryn. I told you he was coming to see you,” says Hannah from behind me.
The boy nods but doesn’t look back.
“Hey, Connor,” I say.
“Hey.”
Still no eye contact. I give a desperate look to Hannah. “He’s shy around strangers,” she says. “And with not being well…”
“Sure.” I tuck my hands between my knees and continue to watch the surreal situation playing out in front of me. The cheers and music from the game echo in the half-empty, quiet room.
“I’ll get drinks.” Hannah heads to the kitchen.
I slump back, heart hammering. What do I do? Say? “Do you like playing Call of Duty?”
“I’m not allowed that game.”
“Oh.” I kick myself, why would an eight-year-old be allowed to play a violent game? My nephews aren’t.
Connor looks back at me as he finishes the level on the game, a chart appearing on screen. “Do you play FIFA?”
“No, is that what you’re playing?” He nods. “Can you play with two-players?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. Can I?”
He holds out a spare controller, this time studying me carefully and I smile as I take it. “Thanks.”
For ten minutes, we lose ourselves in the fantasy football game, Connor occasionally shouting out at his triumphs and turning to me with a grin. With numerous nieces and nephews, I’m used to children but with Connor I can’t relax; my smiles are forced.
“You’re my dad,” he says, eyes fixed on the game.
“Yes. I didn’t know until recently.”
“Are you staying now? Mum was going to get married but he left. I think that’s good because now my real dad is here.”
Shit. “I’ll stay for a little while. I live in England.”
“You could live in Australia. We have a spare bedroom.”
I smile at his childlike solution to the situation but guilt knots my stomach. I’m coming back only to leave him again.
Hannah returns with iced water and passes us both a glass. Connor places his on the coffee table in front of him and resumes his game. Hannah sits next to Connor and rubs his back, and I remain trapped behind a haze of confusion.
What now?
****
Hannah tidies the plates and Connor eats ice cream as the strange domesticity I’m thrust into closes around me, trapping me in their world. She insisted I stay for dinner, as did Connor
Connor rubs his eyes sleepily as Hannah brings in a collection of medication and lines the different sized and shaped pills on the table in front of him.
Poor kid.
“I
have to go to hospital soon,” he says between mouthfuls of ice cream. “Again.”
“I know.”
A cloud passes his face before he points at me with his spoon. “Mum said you’re a rock star. Are you?”
“Yep.”
“Do you play guitar? I like Guitar Hero. We can play.”
“No, I’m a drummer.”
I laugh at the obvious conclusion on his face that I’m not that exciting after all. I can’t imagine an eight-year-old listens to music much, and if he did, it wouldn’t be mine.
“Is that why you have long hair?” he asks.
“I guess.”
“My hair will fall out again soon.”
“It will grow back, honey,” says Hannah and strokes his face.
“I could have long hair like my dad when it grows back.”
I exchange a glance with Hannah who busies herself passing medication to Connor.
Dad.
How is he easily accepting this? “Will you play Xbox with me again?” asks Connor.
“Sure.”
“Connor, you need to go to bed. We have a hospital appointment tomorrow.”
For the first time, I see fear in Connor’s eyes and I’m overwhelmed by the urge to hug him, to tell him I want to stay with him and never leave again. We haven’t touched in the few hours I’ve been here, so it feels inappropriate somehow.
“Why don’t you get a shower?” Hannah asks.
Connor climbs off the chair. “Will you stay?” he asks me, the plea in his brown eyes wiping any thought of leaving soon.
“I’ll stay until you go to bed.”
Connor hesitates for a moment before launching himself at me and hugging me tightly. Without looking at Hannah, I awkwardly hug him back. As quickly as he took hold, Connor lets go.
“I like that you’re my dad.”
When he walks away, I hear Hannah’s breath catch in her throat and don’t look at her. Stiffly, I stand and gather up the empty bowls and head to the kitchen. I can’t share how this is affecting me. I have to be strong for them.
My head pounds against the thoughts growing louder since the day I discovered this fucked-up situation. I want to fix this, but I can’t fix him. Maybe I could fix the situation with the three of us.
