Detachment

by Shae Banks

Mum was my hero. She’d been the one person in my life I’d always known I could count on. She was my best friend. She was everything, but Lloyd? He was me. We were one and the same. Every memorable day of my life had been spent with him at my side. I came into existence with him, and we were supposed to live our lives and hobble into old age together too.

  Especially now. I’d finally come home. He was my only family. The only person who truly had my back after we lost Mum. He couldn’t be dead.

  Not my Lloyd.

  I repeatedly shook my head, but couldn’t form words. I wasn’t denying the possibility, far from it. Weird shit happened to twins all the time, it wasn’t new to us, so why wouldn’t we both go down with appendicitis at the same time?

  We were built from the same blueprint, weren’t we?

  The difference was, I was five minutes from a hospital and had people around to find me when my appendix ruptured, while Lloyd was stuck in the middle of nowhere playing soldiers. I didn’t need to ask why it wasn’t discovered sooner. It was the same reason it wasn’t for me. We blamed something commonplace. We waited for it to pass. It’s what we did. We always had.

  Dry eyed and numb, I asked, “Is Sam okay?”

  They both gawked at me as if I’d grown a second head.

  It may seem like an odd question, but it suddenly came to me that while Lloyd was gone and I was here with both Thom and Ryan, Sam was dealing with the same reality alone.

  Why did I care? It seemed we always avoided the elephant in the room.

  “Probably not,” Ryan answered honestly. “But he should be back next week. He’ll be okay.”

  The numbness was starting to dissipate. “Will Lloyd have to wait a week to come home too?”

  “We don’t know,” Thom admitted, taking my attention from Ryan. “They’ll contact you and let you know the details, so we brought your phone in and some extra things…”

  He trailed off as tears began to roll down my cheeks and he ran his hand over my hair. I didn’t try to stop them. I didn’t wipe them away.

  Thom shifted to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around me, and I leaned into him. He smelled like home. His lemon body wash and the distinctive scent of his aftershave were a stark contrast to the hospital, and I closed my eyes.

  Ryan gripped my hand, not saying a word, and I gripped it back, clinging to him and crying into Thom.

  Then the sobs broke. Along with the sobs came the excruciating pain, and I cried out as someone tapped on the door.

  “I’ve got your… Lyla?”

  Clare was back, and I was in no state to speak to her, to explain.

  “Her brother passed away last night,” Thom elucidated softly, still stroking my head. “She just needs a few minutes.”

  “C-Clare,” I managed, “can I have something stronger? This pain…”

  “Of course. I’ll come back in five with the morphine,” she replied kindly, and the door clicked shut behind her.

  Thom kissed the top of my head as Ryan let go of my hand, and I felt like I was falling without them both acting as an anchor.

  “Lyla, I want you to lie down,” Ryan ordered, getting off the bed.

  I turned to him, my tears stopping momentarily as I gave him a questioning look.

  “Lie down, it’ll be easier on your wound,” he explained, reaching around my back and rearranging my pillows.

  The bed was already in a reclined position, not lying flat. Another perk of being considered obese by medical professionals was that I got a singing, dancing, electronic bed.

  “We’re here,” he murmured, pulling the sheet up over me and sitting back down on the bed. “We’re here for everything, every step, but we need you to get yourself right so you can come home.”

  I took an unsteady breath, only for the tears to start again. This time, Ryan wiped them away and kissed me gently.

  “I’m sorry, I…” I began, but choked on more tears, pulling the stitches in my stomach.

  “Don’t apologise,” he soothed, kissing my cheek. The scent of his aftershave engulfed me—not as fruity as Thom’s, more woody, it was comforting. “Let it out. The best thing to do is grieve, Lyla. And let us be here. Let us look after you.”

  I didn’t understand it. Okay, so they’d been fucking me, but I wasn’t their problem. We weren’t in a relationship.

  Friends, I remembered. We were friends. I hadn’t had one in so long that I’d forgotten what usual behaviour was from a friend.

  But then Betty had thoroughly surprised me. She’d been a friend, only I’d been too stupid to recognise her as anything more than an acquaintance caught up in the same misery I was.

  Clare knocked again, hurrying into the room while holding a small plastic pot. “This should help. I know it sounds silly, but if you need to have a good cry, put a pillow over your tummy and press down. It helps stop that horrible pulling feeling. My midwife told me that after my first C-section.”

  I tried to fight it, but I was so exhausted there was nothing I could do to stop the tears from falling harder. I covered my mouth with my left hand while pressing my right down over my aching stomach. It was stupid. She was entitled to share her little tip, it was probably going to help me considerably over the next few weeks, but the mention of anything maternity related was too much.

  Not through regret that the many attempts with Francis had failed. No, that was a blessing, since I was free to walk away from him and that was good for me. But without Lloyd, I was entirely alone. Friends weren’t the same as family, however much you loved them.

  And with that sobering thought, I choked back my sorrow and reached out for the pot.

  “It’ll probably make you drowsy,” Clare explained, letting me take it from her and knock the liquid back like a shot. It was vile, and I screwed up my face and shook my head as she continued, “There’s only half an hour of visiting left, so if you lads can leave the buzzer where Lyla can reach it before you go, it’ll help her out.”

  They each nodded their understanding, taking my hands again, and she left to give us privacy.

  My face felt tight. My eyes puffy. My stomach heavy. My chest achy.

  Drowsy would help. It wouldn’t kill the fresh pain, but it could help numb it for a short while. That would have to be enough.

  “When will I get him back?” I inquired, resting my head on the pillows

  “I’m going to try and find out tomorrow morning before visiting,” Thom replied quietly. “I probably won’t find out much, but I’ll do my best.”

  I swallowed, the aftertaste of the liquid morphine coating my mouth. “I’ll have to plan a funeral…”

  “Lyla, stop,” Ryan demanded, kissing my forehead. “Get better, come home, and we can go through all that then. Give yourself time.”

  Closing my eyes against the brimming tears, I didn’t respond. I couldn’t talk about time. Lloyd had all his snatched from him.

  I expected it to be when he was deployed, when he was walking into war zones, not on a training exercise here in bloody Britain. It wasn’t fair.

  “Get some sleep, love,” Thom insisted, and pressed a kiss against my cheek. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  I wanted to respond, but I didn’t have the strength. I wanted to thank them both, not just for being here, but for helping me. All they’d done since they met me was be kind and thoughtful. They were the best things left in my life. I was too wiped out to do anything more than sleepily nod.

  I could tell them tomorrow. At least I had one to look forward to.

  17

  Ryan

  I’d gone around Lyla’s hospital room and had everything packed up and loaded into her suitcase ready for her to be discharged. Trying not to get caught, I’d been watching Lyla over the past day, and even though the doctors were happy for her to be sent home, I had reservations of it being too soon.

  She was still in a lot of pain, but with the infection mostly cleared and her temperature no longer spiking, they were happy to se
nd her home to finish her recovery. The only problem was, Lyla wasn’t just nursing her wound, she was nursing a broken heart, and neither of us had any idea how to fix it.

  The bag that Lyla’s nurse, Clare, held, crinkled as she went through it. “Your discharge papers are in here, Lyla. You’ll need to keep up with the antibiotics for another week. If your stitches become red or the skin hot, then you’ll need to come back to have them checked. I’m sending you home with plenty of waterproof dressings for when you have a shower. There’s some in there for bedtime as well, so you don’t snag the stitches on anything while you’re sleeping, but you can leave the wound bare while you’re awake.”

  Lyla nodded in the right places, but hadn’t joined any of our conversations all morning.

  Clare frowned and opened her mouth, but I jumped in. “Thanks, Clare.”

  Concern etched onto her features and she offered me a sad smile. “Right, there’s some aftercare leaflets in here with the dos and don’ts that Lyla will need to stick to for the next few weeks. If she runs out of pain medication, she’ll need to visit with her doctor to get some more.”

  Thom held his hand out for the pack so he could put it in the backpack with the rest of Lyla’s things that wouldn’t fit inside her small suitcase.

  Clare moved closer to Thom and dropped her voice so Lyla wouldn’t hear her. “I’ve added a few leaflets in there for bereavement, too.”

  Thom’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Thank you.”

  With Thom’s thanks, her voice returned to normal volume. “I’ll be back in a moment. Lyla will need a wheelchair to get her down to the car. Are you parked far?”

  “Couple of spaces back from the door,” Thom answered.

  “Why don’t one of you go down and move it to the pickup point?” Clare suggested. “By the time you’ve done that, Lyla will be on her way down to you.”

  Thom readily agreed, and with his backpack slung over his shoulder and Lyla’s suitcase in hand, he left to move the car while Clare disappeared to fetch Lyla a wheelchair. Lyla sat herself in the chair next to the bed and tried, but failed, to get her shoes on. At her huff, I knelt in front of her to help. With only the thick silence between us, it had me worried she was disappearing into her own head.

  “I’ve cooked and frozen a few different meals at home.” I had no idea why I chose to talk about food, but it was something to fill the quiet at least. She raised an eyebrow, but still didn’t speak.

  Getting desperate to hear her voice, I rambled, “Or I could make something else for you if there’s not already something you want.” I ran my fingers around her ankle and looked up at her. “Clare said we can take these socks off while you take a proper shower. A shower will have you feeling more human.”

  “Thank—” Lyla croaked before clearing her throat. “Thank you.”

  Leaning up, I pressed my lips against her cheek, causing her eyes to close. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

  The door behind us opened, and the wheels on the wheelchair squeaked across the tiled floor. “Here we are,” Clare announced cheerfully.

  Moment broken, I stood and held out a hand for Lyla to take. She was pulling away, and at this point I was desperate enough for any scraps she’d offer me. Even if it was just her hand.

  I breathed a sigh when she grabbed my hand to heave herself up, the wince at the stitches being pulled didn’t escape my notice, and I bit back the urge to ask Clare to check them. I had to trust Lyla would say something if they were bothering her, especially after what keeping silent had already cost her.

  With her situated in the wheelchair, Clare held the door open with an upbeat smile that never quite reached her eyes. With a nod, I pushed Lyla through and headed in the direction of the lift. I couldn’t wait to have her home and under our care. I prayed Thom and I would be enough to help get through her grief for Lloyd until Sam arrived home.

  With Thom busy in the kitchen putting the shopping away, and Lyla upstairs asleep, I’d come into the living room to call Sam. Only, the conversation wasn’t going the way I’d planned. Maybe Thom should’ve called him instead. I wasn’t equipped to deal with this type of shit.

  The silence at the other end of the phone was pissing me off. She’d only been home for two days, she was still a mess, and we were running out of ideas of how to coax her to eat, drink, or even speak. I couldn’t handle Sam disappearing on us too.

  Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I sighed. “Look, I get it, mate, I do, but you can’t not come home because she’s here. She’s still not over her surgery, let alone dealing with Lloyd.”

  A resigned huff sounded through the phone. “I can’t face her, Ry.”

  Sam was the practical one. He always knew how to work through a shitty time—when everyone else would sink, he always swam. He’d helped me tread water more than once, not that I ever admitted I needed him. I didn’t know how to turn that around and be the support he required.

  Elbows propped on my knees, I rested my chin on my chest as I glared at the floor like it could give me the solution to fix Sam and Lyla. “Why the fuck not? The only one blaming you is you. She’d fobbed the pain off for days too. The only difference was she wasn’t in the back of fucking beyond when we realised she was seriously ill.”

  He exhaled, his frustration clear. “I’ll just get some stuff and—”

  Luckily, he wasn’t in the room, because I would probably have punched him. Angry with him, I snapped, “Sam, just get your ass home. I’ll be there to pick you up, what time do you get in?”

  After a moment too long, he finally answered, “Six. Don’t make a fuss.”

  “You know the rules, Samuel,” I threatened. I wasn’t about to let him weasel out of the tradition him and Lloyd had set up, no matter how much he wanted to.

  “No. No beers,” he insisted. “Nothing. I just want to let this one go.”

  “Your best mate?” I asked, the disbelief in my tone more than clear. I tried not to, but he’d lost a friend. We all had. And while that wasn’t anything new—it came with the job—Lloyd wasn’t just a colleague. He was family, and to more than just us. Lyla had lost the only family member she had left who gave a shit about her well-being.

  Her grief wasn’t only for her brother. It was for her life as she’d known it. The life she’d hoped to be starting once he came home.

  Everything had changed for her, and it wouldn’t ever be the same. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone. The last thing Lyla needed was people avoiding her, and especially not the one person who was with her brother leading up to his last few days alive.

  “Leave it, Ry,” Sam snapped, his sorrow finally giving way to anger.

  “Fine,” I conceded, not wanting to push him too far, too soon. “But you’re coming home. You’re not isolating yourself. You and Lyla have more in common than you’d think. You can help each other.”

  Another audible sigh spiked my temper, but I let it go.

  “I’ll be there at six,” I reminded him. The guilt of leaving me waiting would have him coming home, even if he didn’t want to.

  He didn’t respond and I ended the call before I said something I didn’t mean.

  Slouching into the sofa, I dropped my phone onto the cushion next to me and scrubbed at my face with a groan.

  “That bad?” Thom questioned.

  I exhaled a harsh breath, trying not to clench my jaw in frustration. “He’s stubborn as fuck. Didn’t want to come home. The guilt is riding him hard, and I think I pissed him off which likely didn’t help matters.”

  The sofa dipped as Thom sat next to me, his thigh pushed against my own, offering support. “If he’s angry with you then he won’t be rehashing everything he thinks he didn’t do to save Lloyd. It’ll give him something else to concentrate on.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I nudged his knee with mine. “You been upstairs to see her?”

  “I poked my head around the door an hour ago,” he responded with a shrug. “She was sle
eping.”

  My leg began to bounce as I thought about Lyla. “I’m worried. She hasn’t been eating more than the bare minimum for her medication.”

  Thom’s hand grasped my knee, forcing the bouncing to stop. “We’ll speak with Sam. His knowledge will put him to use by giving him something to focus on. It’ll also break the ice with them.”

  I nodded as I thought over his words. “Maybe, or maybe Lyla will see Sam is riddled with guilt and set his ass straight.”

  I wasn’t convinced though. If they were both stuck in the midst of their grief and guilt, no amount of putting them together was going to fix them, if anything, it could make their pain worse and spiral further out of control. Misery loved company.

  Thom’s hand squeezed my knee again—harder this time—as if he knew where my thoughts had gone.

  “We’ll get through it. With the three of us here, I’m sure one of us will be able to get Lyla out of Lloyd’s bedroom. Once introductions are out of the way and Sam has settled back in, Lyla can begin the arrangements for the funeral.”

  That reminded me. “Her phone has gone off a couple of times. The damn thing fired up when I put it on charger once she got home.”

  “Francis?” His usual chirpy tone became icy.

  With a grumble, I dropped my head onto the cushions lining the back of the sofa. “Yeah. I cancelled the call and let it go to voicemail before turning it back off. I don’t want to interfere, but the shithead needs to get the hint.”

  “Lyla has to be the one to deal with him, but not now. When the time is right,” Thom remarked.

  I knew he was right, but with everything she’d been through I wanted to save her from having to deal with her no-dick husband. “I’m going to head up. See if I can get her to drink something.”

  She lay facing the door, with Lloyd’s t-shirt crushed into a ball and clutched tightly in her hands. She’d grabbed hold of it on her way to the bed when she got home and hadn’t let go of it since.

  I took a breath and let it out. I didn’t want to say anything to upset her more, but she couldn’t keep doing this.