by Kelly, A. S.
“I don’t know where to start,” I say quietly. “I’ve made so many mistakes, Dad, one after the other. It only took the first one, then it was impossible to stop. The more I fucked everything up, the more I wanted to keep doing it. I became the master of fuck-ups, and you know why? Because it was the only thing I knew how to do.”
I take a few moments to get my breathing in check, and to see if there’s any reaction from him; but I can’t pull any air into my lungs, and he doesn’t turn to me or make any movement at all.
“I lied. To you, to Mum, to my brothers. To friends, acquaintances, even strangers. I lied to everyone. And I lied to myself. And now I can’t stop lying – I don’t know anything else, you know?” I get to my feet and start to pace around the room. “It was the only way to survive – or, at least, that’s what I’d convinced myself. I was fine like that. I thought I was okay, that no one was getting hurt. But then I had to lie to her. And, Dad,” I turn to face him, “I never realised what I was doing until I saw the disappointment in her eyes. And I can’t bear it. She believed me, I let her hope… How could I do that? How can I ever go back now and make it up to her, to…?” I scoff, frustrated, and sit down again, letting my head fall into my hands.
“I’m sorry I was away for so long. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you all needed me. I’m sorry I betrayed Ryan… I’m sorry I only made you worry, that I was never the son you’d hoped for…” The first tear rolls down my face. “I’m sorry I got left behind, that I couldn’t turn back, that I’m… That I’m Nick. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Sobs burst through my voice, and the tears I’ve been trying to hold back start to work their way up my throat, choking me.
“I’m sorry…” I say again.
Only my sobbing breaks the silence. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that – or maybe I just don’t remember. But I do know that I’ve never felt so desperate.
A hand grabs suddenly onto my leg. I whip my head up and see my father’s eyes, so alert, so thoughtful, smiling at me warmly.
“Dad…?”
“Nick.”
I nod, as another sob climbs up my windpipe. “I’m home, Dad.”
His smile opens up. I take his hand in mine and he wipes away my tears.
“You’re back.”
“I’m here, Dad. And I’m not going anywhere.”
66
Casey
The first thing I see when he opens the front door and his eyes capturing mine, is fear. It’s something that I’ve never seen in him before, but it sets a storm raging inside me. A few seconds later, the fear morphs into shock; he didn’t expect to see me, and I didn’t expect to see him, either. But this is him, it’s his family: I couldn’t just sit at home, thinking about how much he needed me. Even though he said all those things to me, got on that plane; even though he tried to leave me behind again, I can’t do it.
I can’t leave him.
Suddenly another emotion, even stronger this time, more dangerous, takes hold of my world and erases it, as if I’d never existed before this moment.
Hope.
Nick was hoping to see me, hoping I’d come over.
He’d been hoping I’d sit here, waiting for him.
I take a few steps inside, as he stands there, frozen, in the doorway. I turn to face him, and the flames inside him leap into his eyes. He closes the door suddenly and stands in front of me; his arms are tense by his sides, his hands balled into fists. His breath is almost suffocating him as he tries to project those flames into me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry for your dad, your family…for you.”
Nick doesn’t respond. He just keeps looking me in the eye, trying to hold himself together – but I know that there’s no use in fighting against everything that’s weighing him down. Just like there’s no use in fighting against what I feel for him.
He takes a step towards me and reaches a hand out to my face; he strokes my cheek slowly, as if he can’t believe I’m really standing there, in front of him.
“You didn’t have to come here… God, Casey. You shouldn’t even be letting me touch you.”
I shake my head, confused.
His hand slides behind my neck and pulls me into him. His mouth is on mine suddenly, before I can take that breath I so desperately needed. He keeps me there, pressed against him, as his lips move urgently with mine, seeking out what he needs.
Seeking out me.
I slide my hands over his face, keeping him close, showing him that I’m here: in his house, in his life. In him. Anywhere he wants me.
We pull apart, taking deep breaths; Nick holds me there in his arms, pressing his forehead against mine.
“You should go,” his mouth says, his heart beating wildly with mine, begging me not to leave.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, determined.
“You don’t get it. I can’t.”
“Can’t do what?”
“Can’t fight loving you.”
“Then don’t fight it.”
“I need to,” he says, his face still pressed against mine. His lips gently kiss the corner of my mouth. “I need you,” he sighs, kissing me over and over. “I couldn’t bear it if you left me.”
I catch his lips between mine, weaving my hands into his hair and pressing myself close to him. Now I can feel his desperation inside me, his suffering and his sadness taking over my body. His hands are running over me; when they get to my hips, a sigh escapes my mouth as I lift myself up and wrap my legs around his waist.
“God, Casey…” he murmurs, biting me.
He takes a few steps back and pushes my back against the wall. His lips dip down to my neck, before planting themselves onto my breasts. I slowly untangle my legs, dropping my feet to the floor, as his hands start to slide under my top. As soon as his hands brush against me, I realise how much I missed his touch. He pushes his body into me, proving just how much he wants me; his hands slip to the button of my jeans, quickly undoing them and sliding his hand inside, onto the dampness between my legs.
“Oh, fuck,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Fuck, Casey!”
His fingers move over my labia, as his breathing slows into deep, moaning sighs.
I battle the button of his jeans, trying to speed the process along – but when I manage to get them undone, his hand stops me.
He looks at me for a moment, before lifting me up again and carrying me towards his bedroom. He lets me go, and I go back to what I was doing; I help him out of his jeans, then pull his shirt over his head. He does the same with mine, letting it fall to the floor. His hands get rid of anything else I’m wearing.
It’s us. Again.
Standing there, facing each other. Completely naked. We have no clothes, no guard. We have nothing apart from the night, weighing down on us. Nothing apart from the end.
Nick strokes my face with his hand. He steps closer to me and speaks into my mouth.
“Lie to me, Casey. Just once. Just tonight.”
“Nick…”
“I need you to lie to me,” he says, panting. “Tell me a lie, but make it sound real. I need to believe it for the rest of my life.”
His eyes are begging me even more than his words; even more than his heart, which I can feel thumping against the palm of my hand, pressing against his chest. It’s yelling at me to let him go, to set him free. To help him find a way into the light: even if I’m not the one to meet him there.
I push him towards the bed and make him sit down. I bend down towards his mouth and kiss him slowly, as I feel his hands slide down my back. My lips are moving against his, telling him the first lie.
I tell him that I was never there, watching him, as he ran laps of the rugby field. I tell him that my heart didn’t leap into my throat every time he was tackled. I tell him that I didn’t run home crying like a baby every time another girl caught his attention, leading him further and further away from me.
I si
t on top of him, slipping him slowly inside me. My body recognises him instantly. I place my hands on his shoulders and lift myself up a little, before sinking back down to feel him inside me. I tell him another lie. I tell him that I didn’t wait there all night in that damn swimming pool, asking myself where I went wrong, what I was thinking; so angry at myself for taking it too far, for pushing him away from me forever.
My movements quicken, and I feel his beard scratch against my breasts. I lie again: I tell him that I never thought of him every time I was with another man. I tell him that I never closed my eyes and imagined it was him who was touching me, kissing me, wanting me.
I stretch myself out on top of him, his hands keeping a steady grip on my waist, my body sliding against his. Our pace quickens with our breathing, as I tell him that I never believed his lie; that I never sat around, waiting for him to come back. That I never hoped, and would never have kept hoping for the rest of my life.
I tremble on top of him, as I feel him shuddering inside me. I tell him that I never fell in love with him the first time I ever went to watch them train. I tell him that I never kept loving him, silently, for all these years. I tell him that I won’t keep loving him forever.
I slump onto him breathlessly; but I don’t tell him that, in that moment, the biggest lie is the one he’s telling me.
67
Nick
Her lies hurt. They’re heavy, unbearable. But they’re so real that I can’t help but believe them.
Casey has written her lies all over me; she used her hands, her mouth, her whole body. She’s imprinted them onto my skin, onto my heart.
And they’re so beautiful, so terrifying. They’re lies I want to dive into. They make me feel so safe. So me.
There’s no way to shrug them off. There’s no way to forget tonight: its desperation, its understanding that this is the end. I’ll never be able to forget her, and everything we never had.
I’ll never be able to move on. I’ll always be left behind.
Casey lifts herself up slowly, her hair tickling my chest, her fingers tracing the movement.
Her eyes.
The inferno within them grabs hold of me, with no escape.
She stretches herself onto her back, next to me, her graze turned to the ceiling. I instinctively reach for her hand, but as soon as my fingers brush against hers, she pulls away, laying it over her stomach instead.
She doesn’t want any more contact.
She doesn’t want me.
She lies there for a few more minutes, as I try to gather my thoughts, scanning my brain for something to say that will keep her here a little longer. But I’m not exactly a smart guy; the only thing I can do is wait here, slowly dying, dragging her down with me.
Casey sits herself up, brushing her hair away from her face before finally turning to look at me.
“I’m leaving, Nick.” Her voice is determined, steady. “And I’m not going to come back. Not this time.”
I lift myself up, too, moved by the fear that she really will leave. I stretch a hand out towards her and grab her arm, trying to pull her closer to me. Casey sighs heavily and shakes her head, before trying to get to her feet; but I don’t let her. I pull her onto my lap, taking her face in my hands and begging her, my heart ablaze: “Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”
“You were the one who left me. And… you never came back.”
“Look at me. I’m here,” I say, lifting her face so that she can look me in the eyes. “I’m right here in front of you.”
She slides out of my grip and moves her head aside.
“I don’t see you.”
It feels like I’m dying. But it makes no sense; I’d never be able to feel pain like this if I were really dead.
She gets up and pads barefoot around the room, looking for her clothes. She slowly gets dressed, in agonising silence. This time, it’s a silence I can’t fill with any of my bullshit. I’m too tired of it; tired of hearing it, tired of talking about it. Tired of how it makes me – and everyone around me – feel.
I’m tired of being me.
When I watch her leave the bedroom and head for the living room, I realise that she’s really doing it; she’s decided to go, to leave me behind. I get up and run after her, the sound of my movements stopping her, as she grips the door handle. She turns to face me, almost crushing me with the hope I can see etched into her face.
“What can I do? Tell me what I have to do to make you stay.”
I’d get down on my knees and crawl to her; but I don’t think even that could help me now.
“Tell me the truth.” She steps towards me. “Just tell me the truth. But no bullshit, no jokes. I want to really believe you.”
She waits there wordlessly, her eyes welling up. But I don’t say anything. I don’t move a muscle; not even when I see a tear slide silently down her cheek.
There are a thousand things I could say right now, but I simply choose not to say anything. This is the easier option: and I’ve always taken the easier option in life.
So I don’t tell her that I’ve loved her from that first day she came to the training ground with her dad. I don’t tell her that, every time I was thrown to the ground, it was because I was distracted, looking at her.
I don’t tell her that, when I left her in that swimming pool, I called my brothers, almost hysterical; I was ready to give up everything. That contract, my future as a rugby player, the chance to have any sort of life at all. Just to go back and tell her that I wanted to keep kissing her, all night, and every day that followed – if she’d have let me.
I don’t tell her that I thought about that kiss every night, as I closed my eyes and kissed another woman; that I imagined her body underneath mine every time I slept with someone; that I dreamed about coming back home to her every time I checked into another lonely hotel room.
I don’t tell her about every time I picked up the phone, ready to call her. Every time I came back to Dublin and had to physically restrain myself from going near her house.
I don’t tell her that I’ve always loved her, and that I always will, even when she leaves me here. I don’t tell her that I’ll never love anyone else for the rest of my life.
I don’t tell her that, for eight years, I’d hoped that she’d wait for me to come back; and I’ll keep hoping, even though I have no right to.
I don’t tell her that I believe all her lies.
I don’t tell her that I’m terrified to be left alone with myself.
I shake my head and lower my gaze.
“You’re the only one who’s been left behind, Nick. But you won’t hold me back with you. I’ve decided to move on, even if that means I have to move on without you.”
She turns, opens the door, and disappears, as I crumble to the floor, my eyes glued to the place where she vanished. I sit there, maybe all night. Maybe into tomorrow morning.
I’m frozen there, doing absolutely nothing, waiting for her to come back.
68
Nick
Almost twenty-four hours after Casey left, I finally decide to leave my apartment and go to my parents’ house. Ian called me, asking me to go. I didn’t want to, but I need a few hours to take my mind off everything. I attempt to scrape myself into looking somewhat presentable, trying to avoid another family discussion about the disaster that is my life.
“You look awful,” Ian comments as soon as he opens the door.
“You think?” I snap.
“What happened?”
“Nothing I want to talk about.”
“Shock,” he mumbles, closing the door and stepping aside to let me pass.
I go through to the kitchen and find Mum there with Riley and little Jamie.
“Look, sweetie, here’s Uncle Nick,” Riley says to her.
Her presence is all it takes to have me smiling. That little girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I approach them and gently grasp one of her tiny hands, dropping a delicate kis
s onto her back.
“Come here.” Riley hands her to me and I hold her in my arms, leaning my forehead against hers, hoping that the smell of her will relieve some of the pain shooting through my heart.
“Are you alright, Nick?” Riley asks, stroking my arm.
“Sure, I’m great.”
Ian bursts into a sudden coughing fit.
“How’s Dad?” I ask, trying to move the attention away from me.
“That’s why I called you,” Ian says. “He wants to speak to you.”
“Me?”
He nods.
“Oh… Okay, sure.” I place Jamie back in her mother’s arms and Ian leads me towards the garden. Through the back-door window, he points out our father, who’s sitting on the patio next to Ryan.
“He’s doing a lot better today,” Ian sighs. “He’s gone out to get some fresh air.”
“Well, that’s a good thing – right?”
Ian smiles at me. “Come on.”
Dad and Ryan are side-by-side, sitting in silence. He’s staring at his beloved rose bush, as Ryan leans his head back, his gaze fixed on the sky.
“Hey,” I say, sitting down next to them. Ryan turns to look at me and nods, as Dad continues to cast his gaze out to the bushes. Ian sits with us, too, and we all shuffle in ours seats, trying to figure out how to act.
“Do you remember that night, Nick?” Dad begins, suddenly. “The night Ian first came home with us?”
I nod.
“Do you remember what you said to me?”
“I say a lot of things, Dad,” I say, trying to avoid the topic.
“Everyone deserves a family,” Ian says, looking at me. “That’s what you said to me, on the field, when you asked me why I was sleeping under the stands.”
