by T. E. Sivec
My arms fall limply to my sides during Eve’s little enlightenment, and now I can’t stop opening and closing my hands into fists, the muscles in my arms clenching in fury. I want to argue with Eve. I want to tell her that no one will give a rat’s ass about me or my family because she’s right, I’m nobody. But I can’t make the words come out because I know everything she says is true. The first time the media sees me with Layla, they are going to want to know everything about me. They’ll find out about every single time I’ve screwed up in my life and people have gotten hurt. And they’ll find out about Gwen. That asshole husband of hers will find out where she is and how he can get to her. If it was just me, I could deal. I could push through that shit until they find another bone to chew on and get bored with me. But I can never let that happen to Gwen. Her and Emma’s safety depend on her ex never knowing where she is.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Marshall, and I just don’t want to see you or your lovely family get hurt,” Eve finishes as she walks my way and goes to the front door, pausing next to Layla’s suitcase and the guitar case Finn brought with him.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Eve asks with an anxious whisper, pointing at the guitar case.
“Finn dropped it off. Why?”
I step close to Eve and see that she is shaking from head to toe, like she’s seen a ghost.
“That’s impossible. That thing was destroyed years ago,” she mutters softly to herself, still staring at the case.
She reaches her hand out towards it in a daze but snatches it back when Finn and Layla enter the room.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Layla asks as Eve whips her head around and stares at her daughter in horror.
“What the hell have you done to your hair?” Eve shouts angrily across the room.
I move forward and place myself directly in front of Eve so she can’t see Layla without bending to the side.
“I think it’s time for you to go now, Eve. I’ll make sure to keep you updated on what’s going on here, so you can adjust Layla’s schedule as needed,” I tell her, taking a few steps in her direction and forcing her to move backward towards the door.
She reaches behind her and fumbles for the knob before finally getting it open. “Thank you, Mr. Marshall, for all of your help.”
Eve isn’t looking at me when she says it. She’s staring to the side at the guitar case, and I see a muscle tick in her jaw. She quickly blinks her eyes back into focus and looks up at me with a smile that is as fake as her entire personality. “We’ll be in touch soon.”
Closing the door behind her, I take a moment to look over at the guitar case that had Eve so enraptured. It’s just a standard Gibson case. It’s not like it’s plated in gold or something. Why the hell would Eve care about an old guitar case?
“I just want you to be careful, Lay. That’s all I’m saying,” Finn said softly as he perched on the edge of Brady’s bed next to me.
“I am being careful. For the first time in my life, I’m happy. The future doesn’t seem so bleak or hopeless. He makes me want to be a different person, Finn. He makes me want to be me.”
Finn looked at me quietly for a few minutes before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a few pages of folded up paper and hands them to me.
“What’s this?” I asked, unfolding the pages and smoothing them out on top of my thighs.
“Just read them.”
I looked away from Finn and scanned the pages. I immediately falter when I see Brady’s name.
“Finn, where did you get this? I shouldn’t be reading this. It’s his private life,” I told him angrily, thrusting the papers that have copies of newspaper articles and printed information that looked like it came from a government website.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about this man, Layla. I just want you to go into this with your eyes wide open. He’s had a lot of problems in the past. A lot. He fucked up on his last SEAL mission and it got people killed. He fucked up on a domestic disturbance call when he was with the PD and it got people killed,” Finn explained. “You just told me not moments ago that he feels guilty for not being there for his sister, so now he’s doing whatever he can to keep her safe, and that includes keeping her hidden away from their family and her husband.”
I scoffed at his words and angrily crossed my arms in front of me.
“That man beat the hell out of her, Finn. He deserves to be in the dark when it comes to her whereabouts.”
Finn placed the pages back on top of my thighs, but I refused to look down at them.
“That’s not the point, Lay. The point is he doesn’t care about the law or going through the proper channels to get something done. He does whatever it takes because he feels guilty. He’s trying to make up for the fact that he wasn’t there for his sister by holing her away in his home, thousands of miles from where their family lives. All of that death, all of that loss, it gets to a person. I’m just saying maybe what he feels for you and what he’s doing with you has a lot to do with trying to make up for the past.”
I stared at Finn in silence for a few minutes, refusing to comment on his theory. There was no way he could be right. Brady wasn’t transferring his guilt over to me. It wasn't possible. What we had was real and it meant something to him. I could tell by the way he looked at me, the way he touched me.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. I know his type, Lay. SEALS are all the same. He doesn’t care about you. He’s just trying to make up for his mistakes with you. Getting close to you means you’re never out of his sight, and that means he won’t fuck this up. He won’t have another death on his conscience.”
I looked straight ahead at the wall and wouldn’t allow myself to look at Finn. He finally got up from the bed with a sigh and headed towards the door.
“I hope I’m wrong about all of this, I really do. But for your sake, please, just ask him about it.”
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of Brady’s bed, I gently strum my Gibson Hummingbird as it rests on my lap, thinking about the conversation I had with Finn that morning. Brady has been on the phone all day, going outside a few times to talk or whispering so softly I can’t hear him. When I asked him what was going on, he just told me he was researching some leads and would tell me what was going on as soon as he had something concrete. Gwen has been just as secretive, tapping away on the laptop at the kitchen table and changing the subject when I ask her if there’s anything new.
I know there’s something they’re not telling me, and it pisses me off that they think they need to keep it from me.
The door to Brady’s room clicks opens a few minutes later, and he pauses in the doorway when he sees me, my fingers immediately stilling on the strings. He gently closes the door behind him and walks over to the edge of the bed.
“When did you learn how to play?” he asks as he climbs up onto the bed and faces me, mirroring my position by pulling his legs up in front of him.
I stare at his face for a few minutes, wondering if I have the courage to ask him what he’s doing with me. Finn’s words have gotten to me, even though I swore I wouldn’t let them. Is he really doing whatever this is with me out of misplaced guilt? Does he feel like if he solves this stalker case and I’m safe it will make up for all the bad things that have happened in his life? And what then? He just goes back to his life and I go back to mine?
I look down at my guitar and I can’t help but think about my father. I wonder if he felt guilty when he walked out the door nine years ago.
“My father taught me when I was little. We used to go down into the recording studio, just the two of us, every single day after school. It was my absolute favorite time of the day,” I quietly admit to Brady as I run the palm of my right hand down the top of the guitar, feeling all of the nicks and scratches from years of use, each one reminding me of happier times.
Placing my the fingers of my left hand on the proper frets, I strum my right hand down the strings, quickly moving my
left hand as I play the notes for the song that has been in my head all evening. The fact that I stood on a stage in front of strangers and played when I’d done nothing but hold this guitar in my arms for almost ten years makes me feel almost invincible. The song I play now is an original; it’s the first time I’ve ever played one for anyone, and the fact that I’m fully opening myself up to Brady and not afraid to do so speaks volumes. I’ve never played a single note of one of my original songs on this guitar, no matter how many words I’ve written that I know would be perfect for it. Regardless of the confusion I’m feeling about Brady and his feelings for me, I still trust him. I trust him enough to show him this part of me.
Brady doesn’t speak as I open my mouth and let the words softly build while I play. It’s a song I wrote during one of the darkest times in my life, when I thought ending it all was the only option I had to be free. I close my eyes and let the music flow through me. I strum the guitar slowly, and my words match my playing as I gently sing about the story of my life.
I put everything I have into this song and show him who I really am. I want him to see me, I want him to hear me, and I want him to finally understand me. I’m opening up my heart and soul to him here on this bed, and part of me doesn’t care if he’s with me because he feels guilty. As long as he’s here, I’ll take what I can get.
I’m standing on the edge,
close to falling in.
I know I could just let go,
close my eyes and let them win.
If I take that step there’ll be nothing left
of who I used to be.
Do I let the darkness swallow me?
Do I let go and finally be free?
This pain leaves a scar that you cannot erase.
Only the darkness can take away my disgrace.
Everyone thinks I have it all together.
They look right through me,
and refuse to see the truth.
That it’s all just a great big mess,
and I’m so far from being blessed.
Do I let the darkness swallow me?
Do I let go and finally be free?
This pain leaves a scar that you cannot erase.
Only the darkness can take away my disgrace.
I’m surrounded by so many,
but I’ve never felt so alone.
It would be so easy,
to say goodbye and make my way home.
Do I let the darkness swallow me?
Do I let go and finally be free?
This pain leaves a scar that you cannot erase.
Only the darkness can take away my disgrace.
I close out the song with a few gentle strums, pressing my palm against the strings over the sound hole, swathing the room in sudden silence. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and the ticking of a clock on Brady’s nightstand. I slowly open my eyes and look directly into Brady’s as he sits completely still right in front of me.
He doesn’t say a word as I slide the guitar off of my lap and stand it upright next to the bed against the nightstand. Just like on the stage at June’s, playing my guitar gives me courage and strength I never knew I had. It makes me feel bold and in control, and now that I’ve played one of my songs for the first time, I have a mass of excess energy and excitement that I need to channel elsewhere.
Getting up on my knees, I crawl over to Brady and straddle his lap, letting my arms rest on his shoulders and my hands dangle loosely behind his head. He hesitates for a few seconds before wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me close, and I ignore the look of guilt that I see on his face for a split second before he turns it into a smile, tipping up one corner of his mouth in the way I love so much.
I love this man. I can’t keep pretending like I don’t.
“You are amazing, Layla,” Brady whispers as he looks at my face and brings his hand up to use the tips of his fingers to brush my bangs off of my forehead, moving his fingers down the side of my face to tuck my hair behind my ear.
He’s staring at me so intently. I can feel that he wants to say more, but he’s holding himself back. His brow furrows as he looks at me, and I’m so afraid I can barely breathe. I’m afraid of what he’s not saying, and I’m afraid of what he might say. I want him to tell me he feels the same way I do; I want him to reassure me that guilt has no part in his feelings for me. I want this man to always be a part of my life and to continue giving me the strength and courage I need to survive. I know we need to talk, and there’s so much we’ve left unsaid between us, but I can’t do it right now. Right now, I just want to feel. I just want to lose myself in him and not worry about anything else.
I lower my head and kiss him. I pour everything I am into that kiss and hope that he can feel it. I slide my fingers through his hair and hold his face against mine and hope he knows that he’s the only man I’ve ever given this much of myself to.
Without breaking the kiss, Brady moves his legs out from under me and pushes me back on the bed, gently resting his body on top of mine. The few times we’ve had sex, there’s been a kind of desperation to it that I loved, like we can’t get enough of each other, and it quickly explodes like a bomb as we crash into one another, giving and taking and pushing us both to our limits.
This time, we slowly undress each other, taking our time to touch and kiss and feel. When he finally rocks into me, it’s unhurried and with ease. He moves on top of me slowly, and he never takes his eyes off of my face as we leisurely move against one another. When my orgasm washes through me, it’s gentle and delicious and no less powerful than all of the other times, just less frantic. When Brady’s own release comes seconds after mine, he holds himself still inside of me, entwining the fingers of one of his hands with mine and holding it between us, against his heart.
He slides out of me without a word and moves behind me, pulling my back up against his front and wrapping his arms tightly around me. I lie there next to him, listening to the sounds of his breathing as they gradually slow until I can tell that he’s finally asleep. I can’t stop the tear that falls down my cheek, and I bury my face into the pillow so I don’t wake him.
I should be happy that what just happened between us wasn’t sex, it was making love. I could feel his love for me in every part of my body even if he didn’t voice the words.
So why am I not happy? Why do I feel like he was saying goodbye?
I wake up slowly to the sounds of people talking in the living room. Rolling over to reach for Brady, I feel nothing but cold sheets and realize the bed is empty. I push everything I’m feeling as far down as possible and get up out of bed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from my bag and running a brush through my short hair. When I leave the bedroom and walk into the living room, I see Finn, Brady, and Gwen standing around in the kitchen. Brady’s eyes quickly leave mine when I look at him questioningly, and I realize with a sinking feeling that the worries I had last night weren’t unfounded.
“Layla, good news!” Finn says excitedly as he rounds the kitchen table and walks up to me, pulling me into his arms. “They caught that Ray guy. They picked him up last night after they got an anonymous tip from the APB they put out. We have to get to the station as soon as possible so you can ID him.”
I try to catch Brady’s eyes over Finn’s shoulder, but he’s got his arms crossed in front of him, staring down at his shoes. I pull out of Finn’s embrace and take a step back, forcing my chin up and putting on a look of bravado that I don’t feel. This is a good thing. They caught the guy who’s been terrorizing me. He’s behind bars and this can finally be over. I can go home and things can go back to normal.
“That’s great. I’ll just go get my things and—”
“There’s no time,” Finn says quickly, cutting me off and grabbing my hand as he pulls me towards the door. “They want to book this guy as soon as possible, and they can’t do that without you. I’ll send someone for your things later.”
I let Finn pull me towards the door without a
word, casting one last look behind me at Brady. Is he really going to just let me walk out of here without saying anything?
He finally looks up from the floor, but his eyes don’t meet mine. They’re somewhere over my shoulder.
“If you want, I could follow behind you. You know, if you have any questions about the process or anything…” Brady says quietly, trailing off at the end.
If I want? What about what YOU want? God dammit, say something to me!
“Thanks, but I think we’re okay. I can take care of Layla from here,” Finn tells Brady with a cocky smile.
I stand there for as long as I can, willing him to actually look me in the eyes. Have some fucking guts to tell me to my face that this is it, that last night really was his way of saying goodbye. Gwen stands off to the side, looking back and forth between us like someone at a tennis match, waiting for one of us to do something.
I turn away from both of them and start heading out the door Finn holds open, but then I stop in my tracks. Maybe I’m making a big deal out of this when he’s probably just acting like a typical guy and doesn’t know how to say what he wants. It’s not like I actually came out and told him how I felt. I showed him instead. I showed him a part of me that only my father ever saw or understood. I trusted him to see me, to know me.
I want to be strong and I want to be independent, so maybe I should start acting like it. Take what I want for once. Letting go of Finn’s hand, I hold up one finger, telling him to wait just a minute, and stalk back over to Brady who is now staring out the window.