The Play

by Karina Halle

  I go off like an atom bomb.

  His hips pound against me, brutal, punishing, and he’s gone too with a flurry of groans, my name whispered over and over as he claws at my hips, releasing every inch of himself inside of me, shooting as far and deep as he can go.

  It’s so fucking beautiful.

  When we’ve both caught our breath, when our hearts have slowed their schizophrenic pace, he pulls out of me and I hop down from the sink, my ass completely numb.

  We don’t know what to say to each other. I don’t think we need to say anything. We give each other lazy, knowing smiles. He gets a few pieces of tissue paper and wipes it up the inside of my leg, making sure I’m dry. Then he holds his arm out for me, like a gentleman.

  Like a lady, I take it and we make our way out into the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Kayla

  The next few days pass by in some hazy kind of bliss. Ever since I told Lachlan I would stay in Scotland, I’ve just been luxuriating in the idea. And luxuriating for the both of us means a lot of hot, happy sex. We’re reveling in the fact that our relationship has been given an extension, that the finite amount of days we were initially granted have been stretched out into infinity.

  What I’m really doing though, is avoiding all the tough decisions. The hard calls. I don’t want to call my mother and tell her I might not come home. I don’t want to email Stephanie and Nicola and tell them that I’m risking it all on Lachlan. I don’t want to contact my work and tell them I’m putting in my zero-week notice – from afar.

  Lachlan brings up the fact that I could just go home, sort out my affairs from there and then head back over. But there’s something about that that makes me nervous. I know it’s probably the right thing to do, but I also feel it could make things harder. If I saw my mom again, if she looked more frail than before or sounded so painfully sad, I don’t think I could leave her. And then where would I be? The last thing my mother would ever want from me to is to feel like I resent her and though I never could, I know I’d spend the rest of my life nursing a broken heart and wondering what could have been.

  So I eschew being a responsible and reasonable adult. I blame my foggy head on an excess of love and hormones. Just a few more days of putting off the hard part, of having to say goodbye, of having to justify my decision. Lachlan and I plan instead, about my future here, about what it all entails.

  I mentioned all the hot fucking sex, didn’t I? Well obviously it will be a lot of that. But with Jessica promising me her help in terms of the article, it means concentrating on building my portfolio. The next day after the gala, even in a slightly hungover state, I did up a few paragraphs in the style of something you’d see in one of the gossip magazines, just a short column piece. I emailed it to Jessica who made a few corrections and said she was passing it on to someone she knows.

  I still haven’t heard back but I’m just happy that she wants to help me, that she thinks she can. Lachlan seems to believe it as well, and is adamant that I could work at the organization with Amara.

  I want to try and get a job on my own two feet, on my own terms, but I also know that it’s not exactly easy when you’re living in Scotland as a somewhat illegal immigrant. I mean, I’m allowed to be here for a certain amount of time, legally, but I’m never allowed to work without a visa. Lachlan says it would be easy for him to sponsor me and that my only other way is to work under the table with some bar work, but that doesn’t sound so bad at all.

  In fact, there’s something romantic about it. If I were back at home, I’d hate the idea of working at a bar. I mean, Nicola works at The Burgundy Lion, but it’s only temporary and she’s got people skills in spades. After all, I hate everyone. The idea of serving them day in and out, and alcohol of all things, does my head in.

  But here, in Scotland, I could totally be a barmaid. Here, I can be anyone I want to be. That’s the beauty of travel, of throwing everything you know aside and starting over.

  That said, I don’t want to start seriously looking until everything is official. That means as soon as I’ve officially resigned from my job, as soon as I’ve filled in my friends and family, well that’s when the work begins.

  I just wish, wish, that there wasn’t this tiny, niggling feeling in the back of my chest that’s telling me that things aren’t going to work out the way I want them to. That it won’t be that easy. And that there is a lot of heartache coming my way.

  When Monday morning rolls around I get up with the intention that when everyone else in the world rises, when Monday hits on Pacific Time, then I’ll make the phone calls. Maybe that notion makes me already a bit irritable to begin with, I don’t know. But Lachlan wakes up on the wrong side of the bed too. Even Emily is a bit snappish, though Lionel is about as chill as can be, regarding us all warily.

  I guess I’m leaving it down to the wire here. Technically there’s only a few days left for me here and if I had been proactive, and already booked my flight, I’d be leaving at the end of the week. Maybe that’s also adding to the prickly stew, the sense of the unknown.

  But if I know anything it’s that coffee solves everything. I head into the kitchen to make a whole bunch of it, while grumpy pants Lachlan takes his monosyllabic caveman speak to the washroom.

  After one cup I’m feeling better, the cobwebs clearing, and Lachlan strides into the kitchen with the towel around his waist, hair damp from the shower. I always make time to check him out, I mean, a girl can’t help it. Living with him is like living in some girl’s Tumblr account filled with tall, muscular, tattooed, men. And by “some girl,” I totally mean my account from a few years ago.

  “I made coffee,” I say to him rather dumbly but coffee doesn’t give me a new brain until the second cup.

  He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs. “Thanks,” he says, but doesn’t look at me.

  “Rough night?” I ask him. We’d both gone to bed at a decent hour and I know that it still took me a few hours to fall asleep, my mind going over every big thing I needed to do.

  He shrugs and finally looks at me. His eyes are a bit wired looking, bloodshot. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep well either.

  “I’m fine,” he says, getting out a frying pan to make some eggs. “So today you’re going to talk to work, yeah?”

  Right. So this is weighing on him.

  I nod, hoping my smile hides how unsure I am. Again, not about moving here it’s just…well, nothing is for certain it seems and all my fears keep sneaking up on me. “As soon as it rolls around to nine a.m. over there, I’m making the call.”

  He studies me sharply. “You’re actually going to quit your job?”

  Jesus. Did he have to voice it so plainly? My fear multiplies.

  “Like we said.”

  “Good,” he says and turns back to busying himself with breakfast.

  “Are you all right?” I ask him, coming over and placing my hand on the hard, sinewy muscles of his back.

  He pauses, his chin dipping down for a moment. “Yeah. No. Sorry. Sorry, love.” He gives me a tight smile. “One of those mornings when you wake up with a monkey on your back. You know?”

  “Of course,” I tell him, reaching for a cup and pouring him some coffee. “But coffee is the cure for everything, we know this.”

  “Thanks,” he says softly, taking it from me. “I’m just…holding my breath, I guess.” He takes a sip before putting it down and getting back to eggs. “And the first game is coming up, against Glasgow, and I both want to play and I don’t. I want to prove myself, that I’m back, but I don’t want to risk going out there and fucking it all up. Or fucking myself up.”

  “I think you know your body better than anything,” I tell him, hoping I make sense. The last thing I want is for him to stress even more. “And your body knows exactly what to do to win a game. Granted, I haven’t seen you practice much but I would be totally lying if I told you I hadn’t been watch Youtube video after Youtube video of you playing
, running people over, scoring tries and just fucking owning it. You’re going to be fine.”

  “And us?” he asks, glancing at me. “What about us?”

  “You should never worry about us,” I tell him and in the moment I say it, I believe it completely.

  ***

  While Lachlan goes off to rugby practice, I stay in the flat thinking about all the phone calls I have to make. While I know it’s the right thing to do, what I want to do, I’m not sure how responsible it is. Okay, I know how responsible it isn’t. That’s what’s making me hesitate when I stare at the phone, turning it over and over in my hands, counting down to when I have to pull the trigger.

  What if it doesn’t work out between us? What if I give up everything for him, to stay here, to be with him, and our relationship isn’t strong enough to survive whatever will be thrown our way? We’re so new at this, not just in terms of knowing each other, but in terms of love. We both haven’t had a lot of experience, least I know I haven’t. Not like this. And what if moving here is harder than it looks, that once the honeymoon period wears off I start resenting Lachlan for never having to make any sacrifices himself?

  I don’t want that to happen. But if I don’t take the risk, I’ll never know. It’s the honest truth that I love him so much that it’s consuming me. My first encounter with him planted a seed and I had no idea how fast and lush it would grow inside of me. I’m tangled in love, hopelessly, as it grows over me like a beautiful weed, ruthless to the root.

  Part of me wants to bring out the weed killer and spray the shit out of myself, because I’ve never been the kind of girl to feel this way, to do the insane things I’m about to do. The other part wants to revel in the wildness, to embrace it, to grow crazy and merciless and unchecked.

  At around four p.m., Lachlan hasn’t arrived back from practice yet and I decide to make the call. I choose my mother because she always has to come first, even before my job.

  The phone rings and rings and rings. It’s early at home but she’s always gotten up at the crack of dawn anyway. I sigh and hang up, feeling a strange sense of relief that I don’t have to break the news to her just yet.

  I’m about to call Stephanie, just to feel like I’ve done something, when I hear Lachlan’s keys in the door. I also hear voices.

  I crane my neck from the couch to see him come inside the hall with Brigs. Lionel and Emily jump off the couch from beside me, Lionel wagging his tail at Lachlan’s brother, Emily barking at him.

  “Oy, shut up,” Lachlan says to her and it’s the first time I’ve heard him yell at a dog. It puts a sour taste in my mouth.

  I cautiously get off the couch and come over to them.

  Lachlan is different. The change in him is immediate. His head is lower, shoulders hunched up, a cagey tightness in his eyes. He’s out of his uniform and in jeans and a V-necked shirt, but I don’t think he’s showered from after practice. A patch of mud clings to his arm.

  “Hi,” I say to Brigs, bringing my eyes over to him. “Nice to see you again. If I knew you were coming, I would have made myself look more presentable.”

  “Oh, please,” Brigs says to me, displaying a charming smile and very white, straight teeth that no doubt was created by an orthodontist. “You look lovely.”

  Lachlan stalks off into the dining room, heading for the kitchen. I watch him go then look back to Brigs expectantly.

  “Did something happen?” I ask quickly, lowering my voice.

  He purses his lips, eyes darting to the dining room. “I had time today, so I went by to watch his practice. I told him a few days ago I might stop by, so he knew. I always try and see a few games, kind of tradition, aye? Well, I only caught the last half of practice cuz I was running late and I got there just in time to see him completely plow into Denny. Denny’s his teammate. Lachlan didn’t pull back at all. I know he normally does. Now Denny’s fucking injured, who knows how bad. Might have dislocated his shoulder.”

  My mouth drops open. “Shit. Is Lachlan in trouble?”

  Brigs frowns, his blue blue eyes becoming positively icy. “Hard to say. I don’t think so. Lachlan is a hard-hitter and sometimes he doesn’t know his own strength. The coach knows that. Fuck, he encourages it from him. But even if the team isn’t concerned, Lachlan is to blame if Denny isn’t better by the first game.”

  I’m not even sure how to process that. The last thing Lachlan needs is blame.

  I’m fumbling for words, wanting to hear from Brigs that everything is going to be all right but Lachlan comes out of the kitchen, eyes on the ground, brushing past us to the door.

  “Where you going?” Brigs asks him.

  “For a walk,” Lachlan mumbles, shutting the door behind him.

  “I should go after him,” I tell Brigs but he puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “Give him space,” he says, giving me an imploring look. “Believe me.”

  “He just must feel so horrible.” I cross my arms across my chest, feeling cold all of a sudden. I don’t want Lachlan to go for a walk, alone, lost to his inner torment. He needs me to be there, to pull him out of the dark.

  “I reckon he felt something horrible to start with,” Brigs says. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have hit so hard.” He gives me a steady look, placing his hands in his pockets. “Listen, I don’t profess to know about your relationship with Lachlan. I barely know my own relationship with him sometimes. You know, I was just leaving school when we brought him into the family. I’d grown up with a lot of foster brothers and sisters coming in and out of the house but for some reason Lachlan stuck, even though he was nearly impossible to get to know. My mum saw something in him and didn’t want to give up. I suppose he saw the same in us. But it was a rough ride. And I was so angry at him, at this young fuck who acted like we didn’t do anything for him. I just didn’t understand his demons.” He pauses, looking away, his expression pained. “I do know though. I know what it’s like to live in guilt, to believe you have no worth at all. I do.”

  He clears his throat and looks at the floor. “I’ve been going through some stuff, to put it mildly. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for Lachlan, a long time ago, when he needed it. I’ll be there for him now though, you can bet on that. The thing is,” he glances at me, “he’s reverting. Slowly but surely. I don’t know why, I can only guess. It’s never not going to be an issue though. He’s never going to shed his past because his past made him who he is. People with addictions…it’s naïve to think they’ll one day be cured. That’s not how it works. It’s an ongoing illness, you see? An illness for which there is no real cure, just a way to manage it. And he can’t manage it alone. He needs people around him who are supportive. You understand?”

  His tone makes me a bit defensive. “I understand. I am there for him.”

  “I know. You care a lot about him.”

  I stand up straighter. “I love him,” I say, my voice soft but my words strong.

  “That’s even better,” he says. “But sometimes love is not enough. You have to know that he’s going to hurt you again and again and again and you’re going to have to learn to love him even when you hate him. That’s the reality. That’s the facts. You need to know that if you truly love Lachlan and want to be there for him, want to see him out of this hell, you’re going to be put through the ringer and spat out. And it will keep on happening. It’s the ugly truth and not many people are built for that kind of responsibility.”

  He’s watching me closely for my response but I’m still feeling so defensive that I barely let the words in. He doesn’t know the kind of person that I am, what I’ve gone through in my own life.

  Also, I refuse to believe that love isn’t enough. How can it not be enough when it feels like it can change the whole entire world, if not just every fiber of my being? It has to be more than enough.

  “I’m built for more than you might think,” I finally say.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “He’s a good guy, you know. Really good. Hear
t of an angel, a warrior, whatever you want to call it. It’s just such a bloody shame this whole thing. So strong on the outside, a scared, abandoned little boy on the inside.”

  “He’s not a hopeless case,” I tell him, knowing my words mean little from someone like me, someone new to his life.

  “No, I suppose not,” he says with a heavy sigh. “But it sure does feel like it sometimes.” He brings out his phone and checks the time. “Do you want me to stay with you until he gets back? He, uh, might not be sober when he returns from his walk.”

  I blink at him. “Might not be sober?”

  “He’s most likely at the pub down the street right now.”

  I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me. “He’s drinking? Well why the hell didn’t you let me go after him? I could have prevented that!”

  He shakes his head slowly. “No, you couldn’t have. You can’t. What you think you can convince him not to drink when you tell him he shouldn’t? When you set rules? That’s not how it works.”

  “He listens to me!”

  “What did I just say about love not being enough? He’s not going to listen to you, Kayla. This is all up to him and when he’s in a certain frame of mind, it’s like you don’t even exist.”

  My throat feels like it’s closing up, it’s impossible to swallow. “Please. Please can we go get him from the pub? You don’t know he won’t listen. To me or you. I can’t just let him drink himself silly. He might hurt himself. He might get into a fight, hurt someone else. What if he stays out all night? Fuck, you just said that he’s feeling horrible for what he did at practice…I can’t…”

  I can’t just stay here and imagine it.

  I turn around, grabbing my purse from the shelf and my keys. “I’m going to find him. What pub is it?”

  “Kayla,” he warns, stepping in front of the door.

  Even though Brigs is a tall, strong man, he moves easily when I push him to the side. “Don’t tell me then, I’ll check every single pub around.” I give him a level stare. “I love your brother, okay? I’m not going to let him do this to himself.”