by Amber Bardan
How do I explain it’s not as it sounds? There was more to it than my pride. While she attempted to move on from me—all I had was protecting her.
“I wanted to help you.” I can’t get closer to her while she still has that accusatory finger between us. How do I explain that all I could do was obsess. About her. For her. Of her. Yearn to make up for all the pain by giving her things she couldn’t know were from me.
Her hands drop to her sides. “Then why, when you swore no more lies, didn’t you come clean and tell me everything you’ve done?”
My shoulders brace. We’ve always had these moments where she’s seen my worst. The stubborn. The greedy. The ambitious. She’s seen beyond it all and found my best. The love. The honor. The kindness. I’d forgotten I had those things until she lured them out. But now she looks at me and there’s such doubt in her eyes it nearly takes me to my knees.
“I’ve waited until we could be together again to tell you everything.” I take her by the back of her neck, pressing my fingers over her spine in the way that makes her flush—how she likes it—the way that makes bumps rise all over her glorious skin. I know how to do that. I know all there is to this woman. I know her to her exquisite core. Just like I now know I’m in the kind of trouble she may not let me weasel out of. “I’d have told you.”
“No, you should’ve told me. You swore no more lies, no more secrets.”
I stoke my thumb over the side of her neck. Her skin reacts, goose pimples appearing over her shoulders.
“Would you have wanted to learn these things in a note?” I exert a little pressure, and feel her pulse thudding under my thumb. I measure her response because I will do whatever it takes to have her understand. “Because that’s the only way I could’ve explained. I might have taken a small step out of hiding but this is not done yet. A few more days—a week—and we can start our life.”
Our life.
Possessiveness rolls through me. Our life. I want this argument done. Want to exploit her unexpected visit and take her and take her and take her, until the next time when I get to keep her forever. “Don’t you know that’s all that’s gotten me through?” I’ll make her see because there’s no other choice for us—we’re meant to be. I lean in and brush my nose on hers. “Thinking about when you and I are finally free...”
Her tongue darts out and her lips shake. “I’m afraid, Haithem.”
I pull back. “Of me?”
Not possible. I wouldn’t harm her for anything in this world and there’s no way she can’t be sure of it.
“No, I’m afraid of what this life you have planned is going to look like.”
My lungs freeze. What the hell is she saying? That life includes nothing but the world at her feet.
“I’m afraid of the things you’re prepared to do that are manipulative and controlling because you believe that there’s no boundaries when it comes to protecting me.” She lays a hand flat on my chest. “Because after everything that’s happened you’re still more afraid of me being hurt than you are of actually hurting me. I’m not sure what our life will look like because I don’t believe you know how to turn off your defenses enough for us to ever be free of them.”
“Stop.” My voice is rough and low. I pull her until her hand squishes against my ribs. “You are mine, and I am yours and that, Angel, is the only thing we can never be free of.”
Her fingers curl between us, her eyes sparkle and her nose pinkens. “We will never belong to each other if we are never equal. If you want custody over me, then you’re my parent not my partner.” She blinks and moisture streams onto her cheeks. “And I’m not at all okay with that.”
I drop her and step back. She isn’t okay with putting her first? There isn’t anyone else on earth that matters like her.
She swipes her eyes, and for the first time I have zero notion of what can be done to fix this.
“I don’t know how to care less...” I rub my jaw, it’s stiff—maybe I don’t need to worry about assassins—this might kill me soon enough.
Maybe it isn’t fair to need a person like this. Not fair to place the complete burden of my own joy on someone else. But that’s all I’ve ever asked of her—to carry this for me.
There’s no one else left alive to love or cherish. So maybe I’ve unloaded on her the adoration I had for my mother, and unleashed on her the devotion I had for my father. And maybe I’ve treasured her like a child.
The hitch of her breath, the way she tries to contain her pain, is all I hear.
I’ve been wrong, but don’t know how not to be. Because she isn’t my mother or my father, and she definitely isn’t my child—she’s my everything.
“You swore I’d always have a choice—”
Fuck.
I shut my eyes to this. I most definitely will die. Her words kill me. But I won’t say any of the things I could to stop her. What she implies is true, I won’t force her to stay. Though that is in my power to do.
“We need some time apart—”
I die a little more. The wound in my heart is terminal. I can make her. Not with force, I can make her manipulatively as she’s accused me of.
“—where we’re not forced to be.”
I can tell her that I don’t know what I’m capable of if she leaves—that I’ll die without her. That life is empty and shallow and too awful and bleak to imagine without her in it. She might fight for something now but if I placed that onus on her, she’d stay.
There’s no doubt in my mind she would.
I say none of it.
“So that you can come to me in the real world, where there’s not assassins and stalkers.”
My eyes snap open and I stare at her.
“When our lives aren’t on the line and we are just two people.” She comes closer. “When we can prove that what we have is real and not a pressure cooker of emotion. And we can find out if we can move past what’s been done in desperation, and meet someplace healthy.”
I can’t speak, but I hear her challenge—and I take it.
Chapter Thirty
August
Everyone I know, family, friends and colleagues are all gathered to see me. Emma even flew down from Sydney to be here. I peek out through the crack in the curtains. A wash of familiar faces fills the crowd. They’re all here for me and it’s not even my wedding or my funeral. Emma stands next to my parents, her arm linked through Mum’s as though she’s one of theirs. A bittersweet sensation lightens my chest. I’ve missed her like crazy. I’ve always been a best-friend kind of girl, monogamous even with friendships. So much so that without her everyone else fell more into the category of acquaintance.
Not like Emma, who has the ability to make friends wherever she goes. Mum glances at Dad, patting his arm. They’re excited. For me—they’re excited.
I remember the days when they’d called this kind of thing a waste of time. A lot more than just our energy bills have changed. Excitement quickens my pulse, rushing pure exhilaration under my skin. Six months ago this never would have happened. I’d never have considered taking this leap. Never have found the nerve to chase a dream, let alone capture one.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn to Betty, the middle-aged boisterous head of the theater group who not only agreed to perform my play but championed it.
We prepare backstage.
The sound outside the curtains gets louder. We’re at capacity. The local venue wasn’t big enough, we actually had to book a real theater. Not the grandest, but there have been some fabulous productions here nevertheless.
Everyone is ready. I wink at Betty. I love these guys. I might even be starting to make a crack in my acquaintances-only dilemma.
I breathe in and let everyone take their places then retreat to mine behind the scenes. This is really happening. Apparently, noto
riety counts for something in the entertainment world. I’d never have been able to book this place otherwise. There’ve been articles about the play in the papers. I’d refused to be interviewed, but boy do they enjoy speculation.
Maybe they just like a cause, because I’m donating all the proceeds, every last bit of it, to leukemia research. They covered that bit too, digging up the story about losing my twin. I won’t deliberately capitalize on it, but if the story helps raise money, then they can have their gossip fodder.
I watch the stage from my position. The curtains are drawn, everyone is in place, the stage set. My thumping heart plays a soundtrack. The curtains part, and the actors begin to say their lines. I lip-sync the words, because these words, their words, are all mine. Not a sound comes from the crowd.
The audience silent, listening, watching. Hopefully, if I’m lucky, it’s because they’re entertained. I’ve already torn half the cuticles from around my fingers with my teeth—but then there’s laughing. Chuckles rumble through the crowd. The actress playing the lead delivers the next line and the rumble becomes roars and howls.
I seek out my parents’ faces in the front row. Dad slaps his thigh, Mum covers her mouth, and Emma’s teeth flash with her wide grin.
Real honest-to-god laughing.
And no one had held up a prompting sign.
I sigh, settling back to watch the rest of the play without analyzing every word or mutilating my hands. It’s been a lot of work. Once Karim delivered my boxes and I found the manuscript I’d written on the yacht, I knew exactly what I wanted. I polished the play then approached the local theater group. The real work started from there.
All worth it.
Another round of laughing sweeps through the audience. The sound lifts me up. For the first time since I got home, since we lost Josh, possibly in my entire life, I know exactly where I am, what I’m doing and where I’m going.
Turns out I’m pretty damn ambitious. This won’t stop here. I have plans. My gaze shifts across the crowd. After about the third row faces blur. There’s just one thing missing. One thing that takes the shine off my joy. Two faces missing from the crowd and from the future I’m busy forming.
The final lines are delivered on stage. The crowd stands, and applause and cheers ring out. There’s not a corner of me not trembling in awe. Betty takes my hand and drags me onto the stage to take a bow. The lights bear down on my face. I’m not meant for standing on stage, I’m meant for a life behind it. But, this moment is mine and I take my bow. I bend low from my waist. When I rise everyone still stands, still cheering.
My gaze catches at the back of the theater near the doors.
A person, almost a shadow.
But I see him.
He steps forward and our gazes meet, something electric passes through the current. The crowd folds in on itself. We’re the only two people here, or on earth.
I swallow, I’m lost on the stage. So glad he came. Yet he shouldn’t be here. I can’t be in the same place as him without wanting to take it all back. Without wanting to leap on him, beg him to forgive me for being the one keeping us apart.
His eyes shut, an achingly slow blink. Or maybe not, maybe I just see him blink in slow motion. Then he turns, from the chin first, it moves one degree at a time, turning away from me.
Why did he come?
I need to know. I let go of the hands I’m holding, and rush to the side stage stairs. I leap down each step, but my legs can’t move fast enough, my knees shudder with each drop, until I hit the bottom. Then I run, past my parents, past my friends, past everyone who came to see me.
The back of the theater is empty.
The shadows hold nothing but vacant blackness. I push through the doors and stumble into the foyer, then wander through the entrance where now everything seems so much more worn out than when I arrived. I shove through the main doors and walk into the street.
Bitter air pinches my arms. The sidewalk lies empty—deserted.
Did I really see him? I look around. There’s nothing but cars parked under streetlamps and flickering headlights at the intersection. Only ten o’clock on a Friday night in the middle of winter, and it’s completely dead out here. I turn, skin growing numb. The street’s so lifeless it’s hard to believe it’s teaming inside.
The theater’s full for me but I’m out here alone, drowning in madness.
I rub my arms.
The doors swing open. “You okay?”
I turn to Emma, and nod. “Sure, just got overwhelmed for a moment.”
Emma smiles, but it’s sad. She might understand if I ever told her the truth. She holds out a hand and I walk to the doors, sliding my fingers between hers as we go back into the theater.
Everyone swarms through the doors into the foyer. People approach, shaking my hands, handing me flowers, uttering congratulations. I breathe out long and slow, and start returning smiles, until smiling becomes easier.
I’m brokenhearted but not alone.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Couldn’t find a place to live with more stairs?” Emma pauses at the landing and grips the rail then tugs off one of her stilettos. I laugh, reaching her side. My chest floats a little higher than usual. It’s so good to have her back. Not that everything is exactly like before but our relationship knows how to evolve. Always has, and will again.
“Here.” I shove a hand into my bag, then pull out a folded pair of ballet flats. “I’ve learned from experience.”
Emma eyes the shoes and arches a delicate yellow brow. “Sorry, Cinderella, you’re talking to a stepsister here.” She rotates her significantly bigger-than-mine foot.
I continue holding the flats out. “Take them, they’re one size.”
“What about you?”
“I’m used to it.”
“Thank god.” She snatches the shoes from my hand, slips her toes in the front then stretches the back over her heel. “So how are Mum and Dad really coping with their little chick vacating the nest?”
She takes off her other stiletto and puts on the remaining flat.
“Okay.” I rest a hand on the side of the rail, shifting weight on the burning soles of my feet jammed in pump heels. “So long as I call every other day and have lunch with them after church on Sundays, they’re dealing.”
Emma collects her shoes, and we take the next steps.
“Which reminds me, Mum asked if you’re going to join us Sunday,” I say, before shaking my head. “But you probably want to visit your dad?”
Emma steps cautiously up the next stair. “No, I’m not doing that. At all.”
“What happened?”
We take a step in sync.
“There was an incident when I told him about the Sydney move.”
I pause and take her arm, my heart flip-flopping like a fish. Last time there was one of those she ended up having to live with us for a few months. “An incident?”
“Yeah.” She looks ahead of us as though we’re ascending the Potemkin Stairs. “Had to call your parents. Really didn’t want to with all they had going on.”
We step again.
“Your dad dealt with mine, while your mum smuggled me out the back door.”
I let go of her arm. “I’m just glad you did call them. They’re good that way.”
“They’re good in a lot of ways,” she whispers.
Emma’s always gotten along well with Mum, my parents being saintly next to her father. These days I can appreciate them too.
“I know.” I glance at Emma. She’s still staring ahead. “I’m so happy you’re here.” I find her swinging hand and hold it. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t around for you.”
She squeezes my hand and we push up the last of the stairs and onto my floor. “You think maybe you might ever want to talk about th
at?”
I puff out my cheeks, five different answers and a million choices swirl on my tongue.
She drops my hand. “Holy-sweet-mother-of-baby-Jesus, who the hell is that?”
I glance at my front door my heart stops still. Haithem. I see his face and unlike when I’ve stared down death, this time my life does flash before my eyes. Not my entire life. Our life. The days and weeks we spent together move through my memory. He stands at my door. The exact same Haithem I first saw in the coffee shop. Immaculate, clean-shaven, and suited like he’s about to walk down the aisle—no grays or browns or blues—just the perfect contrast of black against white. Did he ever really change or was that me seeing the world through love-tinted glasses?
“Who is that?” Emma asks again.
I stare at Haithem. A bunch of roses dangle from his hand, the addition almost too much to reconcile in day-to-day life. A man like him, dressed like that, holding red roses. He’s the front of a Valentine’s Day card or the cover of a romance novel. Too good to be true. And then I remember that it all is. Pain rushes through the sticky swamp of my emotions and dredges me in a dirty film.
I tear my gaze from Haithem and look at Emma. Her eyelids have stretched back an extra twenty-five percent to take in the sight of him. There’s no point lying, he’s hardly going to pass for a door-to-door salesman.
“Just a guy I was seeing, would you mind waiting inside while I talk to him?”
Haithem looks up. His eyes lock on me. Like that first time, the world peels back and I’m left stranded in the heat of his gaze.
“Of course,” she says.
We take the final steps toward him, and I sink farther into his gaze. A flutter sweeps though my chest. We reach his side, right in front of my apartment. I shove my keys at Emma.
The keys jingle and Emma slips inside the apartment. The door slams closed. We stare at each other. His chest expands. I remember this him—recognize the way his eyes soften.
“You were there.”
“Yes.” He holds out the roses. “Congratulations on an incredible debut.”