by Casey, L. A.
That was a lie if I had ever told one. I could barely handle what bits of information I already knew. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t stop it. Mum, who looked a little unsteady on her feet, looked at the doctor, who nodded in what seemed like encouragement. She cleared her throat, came back to my side, and took my hand in hers. She stared at me for a few lingering moments.
“You’re okay,” she stressed on a shaky breath. “That’s all that matters.”
I didn’t believe her; she had never been a very good liar.
“Okay.”
“Your accident caused your coma, but it seems to have caused some memory loss for you too.”
Slowly, I nodded. “Yeah, I can’t remember the accident.”
“And other things.”
“What?” I blinked, confused. “What other things?”
“Baby, you . . . you think it’s 2015.”
Her words weren’t much more than a whisper, but I heard them. I wasn’t sure how long I stared at her, how long it took for me to comprehend what she had said – but when I did, I swallowed.
“Because it is 2015.” I frowned deeply. “It’s March, tomorrow is St Patrick’s Day. Or at least it was, that’s the last thing I remember. Fifteen days have passed by since then.”
Mum began to cry as she shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Instead, she gripped my hand tighter.
“No, honey,” she managed to say.
“No?” I swallowed. “What do you mean no?”
“It’s
I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying, and I didn’t even attempt to.
“No.” I squeezed her hand tightly as I shook my head. “I’m twenty-four. It’s the sixteenth of March, tomorrow is the seventeenth – or it was before the accident and my coma. Me and Elliot were coming over for dinner . . . remember? You were gonna cook us a roast, with extra stuffing for Elliot. You remember, Mum, right?”
At the mention of my boyfriend, I prayed that he would show up soon because everything was messed up in my head and I needed him more than I had ever needed him in my life. He was my centre, my rock. I had to have him with me to help me make sense of this. To make sense of what my mum was saying to me.
Mum cried harder and I began to panic.
“Dad!” I shouted. “Daddy!”
I hadn’t called him that since I was a child, but the terror I felt allowed for nothing less than the cry of a little girl who needed her father.
“Noah.” Mum gripped my hand tight. “Listen to me first—”
“Dad,” I gasped when he filled the doorway.
My heart constricted with pain as my eyes rolled over him. He was over six foot tall and had always been a heavyset man with thick black hair and a beard to match. The man across from me now was skinny, bald and freshly shaved. His face was slightly gaunt, and he had aged. He was my dad though; I’d know him anywhere.
“Daddy, what’s going on? What happened to you?”
I began to cry, fear latching on to me like an octopus’s tentacles.
“Baby girl.” He crossed the room, his emerald-green eyes glazed over with tears. “Mummy is telling the truth. It’s the third of April, 2020.”
“No,” I said firmly. “No!”
Even as I said this, my heart had already accepted my parents’ words as the truth. My father had changed more than a person physically could in just fifteen days, but I didn’t want to believe that I had lost five years of my life, just like that. I couldn’t have lost that much time.
I couldn’t have, I had to fight it – I had to do . . . something.
“This can’t be real,” I said, reeling, my stomach churning with sickness. “It just can’t be, this is a nightmare. It’s not real, it’s not.”
“We’ll get through this together,” Mum sniffled, her thumbs gently stroking my knuckles. “I’m never letting us drift apart ever again.”
Again?
“What do you mean, Mum?” I questioned as dread filled me. “We’ve never drifted apart; we’ve always been close. Always.”
The bond I had with my parents was solid; every decision in my life was made with them in mind. The college I went to so I could remain close to them, the flat I eventually moved into, the job I had. Everything revolved around my family because of how much I loved and adored them.
“We have so much to talk about,” Dad said, leaning over and softly brushing his fingers against my cheek. “We’ll discuss everything, but right now you need to focus on healing, baby girl.”
Something was desperately wrong with him. Everything had changed about him – his appearance, his voice, though not his touch or the love for me that shone in his eyes. The soft brush of his fingers on my cheek held so much tenderness it made me want to sob.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked, searching his worried eyes that were now filled with so much sadness and pain that it made me feel like I was choking. “I know you’re hiding something. Please, just tell me. Are you okay?”
Mum burst into tears once more as my dad took my hand in his. I knew it was serious because he didn’t even attempt to comfort her; his focus was entirely on me and me alone.
“I’m sick, baby,” Dad said, his voice uneven. “I’m really sick.”
I felt my heart stop with fear.
“What?” I whispered. “What d’you mean? How sick? What’s wrong with you?”
“I . . .” Dad squeezed my hand. “Jesus, how do I say this to my child?”
He wasn’t asking me, or my mum, that question; with his head tilted back and his eyes on the ceiling, I knew his question was put to God.
“Sweetheart.” Dad exhaled a deep breath and his gaze returned to mine. “There’s no easy way to say this.”
“Just say it,” I pleaded. “Please.”
“I have cancer, Noah.”
For a moment, I felt absolutely nothing, then my heart started beating faster and a pain stung the centre of my chest. The throb in my head intensified as my mind screamed in denial of what I was hearing.
“Wh-what?” I stammered. “What d’you mean? You’re fine, you’re okay. You’re okay, Dad.”
Dad squeezed my hand, which was shaking so badly he held it tightly to keep me still. “I have lung cancer, stage two. Don’t you worry about me, I’m responding good and well to treatment. I just knew I’d look very different to you when Doctor Abara mentioned your memory loss. I was diagnosed over a year ago now.”
Inside, I was screaming, wailing and pleading for him to tell me it was all a lie. On the outside, I was barely breathing. Tears fell down my cheeks, and my throat burned as sobs tried to claw their way to the surface.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Please be okay, don’t leave me.”
“Never.” He wrapped his arms around me, and my mum, as gently as he could. “I’m right here with you, and so is Mummy. We’re never leaving you again.”
There was that word. Again. First Mum said she was never letting us drift apart again, and now Dad was saying they were never leaving me again.
“Where’s Elliot?” I sniffled. “Is he okay?”
My parents leaned back, shared a look and I jolted with fear.
“Is he okay?” I demanded, raising my voice. “Is he?”
“He’s fine,” Dad said hurriedly. “Elliot’s okay, nothing’s wrong with him.”
“Then why did you look at each other like that when I asked about him? Please, is he really okay?”
“He is.” Dad nodded.
“Noah,” Mum began with a sniffle. “You and Elliot. You . . . you broke up years ago, honey. Four years ago tomorrow, now that I think of it.”
I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been suddenly poured over my entire body. I opened my mouth to challenge those words, but suddenly a man I had never seen before appeared in the doorway of the room. If I had to guess, I’d peg him at six foot even, and to be around thirty years old. He was lean, with mousy-blond hair and eyes so dark they looked black.
He was attractive, but his face wasn’t handsome, it was pretty. He was dressed in jeans, boots and a jacket. He was breathing heavily, but his eyes were locked on mine. He seemed to know me, as his face broke out into a wide smile, but I had no idea who he was.
“Anderson,” Dad said, his voice firm.
My father stood in front of me as if he were protecting me, but I asked him to move aside, which he did reluctantly. I blinked as I stared at the stranger who looked so happy to see me.
“Noah.” He took a few rushed steps forward. “Baby, you’re awake.”
Baby? I thought to myself. Who is this man to call me baby?
I looked from this Anderson stranger to my parents, then back to him. My head thumped as it tried to understand what was happening to me. I couldn’t take any more surprises. I just couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, mister . . . but who the hell are you?”
“It’s me, Noah.” The man frowned deeply as he took another step forward. “It’s Anderson . . . I’m your husband.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ELLIOT
“I’m sorry for your loss, son.”
I nodded in the direction of the man who was offering his condolences to me. I had no idea who he was, but that was the way of things as of late. I didn’t know most of the people who had spoken to me over the last two weeks, but it didn’t matter. All of the words were the same in the end, in a roundabout kind of way.
Sorry for your loss.
She was such a ray of light.
She was too good for this world.
God only takes the best, Eli.
That last one always made me grind my teeth to the point of pain. He only took the best . . . Yeah, He did, and He thought fuck everyone else left behind to mourn them. With a grunt, I downed my second whiskey and signalled to the bartender for another. The tanned-skinned woman with soft hazel eyes flashed me a look of concern, but she said nothing as she refilled my glass.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
With a frown on her face, she turned from me to her next customer. I stared down into the brown liquid and hoped it soon brought the darkness upon me that I craved. I needed the numbness that alcohol brought, I needed to escape from the pain I constantly felt, and as of late, that escape was always at the bottom of a bottle.
Noah.
The simplest thought of Noah Ainsley made my heart pound a little faster.
Once upon a time, she was my entire world and I was hers. I closed my eyes when her face filled my mind’s eye. Her hair was the colour of spun gold and hung in thick waves to her waist. Her large doe eyes were a mixture of emerald and jade, and framed by long, dark blonde lashes. Her lips that felt as soft as the inside of a rose were always stretched into a beaming smile. Her skin was fair as porcelain and her heart was as pure as gold. If there was anyone that I ever considered perfect, it was Noah.
She was quiet whereas I was loud. She was soft, welcoming and understanding whereas I tended to have my guard up about a lot of things until I felt at ease enough to lower it. She was day and I was night. In many ways, we were total opposites. She was an optimist and I was a realist. Those differences made me love her all the more. She was pure sweetness and I had never felt calmer than when she was by my side.
I opened my eyes and silently cursed myself for thinking of her in the past tense. She was alive and I told myself over and over that she would remain that way. She had to be okay . . . I didn’t know what I would do if she wasn’t. I couldn’t lose her . . . I’d already lost a piece of my heart – if Noah died, I had no reason for living.
“Dumbarse,” I muttered to myself. “She fuckin’ hates ye.”
Noah was the love of my life, and four years ago I made a mistake that ruined our relationship and her trust in me. In the end, it all led to her marrying another man.
Don’t think about it.
I took a gulp of my drink, no longer noticing the liquid burning its way down my throat.
“Irish,” a familiar voice behind me said as a hand slid on to my shoulder and squeezed. “My guy, you can’t keep doing this do yourself.”
I downed the contents of my glass, wishing I was alone so I could wallow in peace.
“I don’t need a lecture, AJ.” My voice was raspy even to my own ears, but it made my friend sigh. “I need a drinkin’ buddy, pull up a stool.”
He did as I asked, but he got a glass of water instead of a whiskey and it made me frown. I turned my head and looked at him. He stared right back at me as he picked up his glass of water and drank from it. I’d known Ajax Edwards since I’d moved to Dulwich, South London, with my mother, father and eleven-year-old sister, when I was a couple months shy of eighteen.
Joining school in my senior year in the middle of term made me stick out like a sore thumb, and so did my accent. I was from Southside Dublin, Ireland, and it was something my classmates at school never let me forget. I’d been given the nickname “Leprechaun” three hours into my first day at school by Ajax, and when I punched the shite out of him for it, the nickname quickly changed simply to “Irish”. We’d been best friends ever since he laughed and told me I had a good right hook for a paddy as I helped him to his feet.
I looked from AJ back down to my glass and felt my frown deepen. “It’s empty, when did that happen?”
“Good, I’m glad it’s empty,” AJ said with a grunt. “Because this glass of water is yours.”
I hadn’t noticed he’d got two glasses of water off of the bartender. I stared at it then him, and noted the glint of determination in his grey eyes. I took the glass to appease him. I was in no mood for a fight, I hadn’t got the energy for it and he seemed to know it too.
“Why’re ye not drinkin’ the good stuff?” I questioned. “It’s Friday night.”
“I’ve been working all day. I finished this evening and was beginning to look forward to four days of relaxing before I’m back on watch. Then your sorry self went and popped into my mind. I was at a late dinner with Dani and she knew I was thinking about you, and she told me to come and find you. It took me two hours and eight different pubs until I spotted you in here. You could have made my mission much easier if you’d answered your fuckin’ phone, idiot.”
I blinked. Slowly.
“It’s on vibrate, I didn’t feel it ring. Be sure to tell Dani I’m sorry I robbed her of ye.”
“Dani knows the drill. We aren’t together, we’re just fuck buddies.”
“Bullshit,” I snorted. “Ye warned her not to be off shaggin’ other blokes or ye’d kill them.”
“So?” AJ grunted. “She told me to steer clear of other women too.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a relationship to me.”
“Don’t be talkin’ about relationships, it gives me hives.” AJ shivered dramatically. “Just drink your water like a good little lad so I can get you back home. You need to sober up and get your head screwed back on tight so you can come back to work at the station soon. You only got six weeks of compassionate leave because Stitch spoke on your behalf. Once you register time with a counsellor to sort your head out, you’ll be back on watch in no time.”
The thought of it made me want to vomit.
“Work doesn’t matter any more. Nothin’ matters.”
AJ clapped his hand against my back as he sighed.
“Eli, I know you’re hurting, brother. This has got to stop though. Your mum and dad have been through hell and back. Your mum can’t handle something happening to you and you know it. Bailey wouldn’t want this, man.”
I closed my eyes and forced myself to remain still. I balled my hands into fists and felt my body go rigid. The sound of her name made every cell in my body tense.
“Don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t say her name. Just don’t. Please.”
The reason I drank, the reason I craved numbness was because of Bailey. Her pretty face flashed across my mind. Blue eyes that matched my own, twin dimples in her cheeks, and pearly whites that’d have a man in love still stop and
stare when she smiled. My beautiful, pain-in-the-arse little sister who died fifteen days ago. My little sister who I couldn’t save. My little sister who I had to bury long before her time.
My chest constricted with agonising pain every single time her name was mentioned or her sweet face appeared in my mind. I was her big brother; I was supposed to protect her, and I didn’t. I chose another over her, and I hated myself for it because there was a part of me that didn’t regret my choice.
I had to live with that.
“Fine,” AJ grunted. “I’ll leave it alone, for now. Has there been any update on Noah?”
My senses seemed to heighten at the mention of her name. The weight of those two syllables on me may as well have been the weight of the entire fucking world. We hadn’t spoken to one another in four years, but that changed nothing about how I felt about her. I was still in love with her while she was married to another man.
“No.” I swallowed. “The last Mr Ainsley told me was that the MRI and CAT scans showed good activity, so we know she isn’t brain-dead. She’s just . . . sleepin’. They don’t know when she’ll wake up from her coma, it’s a waitin’ game now. It’s up to Noah what happens next.”
The thought of Noah and what she was currently suffering made me scrub my face with my hands as my mind drifted back to one of the worst nights of my entire life. I couldn’t believe it was only fifteen days ago; it seemed like years instead of mere days. I should have known something was going to go wrong. It was night-time when it happened, one of the darkest nights I could remember in a long time.
My worst memories happened at night.
When I was eight, my father had shaken me awake in the early hours to tell me that my grandfather had passed away. Four nights later, he awakened me again to tell me that my grandmother had died in her sleep. When I was ten, a man dressed all in black broke into our house as we slept and tried to hurt my mother before my father saved her and called the guards.
When I got the call from Noah I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Everything in my life had changed since that night. Every little thing.
Bad things always happened in the dark.