Page 50 of Always Been You
“I know I haven’t been the best son. But then again, you only had me, so there’s that.” He chuckles, and for a second—just a second—I see the Eddie from years ago. The boy I used to know. The one who still existed beneath all that armor, the one he only let a select few see. I’m glad I’m one of them.
Then, just like that, he drops a bomb.
“Guess what… Lawliss and I are married.”
My head snaps toward him. “Hey! Stop lying!”
He smirks. "Or... engaged to be married. Or dating.” He shrugs like it’s all the same thing, then tugs me closer, pulling my hand into his.
I crouch beside him, still staring. Did he really just... His fingers lace through mine, grounding me and tethering me to the moment. He isn’t looking at me, though. His eyes are on the headstone, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it.
“You remember the conversation we had before the crash?” His voice is low, intimate, like he’s speaking to someone who might actually answer. He believes, in some way, she will.
A breeze stirs through the cemetery, rustling the leaves around us, and for a moment, I swear I feel it too—that presence he speaks to.
“Yeah, I thought you did,” he murmurs, exhaling. His grip on my hand tightens. “Well… you were right. I more than like her.”
He hesitates, his jaw tightening, and then he says it. Whispers it.
“I love her.”
The breath leaves my lungs. Just like that. My heart stumbles over itself, caught between disbelief and something warmer, something terrifyingly real. I should say something. Anything. But for once, words fail me.
Eddie doesn’t take words lightly, least of all these. I more than like her. I love her.
He doesn’t glance at me, nor does he wait for my reaction. Instead, he keeps talking, still lost in conversation with the headstones.
“I know you’re going to gossip about this with Dad. And I wish you were here. I wish I could sit in on that conversation because I know it’s one that would have me rolling on the floor.” He lets out a small chuckle, but there’s an ache beneath it, something weighty pressing against his chest. “I can already hear Dad telling you, ‘Hey, leave the boy alone.’”
His laugh fades, replaced by a long exhale. His shoulders drop, and for a moment, he looks not broken but something close. Something that never fully healed.
“I miss you both. A lot.” His voice tightens. He shakes his head. “I wish…” But he doesn’t finish.
Instead, he presses a kiss to his mother’s headstone, his lips barely brushing the cold stone before he turns to his father’s.
“You know I’m still angry about your choice,” he says, his voice quieter now. He doesn’t look at the name etched in stone; he just lets the words fall between them like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for years.
“But then,” he continues, exhaling, “I find solace in the fact that I have Lawliss with me here because of that choice.”
His thumb runs absentmindedly over my knuckles, but his eyes darken, his jaw flexing. “I respect your decision,” he admits, but then he shakes his head, the weight of it all pressing back in. “But I’m not letting anything go. I’ve heard you say it so many times in my dreams, but Paa... I just can’t.”
The wind shifts. Silence settles, thick and heavy, like the cemetery itself is waiting.
He kisses the headstone, his fingers lingering there for a second longer than they need to. Then, finally, he stands.
We begin to walk back to the car. He pulls me into his embrace, his steady heartbeat calming me as we move side by side, my arm draped around his waist. The silence stretches, but it’s comfortable and reflective.
I break it first. “You know, sometimes your accent is thick, with a bit of British in it, and other times it’s lighter. It shifts depending on who you’re talking to.”
He turns to look at me, pulling me to a stop just as we reach the car.
“It’s lovely. I love it,” I add, realizing too late that I’m rambling. “I’m blabbing now.”
He smiles, his eyes warm as he cups my cheek, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead.
“I suppose it does,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s just realizing it himself. “London left its mark on me, one way or another.”
He murmurs it against my skin, his thumb brushing my cheek like he’s lost in thought for a second too long.
