Page 34 of The Way We Fell

It’s the first time I’ve said any of it out loud to anyone. It’s not exactly something I want to relive. They might have been the best times of my life—full of camaraderie and brotherhood—but they were the worst, too. Full of terror. Fear. Loss. So much loss.

They’re the days I’ll take with me to the grave, biting my tongue until it bleeds before I’ll tell a soul of the terrible things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done. The things that haunt my waking moments just as much as the sleeping ones. I know my response is cheap and evasive, but I don’t want to trauma dump on some shrink who’ll either tell me to man up and get over it, or drug me until my emotional response is a flat line. And I don’t want to do it to Katy, either.

But Katy never judges me. Even when she probably should. Her eyes harden, and I know what she’s about to say before she says it.

“Not really what I meant, Bevan. I think you know that.”

There it is.

“No, I haven’t seen a shrink.”

She sighs and places her glass on the coffee table, unfolding her legs and hugging her knees to her chest instead.

“It doesn’t have to be a shrink. There are plenty of people you can talk to—people who specialise in supporting people like you. People who’ve been through the absolute worst things humanity can do. People who’ve come out the other side. There are groups. Therapists. It doesn’t have to be a shrink.”

“Maybe I’ll think about it,” I say, noncommittally. I know I won’t. It’s not who I am. It’s not who any of us are. We’re stiff upper lip, hyper-masculine, no-emotion kinds of guys. But when my agreement placates Katy, and a small, sad smile lifts the corners of her pink-painted lips, I start to wonder if maybe there’s something to be said for talking to a professional.

“Good,” she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her leggings. “I think it would be good for you. Helpful.”

“You think so, huh?” I raise an eyebrow in her direction and her eyes catch mine, clouding with something—maybe concern, maybe fear. My stomach dips and clenches uncomfortably.

“Not—Jay, not like that. You know I have no idea what you’re going through. Only what you’ve told me. But—”

“Relax, Princess,” I say with a quiet chuckle. I lean forward to nudge her ankle. “I know what you meant. I’ll think about it, okay?”

Katy offers me a small nod and a tight smile. I can’t face the sadness in her eyes, the way I can see her feeling the pain that should be mine and mine alone to carry, so I change the subject.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Katy’s smile grows, and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly as she reaches for the TV remote.

“Time for the important conversation then, I guess. What’s your favourite film?”

I smile, and I think it’s a real one this time. It feels as real as the words that poured out of me, the ones I tried to hold back. I use the smile to cover them all. We launch into an argument over which Pixar movie is superior. Clearly, it’sToy Story, although Katy swears it’sRatatouille, and even though it’s been one hell of a day, and I’m absolutely exhausted, right down to my bones, there’s a part of me that wants to stay up all night and talk about movies with Katy.

Chapter sixteen

Jay

Katyinsistedoncallinga cab for me to get home last night. I told her I’d be fine walking, but she wouldn’t let me go alone after the day I’d had, and there was no way in hell I’d let her walk me home and then walk home again—alone—afterwards. Especially not after the glass of wine she poured herself while we watchedDie Hard. So, she called me a cab, and this morning, she showed up at my flat.

When my phone rang as I was rubbing a towel over my hair, fresh from the shower, it was nice to hear her voice. It was a surprise to hear she’d driven over. I didn’t even know she had a car. Whenever we meet at Flights and Fancies, she walks or takes the bus, and I know she never drives to work. But she called from her car and promised me a breakfast that would blow my mind, so once I directed her to the visitor spaces in the underground parking garage, I quickly shoved my used towels into the washing machine and hid last night’s dirty dishes in the sink before she reached my door.

Now, we’re sat up at my breakfast bar with coffee and bagels between us—Katy wasn’t wrong, this breakfast is fantastic—and she’s eyeing me with suspicion. Even with hardened, narrowed eyes, she’s beautiful. Her golden ponytail is glowing, backlit by the low sun from the window, hanging over one shoulder.

“I think I want to try running again.”

“Running? Are you—I mean, is your leg up to it?”

“It’s been feeling better. Good, even. I can walk longer before it starts to ache.”

“That’s good!” Her grin grows as she carefully tears off a piece of her bagel. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Katy.” I manage to speak without snapping, but the words still come out harsher than I intend them to, and I kick myself as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Hurt flashes through Katy’s brown eyes before she can school her expression into something neutral. I take a large bite of my bagel, tearing out an entire strip of greasy, perfectly-crispy bacon with my teeth. I have to use my fingers to stop it from falling and slapping me on the chest.

“I didn’t mean—no, you know what? Forget I said anything. If you think you’re ready, then go for it.”

“Cody cleared me weeks ago.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted it. I just haven’t felt like actually doing it. I keep that part to myself. My head has been all over the place lately. The more time I spend with Katy, the more time Iwantto spend with her. But the more I’m afraid of her, too. Afraidforher. The more I’m afraid my baggage will be too heavy. That my darkness will dull her shine. That all the barriers between us—my sister, our age gap, the completely different lives we’ve lived—will be insurmountable.

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