Page 4 of Keeping Skylar
For the past decade, since the very start of our relationship, Kaden never once failed to text or call me throughout the day. Most of the time, his messages were sweet and affectionate; other times, they were downright annoying. But no matter how busy he was, he always made the time and effort to check in. These last few months, those messages have become fewer and farther between—and now, I finally understand why.Fucking bastard!
After texting Kirstin that I’m on my way, I reverse out of the garage, scowling as my eyes land on Kaden’s motorbike. The memory of what’s hidden in the compartment still burns in the front of my mind. Fighting the urge to drive straight through it, I practice my meditation breaths, before closing the garage door with the remote.
Within seconds, I’m peeling out of the drive way and into the street. The street I’ve always felt safe in and that once brought comfort and familiarity, now lined with tainted memories. The threat of losing everything we’ve built because of Kaden’sselfishness and betrayal makes me want to throw up all over the dashboard.
I turn up the radio, trying to drown out the relentless thoughts, and focus on the road ahead—on the instant sense of relief that washes over me at the thought of seeing my best friend again.
Thirty-five minutes later, I arrive at the gallery holding two soy hazelnut lattes in both hands—our coffee of choice. I scan the room and spot Kirstin in the back, indie music playing softly in the background as she places a hook on a panel wall where her paintings will hang.
Kirstin Wells, a fine arts student and local artist, is the only child of Ugandan-born social worker Natale Okello and Scottish-Australian humanities lecturer Dr Richard Wells. She’s my rock, my ride-or-die—the kind of friend who’d show up with a baseball bat in one hand and a shovel in the other if anyone ever dared to hurt those she cared about. For Kaden’s sake, let’s hope it never comes to that.
We’ve been best friends for over fifteen years, ever since we met at an open day at the university where we did our undergrad. Young, reckless, and a little naïve, we clicked pretty much instantly. Since then, she’s become someone I could trust and depend on—a true soul sister.
I watch silently as she carefully places a canvas on the hook she just nailed onto the wall. She looks striking in faded ripped jeans, black leather ankle boots, and a charcoal grey band t-shirt, tucked loosely into her jeans. Tattoos swirl around her forearms, her nose ring glistens from the sunlight penetrating through the floor to ceiling windows. Her curly hair, the colour of obsidian, is pulled up high in a messy bun, accentuating her long neck, warm brown skin and soft heart-shaped face.
She glances over at me and instantly smiles.
“There’s my girl!” she hollers from across the room, her smooth, husky voice, calm and comforting. I stroll towards herand without warning, she rushes over to me, giving me one of her bone-crushing hugs.
“It’s good to see you too, my friend.” I chuckle, pivoting around to take in the beauty of her artwork displayed along the wall. “Wow, Kirstin, it’s already looking incredible. I’m always so in awe of your talent and creativity. How’s it coming along by the way?” I ask, handing over her latte.
She sighs in relief, retrieving the cup from me and taking a long sip. Her eyes slowly close as she savours the warmth and sweet taste of the beverage. “Thanks, honey. I always appreciate your support.” She glances up at her paintings with a look of pride and admiration on her face. “I’m getting there. There are a few large canvases left to hang up, those are the ones I’ll need your help with. But my arms are getting sore from nailing hooks on the wall for the past hour. Break time?”
I nod and she leads us both to the leather chairs situated in the centre of the room.
Sitting side by side, we sit in comfortable silence, sipping our lattes while appreciating the pieces she’s selected for tonight’s exhibition.
A few minutes later, I feel Kirstin’s warm hand settling on my knee, halting the nervous bouncing I hadn’t even realised I was doing since we sat down. I peer up to find a look of worry etched across her face.
Kirstin has always possessed an uncanny sense of intuition. Her empathetic nature allows her to pick up on when something’s off. She’s exceptional at reading people, sensing whether they’re to be trusted or not.
It’s that same intuition that warned me from the beginning that there was something not quite right about Kaden. She never hid her distaste for my husband, and had always believed I could do better. Ever since she discovered Kaden had lied about his job early in our relationship, she’s been excessively critical of him—constantly analysing his every move, and scrutinising every word he says.
A few months after Kaden and I started dating, we moved into our first apartment together. And one night, while having dinner and a couple of bottles of wine between us, he admitted that he never actually worked at his friend’s removalist company like he claimed. I was angry that he lied, but it wasn’t until he revealed what he actually did for a living that I became absolutely livid.
To my horror, he confessed that a weeks before we met, he began helping some friends steal products from trucks and anywhere else they could find valuable items to rob and sell online. I was utterly disgusted and outraged. Not only was he a liar, but a fucking criminal too. Immediately after that conversation, I broke up with him and moved out.
Over the course of our five-week separation, I received countless messages and calls from Kaden, each one filled with apologies and attempts to explain himself. He claimed he got into stealing to help pay off his parents’ debts after his father’s car accident forced him out of work. Kaden expressed deep remorse, pleading with me for a second chance.
He went on to tell me that he left that life behind the moment we started dating, confessing that he had instantly fallen in love with me and knew he needed to change. Before I knew what I was doing, I was packing my things and moving back in with him.
During our time apart, Kaden managed to secure a respectable job at a car rental company, the very company he now manages. His strong work ethic propelled him up the professional ladder faster than anyone else in the organisation. He always liked to remind me that all the time and effort he put in to being successful was so that he could prove to me that that he was the partner I deserved. And for years, I truly believed he was.
After three glorious years, he asked me to marry him during a trip to New York. We married a year later in Fiji, in a small and intimate ceremony, surrounded by our closest family and friends. Six years later, life with him had been series of highs and lows. But for the most part, our marriage was solid and secure, built on trust and loyalty. That is, until several months ago.
“Everything okay? You seem nervous today,” Kirstin gently asks.
I let out a heavy sigh. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t know how to explain it without crying. And I really don’t want to ruin what will be a very special night for you.” I stare at the paintings as I speak, trying to avoid Kirstin’s gaze. But I can feel her eyes studying my profile, sensing her growing worry and apprehension.
“Don’t worry about tonight, hon. If there’s something wrong, then my only concern is you. Take your time, I can wait. I’m here for you, always,” she assures me, taking my hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“To save me from explaining it all, why don’t I just show you.” I place the coffee cup on the ground and retrieve my phone from my bag. I bring up the photos I took of the conversations between Kaden and his lover. Trying to control the slight tremble in my hands, I pass the phone to my best friend. She eyes me quizzically for a few seconds before taking the phone from me.
For the next twenty minutes, she takes her time reading the messages without saying a word, apart from the occasional gasping, grumbling or sighing that escapes her mouth. After what seemed like an eternity, Kirstin places the phone on her lap, glances up at the ceiling and slowly closes her eyes, as if she’s in pain. I hear her sharp exhale, and I can tell she’s trying her hardest to contain her anger. The expression on her face is one of complete fury, enough to gather a severe storm.
“My God. I ... I don’t even know what to say right now,” she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t even describe how I felt reading that—because all I could think about was jumping in my car, driving straight to Kaden’s work, and murdering him in broad daylight. This is a betrayal of the worst kind, hon. He didn’t just screw around with a random woman; this bitch is someone who’s close to you,” she snaps, her gaze landing on my phone still on her lap.
Her hands clutch the edge of her seat turning her knuckles white. I stay silent, giving her space and time to process everything.
