Page 117 of Saving Ren
Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’ plays quietly over the sound system, and I don’t want to listen to that right now either. Leaning forward, I turn it off.
It’s almost dark, and I stare out of the passenger window and out across the bay to where the city of Melbourne is just visible as it lights itself up for the evening.
Closing my eyes, I take in a few deep breaths and attempt to calm myself. I don’t want to do what I usually do. I threw a tantrum just yesterday because he wouldn’t talk to me, now he’s trying to do exactly that, and I keep shutting him down.
“When we get back to yours, we’ll talk,” I tell him. “But right now, for the drive home, can we just be quiet? Can you give me that?”
“I don’t want to, but I can.”
“Good. Thank you.”
We drive the rest of the way back to Gabe’s in silence.
Chapter 29
Gabe
We don’t stand a chance.
I’m not a believer in fate, karma, or the universe conspiring, but if I did, I would have to assume that every fucking one of those was in action this afternoon. Coming together to put the nail in the coffin of any kind of hope I ever had of a future with Lauren.
Never when I walked in the front door of that fucking house did I think I would come face to face with a woman I fucked one hot summer seventeen years ago.
I don’t know what the look on my face said as my eyes hit Karen’s, realisation dawned, and bile filled my gut, probably the same expression of horror I saw painted on hers.
Lauren knew. Before either of us said a single word, I could hear the wheels and cogs turning in Lauren’s head as she began working it out.
The drive home has been torture. She didn’t want to hear me out, and I’m grateful for that. I’d rather be focused on Lauren and give her all of my attention as I explain not only Karen, but all of my other past fuck ups and indiscretions because what Lauren doesn’t yet know is that Karen McAllister isn’t the worst of it, not by a long fucking shot.
* * *
Forgettingthat Lauren still has my front door key, I watch as she’s out of the car and letting herself in before I’ve even cut the engine.
I sit in my truck for a while, staring at the open front door and into my house—our house. At least it has been for a while, but now, fucked if I know.
Resolved to doing what I need to do, I let go of a sigh, I step outside, then into what might turn out to be the worst night of my life.
Lauren’s in the bathroom when I get upstairs, so I give her the privacy she obviously needs, grab a beer from the fridge, and then take my cigarettes from where I hide them on the top of my fridge.
I don’t smoke often these days, not since Ava was born, but every now and then, especially when I’m stressed, I’ll smoke. And things don’t get much more stressful than tonight’s situation.
Heart crashing against my chest with each beat, I take my beer and cigarettes out onto the deck, lean up against the rail, and await my fate.
I don’t have to wait long. Lauren comes and stands beside me. She’s changed into a hoodie and a pair of leggings and has her own beer in her hand. She takes a swig from her bottle and joins me in staring out into the dark.
“We grew up with a certain level of wealth,” I start, pausing to look at Lauren and work out if she’s now willing to listen to what I have to say. She tips her bottle to her mouth, takes another large pull from it, but says nothing when she sets it down.
“You know how it is down here, it’s a wealthy area and life is pretty sweet. We all had a good education, all went through private school, we went on overseas holidays; we had a lot of material things but no Mum.”
I take a long chug on my beer and light up a cigarette.
“I was ten when she got sick, eleven when she died. I knew she was dying, but I was eleven for fuck’s sake. I had no concept of the finality of death; I didn't get what forever meant.”
Lauren shifts beside me, and I watch as she takes a cigarette from the box and lights it up. I’ve never seen her smoke, but the way she pulls on the toxic stick of nicotine and chemicals, she’s obviously done it before.
“It was harder on my brothers. They were older, they got it and knew she was gone for good. To help my dad cope, they kept their heads down at school, got on with things, and worked for him on the weekends and during school holidays at the construction company he’d inherited from my Pops, my mum’s dad.”
I pause again, giving her a chance to ask questions but get nothing.
