Page 46 of Love Beyond Repair
“I love you,” she murmurs again
My heart constricts, and the guilt twists deeper, like barbed wire around my chest. I want to tell her I love her too, but I just smile instead.
The taxi pulls up at our apartment. Bex skips to the communal entrance, her short summer dress bouncing as she does so. Bright pink, scattered with white daisies, finishing just below her butt cheeks. When she bends over, I’m treated to a view of her plump behind. Her ass and I have become well acquainted over the past two weeks.
Sex has never been so intense. Losing myself in her night after night. She’s addictive. And I’m hooked. I can’t imagine getting bored with this woman.
My phone vibrates with another call from my mother. I switched it to silent hours ago. Part of me wants to just ignore it, but I know if I don’t respond, another attempt will soon follow. I resolve to call her back ASAP. Let her hear the venom in my tone. Not that it’ll make a difference. She won’t notice. My mother is an expert at ignoring other people’s emotions. Her own agenda is always her top priority.
As I walk up the path behind Bex, the hollowness inside me grows. Tonight is going to hurt. Our cases are packed away, and Bex is getting settled for the night. I know the drama on my phone won’t go away unless I deal with it.
“I just need to nip into the hospital for a few hours,” I say, aiming for casual, but the strain bleeds in.
Bex looks up from her book. She’s spread out on the sofa, wearing a silky nightdress in a deep red. The neckline is low, and her long, elegant legs are on display. Her eyes ask questions without saying a word.
“I won’t be long. There are just a few things I need to check on,” I lie as smoothly as I can.
She shrugs her shoulders, accepting. My conscience screams at me to stop lying. This isn’t how to protect her. Our relationship is too new, too fresh. Even though we’ve known each other for years, we’re only now truly getting to know each other. Growing something beautiful, something that feels as though it will last. But I ignore the warnings. Not because I don’t trust her, because I don't trust myself to not ruin what we’ve built. I don’t want to bring Kelsey into this space. Into our space.
Grabbing my long black coat, I head out the door, shame trailing behind me. I’ve just lied to the woman who confessed to loving me. A woman I’ve spent two weeks with, loving every second. Her warmth, her laughter, her spirit, all perfectly made for me. But how do I explain walking away from something perfect to revisit something broken?
Even now, I don’t know if I’m saving Kelsey or betraying Bex. But I know the guilt will eat me alive if I don’t go.
Rain pelts down, filling the roads with water. I step in a puddle as I climb into my car. It does nothing to improve my self-loathing. It only deepens the hatred gnawing at me. Now I’m in a foul mood with wet feet. And the night is only beginning.
As I pull up outside my parents’ home, desolation settles like a weight on my shoulders. The fact that Kelsey is here with my parents is alarming. She’s my ex-partner, and my parents still treat her as if she’s their future daughter-in-law. We were never even engaged.
My feet are heavy as I walk up the old path. My father opens the door with a grim line across his face.
“You’re here, finally,” he barks. “Where were you?” I shrug my shoulders, knowing better than to answer. I follow him into the living room, wanting to walk straight back out the door with each heavy step.
She’s sitting on the single chair by the window, her head lowered, her focus on her feet. She’s clutching a mug on her lap. Soft brown curls have fallen forward over her face, and she’s crying softly.
My mother’s crouched in front of her, one hand on her knee, the other stroking her back. From the way my mother's knees creak, I can tell they’ve been like that for a while. Both look up as I enter the room, and I get a full view of Kelsey’s tear-stained face. My mother takes the mug from her.
Kelsey rises swiftly, running into my arms. I instinctively wrap them around her as she breaks into huge sobs, her head on my chest and arms around my waist. It feels so wrong, but so familiar at the same time. It’s disorienting. Too many memories packed into a single action.
We stand like that for what feels like an eternity, then I maneuver her to the sofa and sit down beside her. She’s holding my hands with an iron grip, as though terrified that if she lets go, I’ll disappear. I’m still at a total loss as to what has happened. I look to my parents for answers. Stone faces stare back.
“Kels, what’s the matter? What’s happened?” I keep my voice quiet and soft. After years at her side, I know gentle works best. Devastated eyes lock with mine.
“He’s dead,” she simply says.
I look from Kelsey to my parents, and my heart sinks. Her father is dead.This, I wasn’t expecting. I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. She falls to pieces, and I hold on as tight as I can.
Kelsey’s father had been driving to his allotment, only five minutes from his house. We bought the piece of land as a birthday present for him after his wife died. It gave him focus in those terrible first few years.
He hadn’t seen the van pulling out in front of him from a side street and drove straight into the side of it. The shock of the accident triggered a cardiac arrest. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. His trusty little dog, Benji,was on the passenger seat, still in his harness. Now, he’s curled up in front of the fire in my parents’ front room, quiet and probably confused.
The police had visited Kelsey at work, taking her into the patient consulting room to break the news. When my parents arrived to collect her an hour later, she was still crumpled on the floor, sobbing her heart out. They brought her back to the house, and she hadn’t left since.
The angry eyes of my mother burn into me. I carry Kelsey to bed and tuck her in, kissing her forehead as she drifts off. She has no one now. Just us. A sudden wave of responsibility hits. It’s suffocating. She needs me.
Back in my parents’ living room, the three of us sit somberly, watching the seconds on the clock on the wall tick by. No one has said a word for thirty minutes. Their disapproval radiates from them.
“Why didn’t you tell me what had happened? I’d have caught a flight home.”
I look at them both, desperate for some logic to cling to.
