Page 53 of Love Beyond Repair
Her eyes are bloodshot, she’s lost weight, and she generally looks unwell. When I hugged her on our arrival, I could swear I smelled alcohol on her breath, but then again, I may just be imagining it. Ben and Terry are deep in conversation about work, but I notice Ben’s eyes glancing at Bex regularly. My insecurity surfaces for a moment, but I squash it down.
He chose me, remember?
Amy’s her usual bubbly self. She looks incredible. I notice she has a hold of her sister’s hand under the table, as if giving her moral support. Pity for Bex should fill my chest; this must be a hellish situation to be in, sitting opposite your ex with his girlfriend he chose over you. I feel the sick smile playing on my lips. It’s nasty, but it’s deserved.
That’s karma, bitch.
The afternoon draws to a close, and we all wish each other farewell, promising to keep in touch. It wasn’t asawful as it could have been; in some ways I enjoyed it. It was nice not to be the pathetic member of the group for a change.
Ben’s talking to Bex in hushed tones so no one else can hear. Her eyes watch him cautiously, taking in what he’s saying. She’s shaking her head, and I can see him getting more frustrated. He leans into her and whispers something in her ear. She recoils as if he’s slapped her. Her eyes blaze angrily and fill with tears.
“As if you care,” she snaps and marches out the door.
It’s then I notice she’s limping. Amy kisses me quickly and excuses herself to run after her. Terry shrugs his shoulders.
“It’s just how it is, mate. She’s determined to self-destruct. She seems to hold it together at work, but everything else is a shit show.” He’s talking to Ben, not me, but I’m listening intently. “She’s hiding the bottles. Amy found one in the bathroom cabinet last week. Then she found a bottle of lemonade filled with vodka in the fridge.”
My eyes widen when I realize what he’s talking about. Ben rolls his eyes.
“If there is anything I can do, you know where I am. I have a colleague who can help with alcohol dependency.” His voice is detached and clinical, as if he is talking about someone he doesn’t know, not a woman he was sleeping with. Terry nods and shakes his hand, walking in the same direction the two girls left.
The drive back to our house is quiet; we don’t talk much. I know we’re both thinking about the events that unfurled in the café.
“How long?” I ask. “How long have you known about Bex’s drinking problem?” He glances over at me. I can tell he is unsure how much to say.
“Only since last week,” he responds, his tone measured. “Terry called to warn me when this meeting was arranged. Seemingly, it’s been getting gradually worse since I…” He pauses. “Since I left her.”
There’s regret in his voice. It stings more than I want to admit.
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “Don’t ever think that. She never knew when to stop. She’s been broken since we were teenagers. Alcohol has always been her nemesis or her Band-Aid for a bad day.”
He smiles at me. It’s sad, but it’s there.
“I know, sweetie, I know.”
Chapter twenty-seven
Ben
Her tears soak through the cotton of my shirt. I wrap my arms tighter around her, trying to fuse all the broken pieces back together. Kelsey’s body trembles in my arms, same as it always does when something cracks open the grief again.
This time, it was the discovery of her father’s wedding ring, tucked away in an old jewelry box. Forgotten. Discarded.
“I can’t believe he stopped wearing it,” she sobs.
“He was dating,” I remind her, but it only makes her cry harder. Immediately, I regret my comment. Ishouldn’t have said it. I know better. But sometimes the truth slips out when I’m tired.
“But… does that mean he didn’t love her?”
I push her shoulders back gently from my chest. She blinks up with tear-stained cheeks. She might be more controlled, but no one would call her held together. Even almost a year after her father’s death, the smallest things set her off. “People lose those they love,” I whisper, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “But they move on. They’re allowed to be happy.”
“If I died,” she says, her tone flipping from raw to sharp in a beat. “Would you move on?”
And there it is: the jealous streak. The one I’ve been managing since she stepped back into my life. Short, possessive, and textbook Kelsey. Razor-sharp questioning buried beneath a floral dress and salty tears.
“No one knows how the future will turn out.” I gather her back against my chest. It’s easier than looking her in the eye, or facing the truth myself. “But I know if I was gone, I wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
The next day, we’re at my parents’ house for Sunday lunch. Roast beef and all the trimmings—crispy potatoes, too much gravy, and stuffing made from scratch. Kelsey’s offering to help cook like she’s been part of the family for years. Who am I kidding? She always has been a fixture at our family table since we were teenagers. My childhood sweetheart, who never disappeared, even when we parted.
