Iain

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” my cousin Brad whispered to me, his hand clasped firmly in his wife’s. They stared at me with something that resembled pity, or sympathy - I wasn’t sure which. I held my own hands firmly in front of me and nodded.

“Thank you.”

The room was quiet with everyone speaking in hushed tones, practically tip-toeing over the faded floral carpeting. Soft piano music filtered through speakers in the ceiling, and I forced myself to keep my eyes ahead of me and to not let them drift over to the flower-laden coffin.

My dad stood beside me, his face grim as can be, looking uncomfortable in his black suit and tie.

Everyone in the family knew that my mother was an alcoholic while I was growing up. And everyone was giving me the same look that said, It must really suck to have to pretend to be sad.

My chest tightened with emotion as it hit me all over again that my mother was actually dead. She had declined rapidly, her liver deteriorating to the point where she could no longer speak from the pain. She had died two days later.

But I was sad. I felt like she died before we had the chance to really make amends. But I had known, deep down, that she would have never had enough time for that.

And even though Michele had been gone for almost three weeks now, I still wished, fiercely, that she was here with me now. Her presence would have made me feel so much better. If she were here, she would slip her hand in mine, our eyes meeting, and I would lean into her warmth.

But instead, I was without her, and all I had was coldness.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Uncle Tom, my dad’s brother, said to me. “Sandra was a hell of a woman. Such a shame.” He leaned in and we hugged, him clapping my back roughly before moving on to my dad. They exchanged some quiet words and then Uncle Tom moved on.

I hadn’t spoken to Michele since she left. I didn’t know how. Every time I told myself that it was time to pick up the phone and call her, to tell her I was sorry and to beg her to understand, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let my own selfish desires get in the way of her safety. No matter how badly I wanted to talk to her, I couldn’t open up the possibility that she would return to Brooklyn and back into Brandon’s clutches.

The police had taken her to the bus station, and she had purchased a ticket to somewhere in Maine. They waited with her until it was time for her to go, and they watched her get on.

Safe and sound.

And Brandon disappeared. Or at least, as far as anybody knew, he went back home. I hadn’t seen him since that night at The Capital, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just biding his time.

I thought every day of calling her. I thought every day of telling her that I loved her so much I could hardly think of anything else. I beat myself up wondering what she was doing, if she was happy, if she had found a new job.

But it wasn’t my place to ask her, not anymore.

“Iain,” Erik said. I snapped back to the present and nodded, grateful to see him here. His mom, Cynthia, and his half-sister, Cara, stood beside him. “I’m so sorry about your mom.”

We clasped hands. “Thanks for coming, man. And thank you for coming, Mrs. Wylar, Cara.”

“Of course, love,” Cynthia said, leaning in to hug me tightly. She’d been something of a surrogate mother growing up, but I rarely saw her now. She smelled strongly of cinnamon and flowery perfume.

The line continued. People I didn’t even know were approaching me, saying words of condolence, people that my mother had met and known after we stopped speaking. Coworkers at the grocery store she worked at, friends she’d made playing Bingo at a local church. A whole side of my mother I had never even known was being shown to me, and a lump in my throat formed as I realized that I had always held on to the worst part of her. There had been so much more.

The door opened and someone new stepped inside, but I barely registered it because I was so busy speaking to my cousin Ashley, who was sobbing hysterically in my arms, reminiscing about Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners I’d long forgotten. I patted her on the back awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, uncertain what else to say. “Those were all… good memories.”

Ashley wiped her eyes and nodded, tears wet on her cheeks. “You were always my favorite cousin, Iain.”

She moved on to my dad, and the next person stepped in front of me. Every other thought in my head vanished when I saw who it was.

“Iain,” Michele said, her voice as soft and sweet as I’d remembered it. Her dark brown hair was swept back, and she was wearing a black dress that I recognized as one she bought that day we went shopping together.

I was too stunned to speak. Why was she here? She was supposed to be hundreds of miles away, hiding from Brandon. Because I pushed her there.

“Iain,” she said again, reaching out to touch my arm. She looked nervous, her eyes darting over my face, and all I could think about was how beautiful she looked. I leaned in to her touch, the warmth exactly as I’d imagined, not even five minutes ago, it would be. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard that your mom passed.” She bit her lip, obviously battling with something, and dropped her hand.

“How -” I started. I struggled for the words I wanted to say. “Why are you here?”

It came out harsher than I’d intended. She looked down at my feet, then back up. “To tell you that I’m sorry for your loss.”

My dad was watching us. I looked over at him, concern on my face, but he only smiled.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “When did you get back into town?”

“Just last night,” she said. “My roommate saw the obituary in the paper, and I thought I’d come to pay my respects.” Her eyes moved nervously toward me. “And to talk to Iain.”

“Looks like the line’s finally died down,” Dad said, giving me a pointed look. “Why don’t you guys take a walk?”

Unable to think of anything to say, I left the room wordlessly, Michele at my side. Erik caught my eye and I nodded, ignoring the look of confusion on his face.

Once out the front door and on the darkened sidewalk, Michele and I were both quiet, regarding each other. I couldn’t believe she was here, in front of me, flesh and blood. Everything I’d remembered about her seemed enhanced: her lips somehow pinker, her hair darker, the blue-green in her eyes standing out, searching mine. My hand twitched. I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I stopped myself.

She wasn’t mine to touch.

But I wanted her to be. Mine. I wanted to say fuck it and pull her to me, to feel that heartbeat in her chest beneath my hands. I wanted to kiss her again, to run my fingers through her hair. I wanted to sooth the pain in her eyes, to graze my teeth over her pale, inviting throat.

I did none of those things. I only watched her, still not quite sure what to make of the fact that she was there.

“You look… good, Iain,” she said. She stood stock-still, her lips slightly parted, the look on her face unreadable.

“So do you,” I replied, a gross understatement. She flushed, casting her gaze down at my feet again. Then she looked back up, her expression resolute.

“I know I surprised you by showing up tonight,” she said. “I really didn’t plan on it, but when Shannon told me… I just couldn’t skip it, after everything we’ve been through.” She reached for me, her hand lingering momentarily in the open air, before making contact with my arm. Then she stepped forward.

My heart began to race, a humming in my chest forming as she drew nearer. I forgot about everything, all the reasons that this could go very wrong. I forgot about Brandon, about the way I’d pushed her away. I forgot about the lie I’d told her on the phone, just to get her to agree: No, Michele. I don’t.

“Michele….”

“I hired a lawyer while I was in Maine. Brandon will be served in a few weeks. Iain, I’ll be….” She licked her lips, her eyes flicking over my face. She looked enraptured. By what, I wasn’t sure. But I couldn’t stop staring. “I’ll be free.”

Free?

She’ll be free?

She squeezed my arm tighter. My heart swelled as I swallowed what she’d said. She hired a lawyer. She was initiating a divorce.

“That’s why you’re back?” I asked. It was all I could think of to say.

“Yes. My lawyer said I should be with people who support me.” She stepped a little closer. I could see the flecks in her eyes. “And I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I want to be with you, Iain.”

I could smell the scent of her hair, I could see her chest heaving as she continued to search my face. And I was giving her nothing.

I wanted her. I wanted to give in, to drop everything, to claim her as mine, once and for all. To give a middle finger to everything standing in our way. But those things, those actions, they were all temporary. How was I sure that she was truly safe? Did I deserve to have her, after my mistakes?

“Iain,” Michele said, intruding on my thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

“I….” I started. A couple walked past us, their heads huddled together. “It tore me apart to push you away. But Michele, all I ever wanted to do was keep you safe, and I couldn’t. How is it going to be any different this time?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s over. Brandon - well, I’ve filed a restraining order. He can’t come near me. You and I… we can be together. Don’t you see? There’s nothing to protect me from anymore.” She smiled, but it was laced with sadness. My heart sank as I realized that I was fucking all of this up. I was letting my own fears get in the way of what she really wanted to say.

“Hey,” I said, softly. I placed a hand on her cheek, her skin warm against my cold palm. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come tonight.” She leaned into my hand, closing her eyes. Two tears escaped from under her lids.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Michele. I’m… ecstatic, really. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” I bit my lip, wiping a stray tear on her cheek with my thumb, feeling a sense of deja vu. The humming in my chest grew stronger, urging me to lean down and kiss her. Urging me to give in, to see the light.

That light was brighter now. She opened her eyes again, hope dawning there.

Words danced at the tip of my tongue - words I’d only thought about before this moment, those same words that I’d denied her over the phone. I wanted to say them now, but I was afraid of what that would mean for us. Memories of Michele flashed through my mind in rapid succession: our trip to the city, our first kiss on the park bench, then, later, in bed together, the way she’d begged me to take her. I remembered the look on her face when I told her about my mom. Then I heard her voice, the way she’d asked me, heartbroken, if I loved her too.

I loved her. There was no question about that. I loved her so much, I’d have done anything for her if it meant she didn’t have to live another day in fear. I still would.

“Be with me,” she whispered. “Let me love you. Please.”

That humming in my chest, the warmness, spread. It filled my heart and made me reach out, urging my arms around her tightly, pulling her close. I leaned down, meeting her mouth in a kiss that spoke words I could never say. I let that kiss consume me, consume us.

She stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck, her tongue greeting mine eagerly. God, how I’d missed this. I deepened the kiss, not caring that we were standing on the sidewalk where anybody could see us. I only had one thought.

Michele.

“I love you,” I told her when we broke our kiss. “I love you. I love you.” I nuzzled my face into her neck, whispering those three words over and over, loving the feel of them coming off of my lips. I clutched her tighter, relishing the way she felt in my arms.

I’d never let her go again.