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Kayla
At eleven fifty-seven p.m., I’m sitting at the desk, my notebook open and a pen in my hand.
Usually, Ryan and I would be at the spot right now, talking into the night, sharing stories about Dad. We’d talk about how he wriggled his eyebrows when I was young, making them dance and making me laugh like a crazy person. It would make Mom laugh, too, back before the bus crash, before the pain.
Falling leaves have stopped their cascade,
And I am broken, without a path.
Without you, I am…
I paw at my cheeks and slam the notebook shut. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, let alonehowto say it. Too many thoughts of Dad lead to thoughts of Ryan and how we’d usually spend this anniversary together. He knew all this time and didn’t evendefendhimself when I asked why he didn’t tell me.
I’ve spent the evening in my room, doing nothing except eating a room-service dinner. Kai has kept to himself. I think I heard him working out a few hours ago. Other than that, he seems content to stay in there.
Oh, heck, here it comes. I’m annoyed at myself as the tears start to fall. It’s like a trigger when the clock strikes midnight as if I’m reliving it all over again—the moment Dad collapsed and the realization hit that we would lose him, too.
I sit on the end of the bed and collapse into a pathetic heap of sobs. I always try to get myself under control when they come like this, wave upon wave of emotion, the grief twisting through me painfully.
Usually, on the anniversary, Ryan will hold me. Sometimes, he’ll even shed a few tears of his own. Now, I’m alone. I keep crying. I need to get it together, and yet, I keep crying.
There’s a knock at the door from the adjoining room.
“Kay?”
It’s Kai, his voice low as if he’s only getting involved reluctantly. I remember how he looked when he said,“I’m tired,”like he couldn’t wait to get away from me quickly enough. He was supposedly tired and then spent the next couple of hours working out.
“Kay, I know you’re awake.”
I say nothing, desperately wanting him to come in here yet also for him to leave me alone. I want an impossible version of him who will hold me, kiss me, and take the pain away in other ways.
“Kay.”
“I’m fine,” I snap when his tone gets urgent.
“Can I come in?”
“If you want.”
He pushes the door open, wearing another tank, black this time. His arms look even bigger than usual, maybe from whatever workout he did, pumped up and tempting. Somehow, desire pierces the grief.
He walks to the bed, looks down as if he’s going to sit next to me, then grabs the desk chair and turns it, sitting on that instead. He doesn’t want to sit on the bed with me and give me any wrong ideas. Or maybe it’s because of Ryan. He’s just being respectful.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.
“I’m fine.” I rub my cheeks. “I was just thinking about Dad, but yeah, I’m all good. You can go back to sleep.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I thought you were tired.”
He bites down and lets out a dark sigh. “I heard you crying.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being so loud.”
I know I’m being argumentative as hell. I can’t help it. I can’t let myself get close to him when I know it can’t go anywhere, ever.
He reaches over and touches my hand. Without the leather or clothes separating us, electricity sparks up my arm and throughout my body. It makes my heart beat faster, my soul throb, my world spin and spin and spin and…
