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The grass is long and ready to be cut, but I want to wait to make sure it is freshly manicured for the ball.
Lance is standing off to the side of the graves, his head lifting when I enter the garden. He doesn’t move, maybe gauging my reaction to him being here, but I don’t give it enough thought. I walk to where he’s standing and stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
“You had the headstone placed.”
“Months ago, now.”
I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “I’ve not been out here in a long time.”
“No,” I agree. The last time he was here he saw me plant the trees and then left me the note. “It’s quieter without you.”
He smiles and pockets his hands. “You sure that’s not his fault?” He nods his head toward Dad’s grave. “I can’t get all the blame.”
“Oh, it’s definitely his fault, too,” I agree, looking at the dark-black granite with my father’s name carved into it. “But you were just as… present.”
I smile tenderly up at him, remembering.
“Have you eaten, Scar?”
I shake my head. I’ve been looking forward to climbing into my bed all day. Food wasn’t even on the agenda.
“Why don’t you go inside and get showered? I’ll get us something.”
“Us.”
“Can I eat with you?”
I blink in surprise.An olive branch. “I guess that would be okay.” Without another word, I turn and walk toward the house. Not looking behind me once.
But I feel his eyes on me with every step I take.
Lance
The closest takeaway is an Indian restaurant twenty minutes away. I manage the trip in half an hour on the bike, but when I eventually get back to the house, discarding the bag on the kitchen counter, I stand at the entrance of the house and try to listen for a single sound to tell me where Scarlet might be.
I wait for ten minutes, the tapping of my foot under my bouncing knee the only sound in the silence. But that’s all I have in me before I give up and take the stairs, looking for her.
I push on her bedroom door and pause. She’s curled up asleep at the bottom of her bed, still wearing her work clothes as the shower runs in the bathroom.
My shoulders drop as I let the heaviness leave me.
I came here unable to stop myself. I’d waited weeks, too damn long, while she’s been here alone. I haven’t slept properly since the night of Elliot’s birthday. It was the first time I’d slept for more than an hour in months. It’s like it was a tease. Having her back in my bed.
She’s been working and planning for the memorial ball she’s hosting here on the estate. Charlie said she’s overdoing it, that he’s worried she’ll crash before she can make it to next Saturday.
And I’m just about done with beingtoldhow she is.
Constantly wondering if she’s looking after herself and coping.
I want to know.
I want to dictate it even.
Not to control her, but to be here.
To help her.
It makes me selfish to want her again. To come back here and buy her dinner. To wake her up and slide back between her sheets. To love her.
