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She looks up at me questioningly. “What is it? Do you never take it off?”
“Only to shower.” I clear my throat.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re not secretly married, are you? Because I think fake girlfriends still count as real cheating.”
I snort. “No. It’s a promise ring.”
That’s a lie. It’s actually an engagement ring, but I don’t really want to get into that conversation.
She looks astounded. “You? You never promise anything.”
“I promise my face between your legs and my tongue inside you. What more could a girl want?”
She doesn’t laugh, focussing her hard gaze on me. I relent, looking at the little silver ring. “Yeah. I was a different guy back then.”
“I’ll say.” She’s silent for a moment, absentmindedly stroking my chest. “Did she die?”
I flinch. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, it would be a bit weird to be wearing an ex’s promise ring for literally any other reason.”
That’s fair. I rub my beard. “Aye,” I say quietly. “She died.”
She lays her head against my shoulder. “What was her name?”
“Emily.” I haven’t said the name in so long. It used to feel so familiar in my mouth, but now the sounds are foreign and clunky. I don’t even remember the last time I thought of her.
God. I’m a terrible person.
“Was it a long time ago?” Layla asks, drawing a spiral in my chest hair.
I take a deep breath through my nose. “Aye. She passed when we were both eighteen. The summer before I joined the team.”
Her hand tightens on me. “What happened?”
My throat goes dry. My insides clam up. For a second, I can’t speak at all.
Layla looks horrified. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine,” I rasp out. “She got sick. It was fast. Aggressive. She died a couple months after her diagnosis. They did everything to help her. Surgery, medicine. Nothing worked.” It feels like someone’s wrapped their hand around my throat. “I can’t talk about it, pet.”
“Okay,” Layla says.
I let out a breath, my chest easing. “She would’ve loved your bras,” I admit. “The middle-clasp ones. She had to get me to help her put hers on at the end, ‘cause her fingers were too weak. And her whole life was all hospital gowns, and catheters, and shit. She didn’t have anything pretty.”
Layla nods, her face serious. “Did you love her?”
“She was just… like a sunbeam.” That’s how Emily is in my memory. A small girl with brown skin and flowing dark hair, who just glows. The old pain rises up in my chest, but I press it back down automatically, like I always do. I can’t feel it. It would kill me.
“I’m sorry.” Layla bites her lip, then awkwardly butts her head under my chin. “I’m sorry.”
I smile down at her. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, bless her. Layla doesn’t like talking about feelings, but right now, she’s trying so hard to comfort me, even though she clearly hasn’t got a clue how to. “S’okay, lass. Can’t undo it now.”
It took me a long time to come to terms with that. After Emily passed, I walked around feeling like I was in a nightmare, and sooner or later, someone would pinch me and wake me up. It wasn’t until after the funeral that I finally realised that there was no way I’d get her back. So I put her engagement ring on a chain around my neck, deleted the phone numbers of all my old friends, and headed off to play rugby for the next seven years. Without her.I’ve not gotten serious with a girl since.
Layla kisses my chest tiredly, and I stroke my fingers through her hair, feeling her breathe against me. She falls asleep soon after, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed.
***
