“We were twenty-one. August’s dad wasn’t really in the picture, but he showed up every few years, and it always ended in a fight between his parents, with Evelyn yelling at him that he was either in or out of their lives. I was at his house when his dad rocked up. His sister, Kit, took off to a friend’s house, so I told August I’d take him somewhere if he wanted as well. He grabbed a bottle of tequila from the house as we left, and we drove to one of the lookouts on top of Nowra Hills, where you could look down at the city. He drank, and I stayed sober to look after him. I didn’t realise how much he’d drunk. I thought he was just sipping at the bottle, but then it all seemed to hit him at once, and he was slurring and swaying and getting so mad, but I just let him get it out. Then Kit called. She had gone to some party with a friend, and a guy was being a bit too forward and kept following her around, so she wanted us to pick her up. We told her to stay with a group of people she trusted until we got there, and it was all fine, but Kit and August started fighting in the car as we were driving back to my house. I couldn’t concentrate, and August took his seatbelt off.”
I stop, eyes blinking up at the ceiling, needing a moment to rein in the emotions before they hit breaking point. Maybe she can sense how hard this is for me. How raw it still feels. I try to speak again, the words locked in my throat, until something crosses her face. She puts a finger to my lips, before she slowly pulls off her mask.
“I don’t remember my birth dad,” she starts. “I was three when my mum finally reached the point where she couldn’t take the abuse anymore, feeling brave enough to press charges and overcome the fear of his retaliation. He beat her so badly, she had to call an ambulance. Before that, she always tended to the injuries herself. When help arrived, they took one look at my mum, the carnage around our house, and called the authorities. My sisters and I were in foster care for six weeks while Mum got a lawyer, thanks to Life Vine, and did everything she could to prove we were safe with her. I don’t really remember anything from that time. Chelsea remembers a little, but I’ve lived with watching my mum fight those dark days, those moments where she forgets that she doesn’t have a reason to be scared anymore. I guess that’s why I always try to be open and honest with people. You never know what kind of life they’re surviving, they’re rewriting, but everyone needs a safe space. Sometimes they can’t be that for themselves, but I can be.”
I can feel my eyes prickle and well with every word.
“I’ll be your safe space, Gage.”
Her own bravery to navigate life as it comes—to hold the good tight with both hands, but equally hold the harder parts, the darker ones, with a more gentle acceptance—encourages me. I reach for my own mask, and as I pull it off, it feels as though the tethers that had me bound to my guilt loosen.
“I was trying to pull August back in his seat. Shouting at him to sit down properly, to put his seatbelt back on. I took my eyes off the road for one second.One.And I missed the car crossing the intersection into our lane. He hit my side of thecar, but August, he went straight through the windshield, cos he didn’t have his fucking belt on.”
A defiant tear slips down my cheek. Isabelle looks pained as she lets hers flow freely.
“It wasn’t your fault, you have to know that,” she says fiercely.
I tighten my hold on her as I lose my internal battle. Emotions spill faster than I can holster them.
A soft hand rests over my jaw, ushering my eyes to hers, and she sweeps her thumb under them. “Tell me you know that,” she demands, then whispers, “Tell me, Grim.”
My heart feels like lead. “It wasn’t my f-fault.”
A quick, soft kiss is pressed to my lips. “Say it again.”
The tightening in my gut releases, my limbs regaining feeling after being locked up so tight with the memories of August. My breath shudders as I draw it in and say the words again. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Isabelle’s fingers run through my hair before she pulls my lips to hers. The soft touch holds me, the orange and rose of her perfume bleeds into my pores as if I can steal her calm and call it my own.
Why doesn’t anything feel as heavy when she’s near? It’s almost like I can see her light as it breaks through the dark shell of my mind, reaching in to pull me to the surface. She shatters the barricade as much as she enforces the armour. “Can I take you somewhere?”
***
With one hand on Isabelle’s thigh, we drive to the cemetery where August is buried. She rests a hand on top of mine, lacing her fingers through, grazing her thumb over my knuckles as she stares out the window.
I don’t think she realises how her presence settles me. I can’t explain it, but it’s something that has slowly built ever since the weekend a few months ago in Royal Harbour. Speaking of.
“Hey, do you remember much about Royal Harbour?”
She chuckles, turning her head to look at me. “You mean how we fell asleep on the plane?”
I clear my throat, straightening in my seat. “Ah, not quite.” I quickly look over at her, then back at the road. “The night we went out drinking.”
“Oh my god!” She laughs. “I’ve never drunk so much in my life. I felt so rotten the next day.”
“Well, we kinda talked a lot that night.”
“I do remember that,” she says softly. “You pretended I was your girlfriend.”
“Do you remember me giving you a piggyback ride?”
She jerks up. “What? No!”
“You remember me helping you to bed?”
“Oh, no. Is this about to get embarrassing? Maybe it’s best if you don’t tell me.”
I laugh, bringing her hand to mine and kissing the back before setting it on her thigh again.
