We’re still doing that when Brody comes back, holding two takeaway cups. Sandra meets my eyes and raises her eyebrows in a question. I know immediately what she’s asking, and I shake my head a little.
I know I need to tell him. This is not the kind of thing I have any right to keep a secret, because it is his child as much as mine. But right now is not the time to do it. I need to let the information settle. I need to process it myself before I share it. I need to figure out how my new life is going to look, and I need to figure it out without him.
I might not have an incurable brain tumour, but this is big. This is huge and life-changing and amazing. But it’s also not something I plan to use to tie him down. He doesn’t love me, and he doesn’t want to be with me – and telling him I’m pregnant will only complicate that. He would feel honour bound to stand by me, to do the right thing. To not let me down. It’s just the way he’s made.
If I tell him right now, he would stay. He would try and build a life with me for the sake of the baby. But I also know that I couldn’t stand that – knowing, every single day, that I’d trapped him, no matter how accidentally.
I remember how desperate I was to make Harry love me, and I never want to feel that way again. You cannot make someonelove you, no matter how hard you try. Brody being with me from a sense of responsibility is not enough, not any more. I’d never be able to relax, never be able to trust it. I can’t bring a child into that, and it would do me no favours either.
There’s a lot to figure out. I need time, and I need space, and I need to not have a headache and feel like I’m about to puke up all over him.
For now, I decide, I will stay quiet. I will let this play out between us. And if it ends the way I think it will… I will say my goodbyes.
TWENTY-SEVEN
BRODY
Two nights have passed since Kate’s accident. They’ve been hell, for all kinds of reasons.
The first evening, I got her settled on the couch, keeping a watchful eye on her as she drifted in and out of sleep. I knew what signs to look out for, and I drove her crazy by constantly checking on how she felt. Making sure she wasn’t dizzy, that her vision was good, that she didn’t feel sick. I was a hair trigger away from bundling her back in the car and driving her to the emergency room every time she breathed especially loudly.
A few people have called in with care packages, food she’s not overly interested in and booze she wisely doesn’t touch. It’s just their way of showing concern, but I hate it – she’s weak, and she’s tired, and she needs quiet. She needs… well, what do I know about that? It isn’t me, for sure. She’s making that perfectly clear.
Since we got back to the cottage, she’s been distant. Off in a way I can’t quite pinpoint. It might just be the head injury, but I suspect it’s more than that. I suspect she’s backing off, retreating into her shell – making sure I can’t reject her or hurt her.
The worst thing is, I know she’s right to do it. She told me she loved me, and I let her down. This amazing woman loves me,and I’m too much of an idiot to be able to deal with it. I’ve gone over and over it in my mind, and the only conclusion I can reach is that she’d be better off without me. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner she’ll be able to heal – and not just physically.
My brain is a raging mess of emotions, and I’m torn in so many different directions. Part of me wants to stay with her forever, protect her, keep her safe. But part of me knows that I’m the one putting her most at risk – I can’t give her what she needs. I’m too damaged, and maybe too much of a coward to even try.
Who am I even kidding, anyway? Life will go on without me. Kate will go on without me. Moira is on the mend, and the bookstore will either survive, or become a hotel. None of it is dependent on the not-so-mighty Brody Quinn. That first night back from the hospital, I slept in the armchair, or more accurately I sat in the armchair. I didn’t sleep at all, not while I had to keep watch over her. The next morning, she seemed much more alert, much more in control. Much more guarded.
Last night, I found myself in Robbie’s old room again, staring up at the football posters and the pop singer whose name I can never remember. Banished from Kate’s bed by mutual consent. We used the concussion as an excuse, but we both know that’s not true. Something has broken between us, and there’s no point trying to fix it.
I’m up before she is, in the kitchen after yet another crappy night. My back is giving me hell, and even the sound of the sea isn’t soothing me. I make a coffee, leaning against the counter and looking around the room. Everything reminds me of the times we’ve shared together. The places we’ve made love. The times we’ve danced, and talked for hours on end, and laughed so hard we were crying. The cosy nights curled up on the sofa, reading books we brought home from the store after a long day of working to make it special.
This willalwaysbe special, but I know it has to end. It already has ended, in reality – we’re both just still here. I get my phone out, and check flights to Chicago. My heart is heavy as I do it, and I feel like I’m choking on swamp water as I figure out the best way to do this. Should I just go? Should I write her a note? Do we need to have another fake conversation where we pretend everything is okay when it’s not?
I hear her singing upstairs, and against the odds it makes me smile. Ironically, she’s doing that Gloria Gaynor song, the one girls always dance to at parties – ‘I Will Survive’. Huh. Maybe it’s a not so subtle message from the universe, or, less weirdly, from Kate herself. She will survive. I know she will. I’m being an arrogant asshole assuming otherwise.
She emerges into the room wearing a pretty sundress patterned with daisies. Her hair is wet from the shower, and she looks gorgeous. Even now, with the weight of this decision pressing down on my shoulders, I still want her. Our eyes meet, and the familiar spark arcs between us. She feels the same, I know it.
I watch her face as she schools it into something more respectable, more neutral. A hell of a lot less dangerous for us both.
‘Good morning!’ she says brightly. I feel the effort she’s making, and I want to throw the damn coffee cup across the room. She’s trying to make this pleasant, easy, when nothing about it feels like either of those things.
‘Hey. How are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m great, Brody. Totally back to normal, I’d say. And before you run through your checklist, Dr Quinn Medicine Man, my headache has gone, no nausea, no dizziness, no blurred vision or problems with speech. You can stand down.’
I nod, but feel oddly worse. While she still needed me, I had a reason to stay. I could fool myself that I was only here to lookafter her. Now, she’s letting me off the hook, and we both know it.
I make her a herbal tea, the ginger stuff she’s started drinking over the last few days, and place it on the table, indicating that she should sit while I make us some toast. Her nose twitches appreciatively at the smell, and she actually eats with enthusiasm this morning. She’s definitely feeling better.
‘So,’ I say after a few moments. ‘I think I might need to go back to the States earlier than planned.’
She’s mid-bite, and she chews it real slow, like she’s buying herself some time before she speaks.
‘Right. I see. Why?’ she finally says, her voice low and her tone incredibly even. As long as I’ve known Kate, she’s pretty much worn her heart on her sleeve – now? Now I have no clue what she’s thinking, and I hate it. I hate it, but I know I have no right to her thoughts, or her heart, or any part of her at all.
