Page 51 of Lorcan's Obsession

A short while later, we stood there, in front of the unassuming brick house, and everything else faded out of existence. Time stopped, just like it had so many years ago. My jaw trembled, the painful memories causing a shiver through me. Instinctively, Lorcan moved closer, wrapping his arm around my waist. Inhaling Lorcan's scent seemed to have a calming effect on me, just like in the plane before skydiving. I cherished his presence and comfort more than words could describe.

"We lived there." I pointed to a brownstone maisonette with a huge SALE sign. The green lawn had been freshly mowed, and a line of white and yellow daisies brightened the dark blue picket fence. “It used to be white,” I told Lorcan, who stared at me in bewilderment before I added, “The picket fence used to be white.”

“Oh, okay.”

I toyed with the drawstrings on my dusty-pink hoodie. Curiosity nudged me to go closer and look at my former home, but ghosts of the past cemented my feet on the ground.

“D-Do you think you can come with me? To see the house. There’s no one in right now.”

“Sure.” Lorcan opened the gate, strolling with me until we were standing at the front porch.

I crouched to the ground and touched the earth. It felt ethereal, like this moment was an out-of-body experience. Lorcan didn’t crowd me or bombard me with questions, he simply let me be. From the corner of my eye, I saw the height markings that my dad used to do on my birthdays. My hand flew to my mouth, but the gasp was loud enough to hear.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” Lorcan’s smooth voice was my lifeline. He walked to where I pointed. “Wow. No tenant painted over them all these years.”

I nodded. Wiping the warm tears glistening my cheeks, while looking at the numbers, from year one to lucky thirteen. “Do you mind if I walk around the house alone?”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Taking one leaden step after the other, I went to the backyard, and he got on a call with his assistant. I took photos for keepsake, wishing I could take off my sneakers and feel the grass underneath my feet, but that would be pushing luck for trespassers. I hurried and returned to him. He stretched out his open palm for me, and I slid my hand into his grasp as we walked out of the compound.

A part of me yearned to share my pain with him. As we approached the intersection, I spoke softly, "We were making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on that day, and there wasn’t enough to cover my toast. I insisted on having it perfectly done, and my mom told me to stop fussing about it. But my dad…he said his buttercup had to have the perfect PB&J. He went out to get me some across the—" I buried my face in Lorcan's chest to muffle my sobs.

"Hey, it wasn't your fault." He rubbed my back softly. “It was an accident, and it wasn't because of you."

"M-maybe if I just hadn’t asked him—" A fresh river of tears burst like an overfilled dam.

"Tristen, look at me." Lorcan slowly tilted my head, kissing each tear-stained cheek. "I’m sure he loved you so much he'd do anything for you before you could even ask for it. It was the driver’s carelessness that caused this tragedy, not you. Your dad would not have wanted you to carry that guilt."

"Then why wasn't I able to come back? If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here."

Lorcan hesitated. "I don't know what it was like for you…after it happened. But I know what it’s like to lose a parent. And it takes time to heal, to close a wound. He wouldn’t blame you for waiting so long. We can find a way when you are ready."

My heart fluttered at his words. They were heavy but brought only lightness to me. He was one of a kind. I saw that now. Most playboys would have been bored or made uncomfortable having to listen to me talk about death. But Lorcan had stayed by my side, constantly making sure I felt safe. Today, he'd been my rock, my strength, the calm in this hurt. Surely that counted for something?

"Let's go," I told him, "there's more to show you. All happy stuff now, I promise."

20

M & M

When I laid eyes on the washed-up diner with its neon-red sign announcing "Mario" to the rest of the block, all I thought was, "Why the hell would Tris pick this dingy place to eat?"

My insane abs were built by hours at the gym and chef-curated meals. I dined at top-tiered gastronomic restaurants, which served you meat foam instead of the actual thing. But I wasn’t going to disappoint Tris. She’d lowered her guard and let me see her vulnerabilities. We were making progress, connecting on a deeper level. One night of sub-par, greasy, carbo-loaded food was a small price to pay.

Besides, I could always burn off the calories with her in the bedroom.

Inside, the small diner looked like it had fallen straight out of an eighties movie, complete with checkered floor tiles and red faux leather seats. The decoration on the neon walls was enough to give me a headache: glued bottle caps, Yankees flag, monkey photos, Cheetos, baby guitars, Elvis. What kind of food did they serve here: international mess?

Eyes on the prize, Lorcan. Eyes on the—who was that old man, and why was he staring at my Tristen?

"Buttercup?" he shouted, his lips trembling.

"Mario?" Tris dropped my hand and ran over to the strange man, hugging him tight. They stayed that way for a long minute, and I didn’t dare move. It was as if we’d all been frozen into sculptures.

"Marion, Marion! Come out here!" the old man yelled in a raspy voice, still hugging my girl, rocking her sideways.

Well. Now I felt even more out of place.

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