Page 8 of The Meaning Of You

“Me?” I raised a brow and she winced.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I never told you about the call because I feel so guilty that those were our last words. But, Nick, neither of us were in the car that day. Davis could’ve called and said he’d be late and taken his time. He could’ve made a ton of different decisions, but he didn’t. He chose to drive dangerously on a narrow country road, and here we are. You aren’t responsible, Nick. Neither am I. We have to understand that.”

My lips twitched. “Yeah, and how’s that working for you?”

She sighed and shook her head. “We’re a right pair, aren’t we?”

I reached for her hands. “It’s not just that day though, is it?” I cast a sideways glance to where Davis still lay staring at the wall. “I hate seeing him like this and I hate that I can’t do anything to change it.” I stumbled over the words. “I’m a coward and I know I’m letting him down. I’m sorry.”

Tears flooded my cheeks, and Lizzie immediately shushed me and drew me into her arms, holding me as I cried. “You think you’re the only one who wishes they were braver?”

I pulled up in shock.

She sniffed. “What? You’re not the only one who feels they’re disappointing Davis. You think I haven’t spent the last year berating myself for not finding a way to make this nightmare end?” She glanced at Davis. “But then I realised something.” She looked back at me and smiled. “I realised he’d understand. Just like you would, Nick. Don’t beat yourself up. When you and he talked about these sorts of scenarios and made those living wills all those years ago, no one could’ve foreseen this. It’s never as simple as we think.”

Gratitude swept through my heart and for a few precious seconds, the world lifted from my shoulders. I thanked her the best way I knew how. “Jerry mentioned they might convene another conference about him soon. Make some decisions.”

Lizzie’s eyes closed and a relieved sigh escaped her lips. “Sweet Jesus, I hope so.” She squeezed my hand, then gave me her red woollen coat to hold while she slipped it on. Buttoning it, she added, “Don’t stay too long. It’s going to be cold tonight.”

I watched her leave, then circled the bed to the other chair so I could better see Davis’s face. I took his warm hand in mine and brought the back of it to my lips. “What a fucking mess we’ve landed ourselves in.” I stroked his cheek. “God, you’re still so beautiful. How did I ever manage to pull you? Punching well above my weight, obviously.”

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. Then I rested my cheek against his face and wished we were tucked up in our bed. That the last eighteen months had never happened. That he would spoon me from behind as I slept and keep me safe.

“I’m sorry for what I said that day,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry for all of it. For acting like a kid having a tantrum. Fornot accepting you as you were. For wanting to change you. For not just leaving our anniversary dinner until the weekend. I can’t change any of it, but I am sorry.”

I startled as Davis’s shoulders lurched with a cough and phlegm rattled in his throat. But when I pulled back and looked at his face, his eyes remained fixed on the wall. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, turning his left forearm so I could kiss the tattoo on the underside of his wrist. I had one in the exact same place. Mine saidWill you?, and his saidYes.

“I’m here for you, sweetheart, as long as it takes.” I kissed the inked letters again. “But you don’t need to stick around just to make sure I’m okay. I’m a bit of a mess, I know, but I’ll survive, I promise. I want you to be at peace and I’m okay with how that looks for you. The ball is in your court. If it means staying as you are for a while longer, then I’m here for that. If it means leaving, then I’m okay with that too. But maybe stop fighting if that’s what you really want. You’re too strong for your own good.”

Another cough and it was easy to read into that. The mind grabs whatever safe ground it can.

“I love you, Davis. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I promise I’ll try and live up to what you taught me.”

I held his hand a moment longer, then I stood and kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled the comforter over his pale, thin shoulders. I watched him breathe in and out for too long to be healthy, watched his eyes slowly close and his body sag. Then I left the room with the door open so staff could see him as they passed.

Feeling too wound-up to drive home, I bypassed reception and headed for the peace of the courtyard garden.

CHAPTER TWO

Madigan

I heldout the packet of Double Coat Tim Tams for Aunt Shirley to help herself and tried not to dwell on the handsome man I’d met in reception.

If there was a stereotype for a silver fox, Nick Fisher surely held the copyright. Mid-fifties, maybe a little younger, he was tall, lean, and strikingly good-looking with a rough, bad-boy vibe that piqued my interest in a way few did. Blond-grey hair—short at the back and long at the top—fell irreverently over a deeply lined forehead. He looked like he’d been frowning his whole life, but rather than off-putting, I found it almost amusing, like the man was trying too hard not to be liked.

A web of fine lines framed astute grey eyes and only added to his appeal, as did that one crooked eye tooth in an otherwise perfect mouth. A thick scrumptious layer of silver-tipped stubble accented a strong jawline, and if I were a betting man, I’d wager not a single moisturiser sat in Nick Fisher’s bathroom cupboard. He had that air about him. Like he couldn’t give a fuck about that kind of thing. Then again, with looks like that, he really didn’t need to. Likereallydidn’t.

Nick Fisher was also probably straight and definitely married, judging by the titanium band on his ring finger. Didn’t mean I couldn’t look and enjoy the view, especially since he didn’t carry the frantic air of far too many men of our generation who were desperately trying to remain relevant, not to mention attractive to the generations following.

I shuddered at the thought. The idea of dating a younger man brought me out in hives. Way too much angst and drama for my taste, let alone the fact they usually came as a package deal with a cohort of similarly aged men that one would be expected to socialise with. Ask me how I knew.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed male company of all ages, provided there was a clear exit strategy when exhaustion hit. The idea of tying myself long-term to a group twenty or thirty years my junior was quite frankly... horrifying. If I had to choose between a night clubbing with a hot younger man, followed by frantic but often disappointing sex, or a couch with a book and a large glass of excellent red wine, there was no competition. The couch won every time. There was always my trusty right hand if required—a reliable partner who didn’t require a second round or breakfast in the morning.

Each to their own.

I get that breakfast isn’t obligatory for a hook-up, but I’ve always felt it’s good manners. You get invited into someone’s body or vice versa, and it seems only fair to at least feed them in the morning, right?

Don’t answer that.

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