Page 46 of It Will Always Be You
“I know I’m not the woman you knew, and there’s no changing that. But can you lie to me and tell me what our future could have been?”
“Helen…” The pain in that one word has fresh tears escaping.
“Please?” I whimper, the need to hear what could have been feelinglike a physical ache somewhere behind my ribs.
“Somewhere…” he whispers, stroking my hair in smooth, slow motions. “Somewhere, there’s a world where we never parted ways. You wake up in my arms every morning, you feel my heart beating against your cheek, and I kiss you good morning despite your protests about morning breath. Then, I slip out to make you coffee, which is always served with a kiss. We shower together, and I wash your hair before heading into the office. We live every day to the fullest—full of laughter and love. So much love, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and we are so, so happy.”
I drift back to sleep, yearning for the picture he’s painting to be our reality, soundtracked by his hopes and dreams for a different us, a version that wasn’t destroyed by tragedy, one that wasn’t cursed from the start, cloaked in secrets and lies.
How lucky are they to have what we never can.
Chapter 42
Something shifted between us after that. When I woke up the next morning, tucked under the duvet with a pillow clutched in my arms and no Jonathan in sight, some jagged part of me settled a little, at least enough to venture out of my room. Bypassing the familiar pictures of his dad and Sheila mixed in with newer photos of Cora’s wedding day and a baby April sleeping on Jonathan’s chest, I head down to the kitchen before fear digs its claws in again.
Having the freedom to wander, to eat and drink what I want,whenI want is something I can’t quite wrap my head around. God. To think, I’m in my forties, excited over something so mundane, so basic. Making my way to the Nespresso machine and looking at the overly complicated device, I’m biting my lip in concentration when I feel his presence behind me.
“Need a hand?” he offers, coming around slowly. Giving me time to move, I realise. God damn this man and his considerate ways. It’s more than I can handle these days. Is he trying to kill me? Becauseif so, mission success.
Stepping back and letting him work, I take him in. He was always unfairly handsome, and time has only served to enhance that. His dark hair is greying slightly at the temples in a sexy way. There are lines on his face that weren’t there before, evidence of a life well lived. His skin is still tan despite living in dreary England, and his cologne is the same as it always was. He might be taller and broader, but he’s the same man at his core.
The man I was helpless but to fall in love with.
The man I longed for, day in and day out, for years.
The man I don’t deserve.
I’m a broken mess of a human, barely able to function, with more baggage than an airport belt. I’m holding him back from his life. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t bear witness to him living his life while I’m struggling to get out of bed each morning. I refuse to hold him back. He doesn’t deserve to be cursed to living half a life because of me.
“Thank you.” I take a sip of the coffee, letting it warm my bones before continuing. “I was thinking, I’m going to start looking for a job so I can get out of your way.”
Leaning against the counter, he sips his own coffee. Closes his eyes. Exhales. Pins me under his unwavering stare. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. No. You’re not going anywhere, not until you’re good and ready.Ifyou’re ever ready, that is. There’s no rush.”
“It’s hardly fair,” I scoff.
“Fair?”
“You have a life to live. I’m sure me being here isn’t helping.” I roll my eyes, setting my cup down before taking a seat at the breakfast bar and rubbing my hip. Standing for long periods tends to make old injuries flare up, reminding me they aren’t to be ignored. His sharp eyes miss nothing, zeroing in on my hip with a cocked brow and clenched jaw.
He scoffs, downing his coffee and crossing the kitchen to lean against the other side of the breakfast bar. “I want you here, end ofdiscussion.”
Before I can come up with a response, the lift behind me pings, and I can’t control my flinch at the sudden noise. Seeing it, he raises his eyebrow, as if I’ve just proven his point. Rolling my eyes at his stubbornness, I twist to see who arrived, only to inhale sharply at the sight of Cora with a toddler perched on her hip. Hearing about April and seeing my baby with a baby are two very different things, and the reminder of everything I missed is just another blow. Those bastards robbed me of so many life events, so much time I can never get back, milestones I can never witness firsthand.
“Hey, Dad –” With a sharp inhale, she cuts herself off, her eyes frozen on me. I hardly even recognise myself these days, so I can only imagine what she sees.
“Hello, darling.” With sweaty palms and a racing heart, I close the distance between us. With a watery smile, she passes me April. Looking down at my grandchild—her green eyes the spitting image of her father’s but the blonde curls are all Cora, all me, all Freya—wetness trickles down the side of my face as my heart splinters. My finger gripped in her tiny fist, she coos up at me, bright eyes full of innocence, an innocence I pray she never loses. “Hi, precious girl. I’m your Nanny, and I’m so happy to meet you.”
“I thought you’d like an April day, but I think Mum has laid claim,” Cora jokes as Jonathan comes to stand beside me. In this moment, it’s easy to picture what should have been. I look up at him, the pain that beats inside me like a drum reflected on his face. We lost so much, and for what? Angus still got me. He still got Freya. I still lost her. And what did we gain? Who did our sacrifices save? Certainly not us. It’s hard not to think it was all for nought.
“While I would love to fight for some April time, there’s a few things I need to attend to today. Why don’t you have a girls’ day?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to the top of April and Cora’s heads as he makes his way to the lift. Such a familiar move that I wish I had been around to see develop.
“Sounds good,” Cora responds before turning her eyes to me. They’re eyes so like her father’s, it was like he was haunting me every time I looked at her, a blessing and a curse at the same time.
“Hey, Mum.” Her voice breaks but her eyes stay dry, and her hands twitch at her sides. Closing the distance between us, I wrap my free arm around her and pull her in for a hug. Instantly, I’m transported back to simpler times, when a hug could fix everything, and our biggest issues were things like high school heartbreaks. Fuck, I’d give everything to go back to those days, and yet seeing her and Jonathan together, the idea of ripping father and daughter apart is too cruel to stomach.
