Page 79 of Leather & Lark
“I like the view here. I like to see for a distance. It feels like you can see the whole city from this high,” I say. My heart pounds, every thump driving me closer to a memory that I normally try so hard to avoid. It’s so heavy and loud in my chest that I’m sure Lachlan can see it thrum in my neck, but if he can, he doesn’t let on. “It was a home invasion. That’s how I lost my dad. That’s why my mom walks with a limp. Why I don’t like small spaces. Why sometimes I can’t sleep.”
Lachlan could say something snarky, something teasing. But he stays quiet, a steady presence next to me. He watches as I sweep wayward strands of hair from my eyes and focus on the farthest points I can see along the horizon, pinpricks of light in the black distance.
“My mom woke us in the middle of the night. She hid us in the linen cupboard. Told us that no matter what we heard, no matter what happened, if she or Dad didn’t come for us, we weren’t to leave that closet until seven in the morning unless we heard the police. I guess she thought they’d be gone by dawn. Stay still, stay silent. ‘God save my girls.’ That was the last thing she said before she went downstairs. The last time I ever heard her ask God for anything, actually.”
And I prayed too that night. I asked Him to save my family. I prayed and prayed and prayed to a God who never answered. Three shots, two screams, and only a few minutes of commotion as thieves stole money and jewelry and car keys and ran. But not a word from God.
“We could see the alarm clock in the next room through the crack between the doors. I remember every time we checked. Two twenty-four. Three eighteen. Five thirty-nine. Six twelve. Six fifty-two. Seven o’clock finally came and my sister made me stay upstairs as she got help for my mom. She was unconscious downstairs. Dad was already dead. And I never prayed again.” I take a deep breath and clasp my hands together as though I can press the next words out of my body. “Not even at Ashborne, when …”
Those words float away on the wind. I don’t try to catch them. They’re justgone, not ready to be shared, no matter how much I wish I could give them away.
I shake my head. This isn’t the kind of thing I can talk about with anyone, not even Sloane. It’s like the concrete in our foundation that we know exists, but never acknowledge. Even when I went to therapy, I talkedaroundAshborne. I was too nervous to tell the truth, too worried about endangering my best friend. It was easier to slip into another disguise, to channel the persona I’d practiced so that other people wouldn’t feel uncomfortable around me. I thought I’d end up lonelier if I wasn’t who they wanted me to be. But it doesn’t really work that way. You still live with your true self on the inside.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to look at Lachlan as tears fill my eyes. “For Dr. Campbell. For doing that with me.”
Maybe Lachlan is unsure how I feel about this. I guess it’s hard to know when I don’t look his way. But he takes a risk anyway. My eyes drift closed when he runs a knuckle across my cheek. “He did nothing to stop what happened to you. He deserved what he got.”
I turn just enough so that Lachlan can’t see my face and nod. As my gaze is caught on the horizon, his hand folds around mine, gently prying my palms apart so he can grasp my hand.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not taking my eyes from the city lights.
My lips press into a tight line as the silence stretches on, just the wind and cars far below us, the pulse of music behind glass, the drum of my heart behind bone. And after a long while, Lachlan starts to spin my engagement ring. Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s such a simple motion that he probably doesn’t even think about it, and maybe that’s why my heart creases like thin paper folded one too many times. His steady presence imprints in the lines left behind.
I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m not sure when it is I lean into Lachlan’s side just enough that I feel the warmth of his body through my clothes, or how long it is before he lets go of my hand to rest an arm around my shoulders. But it’s a long time before I say, “We should go home.”
“I’ll take you back.”
My breath catches. “You’re not coming with me?”
“No.” The word is absolute and unwavering, but I think I feel Lachlan’s arm tighten, his hand tense where it wraps around my arm. “I have to go to Leander’s.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
I turn to Lachlan and place a hand on his chest. Rising on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. I can feel the way his heart jumps beneath my palm. “Let’s go,” I say, and I lead the way back inside.
Within twenty minutes, he’s dropped me off. He waits at the curb until I turn on the lights in our apartment and give him a wave out the window. Within another twenty minutes, I receive a text with a photo, one of a gold star sticker on Lachlan’s chest. I grin as a second message comes through.
My first gold star! I feel like I’m getting somewhere.
My smile brightens as I pick up my guitar and open my notebook to a fresh page. When I’m settled in the round chair by the windows, I tap out my reply.
Maybe you are, Batman. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
I play a few chords.
And before long, I start a new song.
SPOTLIGHT
Lachlan
“I made this for you.” I pass Lark a matte black box embossed with the Kane Atelier logo, a gold ribbon tied around its edges.
She’s sitting crossed-legged next to Bentley on the couch in our apartment, illuminated by the setting sun. She beams at me as she rattles the box. My nerves and excitement war with every thud of my heart. She’ll love it.Thump.She’ll hate it.Thump.Too much.Thump.Not enough.Thump.
“It’s nothing really. Just good luck for the show, I guess.” I try to bank the heat that courses through my veins. My voice is gritty and raw when I say, “It’s no worries if you don’t like it.”
