Out of the corner of her eye she watched him move towards the gate. He was clearly pushing past his limits, against all medical advice. Suddenly she felt tired of telling him, tired of trying to be there for someone who clearly didn’t want her help. So much for her hope that caring for Ben during his recovery would help her find the closure that she was so desperately lacking.
She took her time finishing her stretches, wanting to give Ben plenty of time to put some distance between them as he so clearly wanted to. She headed out in the opposite direction when she finally set off.
She wished it didn’t matter. Over the years she’d almost convinced herself that she’d put Ben Abrams into her past. And then she’d received the news that he’d been blown up and was being shipped home. Her whole world had been thrown into chaos and she’d realised she’d never moved on from him, or f
rom their wedding night, at all.
She’d been so silly in the beginning—racing home every day and hoping against hope that he’d be there, waiting for her. When she’d found out she was pregnant she’d believed that somehow he would sense it and come home. He hadn’t. Just as he hadn’t sensed it when she’d seen those first ominous spots of blood, or when the pain had hit, or when she’d lost their baby.
The loss had been visceral. And it had taken her so long to piece herself back together. How many times had she dialled the first few digits of Ben’s mobile—wanting his strength, his comfort—only to terminate the call? She had needed him to come home because he had chosen to—not because she had compelled him. It had only been then that Thea had realised, deep down, that Ben was never coming back. She was on her own and she was always going to be on her own.
In the end she’d thrown herself into the last year of her degree, grateful for the long hours of exhausting work which had kept her out of the house and distracted her. A year to the day after she’d lost the baby Thea had finally picked up her first paintbrush and started the transitioning process, doing little bits of decorating on her few days off or when she’d found herself at a loose end.
Redecorating the house from top to bottom had been the only way she’d been able to occupy her thoughts and move on from what she had lost with Ben. It was no coincidence that her first—awful—date had taken place shortly after there had been no more decorating to do. Apart from Ben’s room, which had remained untouched until last year.
If she looked back she wondered how she had managed to get through those dark, bleak days. So she’d stopped looking back, shut the memories away and pretended they belonged to someone else. And now she wasn’t sure how to unlock them properly again, or even if she wanted to. What purpose would it serve to tell Ben about the baby after all this time? And yet somehow she felt as though he had a right to know.
It piqued her to realise that, deep down, she wanted to tell him. But she still couldn’t shake the fear that he might not care.
Thea stopped running, her legs suddenly sapped of strength. She shook her head, but her doubts weren’t so easily dislodged. Nor was her darkest and yet most precious secret.
Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t realise she had run for miles in a long circuit, eventually coming to the park where Daniel had used to train. Suddenly she found herself in front of the long, steep hill on which, as a kid, she had sometimes watched him complete hill rep after hill rep before they talked about life, school, and whether anyone was bullying her. Inexorably drawn there, Thea wished she had her brother to talk to now. But then if Daniel had still been alive she wouldn’t have been in this predicament with Ben in the first place.
Unexpectedly she felt her eyes prick with tears and took a step backwards, struggling for breath. Five years and she had pretty much come to terms with losing her brother. These days it rarely caught her off guard like that.
She suspected that her earlier thoughts of Ben had a lot to do with her scattered emotions. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to get away from him.
Thea jerked her head up as sudden movement over the dip caught her eye. As if to prove her point, Ben came gradually into view, evidently pushing through every pain barrier. He saw her and, even from that distance the clenching of his jaw betrayed the little muscle ticcing in irritation.
‘Daniel used to train here.’ She wrapped her arms defensively across her chest as he approached.
‘Hill reps—yes. I know.’
‘You trained here together?’ Realisation dawned. ‘Daniel brought me here sometimes, to talk and to jog around the lake with him.’
‘I never thought... Of course. You miss him,’ Ben stated flatly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your memories. I’ll leave you to your peace. See you back at the house, Thea.’
Abruptly Thea wondered if, like her, Ben’s memories were what had drawn him here today. To her, Ben’s accident sounded similar to what had happened to Daniel. Certainly the ambush and getting pinned down by the enemy. She wondered if Ben was feeling as disconcerted about their being back at cottage together as she was. She wasn’t sure why that made her feel a little better, but it did. It offered her a new sense of courage.
‘No—wait.’ Quickly she put a hand out to touch Ben’s arm, to stay him, but she wasn’t prepared for the jolt that fizzed through her.
Snatching her fingers swiftly away, she forced herself to meet his eyes. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It certainly wasn’t what she wanted to happen.
Still, it was proving impossible for them to live together. As much as they had tried to ignore the problem, accusations hung silently around them every time they walked into the same room. She’d been right earlier. Pretending the issues between them didn’t matter wasn’t working. At some point they would have to talk. And now, here, seemed as good a time as any.
‘Don’t leave. We both came here for a reason.’
‘This isn’t the time.’ Ben turned, ready to move away.
I think this is the time,’ Thea argued. ‘Don’t you have questions? Because I have.’
So many.
‘I know what your questions are, Thea.’ He turned slowly back, meeting her gaze head-on. ‘But I can’t give you the answers you want to hear.’
‘You don’t know what I want to hear.’
‘I think I do.’