Leave Me Breathless

‘Sit,’ he commands gently, taking me to one of the chairs by the fire. I lower and watch as he lights the fire and stabs at the wood with an iron poker, encouraging the flames. Then he sits in the chair opposite me, and I immediately hate the distance he’s putting between us. I start to fold in on myself, fear of the impending talk we need to have bringing on an onslaught of unease. He’s just looking at me, probably trying to fathom where to start.

The pressure gets the better of me, and I shoot up from my chair. ‘I need a drink,’ I blurt, turning and walking to the kitchen, feeling his eyes nailed to my back. Why is he being so cold all of a sudden? Has relief made way for anger again? Has he spent the journey back here gauging just how pissed off he is?

I pour myself a glass of wine, hoping it’ll settle my nerves. How much is he going to make me explain? He says he knows everything. Does he want to hear it from my mouth, too? Confirmation?

I screw the cap back on the bottle and return it to the fridge, then claim my glass, and with a shaky hand I raise it to my lips, staring out the window, willing the courage I need to tackle it all. I see my bike propped up against the tree, the colours vibrant. It’s a pretty accurate representation of me since I met Ryan. Will he look at me differently now?

As I feel his eyes drilling into my back, I hate the notion that he already does. For a fleeting moment, I damn him for chasing me down and stopping me leaving. Because this feeling is just another reason for me to go. This hopelessness. This shame.

I set the glass down on the counter and take a few controlled breaths. ‘How did you find out who I am?’

‘I already told—’

‘No,’ I snap, turning to face him. ‘I know you have connections. But don’t tell me you called them up, gave them the name Hannah Bright, and they came back with an entire shitty story of a woman who’s been dead for five years.’ I take more wine, but I’m sure to keep my eyes on Ryan. ‘Because if so, Ryan, I’m in serious trouble.’ I’m being sarcastic, spelling out loud and clear that there’s more and he’s not telling me.

He stiffens in his chair, flexing his strung muscles. ‘I followed you yesterday morning to Grange.’ He makes his confession with not one hint of remorse or shame, and my legs become heavy, holding me stock-still.

He followed me? Watched me? He saw every moment of my anguish?

‘When you left Grange,’ he goes on, ‘I followed the women you were watching to a care home.’ Still no shame, and I reach back to the counter to steady myself. ‘I waited for the younger woman to leave and then checked the visitor log. That’s how I got the name of your sister and your mother.’

Stunned, I stare at him, unable to comprehend the lengths he’s gone to. Just the mention of my mum and Pippa punches at my heart. Ryan collected me from the high street yesterday and brought me here. He took me to the lake. He told me he loved me. Our relationship shifted into top gear, and all that happened after he’d followed me? ‘Why didn’t you say anything to me?’

‘Because I decided it didn’t matter. Because I talked myself into believing that as long as I have you and you’re safe, I could let you keep your secrets and I’d deal with that. Maybe one day you’d trust me enough to tell me. But until that day, if it ever came, at least I knew enough to understand you.’ He pushes his palms into the arms of the chair and rises. ‘And I don’t regret digging for that information, Hannah. I don’t regret storing it. Because that is how I knew something wasn’t right today.’ He walks forward slowly, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. ‘That is how you are standing here in my cabin.’ He reaches me, taking my hands from behind me and resting them over his heart. ‘And that is how you are still mine, Hannah. So don’t hold it against me. Don’t be angry.’ He circles my neck with his hands. ‘I’m standing before you now begging you not to run again. All I want is you, Hannah.’ His hold of my neck tightens, to a point so firm, I should be freaking out. I should be panicking, fighting off relentless flashbacks and fear. Yet I’m numb to everything except the pleading in his eyes. ‘Because everything before you now seems half complete.’

I have so much to say, but none of it seems adequate. So I take my hands to his face and hold him while I kiss him, breathing my appreciation and thanks into him. He sighs around my swirling tongue and lifts me onto the counter, knocking my glass of wine over behind me. It doesn’t deter us, doesn’t distract us from our reunion. Ryan moves between my thighs and returns my kiss with equal force and persistence. His kisses reveal his weakness. His kisses tell of his strength. His kisses speak of his love.