I dropped the subject. Unsure if I wanted to know anymore, but relieved I wouldn’t have to see him.
Initially, I’d planned to return to London on my discharge.
Lance asked me to move back to Aviemore where he can look after me. I’m not sure what our relationship is now. Are we friends, or more? He tells me he loves me, but we don’t discuss anything beyond the day ahead of us.
He keeps saying he wants to support me in my rehabilitation. That I can have a safe place to stay while the final bruises heal. That I can have fresh air and time to figure out what I want now.
I’m tempted. But I worry we’re opening ourselves up to more heartbreak. Then again, he flew halfway around the world for me, so the box has already been opened. Our relationship will need to be discussed at some point. There’s no running away from it. Lance laid his heart on the line—again.
David has been a welcome distraction in our monotonous days. His cheerful expressions and giggles lift my heart every time. He’s beautiful, just like his adoptive father.
“I still can’t believe you came out here and have stayed for four weeks. What about Hannah and your job?” He shrugs.
“Hannah’s with her mother; I speak to her every day. Not that she’s happy with the arrangement, but I told her I’ll be back soon, and she can come home. My boss is a great guy. He knows I wouldn’t be here unless I had to be. I feed reindeer Katie, it's not life or death.”
“But Lance, it’s too much. You’re life is important too.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he says, simply. “You needed me, and here I am. What happens from now, we can decide as we go. Have you thought any more about coming home with me?”
I hesitate. His offer for me to go home with him has been playing on my mind constantly. Each day, I flit between yes and no. The longer I’m with him, the harder it is to refuse. I want this too, even if I don’t want to admit it.
“I want you to come home with me and get better. Then maybe you can give us a chance? But I’m not asking that commitment of you now. Please, just let me look after you.”
I look at the amazing young man in front of me, begging me to stay with him and his beautiful family. My heart tells me to grab him with both hands and never let him go. My head tells me this will never work; I’ll end up heartbroken all over again.
“Honey,” I say softly. “When you were seventeen, I was thirty-four. I was a woman with a husband and a life. You were just a boy. This is wrong, Lance, no matter how we both feel. There are almost twenty years between us. I won’t trap you into a life with an old woman. In ten years, I’ll be sixty, and you’ll be in your prime. I won’t be so selfish or let you be so selfless.”
My eyes are fixed on the ground, unable to meet his gaze. Tears fill them, my heart splintering. We’re walking in the hospital gardens; it feels good to get outside. The January morning air bites my cheeks, but the sun is shining without a cloud in the sky. We stop and sit on a bench, he takes my hands in his, wrapping his strong fingers around mine.
“Katie, look at me,” he says softly. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground. He uses a finger under my chin to raise my face to his. “Katie, I’m not a seventeen-year-old boy anymore. What we both were back then is irrelevant. Our age gap is irrelevant. We didn’t even know each other all those years ago. We met as adults with history and baggage. I’ve been married and had children. I’ve been divorced. I’ve served my Queen and country and lost my leg in the process. I’ve lived, Katie, more than a lot of men my age and older.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile, and my insides quiver.
“I think I’m more than capable of deciding who I love. Don’t you?”
***
The plane home is quiet. It’s a late-night flight, and most passengers want to settle down to sleep. David agrees and snuggles into his father after his last bottle of milk.
I’m nervous about heading back to Scotland. America did nothing but leave my writing career in ruins, and my confidence shattered.
Brad has never reached out to see how I am—his only communication was to tell me that my belongings were being shipped back to my London apartment. And that Lance was never to approach him again.
I asked Lance about it; he told me not to ask further questions. Just that it was sorted. Brad turned up at the hospital, and Lance had shown him out. I didn’t need to know anymore. The thought is both a relief and unsettling, but I’m not sure I want to know what happened between them. All I know is Lance is the one who’s here, thank goodness.
When I spoke to Amy about Lance’s offer to stay with him while I recover, she encouraged me wholeheartedly. “Katie, where better to recuperate than in the fresh air, surrounded by nature, with a man who thinks you’re a queen. Go and enjoy yourself, then you can decide what happens next.”
So here I am on a flight to Edinburgh with a man who could be my son and his baby boy. When I walked out on Brad on Christmas Day, this was the last place I thought I would ever end up. Skipping back chapters in my love story, though the plot has changed.
I let my mind drift back to that night when I finally snapped. His constant bullying and control became too much for me to handle, the way he paraded me in front of his friends. Them treating me like a staff member rather than his equal.
After his comment aboutletting mespeak to an agent, I went straight upstairs, packed a bag, and walked out the front door, not looking back. It’s hard to say why that one comment mademe leave, but in these situations its often death by a thousand cuts rather than one monumental gunshot that makes a person leave. It can be something that appears minor, that will push someone over the edge.
For me, it was the realization that his control extended to me, my career, and my future. He would decide what opportunities I had, and whether he would allow them. The risk to my career was the same whether I stayed or left. So I left. A split decision, which may have saved my life, minus the road traffic accident in the middle.
From the safety of a bus shelter down the road, I saw him and his guests spill out onto the porch, calling my name. I stood for the minutes they were there, watching his anger bubble to the surface, then burst out. He picked up a plant pot and smashed it onto the ground, soil and leaves scattering across the tiles. His friends jumped back and circled him as if he was a lion, dangerous and waiting to pounce.
After they returned inside, my phone pinged with a message.