Until Harry(17)

Butterflies exploded in my stomach, and I got giddy with excitement.

“I don’t know what to – thank you, Kale,” I breathed, completely in awe of him.

He smiled at me once more and gripped onto the baseball bat. “Don’t thank me. I can’t have monsters kidnapping you, right?”

I lay down and pulled my duvet up to my face so he wouldn’t be able to see my smile.

“I guess not,” I murmured.

“You guessed correctly,” he said, winking. “Now go to sleep, Laney Baby. I’ll protect you.”

“You promise?” I whispered.

“I promise to protect you always, silly.”

I stared at him as I remembered when I asked my Uncle Harry how he knew he loved my Aunt Teresa and he told me what he felt like. He said his stomach got butterflies, and his heart pounded really fast when he saw her. He said she made his heart happy, so it beat really fast when she was around, like it was singing for her.

He felt like I did at that moment when I looked at Kale. My heart was singing for him.

It was a daunting thought, but I positively knew in that instant, even though I didn’t know exactly what real emotion was, that I’d fallen wholeheartedly in love with Kale Hunt, and it frightened the living daylights out of me.





CHAPTER FIVE

Day one in York

What are you doing here, Lane?”

I jumped and looked over my shoulder when the voice of my father jolted me from my thoughts and brought me back to my sombre reality. I didn’t answer him straight away as I turned and looked back at the freshly dug hole.

“I needed to think, so I decided to go on a walk,” I replied.

When it had got late and my parents’ house became very quiet, my thoughts suddenly seemed to be too loud, so I’d decided to go on a walk. My feet brought me to my Aunt Teresa’s grave, and my Uncle Harry’s soon-to-be grave. I stared down at the grave plot that, starting from tomorrow, would house my uncle until the end of time, and it gutted me.

“You scared us,” my father said. “Everyone is out looking for you.”

I blinked with surprise and looked to my father when he came up beside me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to tell anyone I was going out. I never have to do it in New York; I guess I forgot.”

My father sent out a text on his phone, pocketed it, then sighed and slid his arm around my shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

I felt bad, but since I’d already apologised, I remained quiet.

“Since we’re alone, I want to tell you something that I should have told you years ago.”

I blinked. “Okay.”

“I’m so sorry for what I said to you the day you told us you were leaving. I should have never said it, and I didn’t mean it. I’ve regretted it for years but was too stubborn to admit it.”

I wasn’t surprised at my father’s apology. I knew what he’d said was out of hurt and anger.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I forgave you the moment you said it.”

My father’s shoulders sagged a little. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “I’ve missed you too, Dad. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I have. I just . . . it’s very hard to be here.”

“I know, sweetie, I know.”

Did he really? my mind whispered.

I glanced at him. “You do?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “You think Kale got off easy for driving you out of the country?”

That caused me to stare blankly at him.

“What exactly does that mean?” I asked, my eyes wide with curiosity.

My father grinned. “It means I knocked around a man who is like my son.”

I gasped in alarm. “You didn’t!”

My father shrugged. “Only for a little bit, but I stopped myself before anything serious happened.”

I shook my head. “You hitting Kale is serious.”

“Your moving away because of him was a lot more serious,” he countered.

I looked back down at the earth before me. “It’s complicated, Dad.”

“Love always is,” he said.

I forced a smile. “And don’t I know it.”

My father squeezed my shoulder. “I told him I was sorry – don’t worry.”

“When?” I asked.

He hummed. “About six weeks ago.”

I widened my eyes and pressed my hand over my mouth. “Are you being serious?”

“No,” my father chuckled as I dropped my hand to my side. “I apologised about six months later. It was very hard for me to forgive him. You’re my daughter, and to know you left home partly because of him really hurt me. I hated him for a while because of it.”

My laughter dried up, but my eyes grew damp.

“I didn’t want anybody to hate anyone,” I whispered, and licked my dry lips.

My father exhaled. “I know that, but sometimes emotions can’t be tamed, as you know.”

I knew that very well, so I nodded.

“He was very forgiving when I did eventually say sorry,” my father continued. “He actually judged me for apologising at all. He said he deserved the beating I gave him and more.”