Page 112 of Inseparable
Dev subtly squeezes my hand, letting me know he’s here for me. “I’d like that,” I say softly, even though every instinct in my body screams at me to run in the other direction. We follow in silence as she leads us to her house, my heart pounding in my chest the entire time. When she opens the back door to let us inside, I falter, unsure if I can follow through with this.
Her gaze is kind when it lands on mine. “It’s okay, sweetheart. They’re looking forward to seeing you.”
Putting a lid on my fear, I step into Ayden’s house for the first time in five years. They’ve redecorated, changing the color on the walls in most of the rooms, and dark wooden floors have replaced the carpet in the living room, but, apart from that, everything looks exactly how I remember it. Pictures of Ayden and the girls are everywhere.
“Lina.” Carl—Ayden’s dad—steps forward, pulling me into his embrace without hesitation. “It’s good to see you, girl.” He hugs me close, and tears prick my eyes.
“You too,” I whisper, easing myself out of his arms. “Where are the girls?”
“Mia and Ellie are at a friend’s house, but Kayla is upstairs. She’s dying to see you, but we asked her to give us privacy for a few minutes. There are some things I need to say,” Nancy explains.
Mr. Carter hugs Devin, whispering something in his ear.
“Me too,” I reply.
“Have a seat, please.” She sits down on the long couch, patting the space beside her.
I sit down, and Devin sits on my other side, taking my hand in his again. Mrs. Carter notices, and I squirm uncomfortably, but I don’t remove my hand from his. I need his touch to steady my nerves.
“I owe you an apology, Lina,” she says, looking me straight in the eye. “I never should have blamed you or Devin for Ayden’s death. I was devastated, naturally, and looking for answers. I needed something or someone to blame, but it wasn’t fair or right of me to put that responsibility on your shoulders, and I know my son would be upset that I hurt you, that I pushed you away. Your mother lost a daughter the day I lost my son, and I hate that I might have contributed to your decision to run away.”
Tears roll down my face unbidden, and she takes my free hand in hers. Before I can respond to her statement, she continues. “I’m sorry you felt you had no other choice, and I’m sorry if my words added to your guilt.” Tears trickle out of her eyes. “The fact is, none of us really know why Ayden did it. Why he felt he had no other choice but to take his own life. And there are so many things his father and I wish we had done differently. I can’t throw blame in your direction without casting the same doubt over my own actions.”
“Nancy.” Mr. Carter sits down on the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around his wife’s shoulder. “We’ve been over this. No one is to blame, and no good comes from reflecting on all the what-ifs.”
“If it’s any consolation,” I say. “I blamed myself for years, and I still would have, whether you said that to me or not. And you didn’t force me to run away. I made that decision by myself because I was hurt, and confused, and grieving, and suffocating under the weight of guilt I felt. I don’t know that I’ll ever fully forgive myself for failing Ayden, because there was clearly something going on with him, and I should have made him tell me, but I ignored the signs because I was so wrapped up in myself and I didn’t want to lose my other best friend.”
“Stop, Lina.” Mr. Carter leans over his wife to touch my face. “Ayden loved you, and you were a great friend to him. If he didn’t confide in you, it was for his own reasons.”
“It’s never ending, isn’t it?” Nancy says, sniffling. “The questions that we’ll never get answers to.” She shakes her head sadly. “We work hard to put it aside, because we have three daughters who need us, but, God, it’s so difficult at times. Not a day goes by where I don’t miss my boy.”
Devin wraps his arm around my shoulder. “We miss him too. So much.”
We chat for a while, and Kayla joins us, and I can’t believe how big she’s grown. She was only eight when I left, and now she’s a teenager. She has the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Ayden, and it looks like she’s going to be nearly as tall as him as well.
When Nancy hugs me at the door as we are leaving, another crack mends in my heart, and it feels as if everything is slotting into place as its meant to.
Devin stays with me that night, holding me close as we sleep in my childhood bed. We stay another day and night, but then it’s time to return to the city. Devin needs to get back to work, and now I know about my inheritance, I have college applications to complete.
Mom told me last night that my father passed away a couple years ago after a short battle with cancer. He left half his vast estate to me, which surprised me enormously. I’m guessing it’s guilt money, but I’m not going to refuse it. Why should I? He was my father, and he gave me very little in life. This money sets me up for the future. I don’t have to work ever again if I don’t want to, but that’s not my intent. I need a purpose, and I want to go back to college. To get my psychology degree and eventually set up my own practice like I always planned to. My life experiences have made me even more determined than I was back then. This money will help, and it means I don’t have to rely on Devin financially, something which I’m uncomfortable with anyway.
Mom hugs me desperately, clinging to me as she makes me promise to call every day and to visit as soon as I can. I reassure her, and tease her about setting a date, and then we’re on our way.
Looking out the window, as we drive past familiar landscape, I reach across the console, laying my hand over Devin’s, smiling the first, real, genuine smile in years.
I’m home, and it feels unbelievably good to be back.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Devin
I hang up the phone, tossing my cell on the table and walk to Ange, wrapping my arms around her from behind. She’s chopping vegetables for dinner, and mouthwatering smells waft around the kitchen. I’ve only recently grown to like this house. I’d been on the verge of selling it before she reappeared in my life. Now, I wouldn’t dream of disposing of it. It finally feels like my home, now that the woman of my dreams is sharing it with me. While there are no labels, and we haven’t progressed beyond kissing and innocent touching, we turned a corner last weekend. She’s happier in herself, and that makes me happy in turn. I’m content to let her set the pace, once she understands where this is heading, and I’m confident she does.
“Who was that?” she asks, leaning back into me.
I kiss the top of her head. “Your mom. She forgot to give us some letters that came for us. She was calling to let me know she’s popped them in the mail.”
“What letters?”
