Page 98 of Layla

I can see her face so clearly that night. How scared she had been. But not of me. No, somehow Layla seemed more scared oflosingme than she was of what I had done. And I’d left her anyway. Had left her there alone after she’d been so brave and—

“John.” His voice is gentle again and I wonder what my face looks like—probably as haunted as I feel. “Did she want you to go?”

I shake my head, guilt pressing down at me, making it hard to talk. “No.” I clear my throat. “She asked me what other guys do in this situation. What, uh, a doctor might say about it.”

I expect him to look triumphant—he’s been bugging me about seeing a doctor for years—but he only looks sad. “I wish there was some magic bullet or something, man. But we both know that’s not the case.”

I blow out a heavy breath, fresh dread settling inside me. “So, you get why I had to leave.”

His face hardens. “That’s not what I said. I think you’re a fucking idiot to leave a girl you’re in love with.”

I gape at him. “But you just said—”

“I said there wasn’t a magic bullet. I didn’t say it was impossible. It takes work, dude. A lot of hard work. But that doesn’t mean you just give up. Life is too fucking short to be miserable and alone.”

I don’t have an answer to that, so I reach for my sandwich and this time he lets me eat. I get what he’s saying but at the same time…how in the hell am I supposed to believe that Layla’s life won’t be miserable if she’s stuck with me? That girl has everything in the world going for her. The dream career. The fame and fortune. Good friends who would walk through fire for her. Not to mention that she’s fucking gorgeous and funny and so loving and loyal. She’s smart and passionate and she knows exactly who she is. I don’t think she even understands how rare that is, to be so secure in the knowledge of her own self.

She deserves so much better.

“You know what I think?” Tim asks after a few minutes of silent chewing.

I cast him a wary glance. So far in this conversation, I haven’t really been a fan of any of the things Tim thinks.

“You don’t believe you deserve to be happy.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He narrows his eyes. “Except I’m not. You’ve made punishing yourself your fucking job, man.”

My hands are starting to shake so I set down my sandwich. “Look—”

“No, John. I’ve been your friend since you were in diapers, man. I know you. And I can see how much you blame yourself for everything.”

“What do I blame myself for?” I snap.

He holds up a finger. “For your dad’s drinking.”

Well that shuts me up. But Tim isn’t done. He holds up another finger. “For not being able to save that girl Billy shot.”

“That’s insane.”

Another finger goes up. “For not being able to be the good little soldier that comes home with honors and without a fucked-up head.” One more finger. “For betraying the guys you worked with on the force.”

“You think I betrayed them?” I’m aghast. He’d never said anything like that to me. Hell, he’d encouraged me to make noise about the cover-up.

But Tim is shaking his head. “Of course I don’t. Butyoudo. And that’s the point.”

I don’t say anything to that. I can’t. There’s a sudden lump in my throat and it’s getting bigger.

“You’ve been trying to hang on so tightly, man,” Tim says softly. “For such a long time. No one can handle that kind of strain. So, when your control breaks—which is totally inevitable—you freak the fuck out and blame yourself. It’s not good for you. You deserve better.”

I stare down at the table for a long moment, trying to get myself together. I have a terrible feeling that I might actually cry and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let that happen. “I don’t want to end up like him,” I finally mutter, my voice rough. “I don’t…I don’t want to be my father.”

Tim sighs. “Your dad is drinking himself to death because he feels guilty,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “He knows he didn’t do the right thing with Billy and it’s killing him.” He leans across the table, lowering his head until I’m forced to look at him. “But youdiddo the right thing, Johnny. That doesn’t mean you’ve never made a mistake. But when shit really hit the fan, you stuck to your morals. You did what you knew was right. And I think it’s about time you stop beating yourself up over it.”

To my relief, he doesn’t press me anymore. He lets me eat the rest of my food in silence, his words bouncing around in my head until they almost start to feel true. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I have been beating myself up for nothing. Maybe it’s time I cut myself a little slack.

I’ve just finished my last bite when Tim looks down at his watch, and then out the window. “Hey,” he says, reaching for his wallet. “We gotta go.”