Protecting the Boundary (LA Wolves #8)

Chapter 11

ELEVEN

The next night, I’m struggling to sleep. It’s not uncommon for me—not since Sydney died. I’d gotten so used to sleeping next to her that even three years later, I still miss the comfort of going to sleep with her beside me—the feeling of having her body next to me where I could easily reach out and touch her.

A part of me has been frozen since she died—set in my ways in some weak attempt to preserve things exactly as she left them. It’s not always easy to do with Kaylee. Having a kid in general uproots every system you ever had in place. But our room is relatively the same as it was when Sydney was alive.

Larissa thinks it’s morbid—that it shows I’m unwilling to let Sydney go and move on with my life. She’s mostly right since there’s a big part of me that can’t let go of Sydney. I don’t have any reason to. She was the love of my life. I’d vowed to love her for as long as I live, and even if she’s not here anymore, I plan to uphold my vows with every breath in my body.

I debate taking some melatonin, but it doesn’t always help, and anything stronger tends to worry me that I wouldn’t wake up if something went wrong with Kaylee in the middle of the night.

Giving up on sleep altogether, I get out of bed and head over to the window. There’s a faint light on in the guesthouse and I glance at the clock to see it’s two in the morning. Is Meredith having trouble sleeping too?

I debate going down there and checking on her, but then decide to stay put. We’ve come to a truce of sorts, and things have been easier since our talk after breakfast yesterday, but it seems like a tentative understanding and I don’t want to misstep with her again. So instead, I just stand at the window and look out at the view of the Los Angeles skyline in the distance. There’s the faint haze of smog that always seems to be there, even when it rains. It’s only barely visible from the ambient lights that never turn off. Looking up, there’s the twinkle of stars—only the brightest ones to compete with the lights of the city.

I never thought much about death until Sydney died. Now I think about it all the time. I wonder if there’s really a heaven or if people only live on in the memories their loved ones have of them. Is Sydney up in the stars right now? I’d like to believe she is, that she’s always looking down on Kaylee and me, watching out for us.

“I hope I’m making you proud, Syd,” I whisper, hoping with every ounce of me that she can hear me. That she’s proud of how I’ve raised Kay, even if I question every parenting choice I make every single day. Do other parents feel this way? Or is it just me because I have to do it alone?

“I wish you were here,” I murmur.

Movement below pulls my attention from the stars. Meredith steps out from the guesthouse, a knee-length sweater wrapped around her. She sits down on one of the lounge chairs and stares up at the same stars I was just staring at. Her mouth moves like she’s talking, but she’s too far away for me to try to figure out what she’s saying.

Without really thinking about it, I make my way downstairs and out onto the patio. As soon as I slide open the back door, she turns her head to face me and then sits up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” she asks.

“No. I was having a hard time sleeping and saw you out here.”

She seems to relax at that and lies back on the lounge chair, her gaze going back to the faint stars above us. “Must be something in the water. I was having trouble sleeping too.”

I take a seat in the lounge chair next to hers and mirror her pose, staring up at the sky. Neither of us speak for a long time, both of us focused on the stars and lost in our own thoughts.

Except this time it doesn’t feel as lonely as it normally does. I can pick up her gentle breathing beside me, and just knowing she’s next to me offers a comfort I didn’t know I needed.

“Were you talking to yourself?” The question comes out quiet, and my cheeks heat once the words are out. I shouldn’t have asked her that, but I can’t seem to stop my curiosity when it comes to Meredith.

She doesn’t seem embarrassed or even fazed by my question. “I was talking to my mom,” she admits.

I turn my head toward her so I can see her better. “Your mom?”

She continues to stare up at the sky, but her pink lips tilt up in the softest smile. “Yeah. I never knew her, but I talk to her all the time.” She faces me, a slight pucker between her brows. “Do you believe in heaven?”

“I don’t know. I want to.”

She looks back at the stars. “I do. Or at least that there’s something beyond death. I don’t know what it looks like exactly, but I believe there has to be something else. Just looking up at the stars, at the vastness of the universe, makes me feel like there’s so much we don’t know—that there has to be something else, right? ”

She doesn’t give me enough time to respond. “I’ve always imagined my mom up there in the sky, watching me. I’ve been talking to her as long as I can remember.” She lets out a little laugh. “I guess I kind of treat her like a diary, telling her about my life, asking her questions she can’t actually answer. Maybe that’s foolish?—”

“It’s not.” I don’t like the thought of her feeling stupid for wishing her mom heard her. “I do the same thing with Sydney.”

Now it’s my turn to face the stars, but I hear her shift and can feel the weight of her gaze as she turns it on me. “Your wife.”

It’s not a question, but I answer like it is.

“Yeah.” My thoughts tumble out of me unfiltered. “I talk to her all the time, asking her if I’m doing right by Kaylee, telling her I love her.” I whisper the last part, but I know Meredith hears it anyway.

“My dad loved my mom so much, he never let her go.” She shifts again, but I don’t face her. “I’ve always wanted a love like that—knowing my person loved me so much they’d never forget me. Sydney is very lucky.”

It’s the first time in a long time I’ve heard someone use Sydney’s name and the present tense in the same sentence. My heart tightens in my chest.

“And she’s definitely proud of you, and how great you are with Kaylee. I have zero doubts about that,” she adds.

We sit there for a while longer, neither saying a word until the lump of emotion in my throat finally subsides enough for me to speak.

“Thank you, Meredith.”

When I look over at her, her gaze is already waiting for me. She offers me a small smile, but doesn’t say anything else.

We sit together in silence, staring at the stars, at the vastness of the universe, and yet for the first time in a long time, the loneliness that has held me in a choke hold is nowhere to be found.