Chapter Twenty -Two
Lawliss
Bringing Eddie here was a risky move, but seeing him so disoriented after that dream crushed me. I hesitated before deciding, knowing this could backfire. But he’s my boyfriend—yes, boyfriend. The word still feels foreign, like something I shouldn’t be allowed to claim.
After my divorce, I found myself at a crossroads, unsure of who I was without Derrick, without the life I’d built around someone else. And Eddie—without even knowing—has become my anchor. Some might call him my rebound, but I know better. This is different. This is more. And that scares me shitless.
I just hope bringing him here to meet his parents for the first time in years doesn’t end what we are building. I want him to heal and I feel this could be the first step.
My heart skips as I glance at myself, smoothing my dress, checking my reflection to make sure I don’t look like someone who has been freshly fucked. But I have been. Freshly fucked. The thought alone makes heat rush to my cheeks. I still can’t believe I actually seduced him. I’ve never done that before—I mean, I’m all rigid and not sexy. At least, that’s what Derrick always said. But Eddie had looked at me like I was something to be unraveled, something to be savored, and for once, I felt like I was more than enough.
“We’re here,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Eddie raises a brow, his voice teasing but laced with curiosity. “You don’t say.”
His humor eases some of my nerves, but when I inhale, the weight of what I’m about to do presses down on me. “Cave Hill Cemetery.”
His face gives nothing away. No flicker of hesitation. No anger. Just silence. A moment too long, and doubt sinks its claws into me. Shit. Have I overstepped? My chest tightens, panic creeping in.
Then he reaches for my hand, his grip firm, grounding. “Hey… hey… it’s okay.”
I exhale, releasing a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “I really thought I’d overstepped. I mean—”
“I’m glad you brought me here,” he interrupts, voice steady.
I search his face. “Really?”
“Yeah.” A long exhale, like he’s been carrying something heavy for far too long. “Yeah.”
He gets out of the car, helps me get out, and then taps Josh on the shoulder as he passes. Josh nods and steps back, giving us space.
Eddie turns to me, extending his hand. “Come with me.”
I slide my hand into his—instinct, no hesitation. His grip is solid, warm, and grounding. We walk side by side, the air heavy, but neither of us says a word.
Then, as we near the graves, his steps falter. Just for a second. He exhales that deep, steady breath he always takes when he’s about to face something hard. I guess that hasn’t changed.
“Come on.” His voice is quiet but firm as he pulls me along.
We stop at his parents’ graves, and the moment he sees them, he inhales sharply, like he’s trying to hold himself together. Then, his fingers tighten around mine—tight enough that I feel it in my bones. I squeeze back. My free hand moves to his back, rubbing slow, steady circles.
“Thank you.” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s speaking more to himself than to me.
Then, his eyes land on something.
“Did you leave these?” He nods toward the fresh lilies on the headstone.
I shake my head. “Probably my mom. Or my dad.” My family has been coming here regularly, and we held private ceremonies for their fifth and tenth death anniversaries. We even have a charity fund in their name that supports accident victims. After all, our fathers were best friends. Eddie seems to have forgotten that, or maybe he’s just convinced himself he’s been alone for a long time.
He nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the flowers like they hold a whole lifetime he can’t get back.
“They were her favorite.” His voice is rough and strained, like the words are scraping his throat.
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
A pause. Then…
“Did you…?” He stops and closes his eyes for a second. I know he’s trying to steady himself. “Did you clean this place up?”
I shake my head again. “No. We have people who do that regularly.”
His jaw clenches, his fingers flexing like he’s trying to hold something in. A tear slips down his cheek, but he doesn’t wipe it away. I’m glad he’s able to show his emotions and share them with me. For a moment I thought he lost the ability to feel.
“How am I ever going to repay you?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t do it alone. Everyone pitched in. Mom, Dad, Ariel… everyone.”
Another tear. Then he turns back to the graves.
I hesitate before pointing at the small sculpture resting on top of the headstone—a couple, hands intertwined.
“I did sculpt that, though,” I say, voice quiet.
He stares at it for a long time, his fingers brushing over the stone. His shoulders shake just a little, but he doesn’t make a sound. He’s silent for a moment before sinking into the grass, brushing off the dust on the headstone.
“You know, since I got back, I kept telling myself I was going to come here,” he says, his voice steady, but his grip on my hand tightens. “But I just... couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t know how I’d take it.”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I know I can take on the whole world, but when it comes to my parents... I don’t know.”
I don’t say anything. I just let him speak; let him have this moment.
He swallows, his jaw tightening, then his breath catching for a second. “Some mornings, I wake up to ‘Dear Heavenly Father, sometimes it’s hard to understand your ways and plans in our lives, especially when bad things happen…’” His voice trails off.
“The sermon,” I murmur, and he nods.
“Other times, it’s the crash.” His jaw clenches, his fingers flexing against mine. “It’s like there are different versions, different variations, and I no longer know which is real. No, I do. I just refuse to accept it. It was easier to plot, to plan, to delude myself into thinking they were just far away. But being here today?” He shakes his head, his breath coming out in a slow, measured exhale. “It makes it all clear again. And it renews something in me.”
I catch the shift in his tone. A darker edge.
“Renews what?” I ask carefully.
His lips press into a thin line, then he waves me off. “Nothing.”
Bullshit. But I let it go. He came back for something else. Something more than just grief. I want to ask, but not now. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me.
He inhales, then finally turns toward the headstone.
“Hey, Mom…” His voice softens, warmer now, that slight accent from years abroad curling around the words. My heart clenches.
“I know I haven’t been the best son. But then again, you only had me, so there’s that.” He chuckles, and for a second—just a second—I see the Eddie from years ago. The boy I used to know. The one who still existed beneath all that armor, the one he only let a select few see. I’m glad I’m one of them.
Then, just like that, he drops a bomb.
“Guess what… Lawliss and I are married.”
My head snaps toward him. “Hey! Stop lying!”
He smirks. "Or... engaged to be married. Or dating.” He shrugs like it’s all the same thing, then tugs me closer, pulling my hand into his.
I crouch beside him, still staring. Did he really just... His fingers lace through mine, grounding me and tethering me to the moment. He isn’t looking at me, though. His eyes are on the headstone, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it.
“You remember the conversation we had before the crash?” His voice is low, intimate, like he’s speaking to someone who might actually answer. He believes, in some way, she will.
A breeze stirs through the cemetery, rustling the leaves around us, and for a moment, I swear I feel it too—that presence he speaks to.
“Yeah, I thought you did,” he murmurs, exhaling. His grip on my hand tightens. “Well… you were right. I more than like her.”
He hesitates, his jaw tightening, and then he says it. Whispers it.
“I love her.”
The breath leaves my lungs. Just like that. My heart stumbles over itself, caught between disbelief and something warmer, something terrifyingly real. I should say something. Anything. But for once, words fail me.
Eddie doesn’t take words lightly, least of all these. I more than like her. I love her.
He doesn’t glance at me, nor does he wait for my reaction. Instead, he keeps talking, still lost in conversation with the headstones.
“I know you’re going to gossip about this with Dad. And I wish you were here. I wish I could sit in on that conversation because I know it’s one that would have me rolling on the floor.” He lets out a small chuckle, but there’s an ache beneath it, something weighty pressing against his chest. “I can already hear Dad telling you, ‘Hey, leave the boy alone.’”
His laugh fades, replaced by a long exhale. His shoulders drop, and for a moment, he looks not broken but something close. Something that never fully healed.
“I miss you both. A lot.” His voice tightens. He shakes his head. “I wish…” But he doesn’t finish.
Instead, he presses a kiss to his mother’s headstone, his lips barely brushing the cold stone before he turns to his father’s.
“You know I’m still angry about your choice,” he says, his voice quieter now. He doesn’t look at the name etched in stone; he just lets the words fall between them like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for years.
“But then,” he continues, exhaling, “I find solace in the fact that I have Lawliss with me here because of that choice.”
His thumb runs absentmindedly over my knuckles, but his eyes darken, his jaw flexing. “I respect your decision,” he admits, but then he shakes his head, the weight of it all pressing back in. “But I’m not letting anything go. I’ve heard you say it so many times in my dreams, but Paa... I just can’t.”
The wind shifts. Silence settles, thick and heavy, like the cemetery itself is waiting.
He kisses the headstone, his fingers lingering there for a second longer than they need to. Then, finally, he stands.
We begin to walk back to the car. He pulls me into his embrace, his steady heartbeat calming me as we move side by side, my arm draped around his waist. The silence stretches, but it’s comfortable and reflective.
I break it first. “You know, sometimes your accent is thick, with a bit of British in it, and other times it’s lighter. It shifts depending on who you’re talking to.”
He turns to look at me, pulling me to a stop just as we reach the car.
“It’s lovely. I love it,” I add, realizing too late that I’m rambling. “I’m blabbing now.”
He smiles, his eyes warm as he cups my cheek, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead.
“I suppose it does,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s just realizing it himself. “London left its mark on me, one way or another.”
He murmurs it against my skin, his thumb brushing my cheek like he’s lost in thought for a second too long.
Then, just like that, he smirks—a shift so subtle I almost miss it.
Without another word, he directs me into the car, signaling Josh to do the same before sliding in beside me.