82. Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Two
Kat
Ineeded that conversation like I needed a hole in the head. Fucking CHRIST. I swiped away enough of my tears to make it into my first-class seat. Yes, first class. I wasn’t so sacrificial that I’d ride in the cattle car.
I had to draw the line somewhere.
But as we took off and I watched the whole of Australia fade away, I couldn’t help but feel the full weight of bitterness settle into my chest. Because I hadn’t been lying to Henry.
Fuck if I didn’t want to scream to the world that I had EARNED my place in motorsports. First as a driver. Then with my software. I had DONE THIS on my OWN. With my company of course, but only with my own brain.
Not any other body parts.
But I had to move forward, now. There was nothing else left to do.
On all accounts. In all aspects of my life.
I couldn’t very well carry on a fake, obligation-shaped relationship while emotionally damaged by PTSD from the plains of Africa, now could I?
I’d be lucky if I could play Angry Birds.
So, I’d see my dad. And I’d move forward.
But if I cried all the way to Georgia?
Well, everyone deserved to mourn.
Even me.
The trip was a blur. It was all a blur. And I was there.
With my dad.
With the tree we’d planted in lieu of a headstone. Because honestly, what could we even say?
It all would’ve been a lie anyway.
Well, maybe not all of it.
As I leaned back against the tree, running my fingers through the perfectly manicured grass at its base, I realized it wouldn’t all have been a lie.
Loving father.
Devoted husband.
Never did anything halfway.
Always did the right thing.
The tears started up again, and I simply pulled my knees up to wipe my eyes on them. I glanced back at my phone, wishing I hadn’t taken it off airplane mode.
Even with turning all my notifications off for social media, my phone was still blowing up. Texts. Phone calls. FaceTimes.
No.
I had already read the text from Bex saying she hadn’t signed the fucking paperwork.
Fucking bitch.
I had already read the text from Tam saying she wouldn’t convince Bex to sign the fucking paperwork for me.
Incoherent Spanish pleadings both visual and audio from Milo.
Voicemails I hadn’t listened to from Basti.
Several voicemails from several numbers I didn’t know. I was terrified to listen to those.
Some stuff from Andrew that I’d take a gander at when I was feeling particularly masochistic.
But most importantly, nothing from Henry.
That was good.
At least, that’s what I kept trying to tell myself. Anthony had emailed me back, expressing a fair amount of concern for me, but welcoming me into the UNICEF fold if that was where I wanted to be.
It was.
So, I had a flight to Kenya tomorrow. He’d meet me there. And we’d go help people. And do good things.
And I could finally counterbalance this lopsided weight in my heart.