Between Before and After (18 page)

Although eaten in silence, dinner turned out to be a noisy affair. Stolen glances across the dinner table were heavy with unspoken words. Metal scraped loudly against porcelain as food was pushed around on plates. The occasional mouthful, swallowed audibly. Finn usually loved mussels steamed in white wine, but tonight he found himself gagging on them. He wasn’t in the least bit hungry. He watched Max from across the table. Gone was the ever-present beer in front of him, replaced by a glass of water. Also gone was the act. He seemed broken, worn out, and Finn couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for that.

Clearly sick of the charade, Max hauled himself to his feet slowly, mumbling something about taking a shower. Finn caught the wince of pain that flashed across his face briefly as he turned to leave, and he felt the few forkfuls of food he had just managed to force down turn to rocks in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to hit him that hard – he hadn’t meant to hit him at all. In fact, he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. 

The wave of fear that almost knocked him off his feet when he wrapped his fingers around the gun was too real, too near the surface, even now. After that, everything was just a blur. The worst part of it was, he felt like Danny had forced his hand. Danny’s face staring back at him from the floor of the boat shed had shaken him. He knew it was Danny he was lashing out at, not Max, but acknowledging it didn’t make him feel any better.

He stared down at his plate as the realisations hit him, one after another after another. The fork he had been holding clattered onto the plate, breaking the heavy silence. He mumbled an apology and stood up, following Max down the hall, his footsteps reverberating off the bare floorboards.

He pulled up short in front of Max’s bedroom door, nervously raking a hand through his hair. Then hesitantly, he knocked.

“It’s me,” he said quietly.

After a few moments, the door opened. Max shot him a wary look before turning his back on him and walking back into the room. Finn stood in the doorway, shoving his hands into his pockets, as Max leaned over the bed, dragging clean clothes out of the depths of his bag.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say, the fact that his heart was hammering in his chest muting his voice somewhat.

Max stopped raking about in his bag but didn’t look up. “You already apologised.” 

“I know, but I just – I think we need to talk.” He shook his head, clamping his teeth together as he tried to make his brain fire off thoughts in straight lines rather than around in circles. Taking a steadying breath, he tried again. “Finding that gun scared the shit out of me.”

Max sighed, standing up, his back to him. “I know. I’m sorry, too. You weren’t meant to find it.”

“Jesus, that’s what scared me the most – what if I
hadn’t
found it?” He stared at Max, waiting for him to turn around. “You’d hidden it under the lining pretty well, dude – what if I missed it? I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to be looking in the boot of your car at all – and if it hadn’t been for that stunt with the whisky, I wouldn’t have been.”

Max exhaled loudly. After a moment, he walked over to the window. Finn walked into the room and sank down on the bed. He leant forward, drawing in a couple of long, deep breaths. It was all so damn circumstantial. Too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Max muttered, his back still to Finn. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I’m really sorry. You were right, what you said out there.” He waved his hand absently towards the boat shed. “It
is
selfish, and you don’t deserve it, none of you do. I think I just – I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m just so fucking tired.” 

His shoulders sagged and the hitch in his breathing betrayed the desperation he was so obviously feeling.

“Don’t stop,” Finn said, staring at the back of Max’s head, his heart pounding against his ribs. “Keep talking.”

Max exhaled loudly.

“I’m serious. Just keep talking.”

Max shook his head slowly, obviously mulling it over. After a seemingly endless silence, he continued. “I just want it to stop,” he whispered. “I don’t want to remember him like that, but I just can’t get it out of my head. Every time I close my eyes…“

Max turned around to face him, leaning back against the window frame. He stared at the door.

“You need to stay away from the booze,” Finn said. “It’s making everything worse. And you need to talk to someone about this, mate – it doesn’t matter who, but you can’t go on like this.”

Max blinked a couple of times, his breathing audible in the silent room.

“I know.”

Finn stood in his bedroom, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He had left Max to take a shower and Lacey and Gavin were talking in the kitchen. He could hear plates being cleared and water running. It all sounded so normal. The sun was just beginning to set, and he spied a lone figure sitting on the wooden bench on the edge of the lawn. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be near her.

He opened the French doors and made his way out along the deck and over the lawn towards Kate. The last rays of sunlight struck her hair, lighting it as if strands of the finest gold had been woven carefully through it. It was like something out of a fairy tale. She was silhouetted against the most beautiful sunset he had ever seen. Despite what had happened that day – or maybe because of it, he wasn’t sure – the beauty of their surroundings seemed to have magnified. Nothing like a shock to the system to wake up your senses and make you appreciate things that have been right under your nose all along.

He approached her slowly. She was sitting so still that he faltered, almost changing his mind, but something urged him onward.

“Hi,” he said, drawing alongside her.

She turned around immediately, smiling up at him with a curiously wistful expression. “Hi.”

“Mind some company?”

“Course not. Grab a pew.”

He sat down beside her on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees as he leant forward. “Nice spot you have here.”

“Certainly can’t complain.”

He wanted to smile, to let her know that everything was going to be okay, but he just didn’t have it in him, not now.

“How’s Max?” she asked.

“Okay. He’s taking a shower.”

“Is everything alright between you guys?”

“I think so.” He stared out over the bay as the last rays of the sun lit up the hills from behind. “I didn’t mean to hit him. He just scared the shit out of me.”

He heard her taking a deep breath. “
You
scared the shit out of
me.
”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“God, I’m sorry – it was just a gut reaction. Seeing that gun – it was so surreal.” He ran a tired hand down his face. “I hate guns.”

“Me too.”

Shame hit him squarely in the stomach and he turned his attention back to the water.

“Is it just me, or does it feel like we’re in some kind of holding pattern?” he asked miserably. “It feels like we’re in limbo, stuck between the
before
and the
after
, just waiting for things to get better.”

“No, it’s not just you. That’s exactly how it feels.”

Her hand slid over onto his thigh, resting there. The familiarity of it surprised him.

“What happened this morning,” she said. “Do you think that maybe… can we try that again?”

Her gaze lingered on his lips for a moment and his heart raced. He could feel it gathering speed, like a racehorse taking to its heels and heading into a ground-eating gallop. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”

Moments ago, he was so tired he could barely keep his head up. Now, he was on red-alert, his blood pumping as he waited impatiently for her answer.

She nodded, reaching over to cup his cheek in her hand. “It took me a while but now I’m sure.”

She rubbed her thumb tenderly over the stubble along his jaw and he saw a look in her eye he had never seen before.

Desire.

Slowly, he sat up, reaching for her and drawing her closer in one deft movement. Then her lips were on his, soft and eager, and everything else seemed to disappear. No more Max, no more Danny, nothing except Kate, in his arms, in his mouth and in his heart. The black hole inside of him seemed smaller, less permanent. The sorrow he had been carrying around with him for so long seemed to dwindle a little. In its place, hope trickled in.

Max stood in the living room and watched Finn and Kate kissing at the water’s edge, in the dwindling light. He should have been happy. Two people he loved were turning to each other for comfort, as well they should. They each needed someone. They each deserved to be loved. Jealousy cut a ragged path through his soul. Didn’t he deserve to be loved too? With the kind of baggage he had, he didn’t think it was possible. He was incapable of thinking long-term. All he could think about was right here, right now. The future seemed wispy and uncertain. A house of cards, built on shifting sands.

Gavin and Lacey were putting dishes away and tidying the kitchen, talking quietly amongst themselves. He could also feel them watching him. It was a little after 9pm. Turning away from the window, he could feel the rising panic. The desperate need clawing its way up from deep inside him made his heart race. Images of Danny popped into his head. Moments captured forever in his memory. Visions as clear today as if they had happened yesterday, not three years earlier. Time should have dulled them, taking the sharp edges off, blurring the details, but instead it had the opposite effect. The edges were still razor sharp, cutting through his resolve.

Blood and brain matter sprayed on the wall. 

Danny’s empty eyes staring back at him. 

The gun lying on the floor. 

The smell of death, making him gag. 

Cradling his bloody head in his lap, screaming for help. 

His hands sticky with blood.

Suddenly he bolted for the bathroom, his stomach churning. His head was pounding through his skull as he practically fell through the bathroom door, making an unsteady grab for the toilet bowl. He landed on his knees and fumbled for the back of the bowl weakly, leaning over and heaving the meagre contents of his stomach into the toilet. He breathed heavily, his hands sweaty, a bitter, acrid taste coating his throat and tongue. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on just breathing, incapable of anything else.

In. Out. In. Out.

Something cold and wet materialised on the back of his neck and he sighed, relishing the cool dampness on his burning skin. His hand flew up to hold it there, fearing it would disappear as quickly as it had appeared. 

“Feel better?” Lacey asked.

He opened his eyes but didn’t trust himself to speak. He shook his head as his stomach cramped painfully and another wave of nausea rose up inside him. Lacey knelt down beside him and gently readjusted the wet cloth. He tried to focus on the wonderful coolness of the cloth as he felt the bile rising up from his stomach, forcing him to heave into the bowl a second time.

“Oh God,” he moaned, swaying on his haunches as he gripped the porcelain with both hands.

Lacey’s hand was on his back, her touch gentle and understanding.

“I’m okay,” he whispered shakily, reassuring both of them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His whole body was trembling and the cuts on his face throbbed. After a few quiet moments, he was reasonably confident that he was done for now. He reached up and pulled the lever, the running water deafening him, his senses shot to hell. 

He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to fall backwards onto his behind, his back finding the bathroom wall. His legs flopped out in front of him. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore, his brain strangely not making the usual connections.

“Here.”

He opened his eyes to find a glass of water hovering in front of him and he accepted it gratefully, anxious to get rid of the foul taste lingering in his mouth. He reached up to grab the wet cloth that had slid down onto his shoulder as he took a sip, swirling the water around in his mouth before swallowing.

Lacey sat down in front of him and drew her knees together, hugging them. “Feel better?”

His heart pounded against his ribs. It felt like he had just swallowed a bucket full of razor blades. He could almost feel the acid in his stomach bubbling away and he tried to dispel the image. Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes locked on hers. The panic he felt tearing at his insides was ripping apart the internal barriers he had built up, loosening his tongue, breaking down his defences, shaking his very foundations.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered brokenly. His throat was dry and scratchy, and his eyes burned with the effort it took to keep the frightened tears at bay.

She breathed a heavy sigh and reached over to cup his cheek with her hand, grimacing at the cuts on his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his ribs threatening to crack with the pressure of his heart slamming into them.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “I need a drink,” he pleaded, hating the way he sounded. “I need something to… I need
something
– I can’t do this, not tonight.”