JODIE
Everything feels wrong as I walk away from Toby and make my way down to my little sporty Abarth. It might look like a baby sitting next to Toby’s BMW, but the similarities are uncanny. From the black paintwork to the red flashes of colour that make it stand out, there’s no question that the two of them belong together. It makes me wonder if people think that about the two of us when they see us standing side by side.
I sigh, ripping my eyes from my car and back over at the lift I’ve just stepped out of. Everything inside me screams for me to go back, to tell him that I’ll stand by his side through whatever he needs to do next.
But I can’t. Despite seeing the fear in his eyes, I know this is something that he needs to do alone. Or, not so much alone, but without me. And for my own sanity, I need to stay the hell away from it all as well.
What I said to him this morning was true. The man he’s about to go and see isn’t someone I know. He’s a stranger. And I need to keep it that way.
I’ve been mourning my father since we had the call about that accident. It doesn’t matter how real that might have been. What I felt, the grief I still feel for the caring, loving man I lost is still there. He died that day, and that’s the way I need to deal with that.
The monster that has haunted Toby and Maria for entirely too long is a different person.
Forcing myself to move, I pull my door open and breathe in the scent of a new car that hits me before I fall into the bucket seat that wraps around me like it’s giving me a hug.
I sigh, needing to feel Toby’s arms around me again.
Steeling my spine, I bring my car to life, telling myself that I’m doing the right thing leaving him. I know I am. He needs space to be able to do what he needs to do and then time to process it after. Celebrate even.
Although I sympathise with everything he’s been through, I’ll never truly understand how he feels, his need for revenge. I know first-hand just how hot that burns through his body.
I’ve had a good life. Good—albeit one mostly absent—parents. The only suffering I’ve ever really known has been recent with the loss of Joe and then Dad. I’ve been loved, cared for, had everything I could ever ask for. There’s no way I could ever truly understand how Toby feels about his childhood. And that’s without adding the whole mafia side to it.
Hearing his stories about how he was made to make his first kill, the things he’s both done and seen from such a young age… It by no means excuses what he did to me, how he tried to use me, hurt me, but hell if it doesn’t make me understand, allow me to forgive.
Shaking my head, I force myself to think about better times, about the weekend and the fun and laughter. Once this is over, we can have more of that. I’ll, hopefully, be able to see Toby lose that final bit of weight that’s always pressing down on his shoulders knowing that the man who haunts his nightmares is no longer breathing, no longer able to hurt those he loves. And I want that for him. I do. I want him to have that freedom to just live his life without worrying what’s happening behind closed doors at home and how much his mum might be suffering, how much he might suffer when he returns.
I come to a stop at a junction as I prepare to return to the hospital to see Sara when the screen flashes with an incoming message. Being away from Jesse killed me yesterday. But I also can’t lie—a day without being inside that depressing place was good for me, even if I never really forgot, if my chest never stopped aching with more impending loss.
Mum: Can you stop by the house? I’ve made cookies for Jesse. x
Asmile twitches at my lips. She’s just as worried about Sara as I am. She went in my place yesterday to stop me feeling so guilty and sat with her for an hour, holding her hand, talking about memories she has of the two of us from when we were little in the hope that wherever Sara is right now, she’s able to remember those times. Those seemingly endless summer days and the full belly laughs until we were sick.
Good times.
I quickly send back a thumbs up emoji before changing my direction and taking a right toward home.
The unsettled feeling in my belly never quits. In fact, as I close in on the only house I’ve ever lived in, the knot seems tighter.
Is that because I subconsciously know what Toby could be doing right this second? Is it just worry, concern that he’s not going to get the freedom he seeks from all of this? Or is it more? A sixth sense that shit is about to hit the fan yet again?
The curtain in the dining room twitches as Mum peeks out to see if it’s me already. Shoving down my anxiety over what’s happening back at the guys’ building, I head toward home, pulling my keys from the depths of my bag as I get closer.
The second I slide my key into the lock, something settles inside me.
Pushing the door open, the familiar scent hits me and I relax further.
But my hackles quickly rise once more when I push the door closed and hear nothing.
Mum was waiting—I saw the curtain move. It’s unlike her not to call for me almost immediately.
“Mum?” I shout, a quiver in my voice that I don’t like.
Dumping my bag on the unit, I go in search.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” I ask as I turn into the dining room, finding her sitting in her usual spot, but her eyes are wide and her face is pale. Something is wrong. Very fucking wrong.
My stomach knots as my heart pounds so erratically in my chest, it’s the only thing I can hear.