Finally I hear him walking toward me. He stops a few feet away.

“Now we wait,” he whispers. I’m about to ask him what for, but he grabs my hand and leads me to a eucalyptus tree close by.

He sits down on the ground at the base of the tree and pulls me down beside him. For a moment I think he’s going to put his arm around me, but he doesn’t.

“So we just sit here?” I ask him, my shoulder pressed up against his. It’s starting to get cold and my flannel isn’t holding up very well. Still, I don’t dare complain. I don’t want him to think I’m not tough.

“Aye,” he says quietly. “They’ll come around. Eventually.”

“What did you do?”

He turns to face me. “I talked to them in dog speak.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or not. Is he serious? I can’t tell in the dark—not that I could tell anyway. He doesn’t add anything to that statement, so that doesn’t help either.

We lapse into silence for a few moments. I think I can hear the dogs in the distance, eating something maybe, but I can’t be sure. The concert is over and though you can see the faint light of the venues through the forest, the music is gone. I really need to text Steph or Nicola and let them know I’m okay. They’re probably freaking out.

“Can I use your phone?” I whisper.

“I forgot it,” he says.

“Shit,” I say. “Mine’s dead. They’re probably worried about me.”

“Did you just take off?”

“Yeah. Well, Bram knew I was going after you. He told me not to bother.”

A pause. “I see.”

“Obviously I didn’t listen.”

His face comes closer to mine and I can feel his eyes on me. “And why is that?” he murmurs.

“I don’t know, I’m stubborn,” I tell him, folding my hands in my lap. “And I don’t like listening to Bram.”

“Neither do I,” Lachlan says lightly. “So that makes two of us.”

I try and swallow the butterflies in my throat. “And I was worried about you.”

“About me?” he repeats. “Whatever for?”

I shrug, wondering how much to reveal. “I don’t know. I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well,” he says after a beat. “I’m okay.”

“Are you?” I ask. I expect him to balk at that, the fact that I’m second-guessing him. He’s such a manly man, I don’t blame him for taking offense.

But he just sighs. “Yeah. Right now, I’m okay. I’ll feel better when we get those dogs. And tomorrow, who knows. I take it one day at a time. That’s all you can do.”

What happened to you, I want to ask. What made you this way?

Can I fix it?

“Are you okay?” he asks me.

“Me? Yeah.”

“About the article and everything?”

I sigh and lean back against the tree. I fight the urge to run my hands up and down my arms to keep warm. But even without me saying anything, Lachlan puts his arm around me.

“Are you cold?” he asks softly, his breath sweet on my cheek, his grip strong.

“Yes,” I admit. I match his voice, afraid to break the spell. “And no, I’m not okay about the article. Not at all.”

I launch into a long, rambling confession about my dashed hopes and dreams, laying out the nitty gritty with absolutely no fear of being judged or second-guessed. It’s refreshing.

When I’m done speaking, Lachlan doesn’t say anything. He’s still holding me close. I turn into him slightly, inhaling his peppery, woodsy smell, and gingerly place my hand on his stomach, sliding it along his waist until I’m holding onto him. His abs are hard, rigid, and well-earned. I bite my lip in want.

“So why don’t you get another job?” he asks gently. “Go for what you really want? There’s no use wasting your days doing something that doesn’t excite you. You only get one life. Well, two lives. The second one starts the moment you realize you only have one.”

I look up at him. He’s staring off into the distance. “Where did you hear that one?”

He smiles briefly, his eyes twinkling. “I think I saw it scribbled on a bathroom door. People are philosophical when they’re taking a shit.”

I laugh. “True.”

“So, why don’t you?” he asks again.

“You’re persistent,” I tell him, my fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt.

“It’s only fair,” he says. “You got to ask me all the questions earlier. Now I can turn the tables. I want to know more about you.” He says the lasts word like they mean everything.

My heart skips, warm, bubbly. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Well, the truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’ll give up something steady and loyal and normal, and trade it in for something I’ll fail at. You know?”

He nods. “I know. But if you don’t try…can you imagine spending the rest of your life never having that passion? That pull? Never feeling if who you are and what you offer will ever be used the way it should be? You have talent, there’s no doubt. And if you believe it and never share it with the world…well what a bloody shame that would be.”

He’s got this uncanny knack of just reaching inside and knowing what I’m feeling and thinking. As if I don’t think about that all the time. The regret that lies ahead of me if I keep going on as I am. One foot in front of the other, never looking up, never looking for a better way.

“But it’s not that simple,” I tell him, holding his shirt tighter.

“Is it ever simple?”

“No,” I say. “It’s just that…I don’t want my mother to worry about me.”

“Your mother?”

I nod. I take a deep breath, summoning strength. “Yeah. She’s in her seventies and not doing too well. She hasn’t been doing well ever since my father died. That was seven years ago. I’m really the only one in the family that seems to worry about her. That seems to care. My brothers, they’re all older and have their own lives—most of them have their own families. She just isn’t on their radar. They all assume that I’ll take care of her forever, like it’s my job. And it’s not my job. I do it because I love my mom more than anything—I do it because she took care of us. I do it because she deserves so much more than to be a widower, all alone in that same house.” I pause my rambling, remembering to breathe. “She’s happy with me, with the job I have. It’s steady. It’s reliable. I want to be as steady and reliable for her as I can. I’m not sure how much time she has left and the thought of losing her…it only adds to it. It ruins me.”

Lachlan doesn’t say anything for a moment. Far in the background, there’s drunken laughter, but then it disappears. The night grows still again.

“That’s commendable,” he finally says. “You’re a good daughter, Kayla, and she knows that. But I’m sure your mother would want what’s best for you. What makes you happy.”

I feel the question burning on my lips and I do everything I can to hold it back.

But he can sense the change in my body. He cranes his head to look down at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“You can ask me,” he coaxes.

I swallow. “Did you know your mother?” I ask softly, holding my breath, thinking he might blow up at me.

He stares at me, deep into my eyes, and I gaze further into his, barely visible in the dim. He slowly licks his lips, gives a single nod. “My mother gave me up when I was five. She was all I had. I like to believe that she wanted what was best for me. I don’t think she realized what it would do to me. What I would become.”

What I would become.

The words echo in my head, sharp and potent in the dark, in this isolation.

Who had he become?

Who is this man, this beast, I am holding onto?

More than anything in this world, I want to find out.

I stare up at him, craving so much more than he’s given me. He looks away, frowning, almost if he’s in pain, head hanging down.

“You know, I’ve never told anyone that much about what happened,” he says gruffly, the depth of his voice making the skin on my arms prickle.

I press my fingers into his skin, relishing the feel of him against me. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell a soul.”