But there it is, out in the open, for her to reflect on, to judge, to fear.

I can’t even look at her. I quickly excuse myself from the table and walk through the kitchen to the bathroom, passing by the fridge where I swiftly grab a bottle of beer and head right on in, locking the door behind me. I lean against the sink, breathing in and out, willing the pain to stop, for the regret to subside, but it doesn’t. So I slam the top of the beer against the sink, the cap snapping off, and down it in five seconds.

I burp. I wait. Wanting it all to go away, for my pulse to stop fighting my veins.

The longer I stay in the bathroom though, the worse it will get. I put the beer in the rubbish bin then head back out to the dining room. I swear, this moment is scarier than any moment I’ve ever had on a rugby pitch.

Thankfully, luckily, they’re all talking about Obama, of all people, so my return to the table isn’t overly noticed.

Except by Kayla, of course, because she notices everything. And there is absolutely no way that I’ll be able to let this sleeping dog lie.

I decide to wrap the evening up early, just after dessert, telling everyone that I have to return home to the dogs, especially Emily who isn’t used to being left alone yet. We say goodbye to everyone, though I know we’ll see Donald and Jessica at the gala. When Brigs hugs me goodbye, he pulls me tight and whispers in my ear.

“If she still loves you, she’s a keeper.”

I want to smash his fucking face in for that and can only mutter an angry syllable in return.

The car ride back to Edinburgh is as choked with silence as one can imagine. I try to concentrate on the road, on the white lines slipping underneath the car, at the black highway rolling toward the headlights. There’s something so dreamy about the moment, that after-dinner, late night drive, but the gravity of the situation brings me back.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I clear my throat, keeping my eyes ahead, my grip stiff on the wheel. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, voice low and dripping with unease.

It takes her a moment. “About what exactly?”

I really don’t want to spell it out for her, but I will if I must. “About what Brigs said. His toast to me. About the person I used to be.”

She sighs noisily. “Right. The person you used to be. Tell me about him, then.”

“Do you really want to know?” I glance at her to see her nodding, her eyes focused out the window and into the darkness.

“Yes,” she says. “I want to know everything about you. Especially the events that made you who you are.”

“And who am I?” I ask softly, heart pleading. “Who am I to you?”

She turns her face to me, skin lit up by the pale dashboard lights. “You’re Lachlan McGregor. And you’re mine.”

Another gut punch, but sweeter this time, dipped in honey.

“Please don’t hold anything back from me,” she says. “You don’t owe me anything, but I…I want to understand. I want to be there for you, I want to know every inch, not just your body, but your mind and your heart and your soul. You can trust me, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

But that’s a lie. In a few weeks you won’t be here at all. Then you’ll have my heart and all my secrets, too.

I swallow that down and nod.

“I’ll keep it short and not so sweet because…” I exhale, my hands sweaty on the wheel. “You need to understand that this isn’t easy for me to talk about. I haven’t talked about this with anyone, and I rarely even think about this myself. There are a lot of things that just need to stay in the past, and the person I was is one of those things. But I need you to know that it’s all over and done with. Everything that happened is over. You have to trust me on that. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I say with a slow nod. “Okay. Well, uh…when I was first brought into Jessica and Donald’s home, well it all felt too good to be true. You’ve met them now, you’ve seen how they are. They are nice people. Good people. They took me in, a scrawny, damaged young boy with no potential for anything, and they worked around the clock to prove to me that the world wasn’t out to get me, and that not all people were bad. But…when it was all I had ever known, time and time again, it wasn’t an easy thing to believe.”

I blink hard, trying to compose my words. “They gave me everything I could ever want, including honest, real love. But I never felt worthy. I went through high school, I got my degree, and I tried to live a normal life. The problem was…people knew them, knew I wasn’t their son, and even though that was rarely an issue, unless some wanker made it one, it was something large and heavy in my own mind. I guess I never really trusted them or their intentions. I never even unpacked my bag—I kept it by the door, always, just in case, because too many times I’d either be thrown out of foster care or I’d have to escape. And those horrors, the horrible, sick things that lurk out there in the minds of some people, waiting to prey on you, they’re always out there. I wanted to trust Donald and Jessica, even Brigs, but I couldn’t. My last year of high school I started to backslide. It’s the same old story. I hung out with the wrong people. I stole cars and drank moonshine and shot guns into the sky. Then the drugs came into play, and I was spending weekends in Glasgow, scoring chicks, scoring drugs, being the person I knew how to be. Unworthy, you know? I didn’t deserve shit.”

I glance at her to see if she’s listening, and she’s staring at me with so much interest, so much concern that I feel like she’s actually there with me, in the past, holding my hand.

I go on, my throat getting drier. “It was the unsexiest drug that did me in. You’d think it would be coke, but I’m not that classy. Never was. It was crystal meth. Alcohol, too. Coke on occasion, maybe some painkillers if someone could get their hands on them. That was at first anyway. At first you’re always picky. Then you get to the point where you’ll steal nutmeg from your adopted mother’s kitchen because you think it will get you high. Maybe you’ll pawn her jewelry and her fur coats. Maybe you’ll steal every single bit of their life, their life that they gave to you, to rescue you—maybe you’ll just throw that all out the window. Because you’re a selfish fucking coward. With no balls. Because all you care about is making this whole damn world and every cell of your existence disappear. That’s all there is. Your life becomes all about erasing life, like a memory card wiped clean. I did drugs and I stole and I lied and I hurt and hurt and hurt until that card was blank, and there was nothing new to hurt me anymore.”

I was nearly breathless from all that. The only sound in the car was from my own lungs, sucking in air, trying to come to terms with what I had just purged. I’d just told Kayla the worst possible thing that anyone could admit. I just told her, the only woman I’ve ever cared for, that I’ve ever fallen deeply, madly for, that I used to be a drug addict. There was no way her opinion of me wouldn’t be forever altered. The truth didn’t make me feel good at all because it’s the type of truth that should never come to light.

Moments pass. Heavy, weighted. The blood wooshes loudly in my head and I have to adjust my grip on the steering wheel. I keep my eyes on the road, too afraid to look at her but also too afraid of the silence.

“Brigs said you were on the streets,” she says quietly, and I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or if she’s in shock.

“Aye,” I say with a nod. “When you pawn your adopted parents’ shit for drugs, their patience for you grows real thin. They did what they could. I put them through literal hell before I put myself through literal hell. There were fights, always. I would scream and cry. I was such a fucking wanker it was unbelievable. Just a pathetic piece of shit. I can’t…I can’t even tell you how much I hate myself, that me, that person I was, and all that I did. They did the right thing, you know. They gave me an ultimatum. This is how you repay us for taking you in? Then get clean or get out. And I chose to get out. That’s what I always deserved, anyway. The mean streets. And that’s where I lived for a few years.”