Page 38 of His & Hers

"I don't understand..." she frowned before holding her hands up, " but it's okay; you don't have to elaborate."

"I don't mind. I prefer to make sure when I sleep with someone; she is the right one for me. My soulmate, my other half." I allowed my gaze to linger on the moonlight that was reflected on the water's surface, losing myself in the tranquility of the moment. "My future companion...my life partner. Whatever you want to call it."

"You're a—”

"Vampire?" I couldn't help but tease her, slinging my arm around her shoulders as I kissed her head. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

"Stop!" Layla giggled as she looked up at me, "I don't need to label you. I understand."

I nodded as her arm crept around my waist, and we walked like this in comfortable silence.

"So tell me about Australia..." I sighed, knowing I had to steer the conversation to calmer waters. It wasn't easy, with her body so close to mine. My heart seemed to beat in a more relaxed rhythm when I was closer to her, and I tried desperately to ignore it.

The question remained, though.

What if we were meant to be together?

I wasn't about to pull a wedding apart over someone I'd met back up with after leaving school. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

But I had no choice.

"Uh, Zane? For the record, you never made me feel uncomfortable."

Just like that, she scooped my bruised heart into her hands, wrapping it in a bandage so it could attempt to heal.

"Good."

16

LAYLA

“I miss you. Is everything okay?”

I stared at the ceiling as I exhaled slowly.

“Uh-oh, I know that sigh. What’s happened?”

My dad was blunt and to-the-point—one thing I loved about him most of the time. But when I didn’t know how I felt myself, it was annoying to try to explain.

“Nothing has happened,” I lied, sitting up on my bed.

“Layla Rose, you can’t bullshit me,” he declared as I heard the leather of his favorite chair creaking. I could imagine him sitting by the window, overlooking the road I knew so well.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“How’s your mom?” his voice softened then, and I felt a pang of pain deep inside of me.

“Why don’t you ask her?” I challenged, hearing that familiar groan. It was a daily debate between us, yet he refused to speak to her. The break-up had been painful all round- Dad insisted he hadn’t meant to cheat on Mom- but he did it anyway.

Dad had told me he was drunk and that he lost control on a night out with work. It was a one-night thing, but the woman had decided my mom would like to see the photos of them in bed together the following morning. I closed my eyes in an attempt to block the memories, my heart breaking for Mom again.

“I don’t think she is okay, Dad,” I confessed, sitting up to gaze around my old room. My bookcase still stood in the corner beside my window seat that overlooked the pretty street below.

“What? Why?” he demanded, his voice filling with worry.

“I can’t explain it. I think she misses you sometimes.”

He was silent then before letting out a long sigh.