Page 17 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

T wo Years Later

The church was silent.

Byron's father had survived for years despite the odds, years after the worst of the cirrhosis had claimed his strength. What remained of him had dwindled in a care home bed, hollow-eyed and skeletal, not really aware of what was going on around him.

The casket was closed.

Ana sat in one of the back pews, her black coat crisp, her dark hair pinned back.

She hadn't seen Byron since Cadi and Gray's wedding, though they did send stilted text occasionally . But today wasn’t about old wounds.

Today was about honouring the man who once saved her father's business with a quiet loan and an even quieter pat on the back.

Up front, Byron sat between Gray and Sylvia.

He was stone-faced in his black suit, jaw set like it was carved out of stone.

Gray sat solid at his side, eyes fixed forward, and Cadi beside him, pale and graceful.

Sylvia was striking -beautiful hazel eyes, lustrous brown hair pulled back in a bun.

She sat perfectly still in her police uniform, steel beneath the silk.

No one cried. The long period of illness had whittled away at the sorrow to leave a strange kind of acceptance.

At the gravesite, the minister said the final blessing.

The casket was lowered. The sound of the mechanisms, the scrape of dirt.

Each mourner stepped forward with a handful of earth.

When Ana approached, Byron gave her a quick look before holding out his hand blindly. She took it.

He gripped it like a lifeline.

They stood in silence as the dirt hit the wood.

Among the crowd, Ana saw a familiar face standing near the back, apart from the others.

She was older now, but still striking. Her features still held the echo of youth- high cheekbones, graceful posture, and eyes the same shade of hazel as Sylvia's and Byron's.

Her long brown hair had been twisted up with careful elegance, and her red lipstick was beginning to crack at the corners.

A string of pearls sat snugly at her throat.

She looked at Byron and Sylvia with open longing, each glance laced with unspoken regret.

But they never looked back.

Byron's eyes never lifted. Sylvia didn't so much as blink in her direction. It was as if she wasn't there at all.

Ana's parents stood quietly near the trees, observing with the calm sympathy of those who had lived long enough to understand the complexity of grief .

After the final prayers, Ana stepped away and caught Sylvia in a tight hug. Sylvia hugged her back, stiff at first, then fiercely. She nodded once, chin trembling. Ana didn't say anything. Some things didn't need words.

Behind them, the woman with the pearls took a single step forward, hope flickering in her eyes like a match.

No one turned.

She stood in her heels and silence, watching her children walk away just like she had walked away many years ago.

***

Back at the House

The old Richardson house had changed.

Fresh paint, new windows, clean lines. It felt like a place someone had finally decided was worth living in. Sylvia had made it a home.

Gray and Cadi had to leave early. Work. Rotas. Life.

Ana gathered her things.

"I should-" she started.

"Stay," Byron said, " Please. "

His voice was rough with emotion, cracking along the edges. He couldn't look at her as he walked upstairs. She followed.

The room was familiar and not. The curtains were new. The furniture sleeker. But the bed with its old frame was the same.

Byron lay on it, shoes off, arms folded behind his head. He stared at the ceiling. Ana stood in the doorway for a beat before entering.

They didn't speak for a while. Then he exhaled, voice scraping the air like nails on a chalkboard.

"That fuckin' cunt," he muttered. "She ruined our lives.

Then she shows her face like it's nothin'."

Ana couldn’t help but feel her heart squeeze.

"She walked out. And he just gave up," He said in a muffled voice .

"I know," she said softly.

She crossed the room and lay down beside him, curling into his back without a word. One arm was draped across his side.

He didn't move.

Dryly, she murmured, "There's a lot of you to hug, Robertson."

He snorted. "That's 'cause you've got midget arms, Bartolini."

He turned slowly, wrapped his arms around her.

There was nothing sexual about the hug, only comfort between two people who couldn't speak about feelings too deep for words.

A while later, he spoke again. "Heard you and that Harley lad packed it in."

She nodded into his chest. "It was Harvey. And it was mutual."

"Very tidy. Dead civil. Like bleedin' diplomats."

Ana smiled faintly. "I wanted to take foreign assignments. Johannesburg, Cape Town, maybe Sri Lanka. He... didn't want that."

"Huh," Byron said. "If you were mine, I'd've tied you to the fuckin' bedpost. Wouldn't let you outta my sight. You wouldn't be goin' anywhere without me taggin' along."

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "Good thing you're not my boyfriend, then. With the number of women you go through? I'd be worried about touching you with a ten-foot pole."

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Don't believe everything you read," he said, voice serious.

"Say the word, Ana. You know I would do anything for even a scrap from you."

Ana's breath caught, but she didn't respond right away.

She sat up.

"I'm leaving for Johannesburg in three days."

He sat up, too. "How long for?"

"Six months. Maybe more. "

He looked like he wanted to say something.

But he nodded. "Right. 'Course you are."

She touched his hand briefly.

"Take care of yourself, Ana. Can I call you sometimes?"

Ana only nodded, suddenly overcome with confusing emotions.

Then she stood and left the room without another word.

Byron lay back down on the bed, arms behind his head, eyes to the ceiling.

It was the same as seven years ago. She was leaving. Again.

***