Knight and Day

Chapter Thirty-Six

Kara ran. She ran barefoot across the beach, as fast as she could without looking back. She heard Dylan call her name, once, and then again closer behind her. He caught her easily, his arms banding around her midriff, holding her against his chest as she struggled, throwing her elbows back into his body as hard and viciously as she could.

“Let me go,” she panted, fighting against him with every ounce of strength in her.

“She’s not my wife, Kara,” he said desperately, still holding her tight. “Not any more, I swear to you.”

She stilled in his grasp, winded by his words. He let go slowly, as if he feared she was preparing to run again. But she wasn’t. She didn’t want to run, suddenly. She wanted to hit him, to hurt him, to give him even the smallest taste of how much he was hurting her at that moment.

“But she was your wife, and you just conveniently forgot to mention her,” she spat. “I only ever asked you for one thing, Dylan.” She laughed, acid-harsh, as she said his name. “Or Matthew. Which is it?” She shook her head, and the icy revulsion in her eyes chilled his bones. “I only ever asked you for honesty.”

“I wanted to tell you, Kara,” he said hopelessly. “I wanted to tell you more than anything.”

“Well, you had plenty of fucking opportunities,” she threw back. “Months. Months of working alongside me, of screwing me all over this goddamn island, of listening to me spill my guts to you about fucking Richard, and my fucking dad.” She was crying now, big, heavy sobs dragging on her chest that made talking hard, but the words kept tumbling out regardless. “You really saw me coming, didn’t you?”

In the distance, the baby cried out.

“You’re not the man I thought you were,” Kara said, her voice broken and quiet. “I was going to tell you that I love you tonight. That I wanted to stay with you forever on that fucking boat.”

Dylan stared at her, hating himself, loving her so much it physically hurt. He could feel himself losing her and nothing he could say was going to make her stay.

“You’re someone else’s husband, and you let me fall in love with you,” Kara said. “She has your baby, and you pretend it’s never happened and let me fall in love with you.”

“It’s not my baby,” he whispered.

“You expect me to believe that?” Her eyes were daggers.

He didn’t. “Kara, we’re divorced. I have the papers on the boat…” Raw desperation hollowed his voice. He reached out for her and she backed away, shaking her head vehemently.

“I don’t want your papers, or your lies, or your fucking hands on me ever again.” Her voice shook with rage. “You make me feel dirty.”

It was the hardest thing anyone had ever said to him. She carried on retreating, watching him like a wounded animal, her furious face telling him how much she didn’t want him to follow. “I don’t know who you are,” she said flatly, a few metres away from him now. “I don’t know who you are.” She pressed her hands against her cheeks. Shock was setting in. She was cold, shivering despite the warmth of the evening.

“Yes you do,” he said softly, desperate to touch her, knowing she didn’t want him to. “You know me better than anyone else has ever known me.” He glanced back up the beach. “I don’t belong with them, Kara. I belong here, with you. I love you.”

For the briefest of seconds he saw her falter, and hope flared bright in his heart. Would she stop? Would she come back? The truth was so dreadfully overdue, but he would tell it all, right now, if she gave him the chance. Please come back.

Pain etched lines across her forehead as she fought to make sense of the evening’s revelations, to pick the bones of truth out from amongst the lies.

Kara had made her mind up.

“Go.” she said, clearly. “Go back to your family.” She jerked her head towards the end of the beach, her expression determined. “I never want to see you again.”

Dylan watched her walk away, taking his heart with her. He didn’t try to stop her. How could he? He had no defence.

Every word she’d said was true. He had lied to her from the moment he’d met her. He had chosen not to take a single one of the many opportunities there had been to tell her the truth.

He watched her walk towards the Mustang, heard the hard slam of the door reverberate across the beach, stood bone still until he saw the tail lights had climbed the hill and disappeared around the curve of the road.

She was gone, and he was left there holding her silvery sandals, Prince Charming without his Cinderella. Except he wasn't the hero. He was the villain, the liar, the man who always lost in the end. He turned away and walked slowly towards the two people he hated most in the world, and the child he’d never laid his eyes on in his life.