The Love You Have

By Elaina Lyons

This stirring sequel to "The Love You Know" follows Odette Carrigan as she navigates the troubled waters of love, loss and self-exploration. When the chips are down and it matters most, will she choose the love she knows or the love she needs?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyons Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218324575

Book preview

PART I

WHERE IT ALL ENDS

CHAPTER ONE

We were like a sea of navy blue, each standing still, our gloved hands at attention. There was something entirely surreal about standing there with everyone. Daws and Rommie were on either side of me. I could feel Rommie restlessly shifting his legs back and forth, just quietly enough to not be disruptive, but present enough that I noticed it. I fixated on the sound of the grass crunching softly beneath his feet. I started counting time to it. Each step on one, two, three, then over again and over again. So many times I counted in step with him, biting my cheek as my brain recited the numbers on repeat, until my saliva tasted of blood. But I couldn’t stop. Because if I stopped biting, if I stopped counting, I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. I wouldn’t be able to stand there and watch as we all said a final good-bye to the man I’d nearly given up my entire world for. I wouldn’t be able to stomach the thought of losing Parker forever. I had to count, to bite, to fixate on something other than the suffocating feeling growing in my chest like a tidal wave. Because if I didn’t, I would fall. And in that moment, the bright sun beating down on me, my forehead thick with sweat, I knew that if I did fall, I wouldn’t ever get back up.

Sacrifice. Lieutenant Parker Kane was a hero among men, someone who stood above the rest in character, work ethic, and dedication, the Fire Chief spoke emphatically into the microphone, the sound cascading over the crowd of onlookers. His voice cracked a little as he spoke, and the juxtaposition of such a strong force of a man losing control of his emotions felt like too much to comprehend.

We were all seated now, chairs that seemed endless. This isn’t real, I told myself. None of this is real. It can’t be. The sky above me was black – black with endless streaks of gray, like right before a storm. But it was daytime and there wasn’t a single cloud. Just an ominous black sky that felt like it was a few seconds away from swallowing me whole.

He went to every call knowing danger existed, as we all do, and when it came time for him to make the ultimate sacrifice, he didn’t hesitate, Chief Wall continued, wiping away beads of sweat off his forehead with a light blue napkin, before putting it back in his jacket pocket. He will be remembered as a hero, a man whose legacy will permeate the walls of every station in this county and beyond. In closing, I’d like to quote John 15:13: ‘There is no greater love than this – that a man should lay down his life for his friends.’

Chief Wall wasn’t one for lengthy speeches, even in times like these. I knew he was particularly close with Parker. They’d worked together at multiple stations for years. Parker was Best Man at Wall’s wedding. The Chief paused and stepped back from the microphone. He took the blue napkin back out of his uniform jacket pocket and wiped each eye once; then he met the mic once more.

Lieutenant Kane’s wife, Allison, would like to say a few words now.

I felt my heart quicken and my chest heave. I had so many thoughts; it seemed my mind would cave in from the weight of them. Here she was in a role I had occupied – unseen – for years. I was angry and jealous and guilty and remorseful and ashamed. I straightened up and forced myself to look at her as she spoke. I owed her that much. I had done enough. I owed her that respect.

She was an attractive woman with long, slender legs and a trim waistline. She was taller than I’d imagined her. Her hair was brown, styled long and straight with clips securing her bangs on either side. She was wearing a black pencil skirt and a black button-down blouse. Her makeup was near perfect, and there was a lot of it. Parker always said he hated too much makeup on women. Yet there she was, looking like a model, done up and glamorous. I wondered what else he didn’t like about her – what else he liked better about me – and shooed the thought away immediately. You’re making it worse. Stop making it worse. You’ve done enough.

She approached the microphone unsteadily, and the Chief stood at her side, holding her forearm respectfully.

All of you knew Parker, she started. Probably better than I did.

Maybe I imagined it, but her eyes seemed to meet mine with those last four words, and I looked down hurriedly.

She cleared her throat and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Her makeup didn’t run – not even a little.

She really is perfect.

Everyone who knew and worked with Parker was better for it, she said, her voice faltering as she continued. Parker made every day special. He was my best friend, my rock, my partner in life. He was the last person I talked to before I went to sleep every night and the first one I looked forward to talking to every morning.

She looked away and sobbed gently into her tissue. I felt my stomach drop.

Parker was my life and I will be lost without him. Thank you for loving him as much as I did. He died doing what he loved, and for that, I will always be grateful.

She stepped away from the microphone and the Chief led her down the stairs, back to the front row of chairs. I had been so used to the feeling of having Parker and not fully having him at the same time. But when she spoke, when she said those things about him, I realized just how small a fraction of the man had ever really been mine. Here she was, grieving out loud a partner she had loved for so long, and I could never do that. I had been so sure all along that I’d loved him better, more, stronger than she ever could. But in life, and now in death, my love could never reach him like hers could. The barrier between us was higher than ever. Love is still love when it’s secret; but is it still love when it’s stolen? I felt like a thief, then, like I’d robbed her of something I could never give back.

Every bone inside me ached and I felt a sudden wave of nausea that nearly knocked the wind out of me. More than anything, I just wanted to go home. I looked around, scanning the rows upon rows of parked cars to try and find mine. Something told me that laying my eyes on it would give me a sense of calm. Kind of like I could plan my escape. But I couldn’t find it amidst the sea of vehicles.

The Chief signaled for the pallbearers to approach and Daws, two lieutenants, two civilians, and myself stepped up. I imagined that I was taking part in a play and my performance was being judged. You can’t cry – they’ll notice. Don’t cry. Be strong. Somehow, pretending that I was acting made me feel a tiny bit better. On the count of three, we lifted his casket, modestly draped with an American flag, and then, I dropped it.

I dropped my end.

I felt my hands slip as sweat met the gap between my skin and the casket. I gasped and watched the arms of the other pall bearers waver.

Suddenly, as if I’d reached out and touched my own imagination, the casket disappeared. Everyone looked at me – thousands of eyes turning and staring into me. At once they pointed: "Cheater. YOU killed him. YOU did this. Cheater. Liar. You did this."

Everyone chanted together, louder and louder and louder, until I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts. They started moving closer, marching together toward me. I felt frantic, but I couldn’t move. It was like I was trapped in this place, this moment that felt so real and so unreal at the same time. I looked down at my hands where the casket was just a moment ago, but there was nothing there. Where is he? Where did he go? The black sky above me seemed to lower further and further until it encircled the crowd. There was nothing but a cascade of people, a dark, judgmental sky, and voices I couldn’t drown out.

Odette.

I heard a voice cut through the cacophony – a calm, steady voice – but I couldn’t tell who it was or where it was coming from.

Odette, I heard again. This time, I knew it was Avery.

Where are you? I yelled.

Odette, he said again, flatly.

Avery, where are you? I could feel myself crying now, and I couldn’t stop. If I could get to Avery, he would take me home. I would be safe at home.

It’s okay; I’m right here. You’re OK.

His voice was emotionless, yet somehow soothing. Then, it was strong – loud.

Odette. WAKE UP.

I startled – my body jumped and the dream disappeared. I was in bed with Avery, his right hand pressed gently on my shoulder.

You were having a nightmare. You kept screaming.

I’m sorry, I said, still shaken.

I looked around to get my bearings and I noticed my hands were clasped together, sweating. Everything was the same. The house was ours, the bed was ours. But I felt so very far from home.

CHAPTER TWO

So, how long has it been since you last spoke to Parker?

I looked at my therapist, then back down to the floor.

A few weeks, I said. He was transferred a few weeks ago. We haven’t talked since. I mean, we didn’t talk much before then either.

And how have things been with Avery since you two got back together?

Okay. I mean, he tries. I had a dream last night.

I knew I hadn’t answered her question, but I felt the need to tell someone about that nightmare and she was the only one I could tell. I’d started seeing her just after Avery and I decided to try again. I felt like I had some major things to work out, both for myself and for the relationship. Couples therapy had broken us down; perhaps counseling on my own could help me build us back up. Maybe, I thought, the problem really was with me.

OK. Tell me about this dream, she said.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember every detail. But dreams have a way of slipping away – more and more the harder you try to hold onto them. Love is like that too, isn’t it?

I could feel Natalie looking at me. She was an older woman, maybe twice my age, but she was vibrant and youthful. And, from the past few sessions, I could tell she wasn’t one to judge. I appreciated that. I needed it.

He died.

Parker? Avery?

Parker.

How did he die?

I don’t know. In a house fire, I think.

Did you see the fire in your dream?

No, we were all at the funeral. I was a pallbearer. And his wife was there. She was beautiful.

What happened at the funeral?

I dropped the casket. And then it just … disappeared. And everyone knew about us. They called me a cheater.

I felt like I choked on that last word, like it was something so foul it could hardly make it out of my mouth.

How did that dream make you feel?

I sat up straight, trying to bridge the gap between shame and responsibility.

I felt … seen.

She just looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

But in the worst possible way.

Odette, she started. I knew whatever she had to say would be harsh – but certainly not untrue. She was adept at reading people and situations. Sometimes I felt like she knew me at my core, perhaps more clearly than anyone else ever had. Parker didn’t die. He made a choice, and so did you. But your subconscious – and frankly, your heart – isn’t trained to tell the difference between loss from death and loss from choice. A loss is a loss, and you’re grieving. It’s OK to grieve.

If we were meant to be together, why didn’t he choose me in the first place? Why did I have to fight for him and end up losing? I blurted out the words like I’d been holding them hostage and just then had the opportunity to let them free.

I felt tears streaming down my cheeks and I was suddenly incredibly embarrassed, like I was a teenager again, pining over a boy at school. Outside of this office, I was able to keep everything locked away. But here, the what ifs came roaring back. Here, my defenses were never quite as strong. You can tell yourself you’re over someone a million times, and you might even believe it, but if you really love them – truly love them – you’re never really over them. You can’t be. Life, love? Doesn’t work like that.

She handed me a box of tissues. It was one of those tiny boxes with designs on it. Winnie the Pooh. It felt odd and out of place in the context of adult therapy. And it reminded me of Gracie. I clutched at the G pendant around my neck and took a deep, cleansing breath. Thinking about Gracie wasn’t a choice – it was a constant. Years after losing her, she was still a part of me that I could never dream of letting go. But I wasn’t there to talk about Gracie. Not today, at least. Not now. Maybe not ever.

I want you to challenge this idea of what’s ‘meant to be,’ she said. Perhaps everything happens for a reason. Or maybe you give reason to things that happen.

What do you mean? I asked.

It’s possible that there’s some cosmic influence that determines what paths are taken in life. But it’s also possible that we as humans assign meaning to experiences and people because we need reassurance that we’re doing the right thing. Telling yourself you and Parker are meant to be together removes blame from you and him, and puts it on the universe or a higher power. I’m going to challenge you to try to take away that aspect of it and look at it from a different perspective. If you were meant to be together, Odette, you would be together. Isn’t that right?

I guess, I said sheepishly.

"Listen, I don’t want to