Free The Problem With Heartache by Lauren K. McKellar Page A

My folks are separated, and when I go to email Dad it can be kinda hard. How do you say things about your life when you know in comparison, theirs isn’t that great? And then I worry that he’ll get frustrated typing back. That the shakes will become too much, that he’ll feel this obligation when really, I just want him to be happy. I know that in the past, things I’ve done have upset him, and I have no doubt they made his condition worse.
    Now, I would give anything to make him healthy, Kate.
    Anything.
     
    Lee
     
    I read the letter one more time, then folded it up into a neat little square and stored it in the side compartment of my bag. Somehow, during my first week on the road, Lee- freaking -Collins and I had developed this friendship, this strange bond.
    It didn’t take away my pain.
    It didn’t help me sleep when thoughts of Lachlan danced in my mind, taunting me with their ever-growing elusiveness.
    But it did make me feel less lonely, and that made a difference.
    It was that little bit of something that made me have faith.

 

     
    I RECOGNISED the pain in her eyes. She wore it every day, a new mask trying to cover the grief that lurked underneath.
    The sort of grief that churned in your body.
    The sort of grief you couldn’t forget.
    That was why, after the first few weeks on the road, I’d decided to make it my personal mission to make this girl smile. I knew it was dangerous; knew I shouldn’t spend too much time with her.
    But sometimes, you don’t always do what’s right for you.
    And you don’t always do what’s right for other people.
    The problem was, the more I saw of her the more I was finding it hard to keep it professional. I felt this connection to her, for some reason. She was different to the usual team of women I saw, who were all too eager to give in to my requests. She fought back. Not only that, but I’d started to share parts of myself with her in those letters, parts I didn’t share with anyone. And given my current circumstance, that wasn’t good at all.
    I glanced across the aisle of the bus to her. She was resting her head against the window, her pale skin lit by the setting sun in the distance. We were on our way back to LA again after a stint up the coast in San Francisco.
    “Stop looking at me.”
    I frowned. “Your eyes are closed. How can you even see?”
    Kate’s lids blinked open, and she raised her brows. “You have this kind of penetrating stare thing going on. I can feel it.”
    I raised one side of my lips in a smile. Kate was not afraid of me. It was … weird.
    “You can penetrate me anytime.” One of the dancers, America, I think her name was, giggled, and I quickly checked the bus to make sure Jay was still down the back with Lottie and hadn’t heard. Sometimes those girls had no thought for others. Still, their attitude was what I was used to. Blatant flirting. Innuendo. Not … indifference. Not like I was getting from Kate.
    I stood up and crossed the aisle, setting myself down into the seat next to her. She gave me a lazy smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
    Silence.
    And then …
    “Sometimes, until I was about fifteen, Dad would come into my room at night and just stare at me.” Her eyes stay fixed out the window at the passing traffic. “It used to really annoy me—sneaking out was that much harder when your father checked in so often.”
    “Is that creepy?” I furrowed my brow.
    “No.” Kate’s word wasn’t angry or shocked. It was surprisingly calm. “It was just … it was his thing, you know? And when I asked him why he did it, he’d say it was because sometimes he just couldn’t believe I was real. That he and Mom made me. And that he needed to keep me safe.”
    Safety. Family. I shuddered. They were on my mind a lot lately.
    “Of course, he doesn’t do that anymore.” Kate gave me a quick glance, and I saw the pain flash in her eyes. “But I can usually tell when people are staring at me, even if my eyes are closed, all