The taste of forbidden

1. One same kind of pain.

1. One same kind of pain.

Lia.

The movement of the simple silver bracelet sliding across the surface captures all my attention.

Circle.

Circle.

Circle.

It keeps rolling until it stops, vibrating in the movement, vibrating in the sound… it almost seems like it’s alive.

I reach out my hand and start the cycle again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

My brother’s question is clear, but instead of forming a word to answer him, all I do is nod.

I hear the sigh he lets out and, from the corner of my eye, I see how his wife —and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister— gently places her hand on his shoulder, trying to support him or maybe calm him down.

Being over a decade older than me, I know Matt has always felt overprotective of me. I’ve never expressed how much it bothers me… but it does. And in the past two years, that overprotection has started to feel almost suffocating.

"I can go with her," Defne steps in.

This time I don’t nod, this time I shake my head, focused once again on the bracelet’s movement.

How many circles does it make per second?

Must be a lot.

"That’s a good idea," but my brother’s words sound tense. I imagine having Defne far away is something he doesn’t want, especially now. "Taking the ashes to the ranch shouldn’t take more than three days."

"Lia can stay as long as she wants and needs, Matt, no need to pressure her."

"But…"

"I only have three months," she whispers gently and with such softness, almost as if she doesn’t want me to hear the words.

Three months.

Two months.

I blink, coming back from the memory.

I squeeze the bracelet between my fingers, stopping its movement while I listen to my brother and Defne speaking in whispers they think I can’t hear.

And they go on:

"You’re pregnant."

"Yes, pregnant, not sick, Matheo Slade."

"You can’t expect me to…"

I stand up, the screech of the chair against the elegant tile floor deafens us all, but also ends their argument.

I think that in the past two years, in my attempt to become invisible, I became even more visible. In my attempt to be strong, I actually became weaker. And the independence I always took pride in faded away until I became a puppet controlled by everyone.

Why don’t you stay with Matt and Defne? They’ve got space in their house and the change would be good for you.

Quit your job, you know you don’t need the money.

Go back to mom and dad’s, we miss you.

Now go stay with your brother, you need to keep moving and not fall into monotony, sweetheart.

A haircut would do you good.

It would help to go back to work, Lia, distracting your mind is what you need.

They’ve spun me like a top, dragged from here to there like a delicate cloth they start tossing around to care for among them. And even though I know very well that my family’s actions come from love, it doesn’t mean they’re right.

For a while, when getting up and taking a shower was the biggest triumph of my day, it was okay.

But not anymore.

God, not anymore.

When did I become this?

I stare into Defne’s eyes, because looking at her barely visible baby bump is too much for a day like today… and I smile at her.

"I’ll go alone," I look at my brother with that last word, lingering on the grayish gaze I’ve sought refuge in for far too long for my own good… and for his too.

I step aside and head to my room, grab my backpack and suitcase, then walk back out to the living room, where they’re still whispering.

Until Matt sees me.

"What the hell, Lia?" His explosion was something I expected.

"I told you I was leaving."

"Not today!"

I shrug one shoulder.

"I already bought the flight."

"Do my parents know about this?"

He seems to forget I’m twenty-eight, not eight.

"Matt…" Defne tries to calm him.

"Did you inform the airline that you’re carrying the ashes? Did you do all the proper procedures? It’s not just packing your bags and…"

"I already did everything."

That stops his rant.

And confirms what I already knew.

Everyone forgot I’m a functional person who can handle her own errands… and the worst, most painful part of it all, is that I can’t even blame them.

"You can’t just leave like this, Lia."

"I’m an adult, Matt," I remind him calmly, reminding myself too.

"But…"

He knows no one can stop me, nothing can.

Lucas’s last wish, what he left written in that painful letter, must be fulfilled. And I’ve already taken too long to do it, too long trying to pull myself together, too long wrapped in pain… it feels like an entire lifetime. No, another life. Because this life just feels like someone else’s, someone foreign to me.

"How long will you stay?" Defne asks, reaching out to hold my hand.

I stay silent, not giving her an answer.

How long, Lia?

I don’t know.

But I need to do this.

The silence that follows falls like a bucket of cold water. Defne looks at me with worry, my brother frowns, confused. And I look at him, pleading with my eyes for him to understand, because I can't keep sinking into this pit, because I’ll keep falling so deep, so far down, that the light at the exit will vanish from sight—so far, I’ll even forget it was ever there at all; the way out.

I grip the suitcase tighter, give them a faint smile, and leave.

|…|

I land in Dallas in the early afternoon.

The cattle ranch where Lucas grew up is over six hours by road from the Dallas airport. And since it was never possible to contact Becket Callahan to inform him of my arrival, all I can do is rent a car and head straight to the ranch on my own.

It’s spring in Texan land, so everything is green and colorful.

My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing with calls and messages —probably from my parents and my brother— so I turned it off. Right now, as I drive down the unfamiliar highway, but one Lucas probably traveled at least once in his life, there’s only silence. A peaceful and lonely silence.

This solitude feels strange.

It’s the kind of solitude I’ve been craving for a while, but also the kind I’m scared to face.

When was the last time I was alone, truly alone?

A long time ago, I realize with some surprise.

Because of the traffic on the road during peak season, it takes longer than the expected six hours. By the time I arrive at the ranch gate, night has fallen.

I can already tell that everything here is different from the city. Even though the stars shine brighter than I’ve ever seen, the landscape around me is still desolate and dark.

The vast loneliness surrounding me is almost infinite.

The ranch is fenced with wood, stretching on either side of a gate like arms embracing the massive land whose end I can’t see. The black iron gate has a worn and old wooden sign that reads Callahan in large, bold letters.

The ranch is enormous, over six thousand acres, or so said the notarized documents I received weeks after Lucas died, when the property transfer was made. I don’t know how I remember that if everything from that time is so blurry. Those first months feel like a black void I don’t recall much of, but there it is. Six thousand acres. I now own half of this property that I know absolutely nothing about except for that number.

As soon as I turn off the car, the sound of crickets intensifies in my ears. I get out of the car and walk up to the gate to figure out what to do.

Despite it being night, the heat is intense. I feel a bead of sweat roll down my spine, so I take off my light fabric jacket and tie it around my waist.

With gravel under my feet, breathing deeply and with trembling hands, I stretch and push the gate. It doesn’t budge, but an old chain creaks, disturbing the crickets’ song I keep hearing.

There’s no lock, just this long, thick iron chain that’s loose and comes off with another tug of my hands.

I feel like an intruder when I push again and swing the gate wide open to let myself in.

But somehow, I’m the owner, right?

And being here is what Lucas would’ve wanted me to do.

With that in mind, I walk back to the car and this time drive into what I hope will be my home, at least for the next few months.

The gravel road takes me through more and more fenced land. I think I see cattle in the distance, but I’m not sure. The huge house at the end of the long path steals all my attention.

What looks like the main house has a wide porch with the lights on, which tells me someone’s home. Once I stop the car, sand and gravel stir under the tires. I get out carefully, fearful, anxious, and completely hollow inside.

Needing—needing him—I move toward my suitcase, search for the urn of the man I’m here for, and hold it against my chest.

I foolishly thought that would give me courage and strength, but the truth is, it doesn’t.

This isn’t Lucas anymore.

With a shaky breath, I climb the few porch steps and stand in front of the double front doors—thick and beautiful wood—that I knock to announce my arrival.

When the seconds pass and no one comes, I do the same thing I did with the gate and push. It gives, the door gives way and opens to let me into a large rural house that feels incredibly welcoming.

There are warm colors and a bit of mess that only confirms people live here, looking exactly like a home should; alive and full of family.

I have no idea if Lucas’s brother has kids and a wife, but I would bet he does. This house has a woman’s touch in it and smells like the homemade desserts my mom used to bake for me when she was trying to cheer me up on the hardest days of my childhood. The space is maternal and way too warm for Becket Callahan to be living in it alone.

The soles of my sneakers crunch softly on the dark rug and I haven’t even taken a second step inside when a sudden movement startles me, making me hold onto the urn tighter.

"Who the hell are you?"

By instinct, I take a step back until my back is pressed against the closed door.

I clutch Lucas tighter in my arms.

The man in front of me is massive, and it’s not just his height that makes him look that way—it’s his presence, imposing and full of force. The frown on his face deepens the small scar on the right side of his upper lip. His thick eyebrows frame a pair of dark blue eyes staring at me with rage and confusion.

He scares me.

I swallow hard and try to form words with my mouth, but all I can do is exhale when he takes another threatening step toward me.

His sun-bronzed skin tightens with that short movement, causing my heart to leap with uncertainty. A strand of dark hair, already streaked with some silver, falls onto his forehead, shadowing his eyes further and making his displeasure even more obvious.

"Tell me who the hell you are."

I hold Lucas tighter in my arms.

"You’re on private property," he continues, his voice thick and deep, "I’m asking you one last time before I call the cops to get you off my ranch, who the hell are you?"

His ranch.

Becket, he’s Becket Callahan.

My husband’s older brother.

My brother-in-law.

"Lia," I manage to say, scratching my nail against the urn for some kind of comfort. "I’m Lia Callahan."

His last name in my name makes him blink and I see how, little by little, he starts to understand who I am.

His frown begins to ease until his features relax and give way to confusion and longing in his eyes.

"And Lucas?"

Hearing his name from his lips feels like a whip to my back, and the pain in my chest could bring me to my knees.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you come with Lucas?"

This time, I’m the one frowning.

What?

I hold the urn tighter in my arms, confused.

The way he glances through the big window toward my car, as if expecting someone else to get out and join us, tells me something here is very... very wrong.

Did you come with Lucas?

I repeat his question, and I know, I know he’s not referring to his ashes.

Is it possible he doesn’t know...?

But... it’s been two years.

"Lucas," I whisper, his name coming out fractured in my voice, "Lucas is here."

Swallowing hard, I press the urn in my arms once more and finally—finally—his blue eyes drop to what I’m holding onto for dear life.

I watch this man’s world shatter in the second everything clicks into place in his head.

He doesn’t move, and nothing comes from his lips, but his eyes... God, his eyes show a pain so raw I’ve only ever seen in one person before... and that’s when I look in the mirror.

"What?" But that simple question seems more for himself than for anyone else.

God.

I can’t.

I can’t relive it all to explain it.

I can’t.

I’m not that strong.

"I’m sorry," I force the words out in a shaky voice. "I... I can’t."

I reach behind me to grab the door handle and, letting the first tear fall, I turn and run out of there. My feet crunch over the gravel as I quickly move to the back seat. I search for my suitcase and gently tuck the urn away to protect it from anything, then turn to run to the driver’s seat.

I need to get out of here.

Before I can even open the door, a rough hand grabs my forearm and I’m pinned against the car’s body.

I breathe heavily, staring into that pair of very stormy blue eyes.

"You’re not leaving until you explain that," and he points toward the urn in the back seat.

I look away, trying not to see the pain and fury in his eyes.

How can he not know?

Two years, it’s been two years.

Why?

Why?

I gasp when he grabs my jaw between his thumb and index finger, forcing me to look at him.

But I don’t want to, so I fight his grip.

He holds tighter, pressing my waist against the car with his free hand, the motion making more tears spill from my eyes.

"Tell me, damn it," his voice is almost a whisper, a whisper only the two of us hear.

I close my eyes, struggling to say the words that haunt me every day.

"Lucas is dead."

There it is, the sentence escapes, and I hate him for making me say it for the first time in my life.

Lucas is dead.

Dead.

"No," he says, loosening his grip on my jaw, but still not letting me go.

"He died two years ago," I finally open my eyes and look at him.

I want to feel furious at him for making me go through this, for never answering the lawyers’ calls, for not responding to the letter that notified him about the inheritance, for not even showing up at the funeral, but... I can’t.

Not when he looks... like that.

"How can you not know?" I ask with the same whisper he uses, with the same disbelief he seems to carry.

Becket finally lets go of me. Slowly, first releasing my jaw, then dropping his hand from my waist, and stepping back, staring at me with horror washing over his face.

And he denies it one last time.

"No."

This time, my feet take me toward him—for what? I have no idea. But before I can do whatever it is I was about to do, he runs a hand through his short, messy beard and storms toward the truck parked to the side.

I watch, breathless, as he speeds away, kicking up dirt and gravel in his wake, leaving me with the same crushing weight I felt the first time my world fell apart.

Becket Callahan has just lost his brother.