The One Who Got Away – CH 16 PT2+3

Chapter 16

Part Two: Not A Footnote

One look at Kay and Seth knew something was up. There was a certain quietness about her today, a subtle frown lining her forehead as she walked beside him. Like her thoughts were louder than her words. They were at Lakeside Park, passing under the tall pine trees that were lining the path. It was sort of a strange feeling to be back, but not in a bad way. They had come a long way since the last time they'd been here. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and in hindsight, Seth couldn’t help but inwardly shake his head at how insecure he had felt that day and how confused – while in truth, things had been so crystal clear and simple. He glanced up at Kay, who was resting her hand on his shoulder as she walked – something he knew wasn't exactly practical for her and therefore all the more cute and sweet. It was as close to handholding as they would get. "How was your day?" he asked, after puffing a right turn into his control.

"Long," she sighed. "Glad it's Friday. Did you go to the office?"

"Yeah. Sat together with Eddie and Christine to pitch a plan for the new project. It was good." Should do it more often – Eddie had been right.

Kay smiled at him. "Are you planning to go more often then?"

Seth was puff-directing the chair slightly to the left as the path took a curve. "I think so," he then said. "Just will have to figure out the logistics." For one, he would need to have all his assistive technology installed there. And driving to as well as spending time at the office would mean more planning ahead when it came to his schedules. 

Kay's hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck. "Your team’s going to be happy."

He smirked, glancing up at her. "Hopefully not too happy. Today everyone came running like they hadn't seen me in years." Which of course had been sweet on one hand. On the other hand though, Seth didn't exactly like the feeling that the mere fact of him showing up was treated like a spectacle. Another reason to make it a regular thing.

"That is such a You thing to say," Kay laughed, shaking her head. 

They had come to the spot where the path met the open space of wide lawns, the waterfront opened up in front of them. "Want to go to that Cafe?" Seth asked, giving Kay a wink as he pointed his head in the direction of the pop up place they had visited last time. 

She wrinkled her nose. "Too many wasps. Besides, look. That annoying waiter is there again."

Seth chuckled. "Not too fond of the place, are you." He was teasing, but the truth was: With the memory of that horrible AD attack in the back of his mind, the Cafe evoked something of an uncomfortable feeling for him, too. "Get something to go?" he offered. 

Kay nodded, and they went over to the hut, ordering two lemonades. Recognition flashed up in the server's face. Which was something that happened almost every time he went back to an establishment. Only so many crips in town.

With Kay carrying their drinks, they went back to the walking path, following a little further down until they came to a nice secluded spot framed by azalea bushes. "That's perfect," Kay remarked, pointing at the bench on the left side of the lawn. 

"You don't need a bench though," Seth smirked. "You have me." 

"True." She bent down and gave him a playful kiss. "But the bench won't do a pressure relief in about five minutes."

He gazed at her with awe. She had come to know his bodily rhythms so well by now. "What are you waiting for, then," he teased. "Time's ticking."

With a laugh, Kay lowered herself down on his lap, and she leaned in to give him another kiss, all the while balancing the two lemonades in her hands. "Look at you," Seth remarked with a wink. "So pro at this."

"I know, right?" She grinned at him lovingly. "You're better than any bench could possibly ever be."

He laughed. "I sure hope so."

She fondly bumped her forehead against his. Then they sat in content silence for a while, drinking their lemonades, enjoying the peacefulness of the park. The warm breeze kept blowing some of Kay's hair in both their faces, and because she had a drink in each hand and because obviously he couldn't push her hair back either, they were stuck with wrinkling their noses, laughing as the dark blond strands tickled their skins. "Time for that pressure relief," Seth said, leaning in for a quick kiss. 

Nodding, she slipped off his lap and walked over to a trash can, discarding her empty lemonade cup. Seth went into tilt mode and Kay disappeared from his view, replaced by his own knees, the sky and the pine trees above him. “Kay?” he asked when she hadn’t reappeared next to him even after a long moment had passed. 

"I'm on the bench. Sorry. Thought I'd give you a moment to yourself." There was that subdued note in her voice again – subtle, but definitely there, and she didn't say anything else. Seth silently worked his jaw, blinking at the sky. Something definitely was up, and he already had a suspicion as to what it could be. He actually hoped he was right — because if it wasn’t that, whatever else might be bothering her made him uneasy. He didn't want to ask without being able to look at her though, so he waited the few minutes until he was done with the pressure relief. 

When he came back up into an upright position, Kay was sitting on that bench with her knees pulled up, eyes on the water, where the late afternoon soon danced in golden speckles. Her features were deep in thought – not in a particularly heavy sense, just… quiet. It was a look Seth had barely ever seen on her. His Kay was introspective, yes, but usually not in this secluded, almost withdrawn kind of way. 

"Where are you right now?" he asked softly into the silence. 

Kay blinked, distractedly glancing at him. She shrugged. "Just tired."

That much was obvious. But what was it that had made her tired? "Kay."

"Hm?"

"How did that lunch with your mom and sister go?"

Now she flinched. Just barely, but enough for him to notice. So this was what was wrong. Of course it was. Seth rolled his neck, and he just looked at her, waiting. 

Her hands had abruptly landed on the bench, next to her feet, restlessly fumbling and poking at the wood. He could see she was trying to work out what to answer, chewing her lip in that characteristic, typical Kay way. Seth sighed. "That bad, huh."

Kay winced, her jaw clenching, but then she shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

She was hurt, he could see it now. Whatever they'd said had landed hard. "It does matter," he said softly. "They're your family."

A scoff escaped her as she shrugged defiantly. "Well, apparently that doesn't make them exempt from being ableist assholes."

Seth quickly puffed into his control and closed the distance to the bench, coming to a halt just in front of her. "I'm sorry, Kay."

She looked up at him with consternation, her eyes wide. "No," she breathed. "That’s not how this is supposed to be. You're not supposed to be sorry about this. Not you, Seth. Them."

He swallowed, nodding. He understood. But this wasn't about him. "I'm sorry they made you feel this way," he clarified. "It's not fair." Whatever it was that they had said to her – even though he had a fairly clear idea among which lines it was – Kay didn't deserve it. Not after the long way she and him had come, not after how much she had poured into this – into him. He hated how small she looked on that bench right now, almost like an abandoned child. 

Now she scoffed angrily, not at him, but at the bench. They couldn't even –" she shook her head, then exhaled shakily. "They couldn't even conceive of me being with you."

Yeah. Seth swallowed. Then he dipped his head. "Come here."

Kay stood up readily, making an almost seamless transition from the bench to his lap. She wordlessly moved his sip-and-puff out of the way and slung her arms around him. "I didn't want to dump this on you," she mumbled into his neck. "It's not right."

Seth placed a kiss next to her ear. "It's ok."

"No it's not," she huffed into his neck. "None of this is ok. That I even have to… explain to my own family why I want to be with the man I love. And now you are the one comforting me about their ableism –" she shook her head. "It's fucked up, Seth."

Of course it was fucked up. But also not surprising in the least. "What did you expect, babe," he said softly, only after a second realizing he had never called her that until now. "That they'd be overjoyed to hear you've chosen the guy who can't move?"

Kay pulled out her face from the crook of his neck, looking at him. "I don't know, maybe, just maybe I expected them to be overjoyed at the fact that I'm happily in love. Whether you're disabled or not should be secondary."

Oh Kay. He lent her a tender look. "That might work with a mild disability. It might even work with a paraplegic or a low quad. But with this?" He dipped his chin down at his body. "No."

Kay's eyes gloomily rested on her own hand, which was wrapped around his upper arm. He could feel a dull echo of the touch — she was holding on tight. Then she returned his gaze, shaking her head with a scoff. "You're not even offended."

Of course he was offended. He wasn't immune to this. But probably… desensitized. "I'm not saying it doesn't hurt," he conceded, looking down. "But is it a surprise?" He shook his head with a shrug. "This is what we're up against, Kay."

With a sigh, she laid her head down on his shoulder. "I just want them to see what I see."

A scoff escaped him. Good luck with that. "Even I have trouble seeing what you see."

She lifted her head with a frown. "So you still think I'm crazy for wanting to be with you?"

He averted his eyes. "A part of me will probably always think that."

Kay was silent for a moment. She didn't look shocked, not even angry – just measuring. "That's too bad. If not actually sad." The dull grip around his upper arm disappeared, and she started fumbling her earring. "I don't get it," she mumbled after another pause, with quiet defiance. "You're the man I love. You happen to have a disability. End of story. Why is that so hard for everyone to grasp?"

Seth swallowed, looking at her tenderly. "Because I don't happen to have a disability. Something you should know by now."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she huffed, her forehead deeply furrowed. 

He regarded her with a silent sigh. He was positive that she knew very well what he meant. This mood in her right now? It was hurt, not confusion. "My disability dictates my every day," he said gently. "It's not a footnote, not even a side story. And let's face it, Kay: This is not a normal relationship."

She didn't flinch. Which confirmed that he wasn't telling her anything she didn't know already. But apparentlyit was something she didn't want to hear right now, because she snorted, angrily pulling at her hair knot. "Who cares about normal anyway."

"The world does. Your family does, apparently," Seth said, raising his eyebrows at her. "And even you might, at some point. One day you might wake up and realize it's all just… too much for you." 

The words had barely left his mouth before he regretted them. Shit. This wasn't what he'd meant to say — at all. But too late.

For a moment, Kay just stared at him, stunned. Then she retracted her arm from around his neck, and the sudden absence of it hit him coldly. "As if my mother wasn't enough," she bit out through clenched teeth, shaking her head. "Now I need to defend my love in front of you, too?"

"Kay –"

She slid from his lap, standing up so abruptly that his legs and trunk started spasming. His chest locked up and he couldn't speak as she turned her back to him – arms crossed, shoulders stiff. 

And then those shoulders started shaking just as much as his body was right now. 

Fuck. Kay had spent the day defending them — defending him — and now he’d gone and thrown her under the same damn bus. Smooth, Bell. Seth banged his head against the headrest in frustration. He had just – majorly – fucked up.

Part Three: The Elephant 

Kay heard the wheelchair rattle behind her, along with the soft, repeated shiver of his clothes — the familiar sounds of Seth's body being shaken by spasms. But for once, she didn't care. Bastard. Damn him and those insecurities. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to hold back the sobs rising in her chest.

"Kay…" The words came thin, strained — breath just returning to him. "I'm sorry. It came out wrong."

She couldn't look at him. Crying silently, she shook her head. Bastard. 

"That's not what I meant to say. Please look at me."

No. 

This day had been shit. She'd survived it somehow – and she had looked forward to being back with him. Safe. And now this. As much as she had tried to shrug it off, that lunch had cut deep. She felt betrayed by her mother, by her sister – and now, after everything, she felt betrayed by Seth, too.

"Please come here," her said – now sounding desperate.

No. She took a step further away. 

"Goddammit, Kay, I don't have my control. I want to comfort you. Please – come here." He almost shouted the words – louder than she'd ever heard him post-injury – and now he was breathing hard.

Right. She'd moved his straw out of the way before – he was stuck. Not that she felt guilty about it right now. But she turned anyway.

Without looking up, she walked back over to him, wordlessly climbing on his lap, curling up against him. He might have been the reason she was crying, but he was also the only one – the only place – that felt safe.

Seth kissed the top of her head. "I’m sorry," he murmured into her hair.

She still couldn't answer – just let his shirt soak up the tears that kept coming. His shoulder twitched, writhing, and she could hear him swallow, felt him fumble for words. After a long moment of silence, he took a shaky breath. "Put my arms around you."

It made her cry even harder. Because she knew what this cost him, knew how much he wanted to hold her right now. And she hated that she still cared — still wanted this — even though she was furious with him. Sobbing, she picked up his arms and wrapped them both around herself, awkwardly holding on to them so they couldn't slip off. It wasn’t perfect – far from it – and she was still angry. But the weight of his arms, even borrowed, and the love behind them… helped. 

"I wish I could take it back, Kay."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Are you just going to keep doing this?" Her voice broke slightly. "I get that it’s hard for you — that you’ve got a lot of insecurities to deal with. But can you at least let me fucking love you? That’s all I ask, Seth. That you trust me. That you trust us. You're not even giving us a real chance."

"I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t believe in us," he said softly. "The last thing I want is to make you feel like this."

Kay gave a wet sniff. "Then why do you keep hinting at some rude awakening waiting for me on the horizon? Like I’m some naive chick who just met you yesterday — like I don’t know the first thing about your disability."

He shrugged weakly. "I don’t know. I guess it’s just… fear." He swallowed, his nose still buried in her hair. "I promised to let you in. And I guess this was… a really bad way of doing that."

His left arm stiffened against her body, and Kay tightened her grip on it, not quite ready to let go. "Not everything is about you, Seth."

Which was ironic, because the whole reason for all this — her family being ableist assholes, her sitting here crying — was actually about Seth.

He let out a dry laugh. "Believe me, I don’t want it to be."

Kay sighed. "I know." God, she knew. 

The stiff arm began to jitter, and she gently moved it to the side, laying it down beside her hip. "Let me in," she said with a shrug. "By all means. But maybe try doing it without all the self-deprecating bullshit."

"It’s not self-deprecating bullshit," he said quietly. "It’s my reality."

She sat up a little straighter, meeting his eyes. "Your reality, yeah. But just because you feel like your disability defines everything — doesn’t mean I have to see it that way. To me, it’s just a part of you. It’s not who you are."

He shook his head. "Of course it’s not who I am. But it changes who I can be as a partner. That’s the point."

Kay let out an exasperated snort. "Why? Because you need help with stuff? Sure, there are things you can’t do, but—"

"No but," he interrupted, gently but firmly. "There are things I just can’t do, Kay. Full stop. There isn’t always a silver lining. Sometimes things are just shitty, whichever way you look at them. And I need you to see that."

Did she actually – maybe – not see that? Kay chewed her lip in silence. She hated that she couldn't give him the rebuttal she wanted to – that his impairments didn't matter, that he could do everything any able bodied partner could do. But yeah… that would have been sugarcoating things. She'd been there. She knew how delicate his health could be. How utterly dependent he was on his aides. How unpredictable his pain flares were. And all of it – whether they liked it or not – did influence and shape their relationship. He was right. Bastard.

With a silent sigh, she slipped off his lap and repositioned his arms onto the armrests – not roughly, but not with her usual tenderness either. Then she sat down on the bench, leaning back, facing him.

Seth watched her, waiting. With those damn eyes — the soft, tender ones.

Kay clenched her jaw. "I'm still mad at you. And I’m tired. It’s been a long fucking day, and I don’t want to talk you down from your ledge again."

He nodded silently, looking ashamed. "I know. And you don't have to talk me down from anything. Really."

She sighed. "When are you going to catch up to me, Seth?" she asked gloomily. "When are you finally gonna to reach the point where you let all those damn insecurities go?"

Seth didn't flinch. Didn't even look away. "I get it. But I still see it the way I see it. And I don't even want you to talk me out of it."

Kay gave him a look, tongue clicking softly. "That much is obvious." With a slight shake of her head, she added more somberly. "When have I ever tried to talk you out of it? All I’ve ever done is just be there. Love you. Especially in all those shitty moments where your injury gives us the middle finger."

Seth blinked, swallowing. "I know that. You have. Always."

She raised her eyebrows. "But?"

He rolled his shoulder, hesitating. His eyes met hers shyly. "All I want is to be a real partner to you."

Kay didn’t answer. What did he think she’d been showing up for all this time? An un-real partner?

But then she could tell he wasn’t done. His lips parted, then closed again, and his eyes flicked downward — like whatever he was about to say made him nervous.

"I mean," – he shifted his shoulder, now meeting her eyes – "for example, have you ever thought about the fact that we won't even be able to be intimate without a PCA basically prepping me first?"

Ah. She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden pivot — but of course. This was what all of it was about. "I have," she said calmly.

Seth nodded, his gaze flickering as if fighting the urge to look away. "How do you feel about that? Because for me it’s… not exactly easy to come to terms with."

"How do I feel about it?" Kay shrugged. "It's just the way things are. Would it be nice if it was different? Sure. But mainly for your sake – 'cause I can see how it puts you in a hard place. You have to either involve your care team in your relationship, or your girlfriend in your care."

His jawline tightened. "Yeah, "he said. "And either way feels quite emasculating."

That made her wince. "Does it help at all if I tell you I don't see it that way?" she asked, leaning forward. "Because I don't, Seth. Not even a little. It doesn't change how I see you as a man."

Seth paused, still working his jaw. Then he drew in a breath, shoulders rising with it. "Should we maybe name the elephant in the room? That we’re never going to have sex the way we used to. Not even…" — he shook his head, his gaze drifting somewhere far off. "Not even close."

Kay bit her lip. She didn’t want her chest to tighten like this – not for him, not right now – but it did. "Honestly, "she said after a moment of silence. "That's not my biggest concern. I get why it is for you – as a man, sure – but…," she shrugged. "There are lots of other ways to have sex." She raised an eyebrow, teasing, as her hand landed gently on his bony knee. "Good sex."

She didn't miss the way his gaze darted down to her touch – that short, subtle flicker in his eyes that betrayed not detachment, but something else. With a quiet sigh, she straightened and pulled her hand back. "But we can cross that bridge once we get to it. Before we can even start thinking about sex," she gave him a steady look – "you need to get comfortable with me touching you."

Seth flinched visibly. "I am comf–"

"No," she said, calmly cutting him off. "You're not. Not when it comes to below injury." She lent him a wry smile. "I know it's not about me. But it's still… a thing."

They both startled slightly when a group of teenagers tore down the path, hooting and laughing, their bikes rattling over the pavement. Seth watched them pass, his expression unreadable. Kay cleared her throat, searching his face. "Tell me if I’m wrong."

Tearing his gaze from the path, he rolled his neck, then gave a half-nod, half-shake. "You’re not wrong."

Too bad. Kay sighed softly, giving a small nod. "Can you explain it to me?"

To her surprise, Seth responded with a dry snort. "There's not a lot to explain. I can't feel it – so it reminds me of everything I've lost." He visibly forced himself to meet her gaze, eyes softer now – almost shy. "I always hoped you wouldn't notice."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Yeah, well, I have. And maybe that's not such a bad thing.” Pausing, she let out a quiet sigh. "I have no idea what it’s like — not being able to feel your own body, just watching someone else touch it." Her gaze dropped. "But the vibe I get from you is… you're tolerating it, for me. But you actually kind of hate it. Every single time."

Seth’s eyes closed — that reflex of his when something landed a little too hard. She knew that, pre-injury, he would have rubbed his face instead.

"I don’t hate it," he said, shaking his head. "I just… have a hard time with it, I guess."

"And I have a hard time seeing exactly that," Kay said bluntly.

They looked at each other, eyes locked for a long moment — and then, almost simultaneously, they started laughing. Not because any of this was funny, but because they’d hit an impasse. And maybe also because it felt weirdly freeing to have said all of this out loud for once. Kay wiped her eyes, then stood and did the same for Seth — the kind of tears that come when laughter is a relief.

He gazed up at her with affection and tenderness. "You know how much I love your touch when I can feel it, right? It's… everything."

She smiled. "I know." Her knuckles brushed over his cheek, then her eyes dropped — to that invisible line below his collarbone, the one that separated sensation from silence.

"But everything down here belongs to you, too. And to me, there is no difference."

She reached down and gently picked up his left hand from the armrest.

"This is your body. Not some dead appendage to me."

Seth rolled his shoulders, visibly uncomfortable, a contrite smirk flickering on his lips. "That’s exactly what it is to me, though."

Kay snorted. "Yeah. But we’re two people." She lifted his hand further, carefully twining her fingers with his, working around the resistance in his curled index and thumb. "It fucking sucks that you can’t feel this," she said. "But I can. And I’m not holding hands with something broken — I’m holding hands with you."

She raised her eyebrows, locking eyes with him. "And I need you to see it that way, too. Take it for what it is — not what you wish it could be."

Seth blinked down at their interlocked hands, swallowing. Then he looked up, a boyish smile on his lips, eyes filled with wonder̀. "God, I love you." 

And then, a bit more serious, quieter: "I'll try."

She nodded wordlessly, and she bent down for a kiss, long and sweet. 

After, he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "Are you ok?"

Kay blinked, her lashes almost brushing his. "Yeah."

"I don't know how I went from comforting you about your family to talking about my intimacy issues," he mumbled awkwardly. "That's not… how I wanted this to go."

She couldn't help but chuckle, and her thumb brushed over his cheek. "It's good we addressed it." She paused. "Stella… sort of, kind of apologized. She wants to meet you."

Seth leaned back slightly in surprise. "Why didn’t you just say so?"

Kay gave him a smirk. "Didn’t really get the chance."

He smirked back, sheepish. "Touché."

Her eyes ran over his face tenderly. "Better brace yourself though. My sister is more in the bench than in the wheelchair camp."

He nodded, matching her gaze with quiet warmth. "Team Bench, huh. Good thing you’re not."

Kay smiled. "Yep. I'm definitely not."

To be continued...