Until Then (The Blue Collar Boys #1)

4. Greer

4

Greer

T he clock ticks loudly, the sound sharp in the room, as excited tension permeates the air.

“Okay, everyone,” I say loudly, “the bell is about to ring. Make sure you have your belongings. And don’t forget—”

“You love us!” My students rush in for a last-minute hug. They’ll never truly understand how much they anchored me and gave me a reason to wake up every morning after all that happened. Their constant talking, silly questions, and squabbles kept my mind blissfully occupied. But as I watch them prepare for summer, my heart clenches with the reminder that time is fleeting. In just minutes, they’ll leave my classroom and we’ll be but mere memories to each other.

“Okay, okay, be careful you don’t knock me over! Yes, I love you, and I hope you have a great summer!” The final bell echoes through the hallways, and my fifth graders disperse with squeals of laughter. Each goodbye is an ending of one chapter and the beginning of another. Summer has officially begun.

I turn from the door, and empty desks stare back at me. Silence, something every teacher craves, engulfs me. Sighing, I gather up a few belongings before heading to pack the rest of my desk. Mom came a few times after school this week, so most of my things are ready for the transfer to the new school.

“Hey, Greer!” My co-teacher, Lucy, sweeps into my room. “You going out to lunch with us? I can’t believe it’s your last day.” She plops into my chair and spins in a circle.

“Oh, lunch? Where are you guys going?” My stomach drops as I once again ponder whether to join or not.

“Just over to the taco shop. You should come.”

“I really wish I could, Lucy, but my parents are coming over today.” The excuse comes naturally. We both know I have time for lunch. Problem is, I’m not even sure I know how to say yes to anything anymore.

“Okay.” Her smile flatlines. From my history, she’d probably already guessed I would say no. She stands from the chair and removes posters from the wall. We lapse into silence working side by side.

My coworkers, students, and parents all knew what had happened to me, something that comes with living in a small town like Suncrest Valley. After missing the first three months of the year, I returned with the goal of distract, distract, distract. I tried joining various committees, but my self-imposed isolation took control, and every attempt felt like a battle between what I wanted and what I was capable of.

It was hard, facing death, living, and then having to pick up the pieces. It shouldn’t have shocked me when people took my behavior as a signal that I’d rather not be bothered. Even if, looking back on it, I wanted to be bothered, I just didn’t know how to let other people in, to let them see my pain. I wanted to explain it, to show them the weight I carried, but I couldn’t find the words, and silence seemed safer than trying to break through the walls I’d build around myself.

Lucy radiates energy, and sometimes I wonder if maybe I should have given our friendship more of a chance. We’ll be at different campuses next year, so I know it’s probably too late now and probably not worth the effort.

“Congrats on the new place by the way.” Lucy smiles, rolling the posters and handing them to me. “It’s exciting.”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use.”

“I get it.” She steps closer. “This whole situation is really shitty. I’m sure you’d rather be living your old life, in your old house. But, well, things are different now.”

“I know.” My heart lodges in my throat, and my lungs constrict, as if a heavy weight is pressing down on my chest.

“I know it hurts. It probably always will, but—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—it’s okay to allow yourself to move forward with your life.” Her soft hands grasp the outsides of my arms as tears track down my cheeks. Her words nestle between my ribs.

“Keep in touch.” She pulls me into a hug. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, Lucy. I will.”

We both know I won’t.

With a parting wave she exits. I’m frozen, watching the doorway she just vanished through. Between Mom and Lucy, it’s like the universe is shouting at me to be brave and move forward, to let people in. Message received.

Sunlight beams into my eyes, blinding me for a moment as I turn onto my street. Distant trees from the preserve are dark shadows against a backdrop of the pinks, blues, and yellows that paint the sky.

As my new home comes into view, my heart tumbles through a mix of memories and uncertainties. Dad and his Ford truck are already in the driveway with a small, rented trailer holding pieces of furniture I purchased.

It’s hard to admit that I could have easily filled this house with a lifetime’s worth of belongings. Lord knows Brian and I had just about everything under the sun with memories built into every item. Our dining table that was always covered in puzzle pieces; a worn-in couch from movie nights; the rug that hosted an endless number of dance parties; our bed, where we made love and talked of everything we wanted out of life.

I could fill every inch of this new house with the memories of us. Guilt gnaws at me every day because, the truth is, I don’t want them here. I can’t have them here. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I’m also not sure it feels right to leave them in a lifeless storage container either.

This unfamiliar life of mine is hard enough. Each day is a minefield of memories brought on by the smallest of things—the slightest scent of a cologne he wore or even the melody of a song we loved. Thoughts of what should have been consume me. Someday, I’ll be ready to face the past, but, until then, that life, our life , can remain safely tucked away in that unit across town.

Flipping open the visor mirror, I tuck a few loose golden strands behind my ears, forcing a practiced smile before taking a steadying breath and tiptoeing into my new life.

“Hiya, sweet pea!” Dad shouts as he unlatches the tie downs. “How was your last day?” Although he’s never been much of an outdoorsman, he sure does like to dress the part in his signature overalls and boots.

“It was great, Daddy.”

He wraps me in a quick hug.

“Where’s Mama?” I ask.

“Oh, she and that realtor lady, Sutton, are inside. House is most likely decorated by now.”

“You’re probably not wrong.” With a quick smile, I make my way across the yard and up the front walkway. Light coming from the open door marks my path as excited chatter fills the air. I spot the two women at my large kitchen island, and Duke greets me at the threshold.

“Oh, Greer!” Sutton squeals when she notices me. “Your house is looking amazing.”

“Thanks.” I give Mom a side hug. The house is bare and hardly finished, but I appreciate the comment all the same. When I decided to move out of my parent’s house, I’d enlisted Sutton Bradley to be my realtor. She was always part of the in crowd in high school, always put together and confident. Two things I’m not very good at. Although we came in and out of each other’s orbits, we were never really friends. I feel her now, tugging at that familiar bond between us, and each time I’m near her, I’m tempted to tug back.

“Sutton has some wonderful decorating ideas!” Mom says. “Maybe she could help you.”

“Oh, um.” Butterflies whoosh through my belly at Mom’s suggestion. I know what she’s trying to do. “Yeah, that could be fun.”

Sutton must sense my hesitation because she quickly replies, “My services are offered, if you ever want them. Hey, my brother, a few friends and I are going to the lake again tomorrow. You should join us.”

I stare at her, unsure when I started giving off the signal that I want to people .

“It could be fun, Greer.” Mom fusses with a display of fake plants and candles.

Sutton’s invitation hangs in the air, waiting for me to reach out and grab it. My heart hesitates, caught between longing to say yes to the lifeline of potential friendship she’s thrown in my direction and the fear of starting something that might not last. I know everyone wants me to say yes. Hell, I'd love to say yes, but every time something stops me.

“My brother lives next door.” Sutton says. “Maybe you’ve met him?” For now, it seems she’s has given me a free pass on her invitation.

Tingles spread along my palms. “I didn’t know Luke was your brother.” It’s like I can see my hopes of avoiding my new, very handsome and alluring neighbor fly out the open front door, as if Life has other plans for me.

Inhale. Exhale. In my head, I repeat the words Brian would always say when he could sense my anxiety growing.

“You’ll love him.” Her smile is radiant. “Anyway, I forgot to give you your mailbox key. Make sure you drop this form at the post office for your change of address. And”—she looks around—“I think that’s it. I’m really happy for you, Greer. This is going to be so good for you.”

“Thanks, Sutton.” I’m almost positive my bucket of what everyone thinks is good for me is officially overflowing. I love how much they care for me, but it’s overwhelming sometimes because I wish I knew what was good for me. Most of the time, I feel like I’m blindly moving in the direction I hope I’m supposed to be going.

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it,” Sutton says.

Coming around the island, I’m wrapped in a tight hug. At first, I stand there, awkward and wide-eyed before settling my arms around her waist.

“There you go,” Sutton whispers in my ear. Her warmth seeps into my heart, tugging at that little crack longing for friendship. She releases me and wraps my mom in a similarly tight hug before exiting on a cloud of energy.

Mom laughs. “Well, I quite like her. She’s going to be good for you.”

My eyebrows perk in confusion, but I’m too tired to overthink her statement now.

“C’mon, Mama, let’s go help Daddy.” My hand envelops hers as I drag her back out the door.

We unload the trailer rather quickly, and they offer to help me build some of my new furniture, but I tell them I want to do it on my own. After waving goodbye, I walk back inside. My ever-present nerves settle beneath my pale skin. Little by little, this house is beginning to feel different—less overwhelming, less empty.

I gather my tools and the instructions, then attempt to assemble some of the items I purchased while Duke sits nearby. I only make it halfway through the ridiculous instructions for a side table when I realize I should have taken my parents up on their offer to help. Giving up for the night, I toss down my Allen wrench and head to get ready for bed.

It’s quiet here at night, something I noticed when I first moved in. Silence bears down on me, a stark contrast to the usual noisy background that once accompanied my life. With Brian, our days were always filled with music or his idle chatter. With my parents, they were always talking or, you know, doing whatever else parents do when they don’t remember the walls are thin.

I pour a few fingers of whiskey, then slip out onto my back patio. The night is cool; a slight breeze rustles my hair, and my pink nightgown swishes around my legs. Grass tickles my feet as I gingerly step into the yard. Wind whispers through the trees, an owl hoots from somewhere nearby, and a soft glow of light comes from the window next door, pulling my attention.

“Hey, neighbor.”

Not expecting a deep voice to sneak up on me, I startle and almost spill my drink. A shriek works its way up my throat, but I cut it off before it has the chance to run free. I press my free hand to my heaving chest and look at the man who almost chopped my dog in two the other day.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

He’s standing in the middle of his yard, moonlight casting him in shadows. I don’t need a watch to know it’s nearing midnight.

“Hey,” I say lamely. I know what keeps me from sleep at night, but I wonder what’s kept him awake tonight.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers, as if reading my thoughts. The atmosphere warms as he approaches wearing nothing but a gray T-shirt and a soft pair of navy shorts that I definitely don’t notice riding dangerously low on his hips.

“Whiskey girl?” He asks, tipping his own tumbler in my direction.

“Of course.” I bite my lip, trying to control my grin.

“What brings you out so late?”

“Um . . .” I take a sip of the amber liquid.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

I gift him a smile. “It’s okay. Just trying to find a way to answer that’s not depressing.”

“Who cares as long as it’s honest?” He steps closer, his bare feet inches from my own.

“It’s harder at night,” I whisper, tilting my face back to his. “There’s nothing to distract my thoughts from straying to places I’d rather not revisit.”

He nods his head before taking the last sip of his drink. “How did it happen?”

Strangely, I know exactly what he’s asking. How did your husband die?

“Car accident.” My answer is quick, automatic. I’m surprised I even have to tell him because most people always seem to know my story already.

“That’s fucking brutal.” I appreciate his lack of condolences. Those don’t bring people back.

“It was,” I respond, my voice firmer.

“How long?”

“It’s been eight months.”

“Greer . . .” he says.

“I know,” I reassure him. “Death is an asshole.”

He clears his throat and nods his head. “I’ll cheers to that.” He must note my confused look because he quickly follows with, “My dad. Six years ago. Cancer.”

“Shit.” I release a breath.

“Yup. And”—he reaches toward me but drops his hand to his side—“I know it’s not the same as what you’re going through, but I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

“Thanks.” My muscles calm at his offer.

“You settling in okay?” He shifts side to side, lowering his empty glass.

“That’s the million-dollar question these days.” I laugh. “You want more?” I nod to his empty glass. He hands it over, and I slip inside to the safety of my kitchen. Looking over my shoulder, I see he’s moved closer to my patio with his back turned toward the preserve. This might be the first time the butterflies in my stomach don’t feel like an angry hurricane. Shaking away the start of a thought spiral, I pour a splash of dark amber liquid into each glass and head back outside.

“Thanks,” he says when I hand him his glass. “You were saying?”

“To be honest,”—I take a sip, curious as to why I feel the need to be honest with this man in the first place—“this isn’t the plan I had for my life, but I’m doing okay. I think.” Why is it so easy to confide in a stranger I don’t know a thing about?

“Life does tend to have a plan of its own even if we disagree with it. Those your parents over here earlier?”

I nod, and he continues. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah,” I smile at his rapid-fire questions. “Gemma is younger than me, but she lives in California, so I hardly see her. Speaking of siblings, a certain realtor of mine failed to mention my neighbor was her brother.”

He laughs then, and I’m mesmerized by the crinkles beside his eyes. “That sounds like my little sister. She loves holding onto information and then dropping it like a bomb into the middle of a conversation.”

“Little sister? So, you’re what—thirty-four?” I’m not entirely sure why I care.

“Just turned thirty-five in February.”

“Let me guess, Pisces?”

His eyes catch mine and refuse to let them go. “Yep. You?”

“Scorpio. Not that I know much about zodiacs and stuff. Lucy, she’s this woman I work with, well, used to work with before they transferred me; she loves astrology.”

“Transfer?” This man doesn’t miss anything.

After a deep breath, I explain that my school is transferring me to second grade at another elementary school because they need someone with more teaching experience to be the lead teacher. He nods along and interjects with other questions as they pop up. I surprise myself by answering each one.

“I’m not sure how you do it,” he says.

My forehead scrunches, not sure of his meaning.

“You’ve had a lot of huge life changes,” he says. “More than most people can handle.”

“I don’t really have a choice but to handle it, you know? Tell me more about you.” I hope he’ll let that particular strand of conversation go. We talk for a while longer, and he tells me more about his family and job. As the temperature drops a few degrees, our conversation fades off.

We stand together under a sky full of stars, both of us lost in thought but content to be with one another. It feels nice, being near Luke, someone who has an intimate experience with loss, someone who seems to know when to dig deeper but also doesn’t feel the need to fill every moment with constant chatter.

Luke clears his throat again. “Well, I’m going to head to bed. G’night, Greer.”

“Good night, Luke.” I watch him as he takes long, steady strides across the grass before disappearing into his house.

I toss back the rest of my drink, then take another deep breath of fresh air and go inside. Clicking the lights off one by one, the house takes on an eerie ambiance. I flip off my bedroom light and dash toward the bed, my feet slapping against the hardwood floors. I hop onto the mattress, banging my knee in the process.

“Ah, fuck.” I roll over, trying to rub away the pain.

Cool sheets press against my legs as I slip beneath the covers. I squish various pillows on either side of me, and then I pull the covers up to my chin. After a few readjustments, I am perfectly cocooned in the middle.

Unable to stop the sudden memory, I allow it to play through: Brian sleeping on the left and I’m on the right, always ending up plastered together, butt to butt, right in the middle of the bed. I hate that something as simple as a mattress is now a daily reminder of what I’ve lost. I hate that it’s no longer our bed. It’s just mine. I hate sleeping in the middle, but it’s less lonely here.

Darkness fills my vision as I watch the ceiling fan spin round and round, silence roaring in my ears. One by one, I attempt to quiet my thousands of thoughts. Ones of Luke and Brian, but mostly thoughts of me and my life, everything that was and everything that will be.

Eventually, I give up and close my eyes, knowing soon enough my mind will be anything but silent.