Chapter 23 #2
She reaches for my hand under the blankets and threads her fingers through mine. The move is a familiar one. One that brings comfort. “You can tell me. You don’t have to, but… I’m here.”
I swallow hard. I haven’t told anyone. No one other than Tanner knows my past. Even then, he doesn’t know all of it.
It’s been something I carried all my life, never wanting anyone to know exactly how low of a man I am.
But then her hand moves, face cupping my cheek.
Her thumb strums my skin, keeping me grounded.
“My little brother… I was supposed to be watching him.”
I pause, trying to work out what to say. How to say it. Wondering if she’ll look at me the same way. Wondering if she’ll want me after I tell her. But after what we just did, I need to.
“I don’t talk about this.” My voice is rough now. The room is silent. She’s silent. You could hear a pin drop. But she waits, like she knows I need to gather my thoughts. Gather my courage.
“He was ten,” I rush out, and I feel her. Her hand still on my cheek, her belly pushing against mine. I can make out her glassy eyes as they look right into mine.
“What was his name?” Her voice is a mere whisper.
“Tommy.” I almost choke on his name; I can barely say it. I haven’t said his name in decades. The guilt. The remorse. The pain, it’s always been too much. But not tonight. Tonight, I can do it. For her.
“What was he like?” she asks softly.
I feel myself remembering. Remembering the good bits, not the bad.
“He was… smart. Loved to read. He was quiet, you know. Like a little introverted, maybe…” I frown, trying to remember. It’s been decades, but I can still visualize his face. I have a photo. One. But I haven’t looked at it in years.
“How old were you?” I look at her, my nerves easing slightly with her complete attention locked on me.
“Twelve. I was running errands. Mom sent me out to get milk. I was on my way home but got caught with a flat tire on my bike so I was late…” Her hand moves, her fingers featherlight as they trace small patterns across my jaw as I clench it. Her breath is warm against my chest, tethering me to her.
“I told him I’d be home before Dad got home. I wasn’t.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Dad always got home drunk. That day was no different…”
I pause, my memories swirling. I can see our house. I can hear the yelling. The familiar feeling of anxiety and unease that ran through my body when I pulled up on my bike and heard things crashing and Mom screaming for help.
“I heard it as soon as I rode up the drive. Dad yelling… Things inside smashing…”
Her fingers strum in a soft pattern, repeating up and down and around, keeping me grounded. Keeping me tethered to her.
“I ran up the porch steps and heard Tommy.” My breath gets caught as the image of my younger brother pops into my mind.
“He was there. He should’ve been hiding.
I used to make sure he hid under his bed.
Covered his ears and didn’t come out until I got to him.
But I wasn’t there to tell him to hide… He was trying to help Mom…
That was my job. He should’ve hidden. I should’ve been there…
” My muscles feel tight as the visual of Mom with a bloody lip fills my head, her pleading eyes landing on me when I walked through the door.
Still a kid myself, but in that situation, her only hope.
I push through and continue. “I walked in as Dad took a swing at Mom. She hit the floor hard…” I swallow, still hearing the thud of her head hitting the countertop as she went down, the light leaving her eyes instantly.
“Tommy ran toward him, pushed him.” I huff, seeing this small kid trying to push a grown man who’s filled with anger, alcohol, and a lifetime of demons.
“Dad swung around, not looking, not paying attention. Tommy took the brunt of his backhand. I just…” I need to pull in a long breath.
“I just stood there.” I frown, still in disbelief at my own actions.
“I should’ve run in, I should’ve screamed, I should’ve grabbed a weapon and fought… I should’ve…”
“You were twelve…” Her voice is what stops me. The pain I hear in it. My eyes meet hers in the dim moonlight, seeing them glassy. This beautiful woman, whom I just made sweet love to, and now I’m bringing her down.
I clear my throat, pulling myself out of the memories. “They both… That night… they didn’t make it.” Jaw clenched, I blink hard.
She presses her forehead to mine. “You were a kid.”
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped for years. “Doesn’t change it.”
“Is that what your nightmares are about? That night?”
I nod. Not trusting my voice.
“I have something…” She moves, turning to her small bedside table and opening the drawer. I hear her rustling before she comes back to me. “Here.”
She hands something to me. “What is it?”
“It’s my grandma’s little Bible. The one she gave me when I was a girl. Put it under your pillow, Griff.”
I feel like my chest rips wide open. I stare at the book, moving my fingers across the cover, the red color bright against my skin.
“I can’t…”
“You can. It helped me. Maybe it will help you too?” Her voice is full of tender care that a man like me doesn’t deserve.
“I’m beyond help.”
She gives me a small smile, shaking her head. “No, you’re not. It’s just, some things are harder to get through than others.”
I pause, swallowing roughly. “I’ve been trying to outrun that night ever since.”
“So maybe it’s time to stop running?”
“I’m not sure I can… but with you, I sure want to try,” I tell her honestly as I pull her tight against my chest, gripping the book in my hand with a silent promise to put it under my pillow.
For her. For me. For us. She remains quiet, leaving me with my thoughts.
Not offering to fix it. Doesn’t offer platitudes.
Just holds me like I’m still worth holding.
And for the first time in a long time, I let her.