Chapter 24
Bryce
I smiled softly and ran my hand over the black three-ring binder. As had become my routine with the mail over the last six weeks, I made a cup of apple cinnamon tea and settled in to read the newest letter from Casey Joe.
In the beginning, about a week into his stay at the retreat, I’d bundled up and enjoyed the crisp fall weather by the fire pit as I read the newest sheets Casey had sent to add to the binder.
But the air felt a lot more like winter these days, so I’d taken to cuddling up on the couch with my tea while I read the new additions.
The first mail Casey had been allowed to send was the binder, and I loved I could revisit each and every note we’d shared while he’d been gone.
The binder had arrived first with only one sheet of lined paper held by the three rings, but Casey had written me nearly daily, so getting the mail and adding his letters to the binder had become the highlight of my day.
For now, the binder held the pages Casey had sent me and most of the letters I’d sent him. He’d kept a few of my letters and sent some back to me. It was a hodgepodge, but it was ours, and I looked forward to organizing it with Casey by my side once he was home.
With my socked feet stretched out on the couch, I sipped my apple cinnamon tea and re-read words I already knew by heart.
Our letters were silly and heartfelt.
Sometimes filled with funny stories, sometimes with words of longing and love.
Some pages were blunt and poignant, while others required reading between the lines.
Some pages were covered in colorful doodles.
One whole section of pages was devoted to little notes about songs we heard and wanted to share. I’d become a complete sap and cried over multiple songs we’d sent to each other.
More than anything, I wanted Casey home for good, but the handwritten correspondence we’d shared these last six weeks had eased my aching heart.
Working my ass off with Lance, Henry, Hudson, and Jack had played a big part in keeping me busy enough to avoid some of the hardest parts of Casey being gone.
The newest letter would likely be the last I’d receive because Casey was due home that evening. The guys and I had spent all day finalizing everything for his homecoming, and I now had too many hours to get through before he finally got home.
The pages blurred and time ceased to exist as I sat there reading. The words connected me to Casey. The time he’d been gone had been long and hard, but I’d witnessed his healing through the words he penned to me over the six weeks, and I was so damn proud of him.
When the room grew too dark to see the letters, I stood, stretched, and turned on a lamp. Lighting a candle first, I made a trip to the bathroom and then started more water for another cup of tea.
The apple cinnamon stuff Casey bought a while back was really good. He’d told me the retreat center purchased some at his request, and I loved knowing we were sipping the same tea even when we were apart.
With my mug refilled, I clicked through my phone and pulled up the playlist Casey and I had been building since he’d been gone.
The list was an eclectic mess, but most of the songs had a reason for being there.
Many of the titles spoke to us in some way, and sharing the songs back and forth was a way to stay connected and communicate how we felt about each other.
Some were on the list just because we liked them.
A few were there because Hudson called them old people songs, so we added them out of spite.
With a burning lump in my throat, I leafed through the pages.
Dear Bryce,
Listen to “Survive” by Lewis Capaldi. Fuck if those lyrics don’t speak to me. For real, give it a listen. Talk about a fucking punch to the gut, but also a damn wake up call.
Some days I really don’t feel like I’ll survive but knowing I’m coming home to you gives me the strength to go on.
Love,
Case
P.S. I just reread that and realized it screamed codependency. Not the vibe I was going for ;) Just know I love you and I can’t wait to see you.
Dear Case,
I’ve been crying over “Grow as We Go” by Ben Platt and “With You Til the End” by Tommee Profitt and Sam Tinnesz. It’s like they were written specifically for me to tell you how I feel. Like the universe knew we’d need the words to get us through the hard parts.
Not going to lie, I’m looking forward to standing by your side and growing with you. The easy days, the hard days, and every day in between.
Love you,
B.
Dear B.,
I used to feel like “Somebody Save Me” by Eminem and Jelly Roll was my theme song, but these days it’s more like “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi. Now or never really speaks to me. It’s true, I ain’t living forever, but that line about living while I’m alive? Damn, that one really hits.
And how about another oldie? “Love of a Lifetime” by Firehouse. I think it should be “our song”, whatcha think? Have you ever really listened to that song? It’s a gut wrencher for sure. Does claiming that one as our song make us old? Fuck ’em.
Do you know how damn much I love you?
Always yours,
CJ
Some of the letters were short and sweet.
Quick notes about songs. Me telling Casey about Brother Larry asking for the retreat address so he could visit and pray for one of his flock.
Casey replying he better not see that damn hypocritical preacher anywhere near the retreat center and how glad he was that no visitors were allowed.
Casey writing to let me know the food was pretty decent—not as good as what I cooked, but he wasn’t going to starve.
He questioned if I’d gotten word to the staff to let them know he wasn’t supposed to be eating snacks.
When I replied, I assured him that, even if I had tried to foil his plan to snack his way through the retreat, I had not been successful in that endeavor.
Casey doodling two cute little jockstraps on the paper with a heart in between them and our names. I’d been sure to let him know I’d ordered us both jockstraps, and I was excited for him to get home so we could wear them out for a night on the town.
Casey’s doodle response was an obscene peach and eggplant along with a short note saying if we put on jockstraps within five feet of each other, we wouldn’t be going out on the town, we’d be naked in bed in under ten seconds.
Casey asking about his house and if any correspondence from the insurance had come through.
I put that one off by telling him I’d check with the boys and hoped like hell he wouldn’t ask again.
Shitty? Maybe. But I wasn’t the greatest at keeping secrets, so the less I had to talk about it, the better.
Me hinting maybe it would be best to hold off on opening the gym and doing my best to convince him there were small bits and pieces that needed to be done before we could open. Casey threatening me to within an inch of my life if I delayed the opening of the gym.
Spoiler alert: the gym opened on a soft launch which Casey assumed was the big opening. He was unaware we had a big grand opening planned for once he got home. Would he be mad? Probably. But we all figured we could ask for forgiveness once he figured it out.
P.S. Armstrong Health & Fitness had opened three weeks ago, and it was already turning a profit.
The guys had helped as much as they could, and I was beyond ready to get Casey into his position.
The grand opening was as much a celebration of Casey being home and healthy as it was of my gym functioning successfully.
Several of Casey’s letters were clearly written after therapy sessions or on days when he was struggling more than usual.
Those were hard to read, but it felt like Casey had truly embraced the chance to work through his shit.
I figured the retreat staff letting clients write letters instead of having access to electronics or digital media was probably a great way to encourage them to get their feelings out while avoiding online distractions.
Dear Bryce,
Good thing you got me used to all this exercise and health shit.
There’s this trainer here who is ten times worse than you.
She’s one of those cheery people who makes you think she’ll be nice, but then she makes you cry when she forces you to run twenty miles or bench press a thousand pounds.
At least you mostly prepared me. And you don’t make me cry.
But she’s like you—she really actually likes exercise.
I try to be outside a lot. In the beginning, it was easier because the weather was amazing.
But now it’s colder, so I’d rather be inside by the fire with my hot tea.
Why does that make me sound like an eighty-year-old hermit?
I still go outside as much as possible. The sunshine and fresh air make me feel better.
I guess I always knew that, but now I’m living it.
At first, I thought all the group activity shit would be the worst. But it’s not.
The worst is when we have time to ourselves.
I figured that part would be great, but it sucks to be alone with my shit.
I mean, I do it because they make us and because I know it helps me get through shit, but I actually prefer the group shit.
Makes me realize I’m not the only one with shit going on.
Never would have thought it, but I’ve actually made some friends. Makes things not feel so lonely and hard. And I’ve figured out people here, and people everywhere, are all dealing with shit. Maybe different shit. Maybe dealing with it in different ways. But we’re all going through it.
For some reason, that helps.
How many times can I use the word shit in one letter? Maybe that’s the theme of this retreat for me. Shit.
Sorry this is so long and rambly, just had a lot to get out today.
Love you,
CJ
Dear Casey Joe,