Chapter 13 – Greyson
I’ve never brought anyone here; I’ve never told anyone about this place. Obviously, my family knows it’s here; we’ve had picnics here before, but the only person who knows its significance is the woman standing beside me. I probably built this lighthouse thing up in my head way too much. She’s going to hate it.
“Wow.” It’s breathless, almost a whisper. If I hadn’t been so tuned into her at the moment, I would have missed it. The giant red and white lighthouse stands tall on a jetty. The rocks around the edge are big and jagged from the waves constantly crashing into them, but the land we’re on is sandy and dense. I sit and pat the ground next to me, indicating I want her here with me. She plops down, and I immediately wrap my arm around her shoulder and drag her into me. We sit in silence for a minute before I finally break it.
“I’ve been having a hard time the past few days,” I begin, my voice quiet, almost as if saying it out loud makes it more real. “So when my mom called yesterday asking me to bring you for lunch, I agreed. I’m sorry I acted without talking to you first. I got excited over the prospect of spending more time with you and just reacted.”
She angles her head up to look at me; there’s a softness, a level of understanding in her eyes that makes my heart squeeze. She brings me such an unexplainable level of peace; I’m about to say ‘screw it’ and jump in with both feet.
“I...” I blow out a breath, trying to articulate how I’ve been feeling the past few days. “Everything about this trip feels heavy. Like I’m willingly stepping back into th e darkest moments of my life.” My chest tightens, the fear sinking deeper into my bones. “Then, my mind starts to play dirty tricks on me. ‘Was it really as bad as you say it was, or are you being dramatic?’ ‘If you had been stronger in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this position’ and so on.” The string of questions swirls faster than I can get a hold of.
My chest feels hollow like someone took an ice cream scoop and took out my soul, like nothing is enough to fill the emptiness inside me. Even the few shots of tequila I had last night didn’t numb me enough to quiet the clanging cymbals in my head.
“I feel guilty,” the words tasted bitter on my tongue. “I have such a blessed life; I have most of what I’ve worked so hard for and dreamed of. I know I’m more fortunate than a lot of people, yet sometimes the days just feel dark and heavy. Like I’m constantly trying to outrun a tornado, but there’s a fifty-ton brick right in the middle of my chest, and I can't move fast enough.” I can’t keep the pain out of my voice. “The thought of having to go back to a place where I was at my lowest. It’s pulling me under. And it seems so trivial.” We agreed we’d heal together; this is me trying to keep my word. It’s not comfortable by any means. In fact, I’d rather swallow glass than show my wounds to this beautiful woman. But a deal’s a deal.
She turns so her legs are draped over mine; she takes my arm off her shoulder, intertwines our fingers, and places them in her lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything Kitten. Always.” Her eyes meet mine, the turbulent waters of my soul settling for a brief second.
“If your dad called your name as you were leav ing the house, would you start to run through everything you could have possibly done wrong in the last twenty-four hours?”
I’m caught off guard by her question; it makes me pause for a second and really think about why she’d ask. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I’d probably think he wanted to give me a hug, or I forgot something. Why?”
Her nails are dragging up and down the inside of my forearm, from wrist to elbow. Back and forth, the movement is as relaxing as it is stimulating. Having her hands on me is making my brain go haywire; half my brain is trying to pull me under, and the other half is trying to anchor myself to her.
“To me, my dad acknowledging my existence meant I either did something wrong, or I was due to be ‘put back in my place.’ To you, your dad acknowledging you is, as you put it, trivial. You wouldn’t automatically think the worst.” She pauses her movement for a second, then she rests her head against my collarbone. .
“What I’m saying is, just because something is trivial to someone else, doesn’t mean it is to you. Acknowledgment from your dad won’t bring you to your knees, but it did exactly that for me. You can’t discount the things you’re feeling to make someone else comfortable. To placate someone else or even to keep up the image of some hotshot pro athlete. Some of the most outwardly happy people are depressed under it all; mental health struggles don’t just affect us mere mortals, Grey. You aren’t exempt. But you also aren’t alone.” She continues her prior movement of rubbing my arm with her nails.
I have no adequate words at the moment, so we sit in comfortable silence. The waves hitting the rocks in the background are the perfect soundtrack to t he moment. I wish I knew how to get myself out of this. I wish I could snap my fingers and have it all be okay. I can’t. But she helps, like Epsom salt to sore muscles; she soothes me in a way no one ever has.
“Dozer, are you okay?” Her voice pulls me out of my fog; she pulls herself back to look at my face. I didn’t realize I started shaking. I wrap my arm back around her shoulder and pull her into me.
“I’ll get there; thank you for sitting with me. I’m sorry I sneak-attacked you this morning. I can be a bit trigger-happy.” Blessed is the sound of her laugh; I needed to record it and make it my ringtone.
“It’s okay, I like spending time with you.” It’s official, I’m a goner for this girl. We’re locked in this intense staring contest. My eyes fall to her lips; they part as she realizes where I’m looking. The brown specks in her eyes reflect the sun like a mirror; they’re almost hypnotic. I could stare at them for hours. She breaks the spell I’m in when she clears her throat, my eyes slowly moving back to hers. “Do you want to head back? Lunch is probably ready by now.”
Her voice is deeper than normal, husky even. Damn, I want to hear it like this all the time. I want to feel the weight of her words in that rich, sultry tone. The shift in the air is undeniable, and it snaps what little control I had left.
Without thinking, my hand snakes up her neck, and my fingers brush against the soft skin behind her ear. The tension acts as a livewire between the two of us. I close the gap, my lips finding hers in a slow and gentle kiss.
She’s still for a moment, and I start to think I’ve misread every sign I swore she gave me. But then she responds, her lips warm and soft pressed against mine. Her ha nd finds its way to the back of my neck, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss. It’s not the type of kiss that makes your heart race and your toes curl with need; it’s the kind of kiss that promises trust and safety.
It’s an “I’m here” kiss. An “I’m not going anywhere” kiss. An unspoken promise that we’re in this together. That we can heal together, no matter how heavy things get.
I pull away and put my forehead to hers, her silence making me uneasy. “Did I push too far?” I ask, vulnerable in a way I’m not used to.
“No.” She looks a little unsure as she starts to pick at the skin on the side of her thumb, but her eyes never leave mine. There's a hint of uncertainty in her voice, not of fear–more like a silent admission that her feelings mirror my own.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Dozer.” She confesses raw honesty, lacing her words. “But whatever it is, I want to do it with you.”
My chest warms with hope and relief all at once. I crash my lips against hers once again, more urgently this time, not out of desperation but desire. The desire to make this real.
Our kiss deepens, and the world around us fades to nothing but the sound of our breathing. In the way she responds to me, I can feel it: something permanent. I pull back just for a moment to get out the words I desperately need to say. “You’re mine, Hannah,” I whisper, the words feel as natural as breathing. “Whether you know it or not, you’re mine.”
I don’t need her to agree; the connection between the two of us is more than enough. This is real; I know, without a doubt, that one day, Hannah Lowery will be Hannah Wilder.
I hold her hand as we walk back to the house. I feel lighter after talking with Hannah; she gets me on a level most people don’t. Before we get to the side gate, she pulls at my hand, getting me to turn towards her, “Just checking in one more time before we go in and have to deal with people. Are you okay?” My therapist told me that one day, I’d find someone who wouldn’t see my fight with depression as a burden but as something they’d fight along with me. I’d never for a second believed him, but there’s a part of me here in this moment that does.
I wrap her in a hug and sway wildly back and forth to the point her feet aren’t on the ground anymore. “Greyson Wilder, put me down, you big handsome brute!” She’s epically failing to contain her laughter as she pretends to struggle in my arms.
I do, but not before asking, “You think I’m handsome?” There’s nothing on God’s green earth that can take the ridiculous smile off my face at this current moment in time.
Her eyes roll so far back in her head that I’m afraid they might get stuck. “I mean, have you seen yourself?”
I chuckle and put my hand on her lower back as I guide her towards the gate, “You sure know how to stroke a man’s ego, Kitten.” She throws me a wink over her shoulder before walking into the backyard.
I watch as she goes to help my mom set the table, not believing the breakthrough we just had. I bring my hand to my mouth as I remember just how good her soft lips felt on mine. She smiles as my mom hands her a glass dish full of pasta salad, and places it in the middle of the table. “So much for backing off,” Tatum growls from behind me.
I whirl around on him so fast I almost lose my balance. I start to call him out, but my dad walks up the second my mouth opens. His hands meet our shoulders as he gives them a small squeeze. Looking back and forth between the two of us, oblivious to the tension he walked into. “I’m happy you both are here. I raised some good men.” He pats our back once before he walks into the house to help my mom and Hannah. My eyes narrow at my younger brother before I turn and follow my dad inside.
I understand his concern. When Dr. Williams first told us he suspected I was depressed, Tatum laughed. Said I was too happy of a kid to be depressed, that I was just mad all the time. When the good doctor explained to my brother that my anger was a symptom of unchecked depression, his expression turned somber. I don’t think anyone would have ever suspected it. My parents are two of the happiest people I know; how could they have a son with a faulty brain?
Once Dr. Williams explained that it was nothing they did, nothing I did, he started teaching us ways to soften the metaphorical blow. When I’d start to get irritated, my parents would take me to get some sort of physical activity. When that didn’t work, and it went a step further, the second I’d lash out at someone, my mom would take me to a yoga class, which helped me quiet my mind and focus on my body as a whole. Sometimes, she’d take me to a beach or park and let me ground myself with the elements. Touching the sand or grass, smelling the ocean or the flowers. See the birds in the sky, that kind of thing.
I didn’t actually have my first debilitating slip until my senior year of high school. And it, of course, had to do with a girl. My prom date, to be exact. She had been my crush for a little over a year; I didn’t have the game I do now. I was awkward, scared of saying the wrong thing. I had a tendency to put my foot in my mouth at the worst time. I asked Tate to help me as he’s a closet romantic. I know, it's hard to imagine. Long story short, she said yes.
I was over the freakin’ moon; we did the thing, dressed up, corsages, pictures, the limo. She danced with me for exactly one song, then disappeared. I looked for her for over an hour. When I finally found her, she was on her knees in a supply closet with her new boyfriend. The one who asked her to be his girlfriend at prom, the prom she had come to with me.
It wasn’t so much her that sent me spiraling, but that she didn’t respect me as a person, that I didn’t really matter. I was just someone to use to get to where she wanted to go. Which was the nice house to take pictures at, the limo, the cool group of friends. It was the first time in my life that I felt worthless. That I looked at myself and questioned my purpose, or if I even had one. That opened the gates, and the horses of depression were off to the races.
The self-loathing, the numbness. The non-existent desire to do anything. It was like I was caught in the cycle of Groundhog Day, with no clear exit. My brother latched on to the fact that two of my biggest episodes were spurred on by the actions of women. But what he doesn’t understand is it isn’t fully their fault. They triggered something in me, and I was helpless to stop it. Kara had more to do with it than Savan nah did. But Hannah? She helps me cope; she sees me and doesn’t run. She steps in when I need a lifeline. Even if she doesn’t realize she’s doing that for me. I’ve never had that outside of my family before; I just wish he’d see that.
––––––––
“Foods ready!” Mom shouts from behind the kitchen island as she and Hannah pour water into glasses. I pull out a chair for Hannah, pushing it back in once she’s sitting down. She smiles up at me, and I swear my heart skips several beats.
It doesn’t take long for my dad to break the silence. In typical William Wilder fashion, he decides to dig. “Do your parents live here, Hannah?” She had just taken a bite of green beans and coughed around the fork. “Oops, sorry, that was a poorly timed question.” She gives him a thumbs up as she chews; when she swallows, my eyes are drawn to her slender neck; who knew that was such an attractive part of a woman? My hands itch to have them on her again.
“No, they don’t; my mom and little brother are still in Alabama.” I don’t miss the fact that she completely left her dad out of the equation.
“Are you financially stable?” Mom asks as she reaches for her margarita.
“MOM!” My face heats a s I realize she’s going to turn this into twenty questions. She’s been more closed off than the usual welcoming, overly bubbly version of herself. And the comment plus the one about “the last one.” What was she thinking?
Hannah takes it in stride, wiping her hands on her napkin before meeting my mom’s gaze. “I am, Mrs. Wilder. I’ve been on my own for eight years. I worked my way through college and saved what I could. I now have a wonderful job, complete with health insurance and PTO. I’ve also made some smart investments; I don’t need anyone to support me. But I’m not sure why that matters here.”
“It matters because if you’re going to dat—” And that's enough of that! Before she can finish her sentence I lob a question at the table. A one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn sounds like the best course of action at the moment.
“Are you guys coming to my games in Washington?”