Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
S avannah
I bolt out the door. A few steps into the parking lot, I double over, desperately needing fresh air.
After pulling a few deep breaths into my lungs, I stomp across the parking lot, shoulders slumped and mind still spinning. I’m no better than a child having a temper tantrum. What was Sam thinking?
Ian unleashed, saying his piece with a tone that was much harsher than the sexy, buttery edge of Boundless Hearts' earliest recordings. I used to crave listening to his voice and, tonight, he used it to cut me down. My pissy attitude made him hostile, and he made sure every word he spoke was so deliberate I wouldn’t mistake his feelings. I thought I had complete control, but his rage left me second-guessing myself. He left my emotions pricked and bloodied. Though he couldn’t see it, I mourned his pain.
Who was that woman in there?
My emotions are pricked and bloodied. I mourned his pain and, when he recalled how he wanted to die, I broke inside. I wanted to say more but had to get out of there before I gave myself away and revealed things I’d rather forget.
Disbelief shakes my head. I’m not that woman. I’m not a bitch who stabs and hurts. I’m more of a woman who cares and comforts. Now I feel like crap. I had the chance to say how sorry I am for his loss but didn’t. Now, my brain hurts. My head throbs. My stomach churns with a mix of anger and sorrow. What should be a night I’ll always remember will forever be tainted by Ian’s pained expression. The scene snuffed out my joy and will haunt me forever.
Exhausted and angry more with myself than anyone else, I yank open the car door and drop like a stone into the seat. My throat clamps down as I choke on my behavior. I only thought of myself, and I’m mortified.
Damn! Damn! Damn!
I hit the steering wheel with both fists in a futile attempt to release some frustration. Why did I let him get to me?
I take a few more breaths as I lay my head down. It’s a poor substitute for a pillow but I need a moment to find some calm in this chaos. Two encounters with Ian at different times in my life. Both have been a mess.
Sam said Ian lives in Rock Hills. If that’s so, when did that happen, and why here? I want to know. Until tonight when he blurted it out Sam’s never mentioned a word—and he knows everything about my life. He knows about the song and the contest and everything else.
Dad and Sam were brothers in arms and that made them as close as if they shared a bloodline. They talked on the phone once or twice a week. Sam stayed with us during the summer and even spent most holidays with us. He never married. Never had kids. He even teased how he liked having a kid with none of the hassle. He’s a second dad and whenever I need him, he’s there. He always was.
The screams started before Candace doubled back in the Uber. I was in a hurry to get in the house and talk to my mom about the concert and my phone fell out of my pocket. What I remember are fragments.
The police.
A photographer.
Body bags.
When something pricked my arm, I barely flinched. Everything went dark and when I opened my eyes hours later Sam was there, and he stayed because I needed him.
No one warns you about grief. How everything hurts, the pain as raw as flesh ripped from a bone. I found no relief in tears and my heart hurt so bad I prayed I’d drown in them. My eyes burned. I barely slept and, when I did, nightmares waited.
Time passed.
Why is it that death is the one thing we all know is coming but we’re never prepared?
Acceptance came and, instead of screaming, I began to breathe.
Sam did everything. As he shared my grief, he held my hand and dried my tears. He’s stood by me as the pain of losing my parents became bittersweet memories.
“Love does that,” I say the words out loud. Conviction pinches my conscience. I owe Sam an apology.
Drawing my back into the seat, I pull myself erect, start the engine, and lower the windows. As I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road, I push the button on the radio and note the slight of my hand as I lower the volume. It’s a pretty ride home. Hopefully, I’ll mellow out as I drive.
There’s something special about Rock Hills. I’m glad Sam convinced me to move here. The air is warm and the breeze rushing through plays with my hair. There’s a scent to Bristlecone pine that’s clean and fresh. The night’s dark denim canopy is dotted with stars that play peek-a-boo with drifting clouds. This beautiful expanse is Mother Nature’s medicine and has played an instrumental part in my healing.
A familiar tune steals my attention away. I huff a laugh at the irony of a Boundless Hearts love song. I’d roll my eyes but it’s sweet. Dash Barrows said he wrote it the night he met his wife.
The first time I saw you, girl, I knew my life had changed
My lonely heart beat faster, my life you rearranged
You’re the very reason I love to sleep at night
In my arms forever, our future burning bright
Ian’s words play through my head. He’s right; it was such a tragic end for such a beautiful soul. Before it was just a sad story but seeing the pain of his loss written all over his face, I’m empathetic. Death and demons. It’s a wonder he survived.
Thoughts of Ian return and, this time, instead of fighting, I go with them. He looks so damn good. He’s gained weight and put on muscle. His face has filled out where he used to look gaunt. There’s a scar I remember that runs through his eyebrow. The story goes that he put a metal bucket on his head when he was a kid to make other kids laugh. If the story is true, it only makes the mark more appealing. His hair is shorter and looks nothing like the bed-head mess he used to wear. It’s long enough that it brushes his shoulder and falls just below his strong and chiseled jaw. His eyes are most definitely brighter. They aren’t bloodshot and glazed like the last time I saw him. There’s a danger in those eyes; a delicious mix of amber with flecks of gold. Like the woods in autumn, the brown reminds me of a warm campfire with a mug of hot cider. And he smells so good. A crisp, clean, salt air scent wave drifted in the distance between us—or did it come from the black tee-shirt that showcased the muscle he’d gained since I last saw him? No doubt he’s been working out. Ian was sexy when he was skinny but, now that there’s so much more of him, he looks even sexier. I’ll never forget that night in the elevator. It stopped between floors, and we were stuck inside. He tasted like whiskey and called me his angel.
Stop.
Straddling my thoughts, I lock them down and focus on the present instead of the past. There’s someone at home waiting for me.