Chapter 57 Warren
FIFTY-SEVEN
WARREN
Fuzzy at first, voices filter in through the fog and confusion until the events from today creep back in.
Waking up to my favorite smile.
Pushing through my shift.
The explosion.
I crack an eye open, hoping to find myself in the plush comfort of Harriet’s bed, and instead, I’m met with sterile white walls, blinding overhead lights, and an empty hospital room.
My head pounds and ribs scream in protest as I rise to sit, dragging the oxygen tube from my face.
Everything in between the storage unit exploding and now is blank.
How is Riley? Does Harriet know I’m here?
Questions attack me from all angles, forcing me out of the lumpy bed in search of answers.
Once my bare feet hit the cold tiled floor, the faint voices become clearer.
I’ve never actually seen his house. Isn’t that ridiculous?
At what point do I accept he doesn’t want to share that part of his life with me?
He blames himself for Alison’s death.
Horror strikes me through the heart like an arrow, riddling me with guilt.
She knows. She knows my darkest secret, and she didn’t hear it from me.
My patient, empathetic girl has done nothing to deserve the doubt trickling into her voice. I forced her into this position, asking for her patience and understanding and giving her nothing in return.
The guilt intensifies, turning to poison in my veins. I’ve trapped her. Despite the hopeless need to share everything with her, cowardice won. She deserves more than a man shrouded in a shadowed past he’s too afraid to speak of, let alone remember.
History threatens to repeat itself.
Alison grew tired of me, and eventually, so will Harriet.
I sway on my feet, stumbling toward the pile of tattered gear in the corner.
I have to get out of here. Disappear. Clear my head.
For the last two-thousand, nine-hundred, and twenty days, I’ve lived in regret with how my actions led to Alison getting in her car that night. She preferred to face a category four storm than be under the same roof as me.
I refuse to let Harriet meet the same fate, all because I’m too cowardly to face the truth.
The promise I made in the diner while forcing down a bowl of cereal just so she didn’t feel silly is one I’m not about to break.
Of all the days in the year, today is the last I expect an epiphany to strike.
But isn’t love full of surprises? What started as a kernel slowly grew every day, blooming into something beautiful and cherishable.
Maybe I didn’t want to accept it at first, but that same beauty drove me forward and gave me a taste of a second chance I never thought possible.
Love is powerful, strong enough to reincarnate souls once lost.
Harriet is the light leading me from the murky depths of my past.
The journey’s been long, but the end is in sight. It’s filled with morning smiles, melodious laughter, and heartfelt whispers. It gives promise to a future filled with happiness.
My last steps lead me out of the hospital, despite the arguments from the doctors and nurses.
Eight years, it’s taken, but I eventually find myself at the place I promised never to visit, not having felt worthy to be here. It’s quiet, eerie. Dewdrops soak the hospital scrubs they gave me as I lower to the grass, wincing at my battered and bruised body.
The gravestone is clean, well-cared for. I replace the wilted roses with a fresh bouquet then press my shaky hands to my thighs.
A gust of wind blows through the cemetery, raising the hairs on my bare arms.
I look up, reading the carved letters in the polished stone.
Alison O’Connor. Beloved daughter, sister, wife, and mother.
The final word punches through my sternum. Her family, while we haven’t spoken since the funeral, still live in the area. I know my parents visit occasionally, and, while things were difficult between us, she was my wife.
I bow my head.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come here.
” I reach out to touch the granite headstone but think better of it, my hand hovering in the air.
“Perhaps you don’t want me here, which I understand.
” My voice cracks, splitting like the organ in my chest did eight years ago. “I’m so sorry for failing you.”
More words sit below Alison’s epitaph, words I won’t—can’t allow myself to read.
Not yet.