Chapter 25
Liv
The door clicked behind me, but I didn’t turn as it shut.
Silence hung over my apartment, louder than it ever had.
I missed the quiet of Hudson’s place, the calm, the peacefulness that it held.
This silence was stifling, constrictive, like it was pressing against my ears and invading my mind.
I removed my coat, walking to the table where the bellhop had placed the bag Hudson had packed.
Every step reminded me of a rubber band, stretching until it had no more give.
The urge to turn and run back to Montana was thrumming through me with the thought that I had left a part of myself there that I would never find by running back here.
Pressure built behind my eyes, but I shoved it back.
There had been no more tears since I’d made my decision, and there would be no more.
Resting my hands on the table, I tried to brush off the sensation that continued in my chest. A hollowed out one where something scraped and scraped, as if there was more to give.
I pushed from the table and went to my room to unpack.
I had left everything behind that had no place here: the jeans, the T-shirts, the socks.
All of it. Whether to avoid the reminders of Hudson or the reminders of how I had changed, I wasn’t certain.
It may have even been a subconscious decision to leave something of me there, a connection I could return to.
A ridiculous notion, considering the connection was already there, tethered to my pulse, to my very existence now.
Once I unpacked, I returned to the table, crossing my arms and studying the plain brown bag with its thick handles.
Fear nudged at me, telling me to walk away from it, that what was inside would hurt.
I wasn’t so sure anything could hurt worse than this.
I closed my eyes, thinking of Hudson’s touch on my skin, his lips on mine, his breath against my neck.
We’d spent our last days in each other’s arms, my upset stomach and the things he’d picked me up in town forgotten in the desperate need to soak in what we could.
My arms squeezed tighter around me as I fought against the memories.
This was for the best. I couldn’t afford to be soft.
I couldn’t be who he wanted me to be. I’d lost that girl too many years ago, and finding her again had opened wounds that rubbed painfully against my identity.
I hadn’t lied to him. I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I was a confused jumble of memories and thoughts that I couldn’t sort, not with him there.
Loosening my arms, I reached into the bag, pulling out pieces of what I’d left behind. Thoughtful gifts he’d bought to make me feel better, to take care of me. I set the candle aside, my hand shaking as it latched onto a pair of socks. Rabbits. Damn him and Sheila.
I clutched the socks to my chest, fighting the tug of tears I had locked away behind the wall I’d rebuilt. There was no place for tears here because men didn’t cry, so neither did I. The socks fell next to the candle, and I pulled out a few more items before the romance book came out.
A laugh slipped from me. Of all the genres to choose, he picked the one I never touched. Mysteries, thrillers, horror. Those were safe reads. Romance opened me to pain, and I refused to let it into my life anymore, so I never read romances. They were a reminder of what I’d lost.
I put the book aside, thinking I’d pass it on to Tori. She was the romantic, and I’d seen the books on the built-ins Gabe had installed for her at the house.
Below the book was a journal. Soft and pink.
“Pink?” I asked aloud, as if Hudson would offer me an explanation. “I hate pink.”
The journal hung in my hand as I remembered I hadn’t always hated pink, and he knew that. God, he knew me too well, even after all this time.
At the bottom of the bag was a hatbox. Reid’s cowboy hat.
He must have picked it up for me, and here I’d forgotten all about it.
I couldn’t stop my smile as I pulled the box out, but opening it had the smile scattering like a leaf caught in the wind.
I closed the box, the reminder of Hudson too stark.
My phone buzzed, my heart leaping but coming to a halt when I saw that it was only Gabe and not Hudson. What had I thought? That he would text me when I’d walked out on him again?
Gabe: You home?
I’d texted Gabe before we took off, letting him know I would be in the office the next day.
I needed today to get my head on straight.
Seeing him would only topple my control and send me running back to Montana.
He and Tori would drag everything out of me, and I wasn’t strong enough to fortify my walls yet.
I walked over to the bar and poured myself a glass of wine.
Yes. Terse and emotionless. I’ll go through the plans with you and Tori tomorrow. Have Sean schedule a meeting. My day should be open.
I looked down at my nails, seeing the chips and the two that had broken.
After ten, I added before he could finish typing. I’m getting my nails done in the morning.
Gabe: Do you want to talk about it?
No, I didn’t want to talk about it because I knew that would kill any chance I had of keeping myself together.
Liv: There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll see you in the morning.
I put my phone down, hearing his response but not ready to look at it.
Taking my wine to the table, I picked up the journal, rubbing my fingers over the smooth leather.
I set my wine down on the coffee table and sat, staring at the journal before I set it aside.
Thoughts swirled in my mind, memories and emotions battering me like a flock of wild birds, pecking for entry.
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my chest, wishing the void would disappear.
The journal was in my periphery, small yet somehow giant. Hudson’s way of getting me to reconcile my emotions and my past, the parts of myself that denied the love he had to offer. She is worth loving, so let me love you and stop fighting me.
I picked it up, pulling the matching pink pen from the side, and opened it. My chest heaved with a painful drag of air.
I love you, Olivia, but if you won’t let me bear the weight you carry, start with this. I’ll be the one to pick up the remaining pieces. I always will.
H
My fingers traced the writing, hearing his voice, feeling his presence, the steady fortress he’d been for me.
The refuge I’d sought until he was no longer there, and I’d resorted to building my own fortress.
But that wasn’t completely true. I’d never fully let him in, never shared my burdens before now, only seeking him for safety to hide from the pain.
Pain I’d kept from him, never wanting it to tinge what we had, to invade my refuge.
I flipped the page, the pen resting on the first line as a memory I’d never opened myself to came barreling at me, scattering the bandages on my heart, ones that had never dissolved once I’d laid them over the wound.
Bottles lay scattered across the bathroom floor, red wine soaking into their labels where it had leaked from the tipped wine glass.
My mother’s hand still held the stem as if in a final attempt to hold on, to fight the pull of her depression.
Gabe’s sobs came from the corner of the room, but I couldn’t rip my eyes from my mother.
There was a certain peace to her in death, the kind she’d never had in life, and I wondered if she had finally found it. If it was worth it.
Swallowing back the need to drop to my knees over her body, I bit back the scream that welled in my throat.
“Did you call 911?” I asked, hearing the wobble in my voice.
He didn’t answer, and I looked over at him.
What I saw nearly broke my restraint. Gabe was my constant at home.
My shield, the one who took the physical blows while I took the verbal ones.
But this had devastated him. Mama was the soft spot in our lives, the tender skin below the bruise, the one who soothed the bruise and gave us moments of normalcy…
at least she had until the last few years when those moments had been dimmer.
“Gabe.”
He lifted his head. Tears and snot ran down his face, and I suspected it was my turn to step up, to take the strike because he had taken too many.
“Did you call 911?”
Not that it would make a difference. There was no sign of life from her. She had taken her last breath long before Gabe found her.
He shook his head and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. I walked over to the phone and dialed, unable to take my eyes from my mother. There was a quiet beauty about her that I knew would stay with me. An image that might one day bring me comfort, but only after it finished haunting me.
“Pull yourself together. We’re Icindas. We don’t cry because only weak men cry.” The words came out bitter and curt, and in them, I heard my father.
I explained the situation to the operator when she answered, watching as Gabe wiped away his tears. He was only sixteen, lanky and too smart for his own good. He was too young to lose his mother.
I hung up and pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing back the sting of tears. I was too young to lose my mother. Too young to pretend this wasn’t ripping the arteries from my heart and leaving ragged edges of agony in their place.
By the time the ambulance came, Gabe had composed himself and become the poised example of the stalwart son our father would expect when he returned home. I’d called him, hearing the bite in his voice, the disbelief right before he disconnected on me.