Skylar
I zip up my sweatshirt as the night air wraps around me, chilling me to the bone. The sky above is pitch black and the woods are obscured in darkness, but I know the path I’m heading down by heart.
The funeral had already ended by the time I landed, but Valerie invited half the town back to the house following the service. When I arrived, everyone was gathered in the living room telling stories and reminiscing about Archie.
Everyone but Memphis.
According to Valerie, he didn’t say a word during the funeral. He just sat there…catatonic.
Until they lowered his casket into the ground, and he ran off.
My footsteps slow, but my heart rate accelerates when I find Memphis sitting in the open doorway of my treehome.
“I had a feeling you’d be here.”
Staring off into the distance, he brings a large mason jar to his lips and swallows.
Oh, boy.
Not only have I never seen Memphis drink before, it looks like he’s been going to town.
Eyeing the jar, I sit beside him. “Is that…moonshine?”
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he holds it out to me. “Want some?”
Curious, I take a sip.
Dear God.
I cough as the liquid burns a path down my windpipe, lighting my chest on fire.
“Jesus,” I sputter. “Where did you get this?”
I’ve never wondered what rubbing alcohol mixed with gasoline would taste like, but it’s safe to say I know now.
Anguish fills those brown eyes. “It’s Archie’s.” Prying the jar out of my hand, he takes another swig. “He said he was saving it for the night his boys won their first Grammy.”
I force a breath past the pain in my ribs. “I’m so sorry, Memphis.”
That infamous mask of his returns and he shuts down…withdrawing into himself.
The pain in my ribcage grows, binding around my heart and pulling tight.
If it hurts me this much, I can’t even imagine how much it’s hurting him.
I want to press him to talk and let it all out, but this is his grieving process.
I’m just here to do and be whatever he needs while he works through it.
A cool breeze rustles through the trees and owls hoot in the distance as the minutes stretch between us.
“I never called him dad.” His voice is a wounded rasp, abrading my insides. “Never told him I loved him.” Broad shoulders sink and he closes his eyes. “Now I’ll never have the chance.”
His confession—and his pain—cuts through me like a dull knife.
“He didn’t need the words.” Wanting to give him comfort, I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. “He knew.”
“I should have told him.” Sheer agony etches his expression. “He deserved to hear it.”
While I understand where he’s coming from, something as trivial as a title wasn’t important to a man like Archie.
He was one of a kind. A pure and selfless soul.
However, I don’t want to disregard Memphis’s feelings.
“It sucks that you never got the opportunity to tell him.”
“I had the opportunity…I just never took it.”
Tears prickle my eyes as I stare up at the stars. “Well, he can hear you now.”
There’s no doubt in my mind Archie’s watching over him.
Just like he always did.
Memphis tilts his head, studying me like I’m a strange new species he’s stumbled upon. “You aren’t religious.”
He’s right.
But it doesn’t mean I don’t believe in a higher power.
“Religion is for people who fear hell.” I give him a pointed look. “Spirituality is for people who have been there.”
And Lord knows I’ve not only been dragged through the pits of hell kicking and screaming, I’ve come face to face with the devil himself.
And survived.
A groove in his forehead deepens. “That’s…profound.”
“David Bowie said it.” Recalling the comment he made the other day, I shoot him a feisty smirk. “You probably shouldn’t take my word for it, though. Since I don’t know shit about music.”
Those dark expressive eyes scan every inch of my face like I’m a puzzle he’s not only figured out…but has taken apart and put back together so many times he can do it with his eyes closed.
Yet, he still seems utterly fascinated by it.
“I stand corrected.” The faintest hint of a dimple peeks out of his cheek. “You know a little shit about music.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Asshole.”
His grin grows…until the pain creeps in again and his expression plummets. “It fucking hurts.” He expels an unsteady breath. “Way more than I thought it would.”
Memphis has lost a parent before, but Archie’s death comes with a different kind of pain.
Because this time he lost someone who loved him the way a parent should and in turn helped heal some of the damage his mother caused.
Embarrassment tinges his expression, and he averts his gaze, as though he’s regretting being so candid with me.
But he doesn’t have to be ashamed. I want his honesty.
His vulnerability.
I clutch his hand tighter, letting him know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
He’s not alone.
“The reason it hurts so much is because you loved him so much.”
A shudder runs through him, and his face contorts with sorrow. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” He rakes the fingers of his free hand through his hair, like he’s trying to tear it from the root. “It’s not fucking fair.”
No, it’s not.
One of the greatest injustices of the universe is how the good always die way before their time…while the bad seem to haunt us forever.
However, I know Archie would want us to focus on the happy times we shared and smile whenever we think about him.
“The day after my mom died, Valerie sent Archie over with a peach cobbler. The very first cobbler I ever had in fact.”
I wait for him to look at me before I continue.
“When I answered the door, he placed the dish in my hands and ran off. However, when I looked down, I noticed there was a giant piece missing. Being an inquisitive little girl with a sweet tooth, I yelled, ‘Hey, what happened to the pie?’” I give my head a shake. “He told me the cobbler fairy took it.”
Memphis snorts. “Sounds about right.”
“I soon figured out he was the cobbler fairy when he pulled two forks out of his pocket.” I can’t help but grin. “We sat on the porch steps and ate the rest of it together…until there was only one bite left and we fought over who got to have it.”
Just like we always did.
“The reason I love cobbler so much isn’t just because it’s the best thing in the world. It’s because that moment with Archie was the first time I didn’t feel the crushing weight of losing my mom. It gave me hope that things wouldn’t always be so bad.”
It’s also the last good memory I have before my monster emerged.
I wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
“Ugh, I’m the worst. I shared that with you so you’d smile, but it made me a blubbering mess instead.
” Attempting to get a handle on my emotions, I clear my throat several times.
“I’m sorry for being so sensitive and dramatic.
It’s just…I really cherished that afternoon. And Archie.”
My heart accelerates and brakes in tandem when the pad of his thumb strokes my knuckle. The featherlight touch is all it takes to transform the boulder of longing I’ve been repressing into a mountain.
“He adored you, too.” A bittersweet glint enters his stare as he looks around. “He’s actually the reason I was able to build your treehome.”
That’s news to me. “What do you mean?”
“He got me all the supplies. Wood. Tools. Screws. Gave me pointers and drew up a blueprint as a guide. Even helped me build the roof.”
A bolt of anger twists my stomach. Josh told me he gave Memphis every cent of his weekly allowance for an entire year to cover the cost of supplies and labor.
I should have known better. Of course, it was all Memphis.
And Archie.
My chest expands so much it hurts to breathe. “He was a good man.”
“Yeah, he was.” Bringing the moonshine to his mouth, he takes a big swig. “It’s a shame I’ll never get to thank him for showing me how to be one.”
I flinch when he throws the jar and it hits a tree, shattering to pieces.
A guttural sound escapes him, and he buries his face in his hands. “Fuck!”
My chest twists and the mountain of longing inside me morphs to a river of sadness.
Seeing him so broken is killing me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I climb on his lap, wrap my legs around his waist, and throw my arms around him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shattering like that mason jar. “I’m so sorry.”
I’d do anything to take his pain away. Anything.
Dark tortured eyes lock with mine and he pulls back ever so slightly, skimming my cheeks with his rough hands.
My heart pounds out a chaotic rhythm as I lean my forehead against his, inhaling his frayed exhale. “I’m so—”
His lips crash against mine, stealing all the air from my lungs.
Electricity buzzes through me, making me feel more alive than I have in years.
Cupping the back of my neck, he coaxes my mouth open.
The first brush of his tongue lights me on fire.
The second completely engulfs me.
And the third is quicksand…pulling me under.
He tastes like hunger and gluttony.
Like a gift and a curse.
Like home.
A deep groan rips from his throat and he tugs the zipper of my sweatshirt down.
Skilled hands slide down my back, compressing my body to his.
But it’s not enough. I need more. I need…
I moan into his mouth when he grabs my ass, grinding the large bulge forming in his jeans against me, tormenting us both.
A rush of heat floods my body, settling between my thighs when one of his hands comes around and he squeezes my breast.
I rock against him as the friction between us builds and builds…
Before coming to a screeching halt.
“I can’t do this with you.”
Before my brain can process what’s happening—or not happening—he maneuvers me off his lap and stands.
“Why?”
Ignoring me, he stalks off.
“You don’t want me,” I whisper to his retreating back, feeling so stupid I could cry.
Suddenly, he stops walking.
I brace myself for the blow to my ego he’s about to deliver.
But what he says next does the complete opposite.
“You have no idea how much I want you.”
And then he’s gone.
A stabbing pain pierces my heart as I recall the last time he uttered those very same words.
Right before he rejected me.
And I chose someone else.