Chapter Twenty-Three Grant
Chapter Twenty-Three
Grant
I fucking left.
As I drove away from the house—our house—my hands were numb, my heart sluggish, and that voice inside my head was nigh unto beating my skull to a pulp with the violence of my own thoughts.
Like an absolute knob, the worst kind of martyr, setting myself alight on the pyre with gleeful abandon, I’d packed a suitcase, and while she pretended—quite poorly, I might add—that she wasn’t paying attention, I kept my own racing thoughts locked down until I could safely let them out.
I had enough for a few days and that was it. Trousers, denims, a few shirts and ties. No vests. No suit jackets. No jumpers. My laptop, the bag from Grandmother, and a book. One picture of Mercy that I’d hidden in my nightstand and would despair over later in the safety of my hotel room.
Truth be told, Mercy didn’t put up much of a fight, but I suspected she was too stunned to do anything of the sort. And how could she fight me?
I was doing this for her, and had explained it as clearly as I could.
I was not leaving her. Our marriage. But I would not stifle her progress either.
Nor make her feel uncomfortable in our home because she had to navigate around the minefield of my own wretched feelings.
The ones that had burst out in a messy spill with the jerking of my hips.
The culmination of weeks of agony, of missing her to the point of pain even though she was always within reach.
The house disappeared in my rearview mirror, and the ache intensified, like I’d left something behind with her that gave a sharp yank, trying to bring me back to the place I longed to be.
I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and twisted it with a sudden pull toward the side of the road before slamming the car into park.
I closed my eyes and fought the nearly painful urge to turn around, stride into the house, and tell her I was wrong and we’d be fine and I could just love her enough to get us through this.
I’d love her enough to get us through anything.
Like I’d done countless times since the accident, I pulled out my phone, swiping on the screen until I reached my voicemail, then tapped on one of the messages I’d saved.
“Hastings, when I get home, you’re toast. Done.
I was in a meeting with Rae when that text came in, you absolute terror.
” She sighed heavily, dramatically, and I found myself smiling.
“I cannot wait until you’re at your next class, buddy.
Because turnabout is fair fucking play. That navy lace set you like so much?
Right in the middle of a board meeting. Don’t think I won’t play dirty.
” She paused, a smile in her voice when she spoke again.
“I am going to screw you senseless when I get home, husband. Also, please don’t forget to put the chicken in the Crock-Pot. ”
There were others.
“Hey. Thanks for letting me know your flight landed. I’ll be here late because Rae and I need to meet with some parents, but I didn’t want you to worry if it’s dark and I’m still not back yet.
Yes, I will drive slow, and no, I will not end up in a ditch, because the snow doesn’t scare me like it does you.
” She paused. “I missed you while you were gone.”
I listened to every single message. Sweeter ones. Mundane. The voicemail she unknowingly left when she was driving home from school and singing at the top of her lungs to her angry-girl music that she favored after a bad day.
Each and every one was a torment and a lifeline. And still I couldn’t decide whether my current course of action was the right one. It felt right, but it was a gamble, and in general, I was not one to play the odds.
Patience, my grandmother had told me. Have patience and don’t panic. Lovely advice, wasn’t it? All the platitudes in the world wouldn’t help me, because they didn’t know her. Not like I did.
Not like Connor had.
The throb of anguish intensified, missing not just her, but him too. He’d have known what to do, wouldn’t he? He’d have some glib, asshole advice like . . . It’s easy, just don’t fuck it up.
And he’d laugh. Something he did so easily—far more easily than I ever had.
Without realizing what I was doing, I pulled away from the curb and kept driving.
Not far, though, only a few minutes farther, as I turned into the cemetery closest to our house, the one where Connor was buried.
In the haze of her grief, Mercy had allowed me to pay for the burial and the casket, and I chose Forest View—for the tall, mature trees and the space and the beauty of it.
If my best friend was to be put six feet underground, it would be in a place that was beautiful. Serene. She’d had no argument then; even though I’d tried to speak to her at the funeral, she wanted nothing to do with me.
A reminder, I suppose, of what she’d lost.
What we’d both lost.
If I knew my wife—and I did—she’d leave the house shortly after me, finding her way to some piece of her past, where she’d try to gain clarity, try to escape the deafening silence in the house.
I’d almost done the same when she was in the hospital, in those horrible moments when they forced me to go home and shower and rest. But I’d slept instead.
On the couch, because being in that bed without her was agonizing.
But Mercy, she wouldn’t be able to sit still. She’d want to make sense of what was happening, tug on a thread from the past to try to help her decide her next move, should she make one.
The school. Connor’s apartment building, where she’d spent formative years regaining her equilibrium. The house where she’d lived before we married—small and red and filled with bookshelves that could hardly hold her collection.
She wouldn’t come here, though. It wasn’t my favorite place, either, but I’d managed it once or twice.
To her credit, Mercy had tried, the day we saw each other again.
But neither of us made it past the hood of her car, where we stayed, laid down our proverbial weapons, and took a tentative step toward a life we never could’ve planned.
I’d never forget the look on her face. “Do you think he likes it here?” she’d asked. “I can’t decide if he would. Or if he’s pissed I didn’t have him cremated and tossed across the fifty-yard line at the Big House just so he could say he’s part of the team.”
I’d laughed. Impossibly. Painfully. Because she was right. And the image of her breaking into the stadium to allow her big brother to be part of his favorite team’s games . . . oh, it fit. It fit everything about her.
There was no laughter here today. Nothing humorous to lighten the mood and ease the staggering tension I felt on each breath.
The grounds were hushed, my footsteps muffled as I walked past headstones and a stone angel that presided over the rows in her line of sight.
I stopped walking, staring out at the trees before dropping my gaze to the ground.
“I told myself I was doing all this to take care of her, you know. Give her a life she deserved. A safe place to land and someone who’d have her back.” I swallowed roughly. “I’m quite sure all I’ve managed to do is make things worse.”
The stone, carved with his name, two dates and an inconspicuous dash connecting them, the representation of his entire life, didn’t answer back. There were no flowers here. No knickknacks left behind. Maybe Mercy was right and we should have done something different. Something better.
“Would you forgive me for this mess? I’m not sure you would. Not right away, at least.”
I tucked my hands into my pockets and rocked on my heels.
“The last time I saw you, you showed up at my house with a case of beer and a pizza at ten a.m.” I exhaled a quiet laugh.
“We watched the Chelsea match. Another season and I could’ve made a proper fan out of you.
She came over too. Made fun of my house.
Called it a nightmarish shrine to my reflection because even Narcissus didn’t own as many mirrors.
” I smiled. “I can still see you sitting in that chair, smiling like a fool as she did.”
The sun broke through the clouds, warming the air, sinking into my skin. It was a mockery to how cold I felt inside.
“When she left, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said, and you noticed.
You always did. This isn’t a home, and don’t we all deserve one of those, you said.
” I screwed my eyes shut and breathed for a few long moments.
Inside, I was raw. Faced with this cold rock, the impersonal letters and numbers that didn’t make me feel any better, I felt the loss of him keenly.
More than I had in months. “I have one now, mate. God, it’s a good one. I have a home because of her.”
Slowly, I crouched down and brushed a decaying leaf from the corner of the headstone, a holdover from the winter. My vision blurred as I stared at his name. He was the only one I wanted to confide in. The only one I wanted to hold the weight of my feelings for her. Because he’d understand.
And I couldn’t.
I wanted to beg his forgiveness for allowing this person he loved to be hurt while she was in my care.
I wanted to sink to my knees and weep because even with that, even with the pain of the last few weeks, I knew I should regret every choice that led us here. But I didn’t. I’d never regret a single thing that led me to her.
“I fought loving her for so long,” I admitted in a tear-thick voice.
“I wish I hadn’t. It was all wasted time.
Years of it, if I’m being honest. Of looking at her across the room and hating how beautiful she was.
How smart. How loyal. How honest. I wonder if you knew sometimes,” I said, voice trailing off. “If you could see it in my eyes.”
The wind picked up, moving through the trees. A cardinal fluttered around a headstone in the row across from Connor’s. A less skeptical man might’ve been comforted, might’ve taken it as a sign. I was too hollow, scraped out by doing what I thought was right.
“I’d like to think that Mercy and I would have found our way to each other eventually, you know.
I’m sure you would’ve threatened to cut my balls off if I hurt her.
” It was so easy to imagine it. The pressure built in my chest as I tried to swallow a staggering wave of emotion.
I couldn’t. There was nowhere for it to go.
A tear spilled over onto my cheek, dripped off my jaw.
“I wish I loved her in a world where you existed, friend. That you could’ve seen how desperately she brought me to my knees. ”
I swiped a hand over my mouth and struggled to steady my breathing. When I closed my eyes, I saw her, pale-faced and lifeless in that bloody hospital bed. I’d spent days preparing myself to lose her that way. But it might be worse to watch her leave with my heart in her hands.
“I wish you could tell me what to do right now. Tell me that I’m not fucking this up to the point where I’ll have to say goodbye to her too.
” My chin dropped to my chest as I let out a shaky exhale.
“She’s afraid, and I can’t blame her. But I can’t make her trust me either.
It took months before. I see it in her eyes every time she looks at me, and I cannot force her to open up. ”
I wiped my damp cheeks and stared dully at the bright-green grass.
“I can’t lose her, Connor. I can’t.”
The stone didn’t answer back.