* * *
Me: I’m so sorry. I know the words hold no meaning, but like I said last night, I’m here—no need to respond.
* * *
I lean my head back against my pillow as I drop the phone to my lap.
Being silent but present is what I’ve always been good at. I’m at the end of a row in the church, waiting for the family to follow the pallbearers carrying the coffin. Everyone stands when the doors open. A weakness floats through me as I watch the coffin being carried to the pulpit.
I blink, and the casket is no longer black, but one covered with the American flag.
Relatives and close friends of Harold’s, including Pops, are replaced with Marines in their dress blues. Tears from swollen eyes become frozen, still faces.
Abby had no family aside from Parker and me.
Harold’s influence has filled up an entire church, and I’m grateful to see love rather than loneliness. However, what cannot change is the look on Melody’s face as she and Journey clutch Mrs. Quinn’s arms. Her eyes are glossy, and her cheeks look raw. Her hair is up in a neat ponytail, covered with a piece of black lace. I place my hand over my heart because it hurts for her—for all of them. Melody glances in my direction as she walks by, and I mouth the word, “hi,” knowing it’s all she can afford to hear or see on top of everything sprawled out before her.
She mouths “hi” back before her lips quiver and then returns her gaze toward the front of the church.
The service is kept short, each daughter saying a few words. The congregation is released to a receiving line where we offer condolences before moving on with our lives, as the Quinn family takes their last few moments inside the church, guarding the man that they loved more than anything.
I offer Mrs. Quinn and Journey a hug, and my apologies for their loss. As I reach Melody, I wrap my arms around her, and she clutches her hands against the back of my shirt, holding onto me as if she needs me to be here for her. Her body shudders against mine as tears trickle between our cheeks. “Take time. Sit and let it all sink in before you move forward. Let your tears run dry. The world will wait for you. It’s the only way.”
Melody nods her head against my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I release my arms from around her warm body and head toward the exit.
There was no one to hug at Abby’s funeral, no one except Parker. No one told me to let it all sink in and cry until the pain lessened, but it’s what I did. I cried for Parker. I cried for myself. I cried for Abby, and until the tears ran out, it was the only way to accept the new reality.
It took weeks. It took until the time I was approached to become Parker’s legal guardian per Abby’s will. They granted me full custody and offered the opportunity to legally adopt her. Nothing happened overnight, but the day a judge declared me to be Parker’s adopted father, was the first day of my new life—the day I had promised Abby I would do whatever it would take to show Parker the happiness she deserves. Parker and I made a pact that we would push forward together and experience all the fun life can offer, no matter how big or small. The more fun and happiness we could experience, the closer we’d feel to Abby because her personality was like the sun—warm and embracing. Parker and I needed to be that way too, as that would be the way we would keep Abby alive in our hearts, forever. Things are always easier said than done, and we have rainy days when it’s difficult to find the sunshine, but we’re in it together and we always try our best. Nobody can ask for more.
20
Two-and-a-half weeks later
My heart stops when Melody walks through the doors of The Barrel House today. I haven’t sent her texts or checked in on her because I would have been contradicting my own words to her. Taking the time to be alone or with her mom and Journey and having space to be with her thoughts and memories is the only way to heal. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure she’d want to step back into this shop since it’s surrounded by reminders of Harold, but she’s smiling. Her cheeks are pink; her hair is done; she’s wearing leggings, a long denim shirt, and knee-high brown boots. Melody is the definition of beautiful, and I’d say so out loud if she wasn’t approaching after weeks of mourning.
We hardly have time for small talk when I’m interrupted by a delivery of barrels pulling in downstairs. I’d much rather stand here and help Melody with what she might need, but she appears to be okay and it looks like she plans on sticking around as she removes her jacket and hangs up her purse. After I finish unloading the import of barrels and return to the storefront, I notice a difference in Melody’s mood. She’s frazzled and pacing around the store, rubbing her hands together slowly as if trying to loosen the tension. I could stop her or ask what’s wrong, but instead, I find myself watching the result of her erratic thoughts until she locates a pad of paper and a pen. She rushes it up to the front counter and begins jotting down some notes before spotting the stack of boxes ready to be shipped out today. Her eyes light up when she thinks there’s something she can be doing.
“Are those shipments ready to go, or do they need labeling?”
“They need labels,” Mr. Crawley answers from the opening between the shop and backroom. He likely saw me staring at Melody rather than answering her question a little faster.
Melody walks behind the front counter and searches through a few bins for what I assume to be labels. “Hmm,” she says, checking a couple more places. “Where can I find those?”
“You know what, I’ll show you where the supplies are. How about that?” I ask. I don’t want to step on her toes or make her feel like I know more about this place than she does, but I can’t sit here and watch her spin in circles trying to figure everything out either.
She wraps a few loose strands of hair behind her ears and glances toward the back room. “Okay, good idea.”
I lead her into the back, where we have bins for labels and other supplies needed for shipping. Her eyes dart from bin to bin and from wall to wall, seeming more lost than she was before. Maybe this is all too much too soon. “What were you doing before you moved home, for a job, I mean?”
She slides a bin out from the wall and peeks inside. “I was a script editor. Well, I am a script editor,” she says without looking up. “I’m just working at night right now while I get things sorted out with the shop. I like to keep busy anyway, so it’s totally fine.”
I haven’t heard Melody talk a mile a minute for ages, actually not since we were kids. She was the queen of speaking in circles when she was nervous or excited about something. I remember being able to listen to her talk for an hour straight, barely taking a breath between paragraphs. She made me feel inspired, and enamored by every single word that left her pretty lips. Opinionated about almost everything, some of her logic was pure craziness, but I loved listening to it anyway. Since she’s been home, though, there has been more silence than anything else. She isn’t the Melody I remember.
“Do you think it’s too soon to be picking up the pieces, Melody?” I don’t want to be offensive or intrusive, but I want her to know I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until she is ready to take on more. I’m sure it will be a while before I return to the warehouse with Pops, and he knows this, but at the same time, this is Melody’s family business, and I want to be as supportive as I can be without making it look like I’m trying to overshadow her.
“Will there ever be a good time?” She asks.
“I don’t know. You just seem so stressed out.”
“Sorry,” she spouts off like an automatic response and moves toward the back wall where we keep the labels.
Again, she slides the next set of bins out, one at a time, still in search of the shipping labels, but I notice her shoulders rise a few inches up toward her ears. A crack … that’s what I used to call the moment when I felt like I was doing okay and then suddenly, something would hit me. It felt like a crack, as the torment split my mind and body in different directions, leading up to a crescendo of pain. When I got to that point, I was afraid I’d
fall to pieces if I moved the wrong way or thought the wrong thought.
With a bit of hesitance, I take a few steps forward and gently place my hands on her shoulders. “If this is okay, I’ll stay by your side and help you through it.”
Beneath my grip, I feel the muscle tension release in her shoulders. “What are you going to get out of it? It’s not your family business. You’ve stepped away from yours to help me with mine. It’s not fair to you or your dad.” It pains me to think she’s concerned about wasting my time, so I explain that I’m happy to be here to help out any way I can because that’s what friends do for each other. As I take my hands off her shoulders and reach for her wrist, my arms brush lightly against hers. Her skin is like silk; soft and warm and I just want to feel her hand in mine. She turns around to face me, but her eyes don’t meet mine right away, giving me time to stare at her beauty; admire her dark lashes, and the shadows resting above her cheekbones. “You’re asking an awful lot of unnecessary questions for your first day running a bourbon shop.” My words do the trick in forcing her to look up at me with her mesmerizing green eyes. “I want to be here, okay? Your father left you the distillery, and it’s yours to do whatever you want with, but until you ask me to leave, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you,” she says through a whisper.
“You won’t learn this stuff overnight, so be easy on yourself. Notes are good, but you’ll figure it all out with time,” I offer, knowing I might have picked things up a little quicker because of my experience working at the warehouse with Pops, but she’s smart, she’ll get it all down quickly.
“I hope I’m making the right decision. I don’t want to be the reason this distillery fails either. I don’t know what’s right or wrong,” she says.
There is no way for me to respond to her statements with sound advice because I’m not inside her head and I don’t know what level of emotion she’s enduring. She’s putting her career on hold and it’s hard to tell what her motivation is. Is she trying to heal a wound or start a new life endeavor in memory of her dad? I can’t imagine switching gears in every facet of life as abruptly as she has this past month. Although, I guess I have a history of doing the same thing.
“If you follow your heart, it will be the right decision. That’s what I think.”
It doesn’t take much for tears to fall, or the heavy breaths that follow. I don’t know how she has been handling her grief, but it’s obvious that she hasn’t gotten to the other side of it.
“Every time I think my heart is hurting a little less, the pain comes back with a vengeance,” she cries softly.
I pull her into my chest, much like I did at the church during the funeral service, and I stroke the back of her head. Melody’s arms loop around my back, and she clenches her fist while holding onto me. There is no physical space between our bodies, and no emotional space between my thoughts of consoling her and devoting myself completely to a relationship that was cut short when we were younger.,Maybe all she needs is a hug—a friend, someone’s shoulder to lean on, and I will be that, but I want so much more.
Minutes pass as I search for the right words to say. “You know. The last time we were standing here, in this exact spot,” I begin, pulling back a few inches to study her gleaming eyes. I run the side of my finger beneath her lashes to dry the remaining tears, then sweep my thumb across her cheek.
“I know,” she replies, resting her face against my chest. “I wish I could turn back time.”
I would not turn back the time, not if someone paid me to. I’m here, and it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. I can feel it in my bones. I had to go through the last ten years to find my way back to this moment … this place, and I won’t leave again without a fight.
Melody lifts her gaze to meet mine, and the connection is electrifying. My heart pounds because there is only one thing I want to do—it’s what I need to do. I don’t want to cross a line, or move too fast with her heart so fragile, but maybe this is what she needs right now too. She would have already turned away if she wasn’t thinking the same thoughts that I am.
Slowly, I lean down and brush the side of my nose against hers, pausing before letting our lips touch in case she makes a last-minute decision to pull away. Her arms tighten around my back, letting me know it’s all right, and I do what I have wanted to do for so long; kissing her as if every day of the last ten years have been torturous and painful without her. She is all I need to feel happy again. As her lips melt into mine, the taste of mint from her tongue, and the scent of peach in her hair are intoxicating. I’ve never been a big believer in fate but this kiss is not just any kiss. It’s so much more. It’s the answer to every question I have ever had—why I haven’t been able to find happiness, why I always feel this hole in my heart, and why we both ended up here at this exact place at this exact time. She is the answer to everything.
With the thoughts in my head moving quicker than they should, I explore her lips with curiosity, tasting her top lip, then her bottom lip, and everything in between until I need air.
I inch away, wishing we could stay like this forever. Just as it did years ago, I feel like my entire life has changed in an instant. “That kiss has been bottled up inside of me and aging for quite a while,” I whisper.
Melody’s lips curl up, accenting her adorable dimples—it’s the genuine smile I remember, not the fake one she’s been forcing across her face to fool everyone into thinking she’s okay. This one’s the real deal and it makes my heart happy to know that I just put it there. “If a kiss can bring a smile to your face, I have no problem filling that role in your life until you learn how to smile on your own again.” I comb my fingers through her hair, running my knuckles down the side of her warm cheek.
She presses her teeth into her bottom lip as if trying to hide the smile I have waited so long to see. “I might be okay with this,” she says.
With all of the difficulties both of us have endured, it’s amazing, because for the first time in a very long time things feel better than they ever have. I don’t know where we go from here, but I hope she wants to go there with me. I would do just about anything for her to take the next step and move forward in a new direction, one where we are together and can allow our wounds to heal.
“I don’t know if the timing is still as bad as it was weeks ago, or even years ago, for that matter, but when and if you are ready, I would like to spend more time with you. I want you to catch me up on everything I’ve missed, every part of who you are now, what has changed, what hasn’t. I want to know if you still giggle when you’re embarrassed, and if you can still make up elaborate, fictional stories like the ones you used to entertain me with. I remember the words would spill from your mouth as if you were reading them out of a book, but it was your mind—always filled with beautiful thoughts. It was like you were daydreaming out loud, allowing me to be a part of those moments. Do you still like to write? Do you still like to read? What about Pop Rocks, are they still your favorite candy? I want to know, Mel. I want to know everything”
Melody presses her lips together as they quiver while still holding onto a smile, but her eyes fill with tears of joy and wonder. “Brett, you remember all of that?”
“I remember all of the different parts that make you, you. I wanted to be like you, be around you, just so I could be unconditionally happy and able to laugh at my own jokes. You’re one of a kind. It’s what makes you special. It’s what makes you the person I want to spend all my time with.”
“It’s all I wanted then, and it’s all I want now. I would have asked for more back then if you could have given it, but I knew our paths were destined to go in different directions and I didn’t want to stand in your way,” she says.
“I felt the same. That’s why I wrote those letters. I knew they were a long-shot, but I felt like it was the only way to keep our connection alive.” I know she never responded to my letters and over the years, I thought of every possible reason why she didn’t, but it doesn
’t matter any more.
Melody shakes her head with a look of confusion.“Wait, Brett. Stop. What letters are you talking about? I never got a letter from you.”
21
Nine-Ten Years Ago
I wonder how many people regret enlisting in the military on the first day of bootcamp? Not that I didn’t do my research ahead of time, but these first couple of weeks are a far cry from what I was expecting. I train, run more miles than I can count, do everything I can to get into shape and I still feel like the scrawniest son of a bitch here. The first thing to go was my hair—my secret pride and joy. Now, I look like everyone else, except for the scrawny part. There isn’t a minute during the day when we aren’t in a routine, pushing ourselves to unthinkable limits. My mind has given up a million times, but for some reason my body is still going. It’s been six weeks, and we’re allowed some free time to write home today. I’m writing two letters, one to Mom and Pops, and the other to Melody. The one to my parents is simple; I’m healthy, fine, and will survive the next seven weeks. Can’t wait to see you.
For Melody, it’s different because it’s not the first letter I’ve written to her, but it will be the first one I send. I’ve composed five total, but the other four are under my mattress because the time between when I kissed her, and now, has been too long. It has been three months to be exact. She probably forgot all about that night or tried to after I didn’t call her. I was training daily and knew I didn’t have much time left before I had to leave. It would have been harder if I had tried to stay in contact, but I can only imagine what she’s been thinking.
I’m going to send this letter so at least she’ll know I didn’t walk away like an asshole and forget about her.
Bourbon Nights (The Barrel House Series Book 3) Page 16