“Bullshit,” Griffin huffs. “What he’s doing, he’s doing to himself. That does not fall on you one bit.” He turns and gives me a stern look. “You did what you had to do for yourself. Don’t for once doubt that as being a good thing. His dumbass is the one ruining his life now, not you.”
I break away from his gaze, looking back out to the ocean. My mind struggles to believe him, knowing that Ryder wouldn’t be destroying himself if it weren’t for my actions. I should have told him when I was leaving and why I was doing it. I didn’t realize it at the time just how selfish I was truly being, and now, here I was, back to dig up old shit.
“I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” I say after a few moments of silence pass. I push off of the railing, turning my back to the ocean. “It’s been a long day, and I should probably try and get some rest.” I start for the door.
“I hear ya on that one,” Griffin agrees, following suit. He walks over to his door, pulling it open. “Try not to stress about it too much. I got your back and I’m always here to listen,” he says earnestly.
I pull open my door as well. “Thank you, Griffin. I appreciate everything you’re doing for us, so much.”
He nods in response. “Goodnight, Lydia,” he says, stepping into his room and closing the door. I go inside, quietly closing the door behind me. Keeping my footsteps light, I walk across the cool wooden floors and climb onto the cloud-like bed. Trent finds me in his sleep as I lie down. He scoots close to me, burying his head against my chest. I pull him close to me and wrap the covers around us. I hold my little boy in my arms—my little boy with sand colored hair and eyes the color of the ocean.
The only piece of HIM I have left that holds my broken heart together.
chapter three
LYDIA
THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE UP to the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee. I could definitely get used to this.
I sit up on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms above me. Surprisingly, I had a very restful, dreamless sleep for the first time in a long time. I turn around to wake Trent up, only to find an empty bed. My stomach drops in an instant, and I feel the panic start to consume my body. I rush out into the hallway, getting ready to yell for Griffin, when I hear the giggling coming from downstairs. Relief washes over me, and the breath I’ve been holding in comes out in a rush. Thank Jesus.
Ever since my kidnapping, I’ve had severe anxiety; deep rooted fears, all associated with PTSD. Even with therapy, I still struggle to not have those thoughts and feelings of impending doom or that something bad will happen to someone around me. It’s the worst with Trent, and I’m constantly worrying about his safety. I didn’t tell Griffin last night, but Trent sleeps with me every night. I can’t have him in a separate room, away from me, while we’re both rendered defenseless by sleep.
I made a promise to myself and to my unborn child as soon as I found out I was pregnant that I would do everything in my power to protect them and to ensure that nothing bad ever happened to this innocent child.
My phone chimes from the nightstand back in the bedroom. I return to the room to fetch it and find a text from Pierce, asking if I was still coming by today. I quick text him back, letting him know that I needed to check in with my mom first and then I would be by.
After Cara and I moved to Georgia, my parents sold the house and my mom then moved to Westbrook, the next town over, to live with her boyfriend Daryl. I had promised her that once I was back in town, Trent and I would come visit her.
I never heard from my dad again after the incident.
“Lydia!” Griffin calls from downstairs. “I hear you moving around up there. Get your as–…butt down here!”
I smile when he catches and corrects himself. He truly wants to be a good role model as Trent’s uncle. I know if James were here, he’d be the same exact way. Griffin reminds me so much of James with the way that he acts. It has created such a strong bond between the two of us, despite our way of finding each other. He’d never fill James’ shoes, but he became a different role as my newfound brother. One that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I quickly throw on some clothes and make my way downstairs, finding both of them sitting at the table. A buffet big enough to feed an army covers the table. “Check you guys out,” I smile. “This is quite the spread here,” I motion to the pancakes, eggs, bacon, and every other breakfast food imaginable.
“Trent said you love everything breakfast. So we figured we’d make it all!” Griffin ruffles Trent’s hair, and Trent gives me a toothy grin.
“Mama,” he says, reaching out for a good morning hug. I scoop him up into my arms and give him a big squeeze. He squeals and squirms while I sprinkle kisses all over his face. I set him back down in his seat, placing one last kiss on the top of his head.
I take my seat at the table and grab some bacon and a pancake after getting Trent’s pancakes cut for him. He discards the fork and shovels handfuls of the fluffy cakes into his mouth.
“What’s on the agenda today?” Griffin asks around a mouthful of bacon.
“We’re gonna go visit my mom and Daryl for a bit,” I tell him while pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “I told Pierce and Cara that we would stop by after that.”
“Did you want me to give you guys a ride?” Griffin takes another bite of his bacon. I don’t want to ask him for a ride or to use his car. But we don’t have any other way of getting anywhere unless I call a cab.
“Would you mind?” I ask him. “I’d hate to disrupt any plans you have or anything.” The last thing I want to do is impose on his entire life.
“Not at all,” he smiles. “It’s Sunday; I have nothing going on so I can take you wherever you need to go.”
“I don’t want you to have to drive us around the whole two and a half weeks we’re here,” I pause. “Do you think we could stop somewhere for me to get a rental car?” It would make the most sense for me to have my own car to get around.
“Sure,” Griffin smiles. “I don’t mind driving you around, but if that’s what you’d like to do, we can make that happen.”
Trent starts to wiggle around in his seat. “Down, Mama!” he exclaims. His face and hands are covered in syrup. It’s a mystery how any of the food actually gets into this kid’s mouth.
“Yes, yes, baby,” I tell him, rising to my feet. I walk to the sink, wetting a washcloth, and come over to clean him off. I set him down on the floor and watch him teeter towards the living room where his toys are.
“He’s lucky to have such a great mom,” Griffin declares from his spot at the table. I continue to watch my little boy while he sits on the floor driving his cars around.
“I’m lucky to have him.”
WE ARRIVE AT MY MOM’S not long before lunch. Griffin drops us off, telling me he needs to run to his office to get some things he needs to work on for tomorrow. I know that he has a PhD in psychology and works as a forensic psychologist, but what that involves remains a total mystery. He’s never come out and said what he does or where he works. And I’ve never asked.
I hold Trent’s tiny hand and lead him up the wooden steps and onto their front porch. I raise my hand to knock just as the door flies open. In a moment’s instant, my mom’s arms are wrapped around me, squeezing the life from me.
“Oh, Lydi!” she exclaims and pulls away. “I’ve missed you so much!” She crouches down in front of Trent. “And you!” She pulls him into her arms and stands back up holding on to him.
“Nana!” he squeals, wrapping his little arms around her. I watch her face light up with joy and adornment. Her love for him runs so deep. Just like the love from a grandmother should.
“Come inside,” she requests, ushering us in and checking her surroundings around us. She’s also grown paranoid and has endured her own mental trauma after what I went through. As a mother, I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt through it all.
She leads me through the house, carrying Trent on her hip, and into the living r
oom where we find Daryl sitting in his recliner watching TV. He rises to his feet when he sees us, coming over to hug me.
“So good to see you both,” he says as he releases me. His hugs are still somewhat foreign, but I know he means well. He treats my mother good, with the love and respect she deserves. And for that, I will always be grateful for this man and for what he’s brought back into her life.
“I’m so glad you came back,” my mom admits, sitting down on the couch and putting Trent on her lap. “I only wish you could stay.”
I sigh. “You know I can’t do that, Mom.”
Not only had I begun to build a life for us in Georgia, but being here was painful. There were many memories, good and bad, linked to here.
“You could come back and live with us. Away from everything. It would be so good for you. Georgia is so far away. And with Cara moving back here with Pierce, what are you going to be doing down there alone?”
Cara and Pierce had developed a relationship over the past two years. They had gotten close while we were in school and then leaned on each other for support while I was in the hospital. Their friendship eventually budded into a relationship—one that has been long distance, causing both of them to travel back and forth to see each other. It only made sense that Cara move back to be with him.
But my mother was right.
I would be in Georgia, alone.
“I can’t just up and leave down there. Someone has to finish the lease on our apartment. And I have a job and school that I can’t just leave.”
That wasn’t completely true. I was completing my degree in social work online. And I had been working at the local animal shelter. So technically, I could just leave if I wanted to.
My mother opens her mouth to respond, but Daryl cuts her off.
“Victoria,” he cautions her with a look, telling her to let it go. I can see the turmoil on her face and the want to finish our conversation. But reluctantly, she doesn’t continue to push me and she lets it go.
The rest of our visit is uneventful. Our conversations drift from her and Daryl’s travel plans to what has been new with me and Trent. Feeling overwhelmed, I shoot Griffin a text, asking if he could come get us soon. He doesn’t respond for a bit, but then he lets me know he’d be on his way soon. I also send Pierce a text, telling him I’d stop by the next day. This was enough for one day.
We say our goodbyes to Daryl, and my mother walks us to the front door. We step out onto the front porch, waiting for Griffin to arrive. Trent climbs down the steps and walks around touching the array of flowers in the flower beds.
“Are you going to see him?” my mother asks me. She doesn’t have to say his name for us to know who she is talking about.
“I plan on it.”
“Good,” she nods in approval. “He deserves to know.” Her eyes follow Trent as he waddles around the yard, following a butterfly and trying to capture it with his hands.
Thankfully, Griffin pulls up as she’s finishing her sentence.
“Come on, Trent!” I call over to him, getting his attention. He comes back over to me as I turn to give my mom a hug.
“Promise you’ll come see me again before you leave?” she asks while she hugs me.
“I promise, Mom.” I pause. “I’m going to be here for a little bit.”
“Good, good,” she smiles, stepping back. “Love you, baby girl. And I love you, precious boy.”
“Love you too, mom,” I tell her while she hugs Trent.
Griffin puts down the window as we walk towards the car. He leans forward and gives a wave to my mom. “Hey, Victoria!” he calls out to her.
She puts her hand up to wave at him. I can tell he still makes her uneasy. She knows where he came from. And as much as she knows how good of a brother he has been to me, it’s hard for her to accept him. He’s a painful memory of her past.
Is this what life slowly becomes? Memory after memory, linked together through pain and sorrow; through happiness and joy? Some memories deserve to be deleted. Locked up somewhere deep inside with the key thrown away. But we don’t get that option. What we get are the memories.
chapter four
RYDER
“UGHHHH,” I GROAN, ROLLING over onto my side. Bright light shines through the windows, blinding me. My head pounds in protest as I clamp my eyes shut. One of the downsides to drinking is the hell of a hangover I end up with the next morning. I pull the covers back over my head, trying to block out the light. The white sheets offer little protection. Angrily, I rip the sheets back off and sit up in a rush.
“Fuck,” I gasp, grabbing my head with my hands. I should know better than to sit up so fast. I feel myself start to sway. The room starts to spin, and the bile starts to rise up my throat. My legs tangle in the sheets as I try to jump to my feet. I land on the floor with a thump, in a heap of dirty sheets, smelling of booze, sex, and sweat. I scramble onto my hands and knees and rush towards the bathroom connected to my room. I reach the toilet just in time to empty all of the contents from my stomach. The bile and undigested booze burns my throat.
I cough and gag and heave until there’s absolutely nothing left. My head feels like my brain is trying to burst from my skull. The pain is excruciating, and I deserve every ounce of it. I drag myself back into bed, ignoring the sheets on the floor. Pulling a pillow over my head, I succumb to a restless sleep, attempting to block out the pain.
But my dreams, they bring me more pain.
A pain so deep, so painful.
The one I struggle to block every single day.
Even in sleep, I can’t escape her memory.
WHEN I FINALLY WAKE UP, it’s late in the afternoon. My alarm never went off this morning, so that tells me it’s still the weekend. Thank Christ for that or I’d be in deep shit for sleeping this late.
I drag myself back to the bathroom and wash the scum from my body and the stale taste of vomit and liquor from my mouth. When I go downstairs, I find my house just as empty as I expect it to be. Jess knows the drill. We fuck, she leaves, and that’s that. There’s no hint that she was ever here, which is exactly how I like it. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t yearn to be held every now and again. But I can never bring myself to do it. Foreign arms surrounding me feels wrong. Too intimate. Something reserved just for a ghost. My ghost.
I walk across the kitchen on unsteady feet, bumping my hip into the counter. I feel the corner dig into my skin, hitting the bone. I wince from the pain but quickly brush it off. I know just the cure for it. I pull open the door to the fridge and grab a bottle of water, gulping it down like a fish out of water. I throw two pieces of bread into the toaster and return back to the fridge, this time opening the freezer. I pull out a cold bottle of vodka, sitting it down on the counter. I wait for my toast to finish before getting started on my drinking.
This is what has become of my day to day life.
I drink to forget.
I drink until I no longer know my own name.
But no matter how much I drink, I will always know her name.
The toaster beeps while someone knocks on the door. Ignoring my toast and the door, I twist off the cap of the bottle and take a swig. The clear liquid burns my throat, all the way to my empty stomach. The knocking on the door grows louder. It’s Sunday. Come the fuck on.
“Ryder,” a familiar voice yells out, “open the fucking door!”
I slam down the bottle, not caring if the glass breaks, and stalk towards the door, already pissed off at who’s on the other side coming between me and my mind eraser. I unlock it quickly and rip open the door to a red faced Griffin. His eyes cut into me with a look of disgust.
“Jesus fucking christ,” he mutters. “You look like absolute shit.”
I shrug and roll my eyes. I scrubbed and scrubbed myself in the shower, but it didn’t help my physical appearance. It never did. I’d lost weight over the past few years after indulging in my liquid diet. My face has become sunken in, and my eyes have grown lifeless and dull.
I keep my hair shaved close to my head. She liked it longer, so I keep it shorter. Anything to get rid of her.
I return his glare, cutting my eyes at him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance. He’s dressed in black sweat pants, black Nikes, and a black v-neck. All black everything, in typical Griffin fashion. I bark out a laugh.
“Sweats? Really?” This guy was almost always in some type of slacks with a dress shirt.
“Fuck you, asshole,” he cracks a small smile and pushes past me, walking into the house.
“Sure, come on in.” My voice is sarcastic with a hint of irritation. I don’t feel like dealing with his shit today. I shut the door and find him in the kitchen. He’s standing by the sink, holding my bottle of vodka upside down. I rush towards him, watching the liquid flow from the bottle and down the drain.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” I bark at him.
“Getting rid of this shit.” He shakes the rest of the vodka from the bottle and sets it back on the counter. He turns towards me just as I shove him away from the counter. In literally a heartbeat, he’s in my face, shoving me against the wall with his hands around my throat. Damn, the fucker is fast, and he doesn’t fuck around.
“Listen, you stupid fuck,” he growls in my face, squeezing his hands just enough for me to take small breaths. I wish he’d clamp them down harder and just end me. “I found him.”
Every hair on my body stands on end. I feel the flutter in my stomach as it drops. My heart starts to pound in my chest. I stand in shock, staring into his dark eyes. He releases my neck with a shove. I take a deep breath, the air rushing into my lungs. I double over in a coughing fit.
Catching my breath and standing back up, I stare at him, saying nothing.
“It wasn’t easy,” he continues, walking to the fridge. He pulls out a beer and twists off the cap and takes a long drink. “He’s been hiding out in fucking Michigan. Some piece of shit cabin in the woods.”
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