by Alex Grayson
Tegan gives him a terse nod.
Relieved that one of the men I love most in the world is on the mend, and the other isn’t threatening to kill him, I grab Bryan’s hand and drag him over to the couch. I pull him down beside me and keep his hand in mine. I ask him all kinds of questions. How his treatments are going. If the doctors and nurses are nice. If he’s in pain. If the food is good.
He answers each of my questions without reservation. I’ve learned through research that the first few days of drug withdrawal are some of the hardest. He confirmed this when he told me the pain he went through. I’m incredibly proud of him for sticking with it, and I tell him as much, which earns me a brilliant smile.
Tegan stays off to the side, watching us, but giving us time to reacquaint with each other. I’m still worried he may relapse, but I haven’t seen my brother this alive since before our dad died, so I’m very hopeful. It’s not me that brings up the subject of our dad, but him. I was avoiding it because I was worried it would upset him too much. Pain flashes in his eyes, but finally, for the first time, we talk about Dad’s death, and about Bryan’s regret for not being there for me and our mom. More tears gather in his eyes when he apologizes for not coming to our mom’s funeral, and we make plans to go home for a visit and go to her grave.
We both cry again in each other’s arms, but it’s a good cry. It’s a healing cry. Something we should have done a long time ago.
By the time our visit is over, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with him and continue talking, but I know visiting hours are winding down.
Bryan walks us out to the front, then pulls me into a tight hug.
“Come back soon,” he murmurs against my hair.
I step back and smile. “I’ll be back as often as I can.”
He nods, then looks over at Tegan and gives him a chin lift, which Tegan returns.
“Love you, Lo,” he says when he looks back at me.
“Love you, too.”
I pull away and walk over to Tegan, who puts his arm around my shoulders, as if he knows I need him to help support me. I’m so happy that Bryan is getting better, but it still hurts to leave him here.
With a wave from me, Tegan turns us both and we leave the facility. As we walk down the steps, Tegan asks, “How ya doing?”
I take a minute, because there’re so many different answers I can give. I end up giving him the one that’s the strongest.
I look up at him and smile. “I’m happy.”
He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose. “That’s good, baby.”
He opens my door, and I climb inside his truck. My eyes skitter to the side, back to the facility. It’s a big place, imposing, but beautiful. And my brother is in there right now getting the treatment he so desperately needs. I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome for our first visit.
All because of the man who’s now climbing in the truck. I reach over, grab his hand, and bring it to my lips.
“I love you, Tegan. Thank you.”
His smile is sexy when he replies, “Love you too. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
I do know that. It’s not what he does for me, it’s that he wants to do those things for me, because they make me happy. But the thing that makes me the happiest girl in the world is knowing that I’ll always have Tegan by my side.
Chapter Twenty
Tegan
I sit, bent over with my elbows on my knees, the envelope dangling from my fingers between my legs. I’m still contemplating burning it. Or tearing it to shreds. Or maybe putting it in a bowl of sulfuric acid. Whatever, as long as I don’t have to read it.
A hand rubs soothingly up and down my back, and I look over. Willow’s sitting beside me wearing a simple black knee-length dress, black stockings, and black high-heeled shoes. Her hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I know she always will be. I’m one lucky son of a bitch to have found her. At least there’s one good thing my mom did. If it wasn’t for her getting brain cancer, and then my strange need to see her, I wouldn’t have been making those trips. I would have never met Willow that day on the side of the road.
She smiles sweetly at me, and it hits my chest. I love this girl so damn much.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod, then look back down at the envelope and flip it over a few times. It’s white and only has my name on the front in curly script. There can’t be more than two sheets of paper inside, but it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. My eyes look past the envelope to my shoes. My clothes are like Willow’s: black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, black slacks, and black dress shoes.
When I look across the room, I spot my dad and Samantha sitting on the couch. The coffee table I made for Samantha sits right in front of them. Dad said when he gave it to her, he couldn’t get her to stop crying. Right now, they’re both watching me with concern, but my dad’s expression also holds a hint of pain. Their clothes are normal, not formal and black like mine and Willow’s.
Funeral clothes.
I got the call two days ago that my mom passed away. She lasted longer than the doctors thought she would. I had no plan to attend the funeral and was going to leave making the arrangements up to the staff at the facility. Before I could tell the nurse on the phone that, Willow pulled it from my ear, told the nurse I’d call her back, then sat me down to talk. She felt I needed time to think before making a decision. She didn’t try to persuade me either way, she just wanted me to think about the consequences of both decisions.
In the end, I decided to make the funeral arrangements and attend. Not because I loved the woman who died, but because the little boy I used to be loved the mother he used to have, before she changed. There was only me, Willow, and the pastor there. My eyes were dry during the service and when she was lowered into the ground, I felt nothing at all.
“You don’t have to do this now, Tegan,” Willow says quietly, drawing my attention back to her.
I lean over and lay a soft kiss against her lips. Pulling back, I murmur, “Yeah, I do. I want this done and over with so I can close this chapter of my life for good.”
She nods in understanding. It’s not that I’m screwed up over what happened to me. I don’t have any hang-ups about the shit I went through as a kid. Like I’ve told her before, it doesn’t affect who I am. Yes, I still have dreams sometimes, but I don’t let them or my past control my life. My dad made sure of that. He got me the best counselors a kid could have, and I was well loved by him. My dad was all I needed at the time. He saved me in so many ways.
I look over at him and still see the worry and pain. I originally wasn’t going to do this here, wanting to spare him any pain or reminders, but after I told him about the letter, he asked to be there when I read it. I’m not sure why. Maybe because he worries about the effect it will have on me.
“Are you sure?” I ask him one more time.
His jaw ticks, but he answers with a firm, “Yes.” I see Samantha tighten her hand in his and it gives me comfort that she’s here for him as well. I’m not the only one this letter may affect.
I glance back at Willow for a brief second, where she gives me an encouraging smile, then look back down at the envelope. I don’t pull in a deep breath to work up the courage. I don’t count to ten to prepare myself. My hands don’t shake and my breathing stays normal. I just slip my finger under the flap and open it.
Two pieces of paper with black cursive handwriting. With my elbows still planted on my knees, I begin to read.
-
My Dearest Tegan,
I know I’m the very last person you want to hear from. I know the chances of you even reading this are slim to none. I would not blame you if you tossed this letter away as soon as it touched your hand. I deserve absolutely no attention from you. What I did to you, what I forced you to do is beyond unforgivable. I’m not writing to you to ask for forgiveness or to excuse anything I’ve done. I’
m writing to you to explain. I know it doesn’t seem like it, Tegan, but I truly did love you from the bottom of my heart. And I still do. I’ll love you until the day I die, and beyond. You were my little boy, and I destroyed your childhood. Ripped it away because I was afraid.
I’m not sure if your dad has told you anything about my childhood, but I once had a brother seven years older than me. To you, you had no uncles, and that’s because I no longer claimed the brother I once had. When our parents were killed in a head-on collision, we were put in foster care. We ended up in the same home, something that’s rare for siblings in foster care, and something I dearly wished hadn’t happened. We were there for eight months when Bruce started sneaking in my room at night. At first, he would just touch me a little bit, then leave, but after a while, I guess that wasn’t enough for him. One night, months later, he raped me. Afterwards, he threatened to kill our foster parents and then me if I ever told anyone. I believed him. Even at seven years old, I saw the hate and rage in his eyes. This went on nightly for six months, before Bruce was caught stealing and was taken from the home. I thought that was the last time I was ever going to see him, but I was still so scared to tell anyone.
Many years later, after I married your father, I found out he went to prison for raping and killing a poor teenage girl. I didn’t realize until then how scared I still was of him, even after not seeing him for years. Then one day, when you were two years old, I was scanning through the obituaries in the newspaper, and there was his name. He was dead. A huge weight lifted off my chest, and I could finally breathe again. He was gone, and I never had to worry about him again. Little did I know, there were actually two Bruce Williamses in the same prison. What were the chances of that happening?
Fast forward three years. Your dad was on one of his business trips, and I had just laid you down for a nap, when there was a knock at the door. I was stupid, and should have looked through the peephole before opening the door, but the neighborhood we lived in was nice and the crime rate was almost nonexistent. Bruce was standing there, and I was in such shock and frozen with fear, he barreled his way in before I could close the door. He dragged me into my and your dad’s bedroom and raped me again. I kept as quiet as I could because I didn’t want to wake you up. But something must have startled you, because when he was buttoning up his pants, you walked in the room, rubbing your sleepy eyes. Bruce looked at you, then at me, and the look he had in his eyes terrified me beyond anything I had ever felt before. I made you go back to your room, then I begged Bruce, I got down on my knees and begged him to leave you alone. I knew his tastes weren’t only for females. I suspected he’d raped one of the little boys that were with us in the foster home.
Once again, I was petrified by his threats. He threatened to hurt you, to take you away from me and keep you all to himself, then he was going to kill me and your dad, and then you after he and his friends were done with you. I knew he was capable of it too. He told me the only way to keep that from happening was if I let him have you here, in my home. He said he was part of a group of guys and he’d be bringing some over with him. I was so scared that I let him do what he wanted. I let him bring those men into our house, and I let him touch you in the most horrible ways. After a year of watching it, I couldn’t take anymore, so I packed you and me up and took you away. We were able to hide for six months before Bruce found us again. The day your dad showed up was the day I let go. Even knowing I would go to jail for what I did, and may never see you again, I was so relieved it was over. I have no right to feel sorry for myself, this is not about me, but I was slowly dying inside knowing what was happening to you.
I’m so sorry, Tegan, for not being strong enough. I’m so sorry for being a coward and not standing up to him. I’m sorry I made you do those horrible things. I’m sorry for bringing you into my nightmare and making you live your own. There is not now and never will be enough words in the world to express my sorrow. I will never forgive myself for not doing what I should have done and protecting you better, and I certainly never expect you to forgive me either. The state may have punished me by putting me in this facility, and I may not be all the way in my head anymore, but my true punishment, one I take without argument because I firmly deserve it, is not being a part of your life.
I love you, Tegan, with everything in me. And I pray my mistakes don’t keep you from being the wonderful man I know you were always meant to be. If I’m ever given anything in this life, it would be knowing that you have a happy and healthy life.
Love forever and always,
Your mom
-
I stand and hand off the letter to Willow. I don’t look back as I make my way to the kitchen. I head straight for the cabinet that carries an old bottle of vodka my dad keeps for emergency toothaches. I grab the bottle and a tall glass, pouring several inches inside. It burns like hell going down my throat, but I down it all and pour myself another one, then gulp that one back too.
When my dad first got me back from my mom, we didn’t go back home. Instead, he took me to a hotel here in town, and that’s where we stayed until the purchase on the new house he was buying went through. A week later, our old house went on the market. My dad told me we needed a fresh start, that he didn’t want to take me back to the house that held so many bad memories. I was grateful. Even though I was happy my dad had found me again, I was still dreading going home and sleeping in my room.
I remember the day Mom mentioned in her letter. I didn’t realize it was a memory until she brought it up. I thought maybe it was something my mind had made up or changed. Memories tend to warp over time.
A thumping noise woke me up. Worried about my mom, I went to her room. When I opened the door, there was a tall man standing there with his shirt off. He noticed me standing there, then looked to my mom. I remember the look of fear on her face when she saw me walk into the room. She rushed off the bed and told me to go back to my room, pushing me out the door before closing it. Later that evening, she made me promise to never tell my dad the man was there.
I don’t know how many days it was after that, but it wasn’t long before he started coming to the house to do what he wanted with me. And each day he came, my mom looked sad. For thirty minutes after he left, she would be holed up in the bathroom, and when she finally came out, her eyes were puffy and red. It always made me sad seeing her like that, but I was five and easily distracted with new toys, ice cream, or some other treat she took me out for.
I turn from the counter and throw my glass against the wall, where it shatters and litters the floor. Movement out the corner of my eye catches my attention. I look over and see Willow standing there, hand to her mouth, eyes red and dripping tears. I turn away from her, regretting her seeing me like this. I put my hands on the counter and hang my head. A minute later, I feel arms wrap around me from behind and a head rest against my back. Her warmth seeps into me.
It's not until then I let all the emotions running through my head break free. She has no fucking right to put that shit on me after she’s dead. How dare she reveal something like that and not give me the opportunity to say my piece. It was a fucking coward’s way out.
While what she said in that letter explains some things, it changes nothing. She still didn’t protect me like she should have. She still let that sick bastard put his hands on me. She should have trusted Dad enough to protect us both. She should have trusted the law to do their job. It hurts knowing she went through what she did, and I know in some way she may have thought what she did was her only choice, but it wasn’t. How in the fuck could she let that shit happen to her own son, knowing she went through the same thing as a kid?
A sniffle sounds behind me, bringing me back to the here and now. Nothing changes, and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s too late now.
I tip my head back, close my eyes, and pull in several deep breaths, trying to rein in emotions. I loosen Willow’s arms around me and turn around. Leaning back against the counter with my arms arou
nd her waist, I look down into her beautiful green eyes. Eyes that are still leaking tears. I swipe them away with my thumbs.
“You okay?” she whispers, her voice scratchy.
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
And it’s the truth. What I just found out through that letter may be upsetting and it may make me want to fucking kill Bruce for putting both me and my mom through what he did; it may take me a while to get over the fact my mom, it seems, did love me, she was just screwed up in the head, still too weak to protect me, but in the end, I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay because I have to be and because I won’t let it be anything other than that. I won’t let something that was never in my control rule my life or what I do in that life. I won’t let it take away from my happiness.
Willow watches me, her brow puckered in concern. I know it may be hard for her to believe that I’m fine after finding out something monumental like that, but she’ll see.
To help her see, I bend and kiss her lips softly. Just a single kiss. I pull back, but keep my forehead against hers.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod, which makes her nod too.
“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m so sorry for what happened to you. And for what happened to your mom. I know it can’t be easy reading what you read.” Her voice is soothing, and I love that she’s so worried about me.
“Don’t be,” I tell her honestly. “I hate that that shit happened to her, and to me, but it’s in the past. It’ll stay in the past where it belongs.” I tell her this, but there is something that needs to be done before it can be put to rest.
She still doesn’t believe me. I can see it in her eyes, but after several moments, she nods and gives me a soft smile.
The kitchen door opening has me looking up and Willow lets me go to turn around. I let her face my dad and Samantha, but I pull her back against me with my arms wrapped around her. My dad eyes me cautiously, but there’s a hint of anger lurking there as well. Samantha stands at his side, eyes swollen with tears. My dad looks over at the shattered glass on the floor before looking back at me.