by T L Gray
The touch surprised me. Since our agreement about boundaries, he’d kept a good distance from me when we were at the center, embracing me only after the doors shut behind us when we left for the night.
Standing up, I took in his face. Wet with sweat from taking on a demanding ten-year-old, but full of concern.
“I’m good.” I smiled to reassure him and then glanced at Marcus, who stood with his hands on his hips, waiting. “How’s that going?”
Matt looked behind him and shrugged. “Like banging my head against a brick wall, to be honest.”
His voice was strained, distant. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, so many things I still wanted to learn about him, but it was neither the time nor the place.
“Are you coming over tonight?” I asked, still watching him.
“No, not tonight. I’m going to get in an exhausting workout and then take care of some unfinished business.” His eyes turned hard before they closed. When they opened again to meet mine, his calm facade was back in place.
“Should I be worried?”
He forced a smile—one that could be called weak at best. “Nah. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, if there’s even anything to tell.”
Marcus demanded from across the court, “Come on, Matt, you gonna flirt with your girlfriend all day or play some ball? We only got a few more minutes till the games start!”
He rolled his eyes. “Duty calls. I’ll come say good-bye before I leave.”
With that he jogged back to Marcus, did a quick juke, and then dunked the ball. Marcus seethed and yelled expletives, which made Matt laugh hard even as he scolded him for his mouth. My heart pinched and I wondered how I ever thought I knew love before him.
Chapter 29
* * *
MATT
“I’m gone,” I stated, setting a few bills on the bar. We were in the eighth inning and there was no way my team was going to come back.
“Ah, come on, Matt, don’t be a sore loser,” Chris hollered. Of course he would say that because he was the most obnoxious winner on the planet and I had stupidly bet twenty bucks on the Braves tonight.
I slid the twenty over to him before making my exit. The sight of my money without even a final score shut him up real quick, and I made it out of the dark, smoke-filled bar without another word. The clunker I called my car sat just outside the door. It whined and hissed, but eventually sprang to life with a grinding sound. I’d need to get under the hood soon and see what was going on, although I already suspected the engine was going.
My apartment was only two blocks away, thankfully, since I’d exceeded my two-beer limit tonight. The thought bothered me more than I wanted to admit. The fact that I didn’t stop when I said I was going to reminded me too much of my piece of crap father.
The car stuttered and knocked as I turned into the dark parking lot of my run-down complex. This place was by far the nastiest apartment in town, but my mom had very little money and few options when we rented the one-bedroom dump. To me, it represented freedom, so I could deal with the stained carpet and peeling walls. Anything to be away from him.
The air was thick and stuffy when I pushed the door open, and I quickly turned on the window AC when I entered. I’d let myself have it on for ten minutes, I decided. Last month’s bill was more than I could afford, and I had to sell some lifted CDs to pay it. Guilt tugged at me a little, but I pushed the feeling aside. Theft wasn’t my ideal choice, but I would do anything to not go home . . . even that.
The smoke odor from the bar lingered on my clothes, turning my stomach. I had my shirt halfway up when I heard the phone ring from the kitchen. Sure it was Chris calling to gloat, I ignored the call and just let the machine pick up.
The sheer terror in my mom’s voice had me frozen in place. “Matthew, honey, it’s me. I need you to come get me, right now. He’s gone crazy, I think. I don’t know. Just please, come . . .” She started crying and may have said more, but I was already out of the apartment and sprinting to my car. She lived ten minutes away, but I got there in five, running lights, exceeding speed limits, whatever I had to do.
Finally I pulled into the drive and bolted for the door. The adrenaline must have sped up the effects of the alcohol, because I suddenly felt light-headed, stumbling down the hallway to find her.
She was staring out the window in the small, ugly bedroom, the one that held so many horrible memories for me that I shivered upon entering.
“You were right.” She kept her back to me. “I should never have come home.” She started crying harder, shoulders shaking. I walked toward her and wrapped her fragile body in a hug.
She cried out in pain and I immediately let go. Gently turning her, rage washed over me. Her left eye was swollen shut and there were bruises around her neck and down her shoulder.
“He hit you again.” I grabbed her suitcase and flew around the room stuffing blouses and pants into the bag. “He’s lucky he’s not here.” Shoes. Socks. “Next time he touches you, I will kill him.”
Mom rushed over to me and took my face in her hands. “Matthew, no. You’re better than this. Better than him. One day I want you to let go of this anger and make a life for yourself.”
Balling my fists, I made her a promise. “We will make a life. You and me, Mom. He will never hurt you again. I won’t let him.”
We made it as far as the hallway before he came home. Blocking our escape, I saw him lift a 9mm pistol and point it right at us. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Acting on instinct, I pushed my mother behind me and stared into the vicious eyes of my father.
His lips curled upward. “You always were an obstinate little brat.”
I now understood my mother’s fear. He had snapped. His eyes were too wild, his voice too calm. I pushed her and we slowly backed into the bedroom. I needed to find a weapon, something that could defend us from him.
My father followed slowly, never lowering his weapon until he was standing in the doorway and we were trapped inside.
“Marcie, come here,” my father demanded.
My mother started to move around me, but I blocked her. My father hurled more insults at me, but I didn’t care. I needed to get us out of there. Panic rose up each time he screamed at my mother, but I refused to let her pass.
Then he racked his pistol. “Marcie, I’m losing my patience. I’ll shoot him. I swear I will, and society will thank me for it!”
The shaking stopped and my mom pushed off me, getting around my body so she could face him. “No, stop!” I yelled, gripping her tighter.
“Marcie, this is your last warning . . . get over here!”
She lunged in front of me right as the gun went off. Her screams mixed with the deafening shot left me stunned until the momentum of the bullet slammed my mother’s body into mine, sending us both to the floor. The wind left me the moment of impact, and the pain in my chest was so extreme, I was sure I would look down and see my own blood flowing. But it wasn’t mine . . . it was hers.
I turned my body, letting her down gently on the brown, stained carpet. Blood was everywhere, on my clothes, her clothes. I grabbed the first garment I could find and pressed it against her, trying to stop the thick crimson pouring from her chest.
Her eyes were weary and she was barely hanging on. I couldn’t find words as I watched her with terror, pure terror.
Then she smiled. “You are my greatest joy, Matthew. I love you.” Eyes closed, head turned, she died right there in my arms. I didn’t know whose screams were louder, mine or my father’s.
I turned to face the man who was kneeling with his head in his hands, screaming her name over and over. Before I could register my actions, the gun was in my hand, pointing at the monster who had just ripped my life apart.
His eyes met mine; those dark, evil pools were now swimming in tears. “Do it,” he demanded.
My finger hovered over the trigger, every ounce of my body wanting to pull. But her words replayed in my mind, “You’r
e better than this. Better than him.” Somehow I found the strength to lower the gun and, with shaky hands, set it back on the floor.
His eyes narrowed. “I knew you couldn’t do it. You’re not a man; you’re a coward!”
He was right. I was a coward. Fear and shame pushed me forward as I walked from that room, leaving my mother’s dead body in the hands of the man who killed her. I heard the gun go off before I reached the front door, but never once looked back.
Suddenly the door flew open and Mom’s neighbor, Ms. Andrews, stood in front of me, her eyes wide. I could feel myself swaying and thought of the cookies she baked for me sometimes when I got home from school.
“He shot her,” I whispered, wondering where the sound came from. The room was starting to spin and Ms. Andrews suddenly had a twin sister.
“Come here, sweetheart. Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
Soon we were in my car. I was warm and noticed a blanket around my shoulders. Then I was cold because somehow we were in my apartment and my clothes were gone. Ms. Andrews ushered me into bed, promising that she would tell the cops everything.
“You were never there, Matthew. This was all a dream. It’s time for this horror in your life to be over. Just sleep, sweet boy.”
Her words sounded glorious, so I did as she said. I closed my eyes and pretended nothing happened.
I jolted out of bed, the sheets stained with sweat and balled up from my thrashing around. My breathing settled quicker than normal and the panic I usually felt was absent. In its place, though, was pure, raging anger. How could I have forgotten?
Tearing from the room, I reached the toilet just in time to retch all the emotion and fear of the dream. It was as if her blood still covered me, warm and thick.
I splashed water on my face, gripping the sink as I tried to calm down. Looking up I saw a coward in the mirror. I had been too weak to face that night, so I buried the pain and agony for nine years. Nine years!
Stumbling back to my room, I fell onto my knees in front of the bed and screamed out to God. How dare He leave me in darkness? How dare He let the shadows of my past life overtake my future? He was supposed to erase my past, not leave it to haunt me. I had given Him everything!
“How could you?” I screamed, thinking of how hard I had fought to become the man He wanted me to be.
Gripping my Bible, the book that held all the promises that God didn’t keep to me, I threw it hard against the wall. Pages fluttered as it hit the ground. Pages of notes I had taken during sermons. Sermons that also promised me things that weren’t delivered.
My heart heavy, I crawled over to the book that had been my guiding light and picked up a lone page. The verse stood out in big letters, ripping my heart in two.
My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.
The words hung in the air as tears poured from my eyes. Crumpling the page to my chest, my head hit the ground in agony.
There was no fight left in me.
I reached out and grabbed my phone, my hands still shaking as I pressed the buttons.
Bruce’s groggy voice answered.
“It was real,” I whispered. “It was all real.”
Calm and caring, Bruce’s tone felt like an embrace through the phone. “I know, Matt. I’ll be right over.”
I was sitting on the porch, still trying to calm down, when Bruce let himself in. He didn’t say a word, just took a seat in the patio chair next to mine.
“So you knew,” I said, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice. This wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t the coward, I was.
“After I read your journal, I felt pretty sure they were repressed memories, yes. You seem angry.”
“I am angry!” I yelled, balling my hands into fists as I sat up. “My mind has been blank for nine years because I wasn’t strong enough to handle my mom getting shot. Instead, I got to watch it over and over in my head every night. How does any of that make sense?”
“The mind is a tricky thing, Matt. When it’s overloaded with trauma, a defense mechanism kicks in to protect it. And what happened that day was traumatic. You shouldn’t feel weak just because you didn’t remember. Maybe you weren’t mentally or spiritually ready to until now.”
I shook my head. “Or maybe God knew that if I knew the truth, knew how close I had been to saving her, I would demand to know why. Why He allowed that night to happen.”
Bruce sat back, looking thoughtful, then turned to me. “You don’t think God wants you to ask why?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I think you’re wrong. Time and time again in the Bible, God’s people ask Him why. Gideon, Habakkuk, Job, and even David. A typical human response is to be angry. It’s okay that you’re angry, Matt. It’s okay that you’re hurting. Scream out, do what you have to, but then you are going to have to let go and trust that God will do a mighty work with your past.”
For some reason his words were like a lever releasing the floodgates of my emotions. Tears came slowly at first, but then in deep sobs. Yes, I had been angry with God, but mostly I was angry with myself. Terrified of who I might become. I wanted to pull that trigger. I wanted to kill my father that night. Bruce scooted closer and put his hand on my back, comforting me.
“I don’t want to be like him. I’m so scared I’m going to be like him,” I admitted through my tears.
“Matt, as a child, you were a victim of your environment. You didn’t have control over your circumstances, but you do have control now. You do not have to repeat your father’s mistakes. Yes, bad things happen in this evil world, but God always does something redeemable through them. Sometimes we see it, sometimes we don’t. God has done an amazing work in you.”
I lifted the hem of my T-shirt and wiped my face, tired of how weak I’d become.
Bruce continued, “Just look at all the people you have poured into because of your testimony. You’ve helped lost and broken boys find confidence and strength of mind. You’ve given them a purpose. Just think of Marcus. Do you really think you could have understood him if you hadn’t lived the life you did? You’ve chosen to live victoriously despite being a victim.”
The words of 2 Corinthians filled my mind again. My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.
Then, as if God Himself was comforting me, I felt a peace wash over my broken spirit. Suddenly I understood the promises. God never said He would erase our shortfalls, but would use them for His glory. The magnitude of His mercy rocked me to the core. He wanted all of me, had great plans to use me for His purpose, mistakes and all.
I spent the rest of the day in a haze of freedom. The guilt and shame were finally gone.
Moving around my house in a blaze, I cleaned up and set the marinating meat in the fridge. I had asked Grace to come over tonight and let me cook for her. She would be the first houseguest I ever had besides Bruce. My home was my sanctuary, and I never wanted anyone there who could one day represent a bad memory. Tonight was different. I wanted Grace to be in my home, experience this part of who I was.
I had asked her to come straight over from the center, and she knocked right on time. I still didn’t like her driving to her apartment after dark without me following her. I knew it was too soon, but I could picture her here, in this house with me, forever.
A smile lit up her beautiful face when I pulled open the door. My greeting consisted of taking Grace in my arms and kissing her until I had to help support her weight. I wanted to laugh as joy pulsed through me. I had everything I wanted. Everything my mother had hoped and dreamed for me. I’d done exactly what she begged me to do. I’d made a wonderful life for myself.
“Wow. Hello to you, too.” She gripped my shirt until she regained her footing. “I take it you had a good day?”
Staring down at Grace, I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve had a good month, thanks to you.”
“Well, it’s been more than a month, but who’s counting?” H
er teasing words were followed by feigned hurt, as if I’d forgotten our time together.
Leaning in to whisper in her ear, I felt her shiver at my touch. “Sweetheart, I remember every second from the first moment I laid eyes on you, and I’ve been trying to get my world upright ever since.”
Grace punched my arm, which wasn’t exactly the reaction I expected. “No, you don’t. You didn’t even like me the first few weeks you knew me. I had to practically throw myself at you to get your attention.”
I backed her to the wall, pressing my hands against it on both sides of her face. Her eyes flashed with heat, sending my pulse up another notch.
I moved closer and said in a low, seductive tone, “A man does not go mattress shopping for just anyone. From the moment you popped into my gym looking terrified, I have wanted you.”
Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink. “That was you? I thought my dad bought the mattress.”
“No woman of mine is sleeping on the floor or some ratty secondhand couch.”
Her eyes darkened, warning me that there’d be trouble if I didn’t put some space between us soon. “So I’m your woman now?”
“Don’t you forget it.” I took her mouth in mine before she could respond, and showed her exactly how much she meant to me. We probably lost hours in that kiss, but I had no strength to tear myself away. Finally she stopped us, her breath and resolve as strangled as mine were, and we pulled ourselves together.
Grace wanted the grand tour, so I took her around the place, showing off every corner. My house wasn’t much when it came to size and decor, but every inch of it represented who I was, from the lush leather couch in the living room to the punching bag that hung from the ceiling in the second bedroom. Three wide, curtainless windows in the living room afforded a view of the backyard, and I couldn’t wait to show her my oasis.
Taking her hand, I led her through the back door and smiled when she gasped.
“Oh, Matt, it’s beautiful, like a Japanese garden.”