Every Breath

by Tasha Ivey

  It may be a little weird, but I’m kind of excited about it. I hate doing my own laundry, and I put it off until I absolutely can’t wait anymore. But this picture in my head of the two of us stooping over a laundry basket and folding it in neat little piles while engaging in impossibly witty banter . . . it’s like a Norman Rockwell painting. And I’m totally good with that.

  “Let me run up and get Darcy. I think she’s still snoozing on the bed.” I jog upstairs and turn into my room, expecting to see the little fur mound in the wad of blankets, but she’s on the windowsill, bird watching. The bed, however, is not the way I left it. It’s perfectly made, without a crease, and the comforter is pulled so tight, I could bounce quarters off of it. I have some serious respect for a man that can make a bed like that with only one good arm.

  “I knew you couldn’t do it!” I yell down the stairs, and I hear deep laughter echoing from below.

  “Sounds like the second load just finished.” When Sawyer doesn’t answer me, I lift my head from his lap and see that his eyes are closed and his book is laying on his chest. “Pretty sure War and Peace put me to sleep a time or two, as well,” I say softly as I get up.

  I carry the basket into his room and set it on the foot of the bed. I’m not totally sure where he keeps everything, but I’m sure I can figure it out. Lucky for me, the majority of this load was shirts, so I pull a handful of hangers from the closet and begin hanging them as close to his degree of meticulousness as I can. Which isn’t very close.

  Once I get the last of it on hangers, I take the entire bunch to the closet and shove back the ones already there to make room. But as I’m reaching up to the empty space on the pole, I notice the wall behind it. Or I should say, the opening in the wall. Had it been closed all the way, I don’t think I would’ve ever noticed it. I assume it’s meant to be a hidden area to store valuables, and I feel dishonest even peeking inside, but I can’t help myself. So much of Sawyer is still a mystery, so before I can talk myself out of it, I’m sliding the wooden panel all the way back.

  The opening is quite large, measuring roughly three feet wide and about as tall. Four narrow shelves fill the space, and they are littered with various items, like a watch face, a few scraps of paper, and a couple of name patches. The back wall, though, is covered, and I’m not sure what to think of it. At first I think it’s some sort of memory wall, covered in pictures and newspaper clippings of his fellow soldiers and friends. But upon closer inspection, some of the pictures have obituaries beneath them. My guess is, these are soldiers that died in the war.

  As these smiling faces stare back at me, I only want to cry. Sawyer’s PTSD is far worse than I ever imagined. It explains why I’m finding him in the closet at night, but how do I even begin to bring this up to him? Or do I just let him keep this secret until he’s ready to share it with me? Before I’m caught, I decide to close it and just forget I’ve ever seen it. And I almost do.

  The last face I see before I close the panel is a child’s.

  I slide it back open and look even more closely. There are a few children, actually. And elderly people, male and female. This isn’t a soldier’s memorial at all; there isn’t a single justifiable reason that I can come up with to explain it.

  I nearly jump out of my skin when a shirt slips off a hanger and falls to the floor, but that’s not the reason my heart starts hammering in my chest. The slightest puff of air from the shirt blows the edges of the clippings up, and I swear I see a familiar face under one of them. With a shaky hand, I reach forward and pick up the corner of the paper on top to reveal the picture underneath.

  Without warning, my knees buckle, and I slump to the floor. It’s Shane. My Shane is on this wall, and it’s not a picture from my house. It’s the obituary from the newspaper, which I’ve never seen. I never wanted to see it. Why? Why does he have this? Who the hell are these people?

  My sorrow for Sawyer turns into pure, unadulterated rage. I’m not sure what to think or feel about this, but what I do know is that I want answers. Now. I’m suddenly suspicious that I’m all some part of a psychotic scam. Hell, I don’t know.

  The noxious combination of anger and curiosity finally boils over the surface, and I jerk the tack from the wall to remove the clipping. I barely even remember walking into the living room, but apparently I’m loud enough that Sawyer wakes up.

  “Hey, there, pretty girl,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

  I try to think of a way to do this without blowing up, but I don’t see how it’s possible. I walk over and drop the slightly faded square of paper onto his lap and wait. There has to be a good reason. I know there is.

  As realization dawns in his eyes, they dart to me. “Makenna, I . . . damn it. I’ve wanted to tell you.”

  I can’t hold it in any longer. “Tell me then!” I raise my voice unintentionally, but I have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I opened Pandora’s Box, and I’m not going to like what comes out of it.

  “Sit down.” His face is grim, and his eyes are becoming moist. “I knew it the night you told me about the accident.”

  “Knew what, Sawyer? Damn it all to hell, just tell me what’s going on.”

  “That wall,” he begins, fighting the quiver in his voice, “it’s a memorial of sorts. A reminder of how I’m never good enough at what I do. It’s a reminder of my failures, so I always try harder. I look at those faces . . .” He angrily wipes a tear away from the corner of his mouth. “Those faces haunt me every day.”

  “Why? I don’t understand.” My voice seems so far away.

  “In the Army, I’m a combat medic, Makenna. And when I’m back home, I work as a paramedic. Every one of those people . . . it’s my fault they aren’t here anymore. I wasn’t good enough, fast enough, skilled enough to save them.”

  The room is spinning, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Shane?”

  “Yes.” He reaches out to touch my hand, but I jerk it away. “I immediately knew it was him when you told me the story that night. It was such a big deal for you to talk about it; I couldn’t find a way to tell you. And I was being selfish. You were my lifeline, the only person I had to really talk to. I was too afraid to lose you. I swore to myself that I’d tell you when I came home, but I haven’t been able to find the right words to tell you how deeply sorry I am.”

  “It’s your fault he’s dead? You are the reason that I spent the last two years alone and dead inside? I had to sit through Callie’s wedding and stare at the name on that empty chair all evening because of you?”

  He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I would trade places with him if I could, with any one of them.”

  “But you can’t!” I scream. “Nothing will bring him back!”

  “No.” He chokes on the sobs that finally break free from his chest. “When you told me the story of the accident, I remembered everything. I remembered you.”

  “I don’t want to hear—”

  “Please, just listen,” he interrupts. “We were less than a mile away when the call came in, so we were the first ambulance on the scene, and my partner ran over to help the person in another vehicle. I decided to check the other vehicle, but I knew it was going to be ugly. To be honest, I didn’t think there could possibly be survivors, judging by the way the car looked. But there were two. You were both somehow still alive. I ran from one side to the other, trying to figure out what needed to be done.”

  “That was when I saw the branch. It went all the way through. I knew he didn’t have much time, and I called for more help. But he grabbed my arm and told me to help you first. He said, ‘Take care of my girl.’ He was adamant. So to make him feel better, I went to your side, and I noticed the blood dripping from your leg. I’ve seen injuries like it before, and I knew you had less time than he did if I couldn’t stop the bleeding. Your pulse was already faint, and you were nearly unconscious. I kept telling you to stay awake, but your eyes were so heavy. I stayed there
with you, doing everything I could to stop the bleeding until we could get you out.”

  I can’t do this. I’ve lived through it a thousand times, and I don’t want to do it anymore. He had the choice to help him, and he chose not to. He made the decision that took Shane’s life. I probably would’ve been fine if he’d helped him first, but he didn’t.

  “I stayed with you until I handed you over to the ER docs, and I even came by the hospital the next day to check in on you. That’s when I found out that he died at the scene. I could hear you crying from the hallway. It has haunted me to this day, knowing that I caused you that pain. I could’ve done something differently.” He stands and walks to the window. “I’m so sorry, Makenna.”

  I finally stand even though I’m not so sure my legs will carry me very far. Silently, I walk into his room and grab everything that I didn’t take home with me earlier, and I muster up every ounce of determination I can. I won’t let him see me fall apart, even though I want him to feel every stab of pain in my heart right now. “Sorry just isn’t enough sometimes. How could I ever forgive you for that?”

  Before he can answer, I storm out of the house, stealing one last glance at those eyes, knowing it’s the last time. Deep down, I know my reaction isn’t fair, not at all. Hell, he saved my life. But how can I ever forget that he didn’t make a single attempt to help Shane? How can I forget that he’s the one who took away my happy ever after?

  The last week has been pure hell, and I’m not at all ready to go back to work tomorrow. Sawyer has called me every day since I walked out his door, but I haven’t answered. I overreacted . . . I know I did. But I still can’t silence the voice in my head that tells me he could’ve helped Shane, that he could’ve done something. If they had just gotten him to the ambulance first, maybe, just maybe, everything would’ve been different.

  But even with the constant nagging accusations plaguing my mind, I still miss him. I miss his silly, crooked smile and the way his rough fingers feel on my skin. I miss the way that, every time I look at him, I catch him staring at me. I miss finally feeling whole again; it’s like my heart was becoming capable of more than just barely beating. I miss the way he makes me feel alive. Loved.

  I finally called my mom and told her about all of it yesterday, and she wasn’t much help. She told me that she’s thankful for what he did because, if he hadn’t, she’d be the one who lost her child that day. She can’t know that. We might’ve both come through it okay. I just want one person to validate what I feel. I want someone to agree with me and tell me I’m not being completely unreasonable. Why couldn’t she just coddle me and tell me I’m right?

  Because you’re obviously wrong.

  And obviously my conscience is a hateful bitch.

  Pulling the curtain back, I peek out at the squad car sitting in the parking lot. Just as Sawyer promised, there’s been someone watching over me pretty much the entire time, except for rare moments they were needed on a call, and I’ve made it easy on them by not leaving my house until today. I couldn’t put off preparing lesson plans any longer, even if I’d rather stay in bed all day today. Again. I’m just hoping that getting back in my usual routine will keep my mind off of Sawyer, Shane, and Drew.

  Yeah, I don’t sound like a slut at all.

  “Hey,” a deep voice calls from my doorway, causing me to throw the stack of papers I was holding.

  I turn around slowly, scanning the room for anything that would double as a weapon. Of course, the only thing I come up with is those little blunt tip scissors. Those could take an eye out, right? “Just leave me alo—. Damn it, Wes. You scared the life out of me!”

  “Sorry, Mak. Callie is here working, too, and she called me when she saw that you were here. I heard about everything that’s been going on. Are you doing okay?” Callie’s husband and I used to be really close. Since he and Shane are brothers, he was always around and treated me just like a sister. Sometimes that was a good thing, other times it was bad. Like the time he found my bra in Shane’s bedroom at a party and came out wearing it on his head in front of everyone.

  “I’ll be fine, but define ‘everything.’” Just looking at him hurts right now. Their crystal blue eyes were always identical.

  He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and sits at the corner of my desk. “Your mom called Callie last night. That dumbass coach that I’ve never liked, the break-in, the soldier, the dumbass coach attacking the soldier, and finally the part where you found out he was at the accident. Everything.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have told her anything, “I mumble under my breath. “I didn’t think you were flying back until today. I was going to call and warn Callie about him.”

  “There was some snow moving in, so we took an earlier flight and came back yesterday afternoon.” He sighs deeply. “Cal feels like shit, you know. She pushed you to get involved with that guy, and she treated you unfairly. She knows that. Even though I begged her to give you more time, she snapped. We’ve been having some problems of our own, and she’s been so quick to lash out at everyone else. She wants to be able to fix everything, but life has its way of reminding us how little control we have. She’s just frustrated that, no matter how hard she tries to stop it, life still hurts.”

  “Problems?” I ask, stepping in front of him. “What’s going on?”

  His lips press together in a grim line, and he hangs his head slightly. “She probably never mentioned it because I asked her not to, but we’ve been trying to get pregnant for about six months now. She hasn’t been on birth control for a year, so we started getting concerned that something was wrong. Turns out, it’s me. I guess that groin injury I got several years ago playing lacrosse did more damage than the doctors realized. They’re about 99 percent certain that I won’t be able to get her pregnant.”

  All Callie has ever wanted from life was an adoring husband and a house full of kids, so I can see why this would be eating at her so much. “I’m so sorry, Wes. I didn’t know.”

  “I want her to talk to you about it on her own, so don’t bring it up. We’re looking at our options; we’ll figure something out. She’s just so disappointed. And she alienated herself from you, too, so she really hasn’t had anyone to talk to. I’m sure she’s sick of talking to me by now.”

  “With everything that’s been going on in my life, I’m not so sure that talking to me would’ve been helpful at all. Maybe it’s best that she hasn’t.”

  Wes reaches out and pulls me into his embrace, and it feels so good. I’ve missed those big brother hugs. “It’s not his fault.”

  Not him, too. “But, what if he’d stayed at Shane’s side instead of mine? What if he made sure someone got over there to help sooner?”

  “Then we would’ve lost both of you.” He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back to look at me. His eyes are brimmed with tears, and his chin quivers uncontrollably. “Don’t forget that I was there that night, too. I watched it all unfold right in front of me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. He’s my little brother, and it’s my job to protect him. I had to watch him die. You didn’t see what I saw. I knew there was no way he was coming out of that car alive. If they had a full ER with the best doctors in the world on the side of that road, he still wouldn’t have made it, Mak. Even the coroner said that. The paramedic did exactly what he should’ve done. If he didn’t, I promise you wouldn’t be standing here right now. Doctors said that if you’d lost any more blood, they wouldn’t have been able to get you back. Your heart stopped twice in the ambulance, and he revived you. He saved your life, and I thank God every day that he did.”

  I fall into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and sobbing until I can hardly breathe. And he cries right along with me. He’s right. I didn’t have to see it, and I’m thankful I didn’t. Wes never has told me before that he feels guilty for not somehow protecting his brother. There’s no way he could’ve known what was going to happen that night; there’s nothing he could’ve done.

 
Just like there’s nothing that Sawyer could’ve done for Shane. I knew it all along, but I wanted to be able to place the blame somewhere. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I just wanted to point fingers at someone other than myself. I wanted to take away the guilt I’ve always felt for being the one that got to live. It’s never seemed fair that I survived and he didn’t.

  “H-he told you that he loved you that night,” Wes says, stroking my hair. “Do you remember that?”

  I nod once. “I didn’t until recently.”

  “He knew. He knew that you’d be the one to make it out alive. That was his goodbye. I saw it in his eyes. He had to fight for every gasp of air he could take, but he still had to tell you that one last time.” Wes pauses to take a deep, shaky breath. “Then when he saw the paramedic with you, he didn’t fight anymore. He was at peace, knowing someone would take care of you. He reached out for my hand and held it tight for a brief moment, looking at me with . . . I don’t know . . . this unexplainable calm. He even smiled at me—a silent farewell—before those last precious seconds slipped away. He took his last breath believing we’d all be okay. So, for him, that’s what we have to do.”

  I wipe at the tears still streaming from his eyes, not really caring about my own. “You’ve never told me about that before. I wish you had.”

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever told that. All this time, I wanted to keep that final moment to myself; it was the only thing I had left of him, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone. It didn’t really dawn on me that I was being selfish until Callie told me everything that your mom told her. She was inconsolable and was ready to go straight to your house and apologize for everything she said to you. I made her promise to let me talk to you first. I was hoping that, if I told you, it would help you see everything more clearly.”

  I lay my head back against his chest. “I’m glad you did. I just wish I knew what the hell to do now. How can I take back what I said to him? How can I even look at him now without thinking about that night? I don’t know if I can. There’s this dark chasm between us now that I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to cross.”