The Best of Me

by Karlee Michelle

  Copyright © 2020 by Karlee Michelle

  ISBN: 9798690156145

  Publication Date: November 17th, 2020

  1st Edition

  All right reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover by Karlee Michelle

  Proof Reading by Annie Bugeja

  Editing by BohoBooks Publishing

  THINK SERIES

  Sooner Than You Think

  Later Than You Think

  SACRED SERIES

  Sanctum

  Asylum *Coming Soon*

  Twenty-eight was too young.

  Too young to piece a broken life together,

  and definitely too young to bury my husband.

  With no hope in sight, I was on the cusp of losing myself.

  But then a letter came…

  “Speaking of chances, I want you to take one...”

  Mason Baylor was my second chance.

  He was the home my broken heart had been searching for.

  But then my world went silent and secrets came out.

  I didn't think things could get any worse.

  But I was so wrong.

  “What matters

  most

  is how well

  you walk

  through

  the fire.”

  -Charles

  Bukowski

  misslieness – the feeling of solitariness that

  comes from missing something or someone you love

  Emery

  You know those moments where your life is about to change? You can feel the energy around you settle to a calm bliss, waiting for you to take the next step that’s going to lead you on a new path—this is one of those moments. I should return it to the sender just in case it’s not for me but call me curious. I rip the envelope open, and there’s a white piece of paper inside with faded blue lines, folded just like a letter. A nostalgic feeling of passing notes in school hits me, making me smile. Eligible chicken scratch covers the paper, and it feels like I’m snooping in someone’s diary, but I read anyway.

  It was a hard day. The needle sat in my hand for forty-five minutes. I don’t even need a tourniquet like I did when I first started shooting up. It’s funny how addiction changes you. In the beginning, you’re still shameful. You hide it—pretend to be normal. You go about family events and out with your friends, but the craving is constantly there. At every turn, I’m always looking to see where I could get more. Could I sneak off and do a hit without anyone realizing? But little by little, a new demon takes over your life. He’s the master, and he decides what you do, where you go, what you say. He takes over the lies you tell and the money you steal. It’s a fine line we walk, tiptoeing and pushing the boundaries as far as we can until one day—one hit—you barrel over the edge. I can’t go over the edge again. But the view looks so good, all I want to do is taste each sunrise and touch each sunset. I want to dive off and feel the ambience of the free fall shoot adrenaline through my blood. But the moment I take that step, the moment that needle pierces my skin?

  I’m a dead man.

  My eyes widen. “Whoa.” I read it again. Then again. “This is insane. Who is this? Did he mean to send this to me?” I’m waiting for Derek’s silent rebuttal, but I get nothing. “Oh, come on, now you want to be quiet?”

  I’m officially losing my mind. What the hell do I do with this? It feels too insensitive to throw away, but weird as hell to keep. Setting the letter on the counter, I start dinner. After taking constant glances at it the entire evening, I know what I’m going to do.

  I’m going to write back.

  redamancy—the act of loving the one

  who loves you; a love returned in full

  Emery

  Three Weeks Ago

  The sound of my snoring husband keeps me from falling asleep. Rolling towards him, I lean over and plug his nose. He snorts and swats at my hand, turning away from me, still snoring.

  “For the love of God, you could saw wood,” I whisper in his ear before kissing the side of his head. As I roll out of bed, my feet sink into the plush white carpet we fought over. I won, of course. I let him put hardwood floors through the entire house, only if our bedroom had the carpet of my choosing. It was a fight, but he reluctantly agreed, unable to understand how I could prefer carpet over hardwood. Smiling sweetly, I picked the thickest padding and the softest carpet in the entire store.

  Throwing on his white tee-shirt, the hem of the soft cotton tickles my knees as I pad into the kitchen. It may be twelve-thirty a.m., but I’m no stranger to midnight baking. It’s become a thing of normalcy on the weekends. Pre-heating my oven, I grab the ingredients for our favorite cinnamon rolls. After setting my phone on the dock and quietly playing Taking Back Sunday, I make the dough. Just as I’m about to transfer it into a greased bowl to rise, I feel hands on my hips.

  His stubble nips at the nape of my neck as I jump in surprise. “Holy crap! You scared the hell out of me!”

  Derek chuckles, and the calloused tips of his fingers lightly scratch the skin of my legs as he lifts the hem of my tee slowly up to my hips. “Are you gonna jump every time, baby?”

  I look towards him, his chin resting on my shoulder with a big, cheesy grin on his face. “Are you gonna keep sneaking up on me?”

  His hands grip my hips, and he turns me towards him, lifting me onto our finished cement countertops. I wrap my arms around his neck as our foreheads fall together. “Best of Me” by Sum 41 plays, and he sings every word to me. We’ve come a long way in our nine years together. The beginning wasn’t easy. Both of us were too stubborn to let each other in. Derek struggled a lot back then after losing his dad, and he ended up leaving for a while. But no matter how hard he pushed, I stayed in the same spot, because I could see underneath it. I could see the man he truly was, waiting to come out as soon as he got the help he needed. And it paid off because Derek is hands down the best man I’ve ever known.

  People pressured us to get married all the time, but we didn’t want to rush. We were having so much fun, and we didn’t feel the need to get married. But the moment I saw him drop to his knee, I jumped into his arms and knocked him over. My whole body hummed with a high unlike anything else, and a love so strong, it buried itself deep into my bones.

  “I have a speech, baby.” He laughs through my kisses as I knock him to the ground in excitement.

  Sitting up with my hands on his chest, I stare down at him with the biggest grin I’ve ever felt on my face. “I have an answer.”

  He chuckles and sits up with me still in his lap. His fingers slowly brush my brown hair out of my eyes. “My beautiful girl.” I nuzzle into his shaking hand. “Shit, I’m nervous,” he mumbles out, and I barely understand him. A smile crawls over my lips, pulling them up little by little.

  He licks his lips before he pulls out a ring box, holding it in his hand as he clears his throat, “Agape—The highest form of love. Selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love persists no matter the circumstance. Sarang—The feeling of wanting to be with someone until death. Latibule—A hiding
place, a place of safety and comfort. I could list every word for every emotion, and it still wouldn’t compare to what I feel for you.” He opens the box and a gorgeous princess cut diamond ring sits in the black satin. “You’re already my soulmate—but be my wife. My partner. The mother of my children. What do you say, Emery Jean? Will you marry me?”

  My husband’s voice snaps me out of the memory as his thumb graces the apple of my cheek, making me grin. I press a kiss to his lips. “I love you something fierce, Derek Sutton.”

  He smiles. “Are you happy, Emery Jean?”

  “Excruciatingly happy,” my finger ventures down his nose, “Want to know what would make me even happier?”

  Derek’s head leans back as he purses his lips, pretending to think about what he already darn well knows. “Mmmmm. Tacos?”

  I give him my best grin, and he laughs, kissing me before setting me back on my feet. He slaps my butt on his way to the fridge for midnight tacos, and I yelp just as the timer goes off to roll out my dough and get the rolls ready. Between sneaking tastes and eating the icing out of the bowl, love weaves through our every word and every look. Honestly, I can’t remember how many times we’ve done this since we got married.

  “You’re gonna make me fat with all these tacos.”

  The devil on Derek’s shoulder pulls the side of his mouth up. “I’ll still lick every curve of your body like a lollipop, Emery Jean. You should know this by now.”

  I roll my eyes as I get up and clear my plate. “Hopefully, you have a good dentist. That’s quite the sweet tooth.”

  The deep sultry chuckle of his laugh trickles down my neck like cool water as he wraps his arms around me from behind. “The best. Now, let me get started.”

  Derek jolts me as he turns me around and hauls me over his shoulder while I scream. My fists pound into his back until he throws me on the bed, and each week this smile gets bigger and bigger. I’m absolutely certain I’m the luckiest girl on the planet if the rest of my forever looks like this.

  rubatosis—an unsettling awareness of your own heart

  Emery

  May 25th

  Four days after the accident

  I’m aware of every beat. Every painful beat, violently drumming in my chest. With every thud, my throat clenches. With every deafening pound, my teeth sink into my lip to try and hold back the tears. It’s a feeble attempt because the salty streams have already cut a path down my face so deep, I’m sure it’ll scar. But that’s normal for these situations, right? What else do you feel when the person whose soul was woven into yours is dead? Bittersweet? Anger? Sorrow?

  Because I feel every single thing. I feel the sorrow constantly pull on my cheeks, begging for me to scream. I feel the desperation in my hands as my fingers ache to hold my husband. I feel my muscles vibrate through my body, numb but hot and ready to explode. Yet my body is cold and lost, searching for him in everything I touch, and everywhere I look. And I feel the devastation in my heart slicing through every pulse, making sure it hurts with every breath and every movement. I’m not lucky enough to feel numb like some people do. Oh, no.

  I feel everything.

  As I’m sitting in the front row, my vision blurs as water fills my eyes, and a guttural sob leaves my body. I drop my head in my hands, unable to hold back anymore. The touch of my mom’s palm rubbing up and down my back is an attempt to comfort me as I hear her weep. My hands shake against my face and my teeth clatter, echoing throughout the rest of my body. I try to catch my breath, but I can’t—the pain is overwhelming, and I can’t breathe. I cannot breathe.

  I’ve no doubt everyone is looking at me—officiant included—but I don’t care. The love of my life was just ripped from my arms, and I’m allowed to break down—especially right now.

  Turning into my mom, I hug her. “I can’t do this, mom. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do this.” The incoherent words leave my mouth quickly, falling onto her shoulder and mixing with my tears.

  “I know, baby girl. I know. I’m so sorry.” Her arms squeeze me tighter as she rocks her twenty-eight-year-old daughter in the first pew of the church. I don’t know how long I stay like this—buried into my mom’s shoulder—but the gentle shake of my body brings me back.

  The service is over, and now I have to stand in the foyer and shake hands with everyone as they try to awkwardly comfort me—the widow who didn’t even make it to her first wedding anniversary. Blurred face after blurred face passes me by as my hand shakes theirs, occasionally a hug. But I don’t see or hear any of it. I’m desperately trying to hold on to his smiling face and the sound of his voice, ingraining all of him in my head for as long as possible. It’s been four days since I got the call that he was in a car accident, and ever since the moment they told me he was dead, a profound sense of fear settled over me, afraid I would forget everything about him. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His laugh. The sound of his voice. His glare—everything. I wished we would’ve taken more pictures. More videos. Anything to hang on to as much of him as I could. Eventually, the line ends, and everyone is in their cars already lined up, waiting for me to get into the front vehicle to make our way to the gravesite.

  Drew, my sister, appears by my side and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. “Ready, Emery Jean?”

  No.

  “C’mon. I won’t leave your side.” She leads me into the car and gets in beside me. My dad sits in the driver’s seat and my mom is in the passenger. Leftover tears stain their faces. They loved him like he was their own. Derek was the son my dad never had, and my dad was as close to a father as he could be for Derek since his father died so long ago.

  Wetness falls down my cheeks again, and I lean on my sister’s shoulder, silently weeping as she holds my hands in both of hers. It’s only a short drive—maybe ten minutes—before we’re there. The casket is suspended in the air above a deep hole in the ground, and the sight makes my stomach turn the closer I get to it. God, he deserves so much more than this. It shouldn’t have happened to him.

  The moment my dad’s arm wraps around my shoulders and I hear his slow deep breath trying to hold back his tears, mine fall harder. While he holds me up and my sister holds my hand, my mom hangs on to my dad, with Derek’s mom next to us. We’re all silent—unable to say anything even if we wanted to.

  As I stand and stare at the rich Mahogany with white roses on top, my clammy palm lays on the cool wood, and the sobs shake my body. “This can’t be real. You’re going to come home tonight, wrap me in your arms and kiss me, right? I’m going to wake up, and this is all going to be a dream, right? Because you wouldn’t have left me, you can’t be gone.” My cracked whisper fights through the pain as my chin quivers. Drew gently rubs up and down my arms before she hugs me, and I can’t stop fucking sobbing. Will this ever stop? Because this sort of agony feels permanent.

  Thirty minutes later, Derek’s casket is in the ground. Family and friends are leaving, but I can’t. I physically can’t move my feet from this spot because the moment I do—that’s when my new reality starts, and I’m not ready to face it.

  Finally, I walk to the edge and look down to throw one last white rose into the ground. The fall of the flower seems so inconsequential to us, but each petal jolts on contact, loosening and tearing a bit from the stem. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and inhale the cool May air before heading for my parent’s car. We silently drive back to the church—no one uttering a word. When we get there, I don’t get out right away. We all sit in a content quietness until I eventually make the first move. The four of us pack up all the roses, cards, and pictures and fill up my trunk and my car’s back seat. This whole day is passing in some sort of a slow-motion blur. I could swear I’m outside of my body, watching the devastation unfold with each passing second.

  The sound of my mom’s voice snaps me out of my idle thoughts. “Do you want us to drive you? We can stay with you, or you can stay with us, Em. Whatever you need.” My mom’s worried eyes study me. Exhaustion
seeps through my body, and I just want to be alone.

  I try to muster a thankful smile, but it feels tight. “Thanks, mom. But I want to go home. I want to be alone for a bit.” I nod the last sentence, convincing myself as I say it.

  Her eyes meet my dad’s. I know they don’t like the idea, but they won’t fight me on it. “Okay. We love you so much, Emery. We’ll call you tomorrow,” she says as she hugs me.

  My dad wraps his arms around me and holds me once again, and it’s hard not to break down—but what’s one more. There’s something about the safety of my dad’s arms that makes my heart ache a little harder. “I love you so much, kiddo. Please call us the moment you need or want something. I don’t like the thought of you being alone right now, but I know you need time.”

  “Love you too, dad.”

  He kisses my head and Drew hugs me immediately after. “I’m so sorry, Emery Jean. I wish I could do something. Say something.”

  I return her hug. “Me too.”

  “I love you,” she says as she releases me, combing her hands through my hair, giving me an encouraging smile.

  “Love you too. Thanks for the help today.”

  “Of course. I’ll call you tomorrow. If you change your mind and want company tonight, I’m there.”

  Trying my best, I muster a small smile before getting into the car. Not wasting any time, I leave right away but make one stop to the corner liquor store by my house. I’m desperate for something to get me through the rest of this night. Hell, the rest of my life. Getting out of the car and on my feet again makes me realize how much they hurt from these heels, so I take them off and walk barefoot with my shoes in hand inside the store. I give no fucks right now, and judging by my long black peacoat, dress, and the mascara smeared down my face, I don’t think they will give me too much hassle.