“Nah. I don’t think so. It was an accident that I found out. By the time I did, Dad was looking at a ten-year prison sentence.”
“That is so fucked up.” I snap the band again. I need it—anything to get the image of Josie’s bloodied body out of my head. What I hate more than murdering a human being on constant replay in my head is the reminder of why I did it—why I’d do it again.
I can’t reconcile the two. The guilt of taking someone’s life away and the fact that I still believe he deserved it.
“You and Josie should come to Seattle with us.”
“What?” I shoot the beer bottle into the recycling bin. I turn to face him and give him an are-you-crazy kind of look.
“C’mon. You told me your mom is selling the farm, so you don’t have to stay there out of obligation anymore. Pack up your shit and move with us.”
“In what universe do you think I could convince Josie to pick up and leave? She’d never leave her dad. And after all the shit I’ve been putting her through, I don’t think she’ll want to be with me ever again.”
Brandon booms a stupid-drunken laugh and lies on his back. “Yeah, buddy. You’re screwed. We heard y’all yelling from upstairs.” Suddenly, he bolts to his feet and gives me a wolfish grin. “Brooke and I have some pot in the garage, wanna come smoke with me? Get high enough to forget that our women hate our guts right now?”
“Nah, I’ll pass.” I walk to the fridge and grab another beer. “I’ll stick to alcohol tonight.”
Brandon wraps his arm around me and pulls me into a hug. “I love you, man. Just say you’re sorry to her and she’ll be all over you again.” He slaps my back hard. “And think about coming with us. I really don’t wanna lose my best friend.”
I give him a salute with my beer and we walk in opposite directions. “Hey, wait a minute,” I call before he exits the room. He turns around and waits. Blood rushes up my neck, my heart beating furiously. “What did the note say?”
I don’t want to know. I need to know.
Brandon runs a hand over his mouth and sighs. “Brooke ripped it up and threw it away, but she told me it said It’s not your fault.”
My lungs empty as the blow hits me square in my chest. How could she do that? How could that be the last thing she wanted to say?
I walk onto the back porch and let the silent night wrap around me. Too much silence leaves too much time to reflect. To remember the look of shock on Josie’s face as she was stabbed. Remember her screams and cries when she woke up to find that her baby was gone. Remember the sticky feel of her blood seeping into my hands.
When I allow myself silence, my brain runs wild and convinces me I’m a terrible person. I only bring danger and pain to the people I love.
Tonight, I’d like to pretend I’m normal and not a walking failure. I settle onto the wooden porch, close my eyes, and try to enjoy my drunken haze.
But all I see is her. The way she must have looked lying on that bathroom floor desperately seeking death.
Sometimes, I feel the same way.
Chapter 41
Josie
A gasp so strong and painful wakes me from my sleep. I grab my chest, digging my nails into my skin so hard, I’m sure I’ll leave a bruise. Another one. My body trembles from the lingering nightmare.
I hate that I close my eyes and still have to relive everything that happened. I have to see him and feel the pain he put me through again and again.
I can’t outrun it and I haven’t been successful in quieting it. I fight to get away. I try to stab him before he stabs me. I try all the things Seth helped me with the last time I had reoccurring nightmares, but nothing works.
Balling my hands into fists I turn onto my side and attempt to ground myself in the present. I’m at Brooke’s house. I’m on her couch. I’m in the living room.
Deep breath in.
Brody and Breanna are in the loveseat across the room giggling and talking.
Deep breath out.
Michael’s dead. He will never hurt me again.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Reality rushes over me, and my heart beats at a healthier rhythm. I can tell myself that the pain is over—that I don’t have to be scared anymore because Michael’s dead—but I still can’t seem to shake the agony of what happened. I’m not sure I ever will. Coping with the pain is my new life.
“If you were anyone in a past life, who do you think you’d be?” Brody asks in a hushed voice.
They obviously didn’t hear me wake up from the nightmare. Yes, I’m a total creeper. I eavesdrop and don’t feel an ounce of guilt. I open my eyes and see her and Brody facing each other, cross-legged on the loveseat. Their bodies keep gravitating toward each other.
“The little mermaid,” Breanna responds, grinning.
Brody nods as if he expected this, eyes crinkling. “I can see that. You both have an obsession with feet.”
“Gah!” she squeals, shoving his shoulder. “I do not!”
He laughs, the deep baritone reverberating off the walls. “You totally do.”
“You are so crazy, B. Who would you be?”
“Mick Jagger, for sure.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. I scrunch my nose and laugh under my breath.
“What?” Breanna giggles falling back on the cushions. “You are such a goofball. He’s still alive!”
Body’s wide smile doesn’t leave his face as he closes the space between them and pushes the long locks of black hair from her face. “Yeah, and you picked a freakin’ cartoon character, so you’re just as goofy as me.”
Breanna murmurs something under her breath and Brody throws his head back laughing. Breanna giggles softly at first, but it gets out of control and she snorts. This makes Brody laugh even harder, despite his attempts to shush her.
“Stop making me laugh, Bree. We’re going to wake up Josie and she needs her sleep after today.”
Closing my eyes as soon as I hear my name, I pretend like I’m still asleep. They’re quiet for a few moments, then Breanna’s soft voice breaks the silence. “I want to love someone as much as they love each other.”
Brody doesn’t say anything at first, and I can almost feel his chest tightening at her words. Hell, it makes me ache for them.
“You could tell they loved each other through that boxing match?”
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “So passionate. I want that.” She pauses and I don’t miss a low sigh that sounds like it came from Brody. “But then again, I don’t. Trusting someone that much is a scary thing.”
“Not everyone is like him, Bree,” Brody says in a rare show of seriousness.
“She should hate me,” Breanna says, dismissing his claim.
A shiver runs up my spine. Me? I should hate her?
“No, she shouldn’t. And she wouldn’t even if she knew.” He’s quiet for a moment, then speaks lower than before. “She’d go through it again if it meant keeping another innocent person from having to experience what she did.”
“B, he wouldn’t have even been there if—”
“Stop, Bree,” Brody says, tone demanding. “It’s over now. We’re finally free. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain.”
There are puzzle pieces floating around in my head—pieces that don’t make sense separately, but are the start of an answer I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know. I know the pain in her voice, and if what I’m dreading she might be referring to is true, then I don’t want to put those pieces together. That’s their story, their past.
I open one eye and watch as Brody holds Breanna close, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“You will,” he says eventually, closing his eyes. “Find someone, I mean. Find that great big love. Find the man who will take care of you and treat you like the princess you are.” He hooks a finger under her chin so she looks up at him. “Don’t you dare settle for less than that.”
Goddamn. I really need to get out of here. This is way too personal for me. In an obnoxious sh
ow of waking up, I yawn loudly, and sit up on the couch. I stretch out my back and arms before looking at them.
Ahh, my yawn magically put about ten inches between them.
“Well, good mornin’, drunky,” Brody says, leaning back on the couch, arms spread over the cushions. I don’t miss his thumb grazing Breanna’s shoulder.
I arch a brow and look out the window. It’s still dark outside. “What time is it?”
Brody looks at his watch. “Three in the morning. Everyone drank too much and passed out at like nine.”
My head throbs and the world spins when I stand. Yeah, I definitely drank too much. Brooke and I went through a whole bottle of Southern Comfort bitching about how terrible men are before I finally stumbled down the stairs. I made it to the couch right before I collapsed. “Is Seth still here?”
Brody shows a full set of perfectly-white teeth as he smiles. “Yes, in fact, he is. He passed out on the back porch. I didn’t want to risk getting another black eye, so I left him there.”
I smash my lips together so I won’t smile. “You’re so weird, Brody.”
I walk out of the living room, in desperate need of the bathroom and a glass of water. But once I’ve had a whole bottle of water and a Gatorade, I don’t know what to do. Facing those nightmares again doesn’t sound appealing, so sleep is out of the question.
My body must have a damn mind of its own. Without realizing it, I’ve gravitated to the back door, my hand splayed against the glass. I see the outline of his body spread out on the porch and my chest tightens. My throat closes and aches. I want him so bad. I want one moment where we aren’t running from each other. Where we aren’t at each other’s throats.
Unless, it involves a lot of tongue and lips.
My raw need outweighs the voice in my head telling me that it’s a big mistake. At the sound of the door closing, Seth’s body shoots upward, his eyes red and frantic. He squints until he makes out who I am, then sighs.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, voice deep and gruff with sleep. He leans back on his elbows and watches every step I make with a wary eye.
My skin burns when his eyes switch from cautious to hungry. My stomach knots as I watch his tongue dart out to lick his dry lips. Taking a gulp of air, I sit down in front of him, and look up at the stars. The chill of the night creeps over me and my skin breaks out in goose bumps.
“I’m sorry I broke your guitar.” I feel him shift behind me, harsh breaths tickling the bare skin of my arms. His hand teases the bottom strands of my crazy bed-head hair.
“I’m sorry I called you a cunt,” he says after a few beats of silence, his voice low and tender. Genuine.
He shifts so his legs are on either side of mine, cradling me against his chest. He rests his chin on my shoulder and I lean my head back against his. My chest is a wavy stream of breaths I can’t seem to catch.
This. This is my Seth. The one who can yell at me one second and melt into a tender lover the next.
“What was the trigger?” he asks, confusing me. He looks down, swallows hard, and searches my eyes. He seems so sad in this moment. So lost. Leaning his forehead against mine, he clarifies. “What made you take those pills? What made you write that note, Jos?”
Tears sting my eyes as I think back to that day. I shake my head. I don’t know if I can tell him this.
“Please,” he begs, eyes imploring mine. His thumb swipes at the tear falling down the curve of my cheek.
I take multiple deep breaths before I can speak. “Did … Did you get to see her at the hospital?” My throat is so raw it hurts to use my voice.
Seth’s face falls even more. His eyes close and he shakes his head. “They kicked me out after they told me they couldn’t save her.”
I give him a half-hearted smile when his eyes open. “Dad told me you started throwing things.”
“Did you?” his voice cracks. “See her, I mean. Before you left?”
I turn to look back up at the black sky, suddenly feeling sick. “They said I labored her out naturally before they could do anything. I don’t remember any of it.” I try to swallow the knot in my throat. “But when I woke up the second time, they told me I could see her. Or they could take pictures.” I shake my head and can’t stop. Seth’s hand grips mine between my legs. He holds on tight, an anchor that I’ve been needing for weeks.
“I couldn’t handle seeing her at the time, so they took pictures for me.” My shoulders shake and my chin falls to my chest as rivers fall from my eyes. “I thought I was strong enough a week later, but I wasn’t.” The memory is like another knife in the gut. “She was so little, Seth. She wasn’t even fourteen weeks yet, but she was a baby. Our baby with the teeniest feet and hands I’ve ever seen. Our little girl who I was supposed to kiss and hug and love for the rest of my life.” I sob and try to hug myself, but Seth’s arms beat me to it. He turns me around and cradles me against his hard body. Splashes of his tears mix with mine.
“Sometimes death is preferable to the agony of reality. And that day, I didn’t want to have anything to do with reality. I was a few pills away from touching oblivion and I wanted that more than I have ever wanted anything in my life,” I explain after I get my sniffling under control and can catch a breath.
Seth’s body shudders and embraces me tighter. “Fuck,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. His hands slide into my hair and he tilts my head to look at him. Red blotches paint his face and tears that rival my own slide across his swollen lips. His chin trembles as he holds my face in his hands. “Do you—” his voice cracks, and he takes a couple deep breaths before trying again. “Do you think you could show me one day?”
“Yes,” I whisper, reaching up to wipe some of his tears.
He nods and leans into my hand. “She deserves a goodbye, you know?”
I nod again, words lost to the bone-crushing pain of our loss.
He holds my face in his hands and leans his forehead against mine, thumbs stroking my jaw.
We don’t talk.
We don’t do anything but cling to each other as we mourn our daughter for the first time since she was taken from us too soon.
And for that brief moment in time, we start healing the scars in our hearts.
Chapter 42
Seth
I glide my truck into the driveway, and try to stop my hands from shaking when I look up at the house. I haven’t been here since that day, and I’m not sure why I’m trying to rectify that right now. Drawing in a full breath is a chore against the ache in my ribs. My head smacks the headrest and I sigh deeply.
I’m emotionally drained. My body is raw and lethargic from last night—from the encompassing sorrow Josie and I weathered. We spent minutes or hours holding onto each other, afraid breaking away would cause us to crumble all over again. Afraid talking would break the spell.
But eventually, sleep claimed us, and eventually, I heard her calling my name in her sleep. The rays of the morning sun highlighted her sleeping form and I couldn’t look away. My throat tightened and I wished more than anything that I could take back all the bullshit I’ve been putting her through for the past few weeks.
There is an ugly barrier that we’ve built between us, forged in heartache and anger and distrust. The vulnerability that we showed each other last night put a fracture in it, but even a small rupture can’t tear down a wall made of titanium.
I’ve let my bitterness and anxiety and depression tattoo their way into my soul and the pain is so deep that I’m not sure how to reclaim myself. With her in my arms, her hands splayed against my chest breathing softly into my neck, I finally felt a reprieve from the darkness.
The way she clung to me made me feel worth something again.
And that scared the shit out of me. How can I be her anchor? How can I love her the way she needs when I despise myself? I’ve been racing down a dismal path and I don’t know my way back.
My lips grazed hers in a barely-there kiss, and I untangled our bodies. I needed to get away.
To think. To reflect on my failures and remind myself that I will never be good enough for her.
Now I’m at the place it all ended. The place I lost myself by taking the life of another human being. The place I watched life slip away from the woman I loved. The place I held the love of my life in my arms, and realized just how useless I was.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I get out of the truck.
I’m not prepared for the assault of anger I feel when I walk onto the front porch and see her blood stained into the concrete. I’m not ready for the pain. This is exactly why I’ve been avoiding her. Avoiding this house. It’s too fucking much.
I force my gaze to stay on the door and I walk in. Making a sharp right around the corner, I see the living room.
Which is a lot fucking worse than outside—the crime scene untouched.
I fall to my knees next to our overturned dining room chair and pick up the discarded rope, dread filling every cell in my body. What happened to you in here?
Blood stains everything. It’s on the rope. On the hardwood floor. It’s on the cushion of the chair and on the yellow and grey chevron rug.
I bolt to the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. The images of what he must have done to her in our house, a place of solitude and safety, assault my brain. What did he do to you?
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and flush the toilet.
You promised you would never let him hurt her again. You lied. You will never stop failing her.
I try to shut out the voice and get off the floor. Maybe I’ve been holding onto my anger over our failed engagement so I can’t let her in long enough to see how worthless I really am.
You’re being an asshole to her, because you’re too much of a coward to face the consequences of what happened.
That might be the first time my inner crazy made sense. I dig through the kitchen cabinets until I find the good liquor and start drowning out my thoughts. Reaching underneath the sink, I pull out a bucket, soap, and a sponge.
That's a Relief (Promises, Promises Book 3) Page 26