by Gabrielle G.
“That’s what swim buddies are for,” he smiles.
“Yeah, but… I wasn’t. Maybe you needed me, but I let you sink.”
Mark scoffs. “I know how to swim, and you were too busy trying not to drown yourself to see if I needed assistance, which I didn’t, so we’re fine.” Mark always tries to make light of things in the worst of any situation.
“Mark, what I’m trying to say is…” And there we go, I take a big breath in and dive. “I’ve lied to you.”
“Go on.”
I take a sip of my beer for liquid courage and sigh. My eyes fall to the label of the bottle I’m peeling.
“Elaine was pregnant when she died. We were going to ask you to be the godfather. In fact, we were going to announce it to you that day. But I was missing the thrill. You know more than anyone I didn’t want to retire. Being a SEAL was my dream and before changing our lives forever, I asked Elaine to jump one last time. One last thrill. We discussed it that morning, and I promised her I would stop chasing the adrenaline I craved. I promised to be more careful as I was becoming a father. So because she was an expert jumper and she knew how much it meant to me, she came and jumped too, even if she was pregnant. Except…” The last words stay stuck in my throat. I killed my fiancée is what I want to say, but as I dare to look at Mark and see his calm demeanor, I know I don’t need to. He already knows.
“Except, there was an accident, and she died on impact. You didn’t kill her, Oliver.” I hear him say the words, but I can’t believe them. Because I know she wouldn’t have jumped that day if I hadn’t insisted. I know she wouldn’t have died if I didn’t need to feel the adrenaline run through my veins. She wouldn’t have been killed if I’d checked her parachute. She wouldn’t have died if I’d been more careful.
“Spencer, listen to me. It was an accident. The place got sued and closed. Elaine knew the risk she was taking, and you didn’t push her off the plane or make her jump.” I finally meet his eyes but close mine right away for him not to see the myriad of emotions going through my mind.
“You knew?”
“Yes, I knew. But I wasn’t going to blow your life up even more. I took care of protecting your lie, of the investigation. That’s what friends do, Oliver. That’s what I promised I would do and what I would do again.” I shake my head, swallowing the pain I feel.
“I can’t believe you knew,” I repeat. I was alone for the last five years, carrying my sorrow, and I now realize my friend knew all along but waited for me to fess up and tell him. “You could have reached out.”
“I did. I gave you five years Le Pew. It was time to come home and start the healing process. And because you like Tessa, I believe it’s going to be much easier.” He smirks, but I’m not ready to joke. I’m not ready to look at Tessa as something other than a forbidden fruit.
I feel lighter having Mark knowing the truth, but I still feel guilty for Elaine dying.
I still need to tell her parents the truth, and I still need to find a way to put all the pieces of my heart together before handing it to someone else.
“Is the beer helping lose that stick?” Mark says, eyeing me while I take another sip.
I nod. “It’s helping alright… But if I end up drunk, don’t let me do things I’ll regret tomorrow.”
Mark laughs, “If you end up drunk after one beer, you can be sure I’ll let you embarrass yourself and do a lot of things you’ll regret tomorrow.”
Chapter Fifteen
TESSA
Grieving is as unpredictable as a pinball machine. You bounce back and forth from shock to depression, until you can integrate the loss to your daily life. Like a breakup but to the power of forever.
Like the ex who stomped on your heart and made some papier-mâché dump sculpture of your love story, you never forget the loved one who died.
They are part of who you are and who you’ll become and because other people need your love and attention, you come to accept your loss.
At least, that’s what Doctor Saman, my new therapist is explaining.
The process of grief.
The bullshit I should have gotten over by now and didn’t.
The game of pinball I can’t stop playing because I’m stuck in a grief without resolution, in a past where King is everywhere and a hopeless future, I desperately try to make him a part of.
I suffer from complicated grief and if I believe her, it can be treated.
The powerful pain, the overall feeling of numbness, the bitterness, the loss of purpose, the inability to enjoy life I’ve felt since he died can be cured.
I was going to refuse therapy but a harsh discussion with Quinn and Ashton made me change my mind.
After I refused to go to the hospital, my friends asked some of their friends for someone to take me in the next day.
I wasn’t in a state to speak up last night and I couldn’t refuse this morning.
I was skeptical that anything would change but I promised them I’ll give it a try. Because the dark thoughts taking over and believing King could be alive, scared me.
If I didn’t want to live, I didn’t want to die either.
I just wanted to be with him, forever.
“So Tessa,” Doctor Saman reminds me of her presence. “Tell me how King died.” I’m agonizing over the story I have to tell. The story I know nothing about except what Trevor, Bennett and Quinn shared. I look around at the cozy office. I felt safe as soon as I came in.
The teal sofa, the white flower on the wooden table, the comforting navy color of the wall and the white rug reminded me of a home I never had. The home I hoped I grew up in while everything was cold and blended.
Even when Dr. Saman explained what we were going to do—the weeks of therapy, how it will help me to understand my grief and manage my emotions, to think about the future and mend the relationships with my entourage—the sound of her voice was like a lullaby to my heart.
All this seemed awfully long but if I wasn’t afraid to jump off a cliff, I shouldn’t be afraid to face my own feelings while this woman holds my hand.
At least, that’s what I convinced myself of while listening to the bullshit she shared.
“Tessa? You want to start?”
Right. King dying… I sigh. “It was on a classified mission, so I barely know anything. All I can tell you is that the guys in his unit got hurt —two, much more than my friend Quinn—and King died.”
“What’s the name of the two others?”
“Bennett and Trevor.”
I feel awful saying their names out loud.
I haven’t talked to them since King’s funeral. I don’t even know if Trevor can walk and if Bennett had all the physical therapy he needed.
I was angry that King died and not one of them. Which isn’t fair.
Quinn wasn’t spared by my anger, but he didn’t give me a choice, imposing his presence day after day, month after month, year after year.
“So you never asked Trevor, Bennett or Quinn what really happened?”
“There is no way to ask. They gave me all the details they could. They were in the Humvee, Quinn sustained minor injuries. Trevor and Bennett got it much worse. Seems King was talking about me, about us, about our upcoming wedding, but I’m not sure if Quinn said so to appease me or if it’s true. They were laughing, King was happy and then he was dead. Same way that he was home, then he left on a mission, and he never came back.”
I fight back the tears that are always looming when I think of that day but Dr. Saman doesn’t let me.
“Let it go, Tessa. Imagine his death and let the tears fall.”
Closing my eyes, I imagine him laughing, talking about us and the guys bugging the shit out of him.
I can feel his happiness through me and a sparkle of hope lighten the memory of him.
And then I imagine the worst.
The Humvee being attacked, the guys screaming, blood everywhere.
And I let it go.
My lips tremble, my heart break
s, and a deep wail comes out from the core of my chest and for the first time since King died, I abandon myself to grief.
“Good, it’s time to cry for your loss. I want you to tell the story you just imagined again and again. It might be hard at the beginning, but it’s only in repeating it that you will accept it. You don’t know what happened, and maybe your friends don’t know either or they can’t tell you, but you need to tell the story of what you think occurred. Only then will you be able to live with his memory and only then will you be able to plan for a future without him, without trying to find an escape from your grief and wanting to avoid relationships with your entourage.”
Her words resonate in me. “A future without him?” I’m not sure I’m ready for it. I fist my saggy T-shirt, holding on to the last thing I have of King.
“That T-shirt...” Dr. Saman says, pointing at me, “It’s not yours, is it?” I shake my head, the tears wetting my clothes. “You needed him with you today to speak about him?” I nod. “Do you still have all his clothes?” She writes something in her notebook while I shake my head.
“No,” I whisper, “His mother took everything when he died. That’s in fact the only thing I have to remember him.”
Dr. Saman lets my words fall between us.
I can almost hear every one of them touch the floor. She’s looking at me with concern and sympathy.
“Sometimes,” she starts after what felt like an eternity, “people behave poorly in grief. Have you ever tried to reach out in the last few years?” Why would I? I’ve been left alone with nothing from him except her parting words telling me she was glad at least he didn’t have the opportunity to ruin his life with me. She hates the fact he was a SEAL and that I was supporting him and she blamed me for his death.
I scoff, “no, there was no reason for me to reach out. She was perfectly clear she never wanted to see me again.”
“We’ll discuss it next session. In the meantime, I want you to tell someone who doesn’t know your story how King died. I want you to work on sharing the facts. I understand you’re surrounded by friends who already know, but you need to share the story with other people. If you have no one, write it down, over and over. It won’t be easy, you’re going to feel your heart is torn apart, that the world is swallowing you whole, but that’s the only way to heal. Do this a minimum of once a day, and no escape. No adrenaline rush to forget and feel alive. No hiding your feelings. Be present and feel, even if it hurts.” Feeling was never the issue. Feeling too much was. But I don’t tell her and let her believe her therapy will work. “One last thing, Tessa,” she says as I gather my purse, “give this therapy a real chance.”
I nod while controlling my eyes for the rolling they want to do because of her bullshit and say my goodbyes quickly before I can’t hold my tongue.
I do feel lighter after having cried and told her the story of King’s death, and maybe, just maybe, she’s on to something. I’ll give her that.
But the idea of hurting myself on purpose by retelling the story of how my fiancé died sounds ludicrous.
And to whom could I tell it to anyhow?
Oliver is the only person who doesn’t know how King died and I’m not getting close to him after the fiasco of last night.
Why would I?
He was quite clear I wasn’t enough for him. He walked away from me and made me feel small. I shouldn’t even think about him. He’s certainly gone anyway. He took his gorgeous eyes, muscled arms and tight ass back to the Big Apple.
“Shut up,” I mumble to myself while waiting for my ride.
If I can’t deny Oliver is sex on legs, we’re not made for each other.
I was made for King and he was made for Elaine.
That’s it.
The ship has sailed for both of us and left us on the shore of a desperate island. Him in New York by now and me in Virginia.
I stop my thoughts.
Certainly not how Dr. Saman wants me to think about my future.
A future I put in jeopardy having a breakdown while driving. If Jenkins didn’t ask for my license to be revoked because of the presence of a mental disorder that impairs my abilities to drive or because of reckless driving, he and Quinn were clear they don’t want me on the road until I feel better. They confiscated my keys and Ashton has set up a schedule between the guys so I can be driven around.
Of course, they forced me to reschedule my training sessions at the track.
A little break to be sure I’m mentally strong enough.
A little break to be sure I’m not trying to kill myself.
“Tessa?” I cringe hearing the voice of my stepfather.
There are some people you wish you didn’t have to talk to when you are vulnerable.
“Hey, Andre. What are you doing here?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer.
“I had a meeting in the neighborhood. Do you need a ride?” He asks, looking around trying to spot his car and driver.
“No, I’m fine. Someone is picking me up.”
I never want to spend time alone with him.
Since I’ve been a kid and he entered my mother’s life, something has bothered me, but I never really put my finger on it.
The years we spent being part of the same family, abroad or here, I’ve always been uncomfortable around him and I’ve avoided him at all cost.
Maybe it’s just that he was so different from my father, like night and day in fact, or it’s how secretive he always was about his job and his past, which I understand needs some secrecy seeing what he does for a living, but something always felt off between us.
“Come on, Tessa. I’m sure you can spare your friend a trip and let me drive you to your apartment. How was therapy?” he says coming closer.
Something is off.
Maybe it’s his protruding eyes or the pulsing vein on his forehead but my creeper instinct is at the highest it has ever been since I’ve met him. Also, I didn’t tell my parents about the therapy but I’m sure Quinn did. He was so worried, I can’t hold that against him.
“Not necessary,” Mark’s voice comes from behind me. “I’m already here,” he smiles forcefully.
“Dixon,” Andre says, offering him a hand and schooling all his features.
“Mr. VanHorn,” Mark answers, shaking his hand, “always a pleasure. Ready Murdock?” As much as I appreciate Mark being here to drive me home, I can feel a tension between the two men. A tension I don’t understand, except if it’s about Mark’s wife, Charlie. She’s the only link between those two outside of me.
“I’ll let you go then Tessa. It seems you don’t need your old man after all. Don’t hesitate though, you know I’ll always be here for you.” Andre was always good at putting on a show in front of other people. Nevermind, I never considered him like my father.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Andre. See you soon,” I say before turning my back and walking away with Mark by my side.
“Don’t turn around, Murdock, but your old man is watching us leave…” Mark says sarcastically. “I guess he would prefer you having better company than me.” He laughs.
“What was that about?” I ask him, not hoping for an answer.
“The same reason he wanted to give you a ride was about,” he answers in a cryptic way. “Let’s go to the office and I’ll explain it all,” he adds, in a stern tone.
So I follow, full of questions but relieved Mark isn’t asking how therapy went.
Chapter Sixteen
OLIVER
“He was supposed to be back in New York by now!” Tessa mutters as soon as she enters the conference room and sees me there.
I don’t blame her for not wanting to see me. I wouldn’t want to see me either after how shitty things got.
“Look, I’m—”
“Nothing, Oliver Spencer. You’re nothing at all.” She interrupts me and falls on the chair the furthest away from me, her arms crossing under her breasts, and her mouth pouting a little.
What a fucking vi
ew.
I like the way her lips felt on mine.
My eyes fall on her neck and then travel to her collarbone, the top of her chest, her cleavage…
“If you’re done perving on Tessa, maybe we can start the meeting?” Mark laughs.
I close my eyes and count to ten to release the hardness of my dick and erase all the impure thoughts I’ve been having since she left my room.
If only it hadn't felt so good having her in my arms.
“I thought it was a meeting with just the two of us today, so we could FaceTime Jackson?” I say a little more harshly than I would like.
Trying to control my yearning for Tessa isn’t that simple. She glares at me but doesn’t intervene.
“It was, and then I had to pick her up from therapy and VanHorn was there, so instead of driving her home, I brought her here so we can bring her up to speed. We’ll talk to Jackson later.”
I turn to Tessa to find her looking at her hands on the table like one of the docile girls I went to school with.
Of course, my brain wants to perv on her, and my dick wants to help. I clear my throat to get her attention.
“Therapy?” I ask softly. She nods and avoids my gaze.
What the fuck happened since yesterday for her to start therapy?
We never discussed it per se, but I had the feeling she was as much against the bullshit any doctors can put us through than me. I let it go, for now, seeing her walls rising higher than a medieval fortification and focus on Mark.
“Okay, let’s speak about Andre VanHorn.” Tessa sits straighter. At least I have her attention. “According to his official biography,” I started looking through the file I collected in the past week. I was doing a half-ass job, not caring, but after learning he was Tessa’s family, I looked at my case with a new vigor, and spent all morning following crumbs VanHorn could have left behind.
I still haven’t found shit about the guy but maybe telling Tessa what we know and computing it with the man she lived with, will help us find something.
