by C. A. Harms
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Healing Hope
C. A. Harms
Copyright © 2017 by C. A. Harms
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Healing Hope
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
33. Bonus Chapter
Thank You
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For my Readers
I hope you love Hope & Travis as much as I do. Thank you all so much for your continuing support.
You are my rock stars!
Prologue
Hope
I think most times things happen in our lives to test us. Life lessons, ways to show us what the true meaning is. But it still doesn't make losing someone you love easy to accept. You can never prepare yourself for that type of ache. It lingers, it tortures you if you let it, and in my case, I was.
I’ve been living with the same nightmare playing over and over in my mind—each detail and sound so distinct that at times it makes my body react as if it’s happening in front of me all over again. A feeling of being trapped in the moment, unable to break free from the pain it caused.
The dreams never fade, only feel as if they grow more graphic and explicit with time. Each time it plays out it brings a new detail or memory that I may not have remembered before. I just want to forget the events that took place on that one horrific night. I want to be able to remember Walker, and the happy times we shared, without it all hurting so much because he was now gone.
I wanted to be me again, the girl that laughed without feeling guilty or went out with friends enjoying life. But it was impossible not to think of him all the time. That would have been okay had I not blamed myself for the fact that he wasn't here.
It was always the same loud ear-splitting echo of one single gunshot repeating in my mind. It will be a sound I will always be able to now distinguish-- a sound so prominent and final. Because it was a single gunshot that managed to changed my life forever. One split second decision and my world felt as if it had shifted on its axis. Nothing felt normal anymore, like the purpose of each action was now a lingering question, what would it fix, what would I gain?
I see the moments of that night almost daily, Walker crumpling to the floor as he gripped his chest tight. That look of fear in his eyes is one look I’ll never forget.
Every loud sound since that day reminds me of just how I felt when the single shot rang throughout the small convenient station. I think I stopped breathing for a moment, or at least it felt as if I had. Everything grew foggy and swayed before me, causing me to stagger before collapsing to the floor beside him.
For a moment time stood still as if tormenting and taunting me, reminding me of what I was losing in an instant. I just want to forget the heart wrenching feeling of that day, I want to be able to close my eyes and not see that desolate look in his eyes as he began to fade in my arms. I watched him die, I watched the life slowly leave him, and when reminded of that look in his eyes I feel like I can barely breathe.
Everyone who knew or was in some way touched by Walker Thomas had been effected, even if it was only for that day alone. His loss was felt even by those who hadn’t gotten the pleasure of knowing him.
I don’t think I’ll ever know another person with a heart as big as Walker. He was giving, caring, and spent each day sharing his joy with others. Don’t get me wrong, the guy had a silly side too, and if need be, he had a temper that was hard to soothe.
He’d given his life to protect mine, and I would be forever grateful. Even though there were some dark times when I wished he hadn’t. Selflessly he chose to be my hero, as if I had more of a right to live than he had. I think that is the part I find hardest to accept.
Heartache doesn’t always heal with time, but instead grows more crippling.
Knowing that the bullet that took his life was meant for me made me even angrier that he chose to interfere. He could still be here, he could be alive. Sometimes I hated him for choosing to save my life. My mind was always filled with so many what ifs that couldn’t be answered. So I was left to face the fact he’d chosen to die, which meant he’d chosen to leave me.
Had it been only seconds earlier, it would have been me lying in that casket instead of him. It would have been my family crying in agony as they realized they’d never again hear my voice.
Distraught and utterly lost on the day of his funeral I begged for God to change the outcome. I wanted him to take me instead. Nothing about this was fair. There I sat, staring ahead at his lifeless body and I felt as if I shattered into a million pieces. People crying around me, the pained whispers of those that too felt the loss, only I didn’t hear a word they spoke.
I was lost.
I’m still lost.
Walker had so much to give and now that he was gone, the world felt like such a dark place. The light he always seemed to bring had faded the moment he passed, and along with it, was the girl I once was.
He was never just a friend, at least to my heart he wasn’t. He had always owned that special place inside me, deep down, a place no one else came close to touching. Though I never told him, I’m almost positive he knew I was in love with him. I think I had been since the very first moment he came to my rescue after Kurt Hart decided it would be fun to harass the new girl in town. I was transported to a new place, and a new school in the middle of my senior year. But Walker accepted me without hesitation.
Every day for the last six years he’d been the person I relied on most. He was the one I turned to for all the good and bad in my life.
He saved me in more ways than one during our time together as friends.
He was always saving me.
I missed the times he made me laugh or smile. He’d normally be the person next t
o me wiping away my tears. I was left with the knowledge that had I not insisted we stop that night for a damn bag of Cheetos, he’d still be here beside me.
How ridiculous of a demand was that? I was an idiot. A stubborn selfish brat that forced him to pull over for such a meaningless thing.
I think that in itself was the hardest part of it all.
I feel it every day, with every breath I take. A loss that even a year later feels as if it happened only yesterday. The sound of his gurgling breath, the fear in his eyes as he looked up at me, continues to linger in my mind. He reached out and held my hand in his so tightly as I watched the life slowly fade from his eyes.
I only wish I would have said more than I did in those last moments. I wish I would have told him the impact he had on my life, and how much I loved him. How no matter what took place from that moment on I would never forget him. I’d cherish the times we shared because they were, and still are, the most precious things to me.
Only I couldn't speak, not only due to the fact that I was terrified as men wrestled with the gunman only a few feet away, but because I knew I was losing the best friend a person could ask for. I knew there was so much I wanted him to know, but I couldn't form the words.
Instead, I told him to keep his eyes open, for him to look at me, just look at me. A whispered chant that slowly turned into a sob when he took his last breath. I rocked back and forth, with Walker’s head in my lap as I began to cry heavier, no longer caring if the gunman took my life, too. I continuously cried over and over telling him I was sorry, even though sorry did nothing to change the outcome of that night.
Nothing could ever fit the emptiness it left inside me.
If it weren’t for my parents, I don’t honestly know how I would have made it through the last year. They kept me afloat, they shared my sorrow, and pushed me to move forward every day, even though I fought them at every turn.
One day I hoped I’d find a way to move on from this heartache inside, but on most days it felt as if it would always be an impossible task. I’d spent the last year of my life in isolation. I found being alone with my thoughts was better than being reminded over and over of all the things Walker would never again feel the joy in doing.
Living my life to its fullest was hard knowing he was robbed of his. But I was trying, for him I was trying. Each day I pushed myself a little harder to climb out of the funk I’ve been living in. Each day I tell myself to get out of bed and live the day for Walker. The problem was, I still felt as if I always fell short.
Most twenty-five year old women were securing their future, whether it be planning a wedding or stepping into parenthood. Most by now had begun their careers. But I was trudging through life, ratified with getting through yet one more day of a worthless job. A job I hated, but lacked the motivation to find anything better.
I was a few credits short of being a veterinarian, which was again something Walker and I shared a love for. We always said we’d open up our own clinic one day, and be the biggest and the best.
It was hard to wrap my head around doing it alone now, it just felt as if a piece of that puzzle was missing.
So I spent my days in a meaningless job of entering material into a computer. Listening to the words of a doctor, as he documented the findings of patients’ X-rays and tests. It was tedious, but tolerable.
It puts money in my pocket so for now, it is enough.
Chapter 1
Travis
“Did you get the 220 wiring installed at the house in Lenexa?” I asked over my shoulder as I continued to restock my truck.
When I didn't hear anything but incoherent mumbling, I couldn't help but shake my head knowingly. I didn't have to turn around to know Hank had a mouthful of something. It was common to see him with a half eaten sandwich or some other type of food hanging out of his mouth. There is truth behind the guys calling him Binge, because I had never seen anyone eat more than that man. The crazy part is he’s six feet tall and skinny as hell. I’m not sure where it all went, but you’d think by now he would be as big around as he is tall. None of it made sense.
But Binge is my number one man, the guy knows his shit. He’s reliable and dedicated.
I started my business two days after I turned twenty-four, and it has quickly become a substantially high demanded name. People trusted that when they called Donovan Electricians, they got genuine service, at the right price.
After giving Hank a few minutes to finish chewing whatever the hell he was eating at the moment, I asked him once again about the wiring in the house on Logan Lane.
“I stopped by, and after fifteen minutes of knocking on the door with no answer, I left a missed appointment note on the door.”
This was our second attempt to run wiring for a dryer in this rental property. The renter was a pain in the ass who seemed to not take our time seriously. Or take the wishes of the property owner serious either. Things like this pissed me off. Renters bitched about the condition of specific things, or the lacking of certain properties, but when the homeowner attempted to better the place, they acted as if a couple hours of their time was too much to ask for.
“I’ll give the owner a call,” I told him as I moved on to the rest of our business. The guy wouldn’t like it when I told him our third attempt would result in a technician visit charge for our wasted time even though there was nothing actually accomplished. Being thrust into that take charge role, making the difficult choices, being the asshole that stood his ground when needed, it was all the part of running my own business that I hated. Being the bad guy was never fun.
The day was already turning into a shitty one and it had barely started. We had landed a new apartment complex funded by some corporate big wig out of Denver. He had a long stretch of these high dollar projects scattered throughout the US. The man was a prick, who carried himself as if he was high and mighty. He had tailored suits and manicured nails. He barked orders, and attempted to tell us how to do our jobs, but I knew if you placed a hammer in his hands he wouldn’t have the first idea to how to use it. He was a prissy asshole and nothing more.
But I didn't let his holier than thou arrogant attitude get beneath my skin. The man had the money, and it was good damn money.
“I guess the fact that the renter wasn't home is for the best.” I loaded the last of the materials into my truck before turning to face him. “I can use you over at the construction site. I’m ahead of schedule, which is good business, but I’d prefer to be even further. The sooner I’m done, the sooner I can wipe my hands clean of Captain Douche.”
Hank chuckled, but I know he agrees. We’ve shared many beers while sharing our true thoughts of Mr. Colorado. It was an ongoing joke whether we thought he peed standing up, or squatted. I say he squats.
Twenty minutes later we’re pulling up to the site and loading up our arms with wiring, a box of circuit breakers, and an assorted box of fuses. My crew was already there, and had been for a few hours when I made a trip back to the warehouse to stock up on the materials we were getting low on.
The finish line on this job was so close I could taste it. Once it was done, I planned to show my crew just how much I appreciated their continuous hard work and dedication. I couldn't ask for a better group of men.
My brother, Tripp, was just one of those men I held great admiration for. But the guy was so much more than just my brother, he was my hero, and had been ever since we lost our father in an accident when I was only ten. My father was an alcoholic, and though he tried many times to beat the disease, he just couldn’t. It was the alcohol that led him to believe he was invincible.
I still remember the night, or should I say morning that our doorbell rang at two am. Our world shifted that night as two police officers rerouted our lives. Samuel P. Donovan died on impact when his motorcycle struck a cement embankment at seventy plus miles per hour. Like I said before, he thought he was indestructible.
Though we were saddened by his loss and mourned the man we wished daily woul
d change and be the father we needed him to be, I think we all knew something like that would happen. We had all lived each day waiting for the moment we would get a call that he finally took things too far. Our father was a man of chance. He played the daredevil card often. The odds caught up with him, and from what the coroner said, he went fast. I loved the man, and was too young to realize the wrong he’d been living. Booze, fast woman, and even faster bikes. I look back now and wonder how my mother was able to stay with him. I think it was more for the security he provided than the actual love she felt for him.
She deserved more. My mother is the best woman I know, with the kindest heart. She was, is, and would always be the first woman I loved. Most boys grow up thinking of their father as their hero, but Tripp and I knew our hero was our mother. She kept us together, made us strong, and gave us the values we hold. She is amazing.
After the death of our father, Tripp was forced to grow up at a young age because our mother needed him. At times when he should have been hanging with his friends and creating havoc, the guy was helping around the house and making sure our mother was taken care of. He did what a fourteen year old boy could. She would battle him, telling him to go be with his friends, but he’d refuse. He took care of her and me better than my father ever did. Emotionally, he was our rock.
With the responsibilities he took on, even though my mother argued, he took me on, too. Tripp guided me and taught me the things I know today. He taught me all the things he had learned on his own. How to build, and work with my hands. He taught me the values of handwork, and I was grateful to him for stepping in, even though he could have chosen otherwise. Tripp is a stand up guy, one I am proud to call my brother. He’s married with three boys and the life he lives is one I aspire to have for myself in the future. A loving family to go home to after a long day of work. One that shows appreciation for all I give them, and loves me unconditionally. I want that someday.
