She didn't have to say a thing. I knew what she was thinking. She was mourning all the beautiful moments her son, or sons, would never get to see. College graduation. Marriage. Buying a house. Children... Things some people take for granted.
“I loved him very much,” I said when she pulled my hand up to rest it against her cheek. “Actually-” I took a deep breath. “I loved them both. With every piece of my heart, I loved them.”
I expected confusion on her part, but she never even blinked.
“I know, sweetie. I know.”
***
The calm that rolled through my chest as I returned home was something I didn't understand but was grateful for. Visiting the cemetery, seeing Ellen again- it was something I'd needed to do for a very long time. And now that it was done, I felt incredibly selfish for what I'd put my loved ones through while I grieved. I should have been with Ellen. We should have been grieving together.
As I pulled a fresh sleep shirt out of my closet, my eyes caught on something resting in the corner. I vaguely remembered putting it away, but couldn't remember when. But once my eyes settled on the worn box, I couldn't look away.
“Don't be stupid,” I said, reprimanding myself.
I should have shut the door on the Ouija board. I should have moved it and forgotten about its existence. Jake had once pleaded with me to get rid of that thing, and I hadn't listened. I could still burn it, but that would accomplish nothing. The damage was done. Even though I wanted to destroy it, since it was the source of all my problems... I couldn't. It was also the source of everything good that had strolled into my life.
I had to respect that.
So, against my better judgment, I knelt down on the floor and pulled the box forward. The planchette - which I used to keep in my sock drawer - was in the box as well. I took a seat at my desk after clearing a place for the board.
Feeling the smooth wood of the planchette brought about an onslaught of memories, of both Jay and Jake.
“Bad idea, Bree.”
Even as I cringed at the idea of another mistake, my hands found their place on the planchette and my eyes fell closed.
Stupid girl...
“Jake?” My voice cracked. “Jay...? Are you here?”
I waited.
I repeated the question.
I rephrased it a million and one times.
Hours passed. I reached out, again and again, but no one reached back.
No one was there.
***
The next day, I awoke to something I hadn't expected to feel for a long, long time – a sense of renewed purpose.
After wading through miles of grief, and coming out the other side virtually unscathed, it seemed obvious to me what my next move would be. After calling my advisor to tell her I was changing my major, and to ask if she had any advice for someone who wanted to pursue grief counseling as a career, I hopped out of bed, ready to start planning the rest of my life.
It was refreshing to not feel like I was being sucked into a black hole. Too many hours I'd spent not living. I was wasting the life Jay had died to save.
No more.
I had a plan.
I wanted to be a counselor. I wanted to help people who felt so hollow and alone they couldn't get out of bed in the mornings. I had something to offer those people - hope. After losing my heart, and then the love of the two most amazing men I'd ever met, I knew I could give back.
Once I'd thrown my hair up into a ponytail, I tested out my smile that had been on sabbatical for far too long, and headed for the door.
But I stopped short.
“No...”
I took three steps back and the wind was knocked from my lungs as I stared, eyes wide, mouth open. I had left the pointer in the center of the board... but that's not where it was resting.
I leaned over, getting a good look at the clear eyepiece in the center of the planchette, just to make sure I wasn't mistaken.
I wasn't.
My attention honed in on the one word I was meant to see.
Yes.
And just like that, I realized that no matter where they were, Jay and Jake would always be with me. They would always be a part of me. That realization made me feel like I could do anything. I could climb Mt. Everest. I could run the length of the Great Wall of China. I could move on. I could be happy...
Nothing seemed impossible.
I would be loved, regardless of my mistakes.
I would be watched over and taken care of, even when I didn't deserve it.
And I would never be alone – with or without the board.
I'd been told that Ouija boards were used purely for dark magic. I didn't agree. I didn't doubt that they could bring about evil, but the board had brought me to the light – to the sunshine in the form of blue eyes and crooked smiles. The memories of the happiness we shared over one beautiful summer – I'd never lose that. Nothing could take that away from me. So, there was no point in keeping the board. If I did, I'd be stuck. I knew I would sit in front of that board for hours and miss out on actually living my life.
The Bryson boys wouldn't want that. Plus, I'd promised Jake I would get rid of it.
Better late than never.
I couldn't burn it. I also couldn't give it away. There was really only one idea that came to mind that I thought the boys would approve of. So, after my classes were out for the day, I loaded my purse with snacks and bottled water, got in my car, and drove.
Four hours later, I stood next to my car, looking out over the dark stretch of gravel road where my heart had stopped beating. The air was so hot it was difficult to take a deep breath, but I did. Fighting against the humidity hanging in the air, I took one deep breath after another until I was ready to let go, ready to move on.
Walking into the woods in the dark probably wasn't the best idea, but I felt safe enough. Someone, or a couple of someones, had my back.
After coming upon a little clearing, where the leaves and debris had been blown away to reveal a small patch of moss, I knew I needn't walk any further. I didn't bother bringing the box. Just the board and the planchette. After placing a loving kiss to each item, I laid them on the ground.
To some, it wouldn't have made sense. But it made sense to me. And I was positive Jay and Jake appreciated the gesture. I was putting it to rest in the place my life had 'ended'. Somehow, in a weird way, things had come full circle, and I was ready to move on.
Quietly, and with a full heart, I got back into my car and drove away.
I couldn't even feel my heart, but I knew it was pumping – happily. There was no ache. No pain. Not even a single pinprick of pressure. Nothing. Just a steady, healthy beat.
With a solid idea of where I wanted to go in life and what I wanted to do, I turned my car around in the dark and drove back to my apartment, back to my best friends, back to the place where I'd first fell in love. All the while, twirling the ring on my finger as my heart beat contently.
Epilogue
Five Years Later
I stood in front of the crowd, completely void of nerves. Sydney and Nora sat to my right, dressed in the same lavender maxi dress as me, while Veronica sat to my left. In white. On her other side, Carter stared at his new bride with a bright smile that a thousand suns couldn't compete with.
As I rambled on through my maid of honor speech, it hit me just how far everyone I loved had come in such a short time.
After graduating, Carter and Veronica moved two hours away from West Plains so Carter could accept a job as a math teacher and high school football coach at an area school. After only a few months, Veronica was teaching at the same school. I felt sorry for their co-workers. If their habit of throwing each other bedroom eyes was bad in college, I knew they'd be ten times worse now that the two were married.
Sydney, who had somehow managed to remain single, was living and working in Arkansas where she'd accepted a position as curator for a small art history museum. She loved her work, and we all visited her o
ften.
Nora had actually surprised everyone by dropping out of college to join the military. She'd never struck me as the disciplined type, so it was a shock to see her sitting in her seat, spine ramrod straight, with a fierce look of seriousness in her eyes. But, from what I'd heard, she was good at her job and she loved it.
As for me, I'd graduated with a masters degree in counseling and had spent the last year working at a center for teenagers who had lost loved ones. I also spent time at area hospitals, counseling patients through the transplant process, all while working towards a PhD. It was a life I had thanks to two incredibly influential men, who I still thought of every single day.
Actually, I found it hard not to mention Jay in my speech, since if it weren't for him, there was a good chance Veronica wouldn't be sitting there, looking like she had the world at her feet. But there were just too many lives that boy had touched, and I didn't want to reopen any old wounds if I could help it.
So, after toasting two of my best friends, I sat back down in my seat, surrounded by everyone who loved me, and basked in the wonder and beauty of it all.
The reception was in full swing by the time I decided I needed to use the ladies room. It had been a long day and I was already looking forward to going up to my hotel room, flinging off the way too tight heels on my feet, and slipping into a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top. That was what I was fantasizing about as I made my way out of the restroom and ran smack dab into a solid chest, sending me reeling backward.
“Whoa, steady there!”
An electric current I hadn't felt in years tremored through me as I looked up, shocked to find a friendly smile, dark chocolate colored eyes framed with dark lashes, and a set of dimples that had my heart racing – in the best of ways. And that was only his face.
As my eyes ventured lower, my heart practically started fanning itself. I'd always been a sucker for a man in uniform. Especially a man who wore a uniform as well as he did – all broad chest and thick thighs and trim waist.
Breathe, Bree...
“Be careful in those shoes,” he said, looking down at the spike heels I'd bought on a whim. “Those things could kill a man.”
He still had a hold of my arm, even though I was no longer in danger of falling, but I couldn't have cared less. He could have been super-glued to me and I wouldn't have minded.
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” I stammered, too off-kilter to form actual sentences.
“Had a little too much to drink, did you?”
His question caught me off guard, but as I assessed his tone, I found it wasn't in judgment he'd asked, but concern.
“What? No.”
He nodded, but his eyes were alight with humor, telling me he didn't quite believe me.
“Well, you better get back to your date so you can remedy that.”
“No date,” I blurted before snapping my lips closed. I had to actually remind myself that I was a successful woman with a degree and a career – not a swoony teenager at a high school dance. “I came stag.”
“You're here alone?” He looked around like he – again – didn't believe me. “With no one to dance with? What a pity.”
“Yup.”
Yup? Why don't I just go home and wipe my lipstick off on my college diploma...
I cleared my throat before pulling my shoulders back. “I mean, yes. I'm here alone.”
“Well,” he said, lifting my hand in his. “Can't have that.”
He led me to the dance floor and I hobbled behind him in my godforsaken heels, wishing for the millionth time that day that I'd invested in more appropriate footwear. But as the handsome stranger set one hand at the small of my back, I couldn't even remember what was on my feet, let alone where they were located.
His touch, even through a layer of satin, exploded all the way up to my scalp and down to the tips of my toes, setting fire to everywhere in between. It took me a moment to catch my breath and collect myself as he started swaying us to the beat of the country ballad filtering through the stereo speakers.
After I'd managed to get my blush (as well as my blood pressure) under control, I looked up and met his eyes, curiosity kicking in.
“What's your name, soldier?”
A dimple in his cheek popped as he smiled brightly. “Jake. But my friends call me Jay.”
I could feel my mouth drop open, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. Not a single thing. So, I stood there like a fish out of water, gasping for breath.
And then, I started to laugh.
Subtle, boys...
“Is my name that funny?” He cocked his head to the side curiously.
“No. No, it's really not.”
He pulled me closer, until my chest was pressed against his, and I shivered as we moved across the dance floor.
“Sounds like there's a story there,” he winked.
Smiling, I ran my free hand up to cup the side of his neck. Whatever was happening, I wasn't going to question it. I was free to live in the moment, free to enjoy whatever a couple of angels had thrown my way.
“Well, back in college...”
The End
Note from the author
Thanks for reading STEADY. If you'd like to talk more about the book, the characters, writing in general, or whatever- just send me an email at [email protected] or hit me up on any one of my social media sites. I love talking to readers and I would be more than happy to chat.
If you liked this book (or even if you didn't) I would greatly appreciate a review. Reviews are SO IMPORTANT to indie authors. I cannot stress this enough. Authors can live or die by their reviews, so posting a few sentences about a book on Amazon or Goodreads is vitally important.
Thanks again for reading, thanks for supporting me, and thanks for being awesome.
-Nicole Tillman
Did you enjoy Steady?
Then read on for an excerpt from my very first adventure into the paranormal, Saving Mercy...
My eyelids sprang open with vigor for the first time in almost a month. That was my first clue that something was wrong. Something besides the fact that I was waking up on the cold linoleum floor of the kitchen instead of my comfortable full-sized bed.
Pushing myself off the floor, I threaded my fingers together before lifting my arms above my head and glancing around the apartment. Nothing was out of place. The weather was just the same as it had been the day before. And as always, I was alone. It was the same drab scene as always, but something felt different. Everything seemed brighter, more focused, and eerily quiet.
And that's when it hit me...
I wasn't in pain.
The sunlight filtering in through my makeshift curtains didn't slice through my skull as it had the day before. The sound of the garbage truck outside didn't rattle my cerebral tissue to the point of nausea. And blissfully, I didn't feel the need to reach for the bottle of painkillers on my nightstand.
It was just me, standing in my apartment, feeling more alive than I had since the mysterious headaches began.
No pain. No tears. No double vision.
Just me.
The corners of my lips lifted up in a triumphant smile and a laugh exploded from my mouth. It felt good to laugh again. I pumped my fist in the air and spun around in a wide circle, relishing the fact that I didn't want to fall back into the sweet embrace of sleep just to escape the torture being carried out on my skull.
“Thank God!” I yelled. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
After spending more hours in pain than I cared to count, I was no longer dreading the day, no longer cursing my existence and no longer asking God why he'd placed such a curse on my body. I could forget about the doctors that had turned me away and disregarded my symptoms. And on a brighter note, I didn't have to hate myself as I started my morning routine by self-medicating to the point of overdosing.
I could finally focus. Finally smile. Finally laugh.
The pain was gone.
Skipping from th
e kitchen to the living room, I spied the long neglected stereo remote.
Oooh, yeah!
I couldn't wait to sing at the top of my lungs until the neighbors complained. It had been too long since I'd been able to head-bang to my favorite death metal CD. Too long since I'd been able to dance, or jump from the furniture, or play air guitar until my arms grew weak. I was ready to act like a complete fool.
So, like a giddy schoolboy sneaking Ozzy records behind his parents' back, I reached for the remote, ready to enjoy the day.
But my hand came back empty.
“What the-”
I looked from my empty palm to the coffee table, where the remote remained undisturbed.
I reached for it again.
My eyes grew wide as I jerked back in surprise, confused when I didn't feel the hard plastic touch my skin. I wasn't sure if my eyes had grown so tired and unfocused because of so many hours spent in pain or if the morning light was somehow creating an optical illusion that I couldn't crack.
Either way, I reached for it one more time.
Gasping, I watched as my fingers slipped through the table, as if they were dipping through the glassy surface of a tranquil pond.
“What?”
I turned my hand back and forth in front of my face, inspecting the faulty limb. Was it me? My motor skills? My eyes? Something wasn't right. The line between my hand and my brain was short-circuiting somehow and I didn't know how to fix it.
Leaning forward, I attempted to rest my palm against the marred surface of the table, but the wood didn't resist. It didn't hold my weight. It never moved beneath my touch. My hand floated freely, never coming into contact with anything, even though the table stood right there before my eyes.
I wasn't imagining it. It wasn't a hallucination or a projection. It was the same table I'd had for years, in the same place it had been since I moved into the apartment. But I couldn't touch it, couldn't feel it, couldn't move it. It just sat there, quietly mocking my inability to do something as simple as rap my fingers against the dark-stained wood.
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