“What did the doctor say about her little episode?” my dad asks.
“He said it was completely normal for someone with her injuries and grief to lose consciousness. He said to let her rest as often as she needs for the next week until he sees her again.”
I walk into the kitchen and they both fall silent. I look at the two of them before walking to the fridge for a bottle of water. All they do is watch me, unmoving, like they think I’m going to break any minute.
Without saying a word to them, I turn back for my room.
“Oh, Hope,” my mom says, drawing my attention back to her.
I turn around to see her holding out a manila envelope.
I reach out and take it. “What’s this?”
“Your belongings from the hospital,” she answers quietly.
Without saying anything, I take it from her hand and turn around to go back to my room as quickly as my sore body will let me.
I sit on my bed and look at the envelope, wondering if my broken heart can take what’s inside. With a surge of bravery, I pour the contents out in front of me. My eyes land on my ring first. I thought I lost it in the crash. I pick it up, almost breathless as I stare at the small diamond, remembering our weekend. Remembering how the spaghetti was burned because we were too busy loving one another to pay attention. Remembering every worry line on his face before he pulled out this ring. I can see his blue-green eyes like I’m looking directly into them.
I slide the ring back onto my finger and stare at my hand. Tears wrack my body once again. I’m a sobbing mess as they rush from my eyes, down my heated cheeks and fall to my bed, leaving circular wet spots on my bed sheet.
The only other item in the envelope is my phone. I try to turn it on, but it’s dead. I turn and plug it in with the charger next to my bed. After I lay it down to charge, I curl up in a ball while watching the diamond on my ring shine when the light touches it, remembering every single moment we’ve had together.
I wake sometime later when my phone chimes. I pick it up and look at the missed call I have. It’s from my friend, Abby. I ignore it. I’m sure I know what that voicemail says anyway.
I drop the phone back to the bedside table and my eyes land on my camera that is perched on my desk. My parents must have claimed my belongings from the wreckage.
I slowly force myself up and walk across the room. I pick up the camera. The lens is busted, but I turn it over and pull out the memory card. I grab my laptop and take both items back to my bed with me.
When I’m settled beneath the thick blankets, I put the memory card into the slot on my computer and watch as all the pictures pop up on the screen. I start flipping to the end of the reel to see the ones I had taken over the weekend. I see the picture of us on the front steps of the cabin before we left. Seeing the love on his face as he looked at me brings on another bout of tears.
I zoom in so I can clearly see nothing but his face. He looks healthy and happy. His jet black hair is neatly styled, his blue-green eyes shine with the sun beating down on them, and his lips are turned up into a loving smile.
It was all my fault. He took me there because I wanted to go. I shouldn’t have been talking to him. I should have let him concentrate on driving. He’s gone because of me. I’m wracked with grief. I cry and cry until I can cry no more, then I fall asleep.
Another three days later, it’s time for his funeral. I don’t know if I can do this. Will his aunt and uncle even want me there? Will everyone see that I’m to blame and hate me? I don’t like the thought of being treated unfairly, but I kind of hope they do. I want them to blame me. It is my fault after all. I want everyone to hate me just as much as I hate myself. I deserve so much more than that.
I’m walking in a daze, completely lost in thought as I move toward my mom’s car. I take my seat in the back, and don’t look anywhere but at my hands in my lap until I’m told that we are at the funeral home. I couldn’t bear to look up and see our little town unchanged by this drastic loss. I don’t want to see the memories of him that linger.
I walk inside the funeral home with my head hung low. I can’t look around and see all the grieving guests. I can’t see his aunt and uncle with their accusing stares even though I deserve it. I sit in the very last row, the one furthest away from his casket and his distraught guardians.
Finally unable to keep my eyes trained on my hands, they pop up to see Mrs. Brantford clinging to Mr. Brantford for dear life, like her legs can no longer support her. She’s crying so loudly. With every shuddering breath she takes, a small piece of me dies.
My mother walks to their side and Mrs. Brantford releases her husband and latches on to my mom — they’ve always been close. Mr. Brantford walks away with deep lines forming around his bloodshot eyes. My father moves toward him and they shake hands, exchange a few words, and walk away together. I’m left all alone. I guess I better get used to it.
I slam my locker shut and spin around to go to class, but I bump right into Dean, bouncing off his hard chest.
“Whoa, are you okay?” he asks, steadying me.
I look up into his beautiful eyes and swallow down the lump in my throat. “I’m fine. I didn’t see you there.”
“Can I walk you to class?”
I smile. “I’d love that.”
He takes my hand in his and he leads me down the hallway toward my English class. “What do you want to do this weekend?”
I shrug. “I’d love to run away for the weekend. Do you think our parents would approve?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “And where would we go?” he asks, going along with my little fantasy.
I quickly think it over. “Oh, I know. I’ve always wanted to rent a cabin at Giant City. Just you and me, completely alone. We could pretend we are the last two people on Earth.”
We’re in front of my class now so we stop walking as we spin around to face one another. “That sounds amazing. I’d love to spend the whole weekend alone with you, but neither one of us have the money to pull something like that off. Plus, our parents would go ape shit and you know it.” His lips turn up into a grin.
“One of these days?” I ask with a hopeful smile as I latch on to the front of his shirt.
“I promise.” He leans in and quickly brushes his lips against mine. The kiss is short, but it lingers on my skin.
“I’ll meet you at your locker before lunch,” he tells me as he’s backing away, rushing off to his next class.
I stand and watch him walk away. I don’t move until he’s rounded the corner, out of my view.
I take a deep breath and turn to walk inside my class just as the bell rings.
I jump awake and look around the room. That dream was so vivid. I can still smell him. I can still taste him: mint and a deep woodsy flavor.
The hairs on my body stand on end. It feels like he’s been in this room, watching me sleep. Was all this brought on by a dream, or was he really here in some form? Tears swell in my eyes and it annoys me. God, when will they stop? How do I even have any liquid left in me right now?
I lie back down and curl into a ball. My ribs ache in protest, but I don’t care. I deserve to be in physical pain.
I continue to look around the room, like if I try hard enough, I’ll see him.
“Dean, I’m so sorry. I would gladly trade you places. Please don’t leave me alone. I need you,” I cry out loud.
When there is no sign of him, I roll over to face the wall. I’m going completely crazy. I’m talking to nobody.
He’s not here.
He’s dead.
I can’t see him, smell him, feel him, or taste him.
It was all just a mean trick my subconscious is playing on me.
As time passes, nothing changes. I decide against school and stay holed up in my room, ignoring the outside world. My mother tries talking me into going to the local community college, going to grief counseling, and even seeing a doctor about my depression, but I have no energy for any of it. It’s only b
een two months since his passing.
This weekend marks the date on my calendar that we planned on leaving for school together, and I’ve just been sitting on my bed, staring at that calendar for hours now.
On today’s date, he wrote, “time to start our future”. His handwriting is neat as it is scrawled out across the box.
My physical wounds have healed, but my heart still longs for something I can never have. I sit on my bed, leaning against the wall and looking out the window at his house. It’s been entirely way too quiet over there, and nothing has changed. Except his truck isn’t in the driveway.
It’s almost like his family is keeping everything the same, waiting for him to come back.
But he’s never coming back.
I look at the ring on my finger as I move my hand to let it catch the light. The diamond sparkles the same as it always has, but something feels different, like a change is coming.
Chapter 6
Five years later…
“Do you want to stay in and rent a movie tonight?” my roommate, Jen, asks me as we’re walking out of class.
“No, not tonight,” I answer, pulling my books closer to my chest, hoping to hide behind them.
She rolls her dark eyes before pushing her black hair behind her ear. “Group again?”
“It was the only night available,” I lie. Truth is, they have a group meeting every night of the week, but I picked Friday so I would have a good excuse to miss out on parties and other group activities I didn’t want to go to. I don’t want to do anything more than what I have to. Right now, I’m focusing on getting a degree. I didn’t want to be here without him. I think actually getting here was the hard part. But I couldn’t stay locked up in my room any longer either. I was going crazy.
I decided to come to school after wasting a year of my life. Now I’m behind, but better late than never. I keep myself busy with class, homework, and group. I don’t even know why I go. I never volunteer information, but it’s comforting to know that there are other people like me out there, that I’m not the only one living without their heart.
Neither of us talk much on the walk back to our apartment. That’s why we make such good roommates. We’re both broken and like to hide away from the world.
Jen told me that once upon a time she was as normal as they come, going to parties, sleeping with all the popular guys in school, and winning every popularity contest she was ever in. It wasn’t until she was raped by an older man that she pulled away from society. The man was an upstanding citizen, married with the perfect wife and kids. He was someone she thought she could trust, so she didn’t think otherwise when he offered to give her a ride home.
After everything was said and done, nobody believed her. They said that she slept with everyone anyway, she must have invited it one way or another. Since then, she spends all her time locked away, not trusting many people, older men especially.
I go directly to the shower, in hopes of washing this day off of me. When I step out, I put on a pair of jeans with a black hoodie, and pull my wet hair up into a messy bun. Going to group is just to fill my time, I don’t need to have hair and makeup done to sit in a chair and stare off into space for an hour.
I hail a cab and give him directions across town to where the group meetings are held. When I walk into the brick building, the harsh florescent lights almost blind me. They shine brightly off the white linoleum floor and plain white walls. The fold-up chairs are in their usual position: arranged into a circle in the center of the floor. And there is a table set up against the wall that is home to coffee, tea, water, and cookies.
I pass it all, and I’m the first person to sit down in the large circle. I hate the circle thing. I prefer when the chairs are all facing one direction, but this way we can all see one another. I don’t want to see the hurt and tears in people’s eyes because it only reminds me of my own.
Slowly, the chairs start to fill up, and the group leader walks in and takes her seat. She introduces herself like she does every week before looking at the person on her left to start.
The man stands. I look at his long, messy blond hair, the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and the hollowness of his cheeks.
This one is fresh.
I know because I used to look that exact way. The lack of sleep is evident on his face. So is the self-loathing that’s rolling off his weakened frame.
“My name is Tom, and I’m here today to talk about losing my girlfriend.”
“Hi, Tom,” the whole group says in unison, except for me. I don’t talk in these meetings.
He nervously waves to the group before starting his story, eyes downcast. “I lost my girlfriend a month ago to an overdose. And I don’t know how to move on. Me and her, we both met at a bad time in our lives. We both used, but after a year of being together, we both decided to get clean. We had been going to rehab and slowly healing together. But she relapsed. She called me crying, trying to talk out her problems, but I didn’t have time to listen. I was at work. I told her I’d talk to her when I got home, but by the time I got there, she was dead.” He begins to cry, and he wipes away the tears from his face.
“I feel like it’s all my fault, you know? If I had just been there for her, this never would have happened. She wouldn’t have reached for the needle that night. But I blew her off. I could have talked her down. That’s what we did for each other.” He falls back into his seat and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Since her passing, I hate to admit that I’ve started using again. I can’t stop.” He turns and looks at Marissa, the group leader.
She reaches out and rubs his knee, whispering something to him. I try to listen in, just out of curiosity, when the door behind me closes loudly. Everyone in the group jumps, but me. I don’t turn to look to see who came in because I don’t care. I can’t. If I start caring about these people, I’ll never heal.
I look up to see him walking away from me, toward the only open chair left, the one that sits directly across from mine. He’s tall and he’s wearing a black, leather jacket that hugs his wide, muscular back. When he sits down and I look up to meet his eyes, I’m frozen. I see nothing but familiar blue-green as a tingle takes over my body, causing every hair to stand upright.
It’s Dean’s uncle, Holden.
He sees me and his brow furrows while his jaw tics.
It’s been five years since I’ve seen him, but he looks good: strong and put together. He’s tall and looks like he’s been working out. He pulls off his jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair. My eyes automatically go to his bulging biceps and muscular chest.
His jet black hair is styled neatly, almost in a way that Dean would wear his, and his jaw is cocked, highlighting his high cheekbones. He looks tense, making him look dark and menacing. Something floods over my body. Something thick and hot, something I haven’t felt in a long time that halts my breathing.
Marissa turns to look at him. “Thank you for joining us, Holden.”
He tears his eyes from mine, finally. With his hot gaze off me, I can breathe again. “You suggested it, so here I am,” he replies in a deep, gravelly voice that causes goosebumps to rise on my skin from the memories it brings up.
“Would you like to tell everyone here your story?” Marissa’s eyes land on mine. It makes me wonder if she knows my story and set this up. How is that possible?
He takes a deep breath before swallowing and standing up.
No, please don’t. I can’t hear it. My heart starts pounding.
“My name is Holden, and I lost my son five years ago,” he starts.
I’m frozen. I want to run, but I can’t move. My eyes fall to his feet and my shoulders slump on their own just from thinking about the heavy loss.
“My brother and sister-in-law died in a terrible car crash, leaving their six-year-old son all alone. At the time, my wife and I had been trying to have a child, and it just wasn’t working out. We ended up adopting him and raising him as our own son. Anyway, h
e had just graduated high school. He had planned this weekend trip for him and his girlfriend. He was going to take her on a romantic getaway and propose. On the way home, a deer darted into the road, and he swerved, causing the truck to flip end over end. His girlfriend wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so she was thrown out almost immediately. My son, he was crushed to death on impact. The girl survived, and my son died.” He pauses a moment to let that story sink in. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that girl.” Suddenly, my eyes pop up to see him watching me. “I want to know where she is, what’s she’s doing. I want to know that she’s living her life to the fullest, just to make up for my son losing his.” His words are smooth, not forced. He doesn’t look angry like I thought he would. “The death of my son has impacted my whole life. Nothing is the same, my wife isn’t the same…”
I can’t sit and listen anymore. Hearing his words makes me relive that day, a time I barely escaped from. It makes my heart pound like a jackhammer, my breathing all but stops, and tears build up in my eyes.
I can see Dean sitting next to me. I can feel his warmth, smell his scent, see the bright smile he’s wearing. I can see the deer that darts into the road, and I can feel the truck flipping through the air. My ears are filled with the sounds of shattering glass and bending metal. When everything goes black, my eyes pop open to see Holden watching me with sadness and worry etched on his chiseled face. I can’t do this. I can’t face this or him. I need out of here.
I stand and rush toward the door. I can’t breathe until the cold Chicago air hits my face, shocking me back to life. I hold on tightly to a crosswalk pole that’s directly outside the door while I try to get air into my deflated lungs.
I need to run. I need to be numb. I can’t go back down that road, the road that leads to grieving and suffering. Hearing that story, it’s pulling me back. I have to run from it.
Wrapped in Hope: A Forbidden Romance (The Hope Series Book 1) Page 4
