Tears fill her eyes as her hand lifts to my face. Her soft fingers graze along my jaw, skimming over my lips. “What I ever did to deserve this, I’m still not sure,” she says, shaking her head.
“You listened to your heart when your conscience told you not to. Nothing this wonderful comes easy. We fought for this, and that makes it that much more perfect.”
As much as I want to throw her down on the bed right now, I don’t. I hold her to me, dancing, thinking, brushing my fingers through her dark hair. Moments like this, these are the things that make your life full. These are the things you remember when you’re eighty-seven years old and you say: My life was wonderful.
Because when you have love, and I mean true, real love, nothing else matters.
Oh, and if you wonder what ever happened to that book Peyton wrote, well, you just finished reading it.
GRANT
“Momma?” I called out as I ran up the steps to our front door, already out of breath from the walk from the bus stop where she usually met me. Today she wasn’t there waving at me from below the window when the bus pulled up. This morning, she told me she wasn’t feeling good. Since Christmas, she’s been in bed a lot. I know she doesn’t want me to hear her cry so she keeps the door shut, but I’ve been leaving my favorite Tonka trucks by her door so she knows I want to make her feel better.
“I’ll be staying will my sister in Abeline,” I heard my momma say. My father started to yell and cold chills from the sweat drying made me shiver in the heat. I hated when Daddy yelled. He did it all the time now. Momma got sad and Daddy just yelled at her, making her more sick. I hated Daddy for it. Momma doesn’t smile anymore, and I know daddies are supposed to make mommas smile. My best friend Garret’s daddy made his momma smile all the time. My daddy just yelled at her when she talked.
“You aren’t going anywhere with my son!” I heard him boom.
“Keep your voice down. He’ll be home any minute, and I want us to explain this to him together.”
“Explain what? That you’ve lost your marbles and you’re abandoning him?”
“I’m leaving you, Davis. You. Let me make that clear—”
I couldn’t think beyond hearing her say she was leaving. Opening the door, I ran inside, finding them in the bedroom. Momma was packing as Daddy blocked the door. I pushed past him and ran to my mother that was stuffing shirts into her full suitcase.
“Momma, why? Why are you leaving?” Momma looked at me in surprise then started to cry.
“I’m going to stay with Aunt Jackie for a while.”
My chest started to ache as I looked at my daddy head on. “Is it because he yells at you all the time when you are sad?” He took a step back as if I’d kicked him, and I felt good about it.
“No, Grant, this isn’t Daddy’s fault,” she said, taking my hand as she sat on the bed before pulling me to her.
“I need you to be a big boy now. You are almost seven years old and look at you . . . walking from the bus stop all on your own.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t even scared,” I said, puffing out my chest a bit. She smiled, but it was not the one I wanted her to give me. It was not the best one she had.
“Can you do that for me every day? Can you be a big boy and do your homework and chores while I’m gone?”
“Momma, don’t leave.” I turned to Daddy, who just stood there and watched momma as she started to pack again. “Daddy won’t yell no more. Will you, Daddy? Tell her!”
My daddy stayed silent. I knew I was not supposed to cry, but my stomach hurt too much. I looked at my father through narrowed eyes. “Daddy, tell her you will listen to her like she asks you to all the time. Tell her you won’t yell at her anymore!”
A small sob escaped my mother’s lips as she shut the suitcase. “Grant,” she whispered, “don’t blame this on your daddy.”
“It’s his fault, Momma. Don’t go. I’ll listen to you. I’ll take care of you when you’re sick.” She bent down to give me a kiss as she held me to her so tightly I couldn’t breathe. I pushed away from her to look at my daddy again.
“Don’t you let her leave!” I didn’t recognize my voice as I said, “I’ll hate you, Daddy. I’ll hate you. This is all your fault.” I gripped the handle of my mother’s suitcase and tried to pry it away from her.
“Grant, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Let go . . . Grant . . . Davis!” Momma looked at daddy to help her and he took a step towards me. As soon as he reached me, I started to fight him. My mother’s skirt brushed past the bedroom door and the pain in my stomach got worse.
“Don’t, Momma! Don’t go!” I fought my father’s grip as hard as I could. He audibly exhaled and I looked up to see a teardrop rolling down his cheek. I was happy to see it. I was glad he was hurting, too.
“I’m so sorry, son.”
“No, you aren’t. You made her leave! I heard you tell her you couldn’t help her. That you were tired of trying to help her!” I managed to get one arm free and then the other, but I already knew it was too late. I hated him more than ever as I chased her blue pickup down the drive.
I couldn’t catch her so I picked up rocks from the gravel path and threw them as hard as I could. One hit the tailgate, but the truck kept moving. I threw rock after rock as I cried so hard my sight became blurry, screaming promise after promise to her.
“Come on, son, come inside.”
Ignoring him, I kept throwing rocks until I was so tired I couldn’t lift my arms. Even more tired than when I played all day in the woods with Garrett. Wiping my tears away with a dirty hand, I turned around to face my daddy.
“If you loved her like a daddy ‘posed to, she wouldn’t be gone!”
He nodded before turning around to walk back into the house. The screen door slammed behind him and I jumped at the sound. I’d never talked to my daddy like that. Usually, he’d spank me real good then talk to me about respect. I wondered if he would have the strap on the bed when I got inside. I didn’t care. It was his fault Momma left and he knew it. I wouldn’t even cry if he strapped me.
I’d show him.
I walked back up the stairs and towards my bedroom, ready to face my punishment, but he never came.
I blinked hard against the recollection of that day as I pulled into campus, sighing at the usual traffic I had to fight to get there. I’d spent the hours on the road from Tennessee thinking about the shitty task ahead of me, and about the day my mother left my father and how horrible it felt. A little over six months after she left, he’d brought another woman home, but it didn’t last long. He’s been alone ever since. My momma was alone, too, right up until she died a year ago. My whole life I knew they still loved each other, but they were too stubborn to do a damn thing about it. Maybe they weren’t meant to be, but there’s something to be said about never picking up the pieces of your life and moving on with someone else twenty-two years after your divorce. I could only speculate what they did to ease the ache when I was in between their homes in Texas and Tennessee, but to my knowledge, neither one of them ever fell in love again. Now, my mother was gone and my father was close behind.
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, stuck in a line of cars waiting to park, dreading the words I was about to say. I’d wasted another six months in a dead-end relationship, and now I had to be the one to break it off. Maybe it was the lingering guilt of remembering my mother leaving and the look on my father’s face, which I knew now was devastation, which was making this feel harder than it should be.
However, this was nothing like that. This wasn’t love at all.
This . . . was strangely pathetic, a new low for me. She wasn’t even my type, yet I’d led her on a little bit by just staying in the relationship, if you could even call it that. No, if this feeling were anything like the way I felt when my momma left, I wouldn’t be here ready to break it off. I would be holding on for dear life, making every effort to ensure we stayed together and that she was happy. I was no fool, and if the day ever came th
at I felt that way—that fear, that type of panic over losing a woman—I would do everything in my power to keep her, whoever she may be.
A horn sounded from behind me, and I lifted my gaze from the steering wheel with tired eyes. Hours of driving and fatigue seeped through my bones. All I wanted to do was sleep. This could wait.
A text came through just as a spot opened.
You coming? I’m so nervous! Please!
Fuck.
“Might as well get this over with,” I muttered to myself. I put the truck in park then observed the students scattering to get to class. Still reluctant to drag my ass inside, I watched a few of them screw with their cell phones as they completely ignored the world around them. Rolling my eyes at their stupidity, I rolled down my window then killed the ignition, letting the hot breeze blow through the cab. It didn’t make sense to me to ignore the world for a bunch of technology. I understood its purpose and used it myself, but spending day in and day out with their heads buried in other people’s lives while life went on around them made these scholars look like idiots. I had no desire to drown myself in other people’s lives when I fought night and day for a life of my own. My private time was precious. Between watching my father wither away, caring for him, and making sure I kept a job I loved, I reveled in the hours I could call my own. I’d be damned if I spent them wondering what everyone else was up to. Every second mattered. Every. Fucking. Second. Including the seconds I was wasting in the cab of my truck, delaying the inevitable.
I could make some excuse and go nod off for a few hours.
As I straightened in my seat to do just that, I looked to the right of me as light broke through the heavy clouds and a blinding ray of Texas sunlight lit up the campus grounds. As my eyes adjusted to the intrusion, I noticed a fair-skinned redhead sitting under a tree, deep in thought.
It was an awareness I had only felt once in my life, and I recalled it all too well: Sharon Dunn, freshman year, a perfect little blonde haired, doe-eyed beauty. I knew the first time I saw her I had to make her mine. Even after she ripped my heart out and fell in love with my best friend, Garret, I knew there would always be something special about her, even if she belonged to someone else. No, this awareness was like a brick to the head.
Scrutinizing her through the windshield, I watched her scratch her leg with her bare foot as she bit her lip in concentration while scribbling in a small notebook. Suddenly, every single piece of me was awake and hyper-focused on the woman who was now gathering her books. I remained motionless as I watched her stand then slide on her shoes. From root to tip, she was absolutely perfect, and I couldn’t help but to lean forward to drink her in. More and more awareness crept over me as I watched her battle the wind for a few scattered pieces of paper that had fallen out of her binder. Giving up on the last piece and letting it fly through the air freely, she finally composed herself and began walking towards the same building I was supposed to be headed towards. As if graced by some gift, she paused in front of my truck, pulling something out of her bag then fastening it around her wrist. She looked briefly my way but didn’t see me watching her before she hurried again in the direction of the other students. I strained to watch her go, realizing my hand was already on the handle when that last piece of paper she’d missed flew up and folded around the antenna of my truck. Watching the forgotten paper flapping in the wind like a neon sign, I paused briefly before I jumped out, chest on fire as I snatched it like the precious breadcrumb it was. I read the simple words scribbled all over it and smiled before I tucked it into my pocket. I followed closely behind her as everything in me repeated in overdrive: Go get her.
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Meow. What the hell? I groan and roll over, burrowing deeper into the duvet. Meow. Okay, three scenarios here. One, I’m dreaming. Two, Milly drank one too many acid cocktails and thinks she’s a cat, or three, I’ve finally taken one pill too many and lost my shit. Meow. I crack an eye open and pull the duvet back. Four—there actually is a cat here. The little black and white cat is staring at me, its face inches from mine as it kneads the pillow, purring like a little train.
“Milly?” I shout.
No response of course. I slide out of bed and scoop the cat up, cradling it against my chest as I make my way to Milly’s room. I push the door open and it’s pitch black inside.
I grab the string for the blind and yank it up, allowing daylight to flood into the room. “Milly!”
“Fuck!” She shrieks, rolling over until she’s face down in the pillow with her arms at her sides. I’m pretty sure she might suffocate herself.
“Milan.” I shove her shoulder and she rolls onto her back, shielding her eyes from the light.
“I fucking hate you. You are the worst friend in the history of ever, and I will remember this.” She hisses.
“Whose cat is this?” I point at the cat but she keeps her hand over her eyes.
“Is that like a figurative term for the fact that you accidentally ate pussy again?”
I sigh. “No, by cat I mean cat.” I hold the cat out in front of me and it lets out a pitiful little meow. She lowers her hand from her eyes and frowns.
“What the fuck?”
“So you didn’t agree to look after someone’s cat and just not tell me?”
“Uh, no. I hate cats. Get it away from me.”
I pull him close to my chest and stroke over his head. “You’re mean.”
“And you stole someone’s cat!” She shouts after me as I leave her to her hang over.
I trudge back to my bedroom and get back in bed, because yep, hung over, banging headache, and a cat. The cat curls up on the duvet and goes to sleep. I guess that’s a reason not to like cats. I mean, where’s the loyalty? He has an owner somewhere, and yet, he’s happy as Larry here. That’s what I’m going to call him, Larry…until I find his owner. Of course. Though, that might be difficult given the circumstances.
I’m woken up when my bedroom door bursts open, cracking against the wall. The cat practically lands on my face. “Jesus. What the fuck?” I sit up and see Rhett in the doorway, both his hands braced on either side of the frame and a face like thunder. His chest rises and falls as he breathes raggedly. He says nothing, just stares at me.
“Uh, you realize this is total creeper territory?” Still nothing. “What with the bursting into my apartment and the staring.”
“Do you know where your phone is?” He asks, his voice icy and his eyes tight.
My phone? “Uh…” I glance at my chest of drawers which is where I always leave my clutch when I come in. I climb out of bed and grab the little sequined bag, opening it. “Nope. Guess I dropped it somewhere. Happens all the time.” I shrug. “Is that why you look like you’re about to stab someone? Because you tried to call and I didn’t pick up? Because that’s moving out of creeper and slightly into psycho.”
He throws something on the bed, and I peer over to see my phone nestled into the duvet. The screen is cracked for what must be the hundredth time. Really, it’s a wonder I don’t lose all my belongings every time I go out, but no, the designer clutch and the hundred pound lipstick—those I keep safe. My phone though, my only means of contact, that I lose and break.
He then throws a shoe on the bed next to the phone and finally pulls a pair of lace knickers from his pocket, dangling them from one finger. My lace knickers to be precise.
I frown and rub my temples. “Uh…”
“I had a phone call this morning, from your phone. A woman a couple of streets over found your shoe, panties and broken phone in a bush this morning. She managed to call the most recently dialed number and got me. You can imagine both her and my concern.”
“Okay.” I hold up my finger. “I admit, that looks bad, and I have no idea how it happened, but I’m alive, so can you stop l
ooking at me like…that.” I grumble. He takes his hands off the doorway and folds them across his chest, the scowl remaining on his features. “Oh yeah, because that’s so much better.” I roll my eyes, and then spot a flash of movement behind Rhett.
“Hamster!” I shout, pointing. He turns around but that furry ninja is gone. “Motherfucker.” I jump off the bed and shove past Rhett, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
I turn back around and Rhett is staring at me like I’m about to bite him. I throw my hands in the air. “Why does no one believe me when it comes to the hamster?”
“Seriously? You have to ask?” He lifts one eyebrow in that condescending way of his. “Shoe, phone, panties, a ghost hamster…” He looks behind me. “A cat, and there’s a homeless man sleeping in the hallway outside your door. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
“Really? Is that his cat?”
He drags a hand over his face. “Don’t get me wrong Blake, I love your wild side, but don’t you think that maybe you should lay off some of the more hallucinogenic drugs.”
“It’s fucking real! That bastard is taunting me, and he’s like a fucking ninja!” He shakes his head and turns, walking down the hallway. “Where are you going?” I shout after him.
“To get breakfast.” He calls over his shoulder.
“Fine.” I huff. “Oh, while you’re there can you ask the homeless man if he lost a cat.” He says nothing. “Please.”
Stevie is a tired author who resides in Alabama. She has an obsession with the band Bush, Captain Jack Sparrow, and Aldous Snow. She also lacks a brain to mouth filter, so you never really know what you are in store for. Although she doesn’t really stick to one subgenre in romance, the one thing she strives to do is deliver a story that will make you feel. Now, she may make you cry, scream, vomit, or have nightmares, but feel you shall.
A Love So Tragic Page 20
