At First Light

by Mari Madison

  forty

  TROY

  I’d been in the house for five days straight when Griffin rang my bell.

  I considered not answering the door, but the ring was followed by a knock. Then he started calling my name. I realized the guy wasn’t going to give up. And so I reluctantly headed to the door.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him. Truth be told, I’d been going a little stir-crazy sitting in my house for so many days in a row. Each day I’d wake up and tell myself I should get out of bed. Go shopping for groceries. Maybe even go for a run. But each day that seemed harder and harder to do. And more and more pointless. Instead, I ate. I drank. And I watched the twenty-four-hour news station, waiting for updates of the kidnapped journalists. Wondering if they were still alive. If they had any hope of rescue.

  It was as if I couldn’t move forward with my life until I knew for sure whether they would have lives to move forward with as well.

  I opened the door. Griffin held up a six-pack. “You didn’t want to meet me at the bar,” he said, referring to his unanswered text, I assumed. “So I brought the bar to you.”

  “Um,” I said, “this really isn’t a good time.”

  “There’s no bad time for beer,” he insisted, pushing past me and heading to the kitchen. I watched him go with a sigh, resigning myself to my fate. Closing the door, I headed over to the breakfast bar, where he was busily opening two bottles. He pushed one in my direction. I took it, obediently taking a swig.

  “So,” he said, “I’d ask you how you are, but I’d be a fool to not know, just looking at your face.” He took a long pull from his beer and sighed contentedly. “Nothing like a cold beer on a warm day.” His eyes locked on me. “When’s the last time you were outside?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Um, yesterday I think?”

  “Mmhm.” He didn’t sound like he believed me. Which was fine, since my statement was a complete lie.

  I sighed. “What are you doing here, Griffin?”

  “Checking up on you, of course,” he said, looking surprised at the question. “From what I hear, you haven’t been to work all week.”

  “Who told you that?”

  His eyes locked on mine. “I think you probably know the answer to that.”

  I raked a hand through my hair, frustrated. Sarah. Of course. Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? It was bad enough I missed her like fucking crazy. That every thought I had led directly back to her. The past few days had been torture, not being able to call her and talk to her. Not being able to kiss her and hold her close. I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to cuddling up with her at night, falling asleep in her arms. Until I had to fall asleep alone.

  Or try to fall asleep at all, as the case might be.

  But that was my problem to deal with. For her, I had done the right thing. I had set her free. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. And she shouldn’t have to wait for me. She might not see it that way now, but in truth I had done her a favor. And someday, when she met a guy who was normal and boring and safe and fell in love and popped out a few kids, she would realize what a bullet she’d dodged with me.

  “She never gives up, does she?” I muttered now, staring down into my beer. My stomach churned, and I was no longer sure I wanted to drink it.

  Griffin was silent for a minute. “Do you really want her to?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Yes. I mean, not really. I mean . . .” I screwed up my face. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  I bit my lower lip, trying to figure out how to phrase it. In a way that didn’t make Sarah seem like an idiot. Or me like an ass.

  “She knew I wasn’t going to my therapist,” I blurted out at last. “She knew all along. And yet she didn’t say anything about it. She just watched me stumble around trying to prove everything was fine. That I had been miraculously cured or whatever.” I looked up at Griffin. “Why would she do that?” I demanded, my voice cracking on the words. “Why wouldn’t she confront me about it? Yell at me for lying to her all over again? Tell me I was being a moron.”

  Griffin shrugged. “Probably because she wanted you to come to that conclusion yourself,” he replied. “Loved ones can only tell you so much,” he added. “You have to be willing to admit some things to yourself, too.” He patted me on the arm. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a smart girl there, kid. If I were you, I’d try to hold on to her with both hands.”

  I groaned, looking down at the hands in question. “No. I can’t do that to her. I can’t hold her back. She’s amazing. I’m a fucking mess. She could do so much better with someone else. Someone with his shit together.”

  “Is that what she needs? Someone with his shit together?”

  “Yes. Of course. She deserves that at the very least.”

  “Then why don’t you go get your shit together, boy?”

  I stared at him, shocked at the sudden roughness I heard in his voice. “Excuse me?”

  He shrugged, finishing off his beer. I watched, incredulous, as he slowly, deliberately opened the next without answering. My heart pounded in my chest and my stomach churned.

  “The way I see it,” he said at last, “is that she’s going to love who she’s going to love. And she clearly loves your sorry ass. And there ain’t nothing you can do about that. Except put in the work to make your sorry ass worthy of that love.”

  I shook my head, anger and frustration building up inside of me all over again. He didn’t understand. I was doing this for Sarah, not myself. I was never going to get back to where I’d been. It wasn’t fair to make her wait.

  I turned away, my eyes catching the television in the other room as I did. They were finally giving an update on the two kidnapped reporters. Abandoning my beer, I ran to stand in front of the TV.

  “The jihad group has released a video of the two hostages,” the anchor was saying, “to show they’re still alive. However the group’s leader does insist they will execute them within the next week if the US does not respond to their demands.”

  I sunk down on the couch, scrubbing my face with my hands, then squeezing them into fists by my side. A moment later I could feel Griffin sit down next to me, placing a hand over my fist. For a moment, he said nothing. Then . . .

  “You think it’s your fault, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course.”

  “That’s funny,” he said.

  I looked up, surprised. He gave me a sorry look.

  “Well, not funny ha-ha, of course. But, you know, go figure, I thought the exact same thing when you were abducted.”

  I stared at him, confused. My heart beat wildly in my chest. “What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on, kid. You only started reporting in that sector after I got my leg blown off, right? You wouldn’t have even been near there if it wasn’t for me being out of commission.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault,” I protested. “It’s not like you asked to be hurt!”

  “Like you asked to be kidnapped?” Griffin replied, raising his eyebrows.

  I groaned, sinking back onto the couch as his words hit me like a ton of bricks. For a moment I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Look,” Griffin interjected. “Maybe you could have changed things. Or maybe things were meant to go this way all along. Doesn’t matter. We can’t go back in time. We can’t erase our pasts. The only thing we can do is admit we need help and then try to follow through with getting that help.” He gave me a stern look. “I know you think seeking help is admitting weakness. But I swear to you on God and everything, it’s the biggest show of strength you’ll ever make in your life.”

  He paused, then added. “You got out of that hole, Troy. And now you’ve stuck yourself in another one just as deep. But you don
’t have to stay there. That’s the best part. You have the key. You just have to get off your ass and walk out that door.” He smiled. “And you know what? I bet that girl of yours will be out there, on the other side, standing in the sunshine waiting for you when you do.”

  I nodded slowly. My mind was racing. My stomach churning. Part of me wanted to argue. To dig myself deeper into the hole. But in the end, I knew Griffin was right. At least I wanted him to be right. If there was any chance at all to escape this pit of despair I’d put myself in—to find a new lease on life, to get Sarah back—I would be an idiot not to at least try.

  After all, I had very little left to lose.

  I swallowed hard, turning to Griffin. Meeting his eyes straight on. “I want to get help,” I whispered.

  He grinned widely. Then he slapped me on the back. “Get me another beer,” he said. “And then we’ll get you some help.”

  forty-one

  TROY

  If life were a movie, at this point we’d probably be at the start of our first musical montage—with the next three months of therapy fast-forwarded in an upbeat series of clips set to a lively tune. I’d alternate between sitting and lying on the couch, maybe even dance around the room as I underwent some breakthrough or another. There’d be moments of laughing and crying, of course, and maybe a tear-jerking scene of me hugging my therapist as the music swelled. At the end of the song, you’d see me walking out of my shrink’s front door, raising my fist in the air in triumph. Who knows, maybe there’d even be a freeze-frame.

  But life was so not a movie. In fact, in my first session the therapist didn’t even attempt to start the whole immersion therapy thing like the other one had. Instead, he suggested we get to know each other a little better first, before we dove headfirst into the healing. To help me to relax in the present before bringing in the added anxiety of reliving the past. I appreciated this in a sense, though I was also in a hurry to get to the good stuff, so I could start my road to recovery.

  So I could get Sarah back.

  That said, I did exit the building feeling a little better. Not fist-raising, movie freeze-frame better, but enough to go to the store by myself and buy much-needed groceries. As I wandered through the aisles, picking out fresh produce and whole grains (the shrink suggested a healthy diet could cut down on my stress levels, too), my eyes flickered to the people around me. Trying to imagine me someday being just like them again. Shopping for groceries, not a care in the world.

  It seemed an impossible dream at the moment. But maybe, just maybe I could make it a reality. After all, Griffin had gone through much the same thing, and while he was quick to admit he still had bad days, mostly, he claimed, life was pretty good.

  When I returned to my apartment, I realized the reporters had gathered again, shouting more questions about the kidnapped journalists and my thoughts on their plight. But this time I forced myself to walk by them instead of run, holding my head up high. They weren’t the enemy, I told myself. Just guys doing their jobs. Trying to make ends meet. Just like I had been doing at News 9.

  Speaking of News 9, I wouldn’t be going back there anytime soon. After I explained what had been going on at work, my therapist suggested I apply for short-term disability until I could get back on my feet. So I could concentrate fully on my recovery and not lose my job in the process. I wasn’t looking forward to sending in the paperwork—basically an admission that I couldn’t hack things anymore. But the therapist insisted it was actually the opposite. It was a show of strength. A commitment to my recovery.

  I hoped Sarah would see it that way.

  Sarah. My heart ached as I stepped through my front door, closing it securely behind me. God, I missed Sarah. It had only been two weeks now and yet every time I had a down moment I thought of her. Of what she was doing. Of what she was thinking. Was she still working on the Water World project? Had she gotten the undercover video yet?

  Actually, I could probably find that out. I grabbed my phone and scrolled to today’s date on the calendar app. We’d set up a shared calendar back when we were working together, and I’d never bothered to unsubscribe once we split. Somehow I found it comforting to look at it from time to time. To see the films she was screening, what segments would be on TV. Even her manicure appointments interested me, imagining her going into the salon to get pampered as she deserved.

  But there was no manicure tonight. Just a special little smiley face, scheduled for midnight. The emoticon code that meant undercover shoot.

  I drew in a breath. So tonight was the night. When everything would come full circle. Was she going by herself? Or had she solicited Stephanie or Ben to come with her perhaps? For a moment I actually contemplated calling her and seeing if she still wanted me to come around to help her out. But in the shape I was in, I knew I’d be nothing more than a liability. And I didn’t want our emotional strain to distract her from the shoot. I had screwed this whole thing up for her once upon a time; I wouldn’t do it again.

  I had wanted to call her after Griffin had come to see me, too. Though I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to say. To thank her, I guess. For not giving up on me. Even when I had given up on myself. For not taking no for an answer. For sending Griffin to my door. For forcing me to see the truth. I wanted to tell her that she’d been right all along. And that because of her, I might have a chance now to reclaim my life.

  I’d almost finished dinner when there was a knock at my door. I groaned, then reassessed. Maybe it was Griffin, come to make sure I’d gotten through my therapy session okay. Or just to grab that last beer he’d accidentally left in my fridge. No soldier left behind and all that.

  And so I set down my plate and walked over to the door, peeking through the peephole before pulling it open, just in case it was one of the paparazzi getting brave again. Seriously, these guys really needed to get lives.

  But when I looked through the peephole, I realized it wasn’t a reporter. It wasn’t Griffin, either.

  It was Ryan.

  forty-two

  TROY

  My first thought as I stared at Ryan through the peephole was how terrible he looked. A totally random, ridiculous thought, and yet, at the same time definitely true. His once round, cheerful face was almost gaunt. His skin was pale and pockmarked. And his eyes looked sunken into his skull. It was weird—he’d once been such a good-looking, charismatic man. Now he appeared a shell of his former self.

  A shell that should definitely not be standing at my front door.

  “What do you want, Ryan?” I demanded, not opening the door. Seriously, this was the last thing I needed right now.

  “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

  “Sorry, I’m really not in the mood.”

  “You might be once you hear what I have to say.” He paused, then added, “It’s about Water World.”

  I pursed my lips, indecision racing through me. The last thing I wanted to do was let him back in my life by opening the door. But then, wasn’t he still in my life already? In a sense he’d been haunting me for the last five years. Maybe this was my opportunity to exorcise him for good. From my life . . . and more importantly, from Sarah’s.

  “Fine,” I muttered, turning the handle and opening the door, allowing him entrance. He stepped inside and looked around, nodding his head.

  “Nice place,” he remarked.

  “Yeah, it’s the freaking Taj Mahal. Now what do you want?”

  Ryan ignored me, instead wandering over to the living room and sitting down on the couch. I followed him over, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Why was he here? What did he want? Did this have anything to do with Sarah?

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll hear you out,” I said. “If you promise me one thing.”

  He looked over, raising an eyebrow.

  “Once you’re finished, I want you to go away. For good this time. Do not bother me an
ymore. And especially stay clear of Sarah.”

  He made a face. “Oh God, not you, too.”

  “What?” I frowned.

  “Sarah.” He groaned. “Everyone in this town seems to be under the impression that I’m stalking her or whatever. The bitch even took out a restraining order on me—even though I never went near her. And her dad’s all over the TV talking about some crime bill he wants to introduce, using me as his prime example. Me—who hasn’t even freaking jaywalked since getting out of the joint.” He scowled. “It’s getting kind of old, to be honest.”

  I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re really going to deny it? She saw you. You came to my front door.”

  “Yeah. I did. I was looking for you.”

  “Okay, fine. Then what about the graffiti? The vandalism at her apartment? The rock at the movie theater? Was that all for me, too?”

  “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But if Sarah thinks I’d really risk my newfound freedom to mess with her? Well, she’s even more delusional than I remember her being. I wasted five goddamn years of my life in that godforsaken prison. The last thing I need is to give her dear old dad an excuse to throw me back in.”

  I swallowed hard, truly at a loss now. He sounded so convincing. And while he could be lying, of course, something in his face told me he wasn’t.

  “You told her in the courtroom you were going to make her pay,” I reminded him, feeling as if I were grasping at straws.

  “I said a lot of things back then. You did, too, if I remember right.”

  I sighed. “Okay, fine.” I held up my hands in defeat. “You aren’t stalking Sarah. Whatever. But you did show up to my front door. So what is it you want to say to me?”

  I watched as Ryan reached into his bag, drawing out a thick stack of papers and setting them on the coffee table. Then, he pulled out a DVD and placed it on top before turning back to me.