Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2)

by Belinda Boring

“I’d say I owed you a beer, but I’m kinda taking a break from all that,” I answered, amazed at how easy that had been. Where drinking had been such a big part of what we did together, I’d worried about broaching the subject. Part of my recovery and healing meant finding new ways to cope with stress.

  “We can become the two dudes that drink tea or something. We can have matching tea sets. Bake scones and shit. Be real civilized and fancy.” And, holding up his pinky, Marty pretended to sip from an imaginary cup. “Make our mothers proud.”

  “I’ll get right on Amazon and order us some,” I joked in return. Which made me think of her. The one person I hadn’t been brave enough to ask about.

  True to form, I didn’t need to utter her name. Marty already knew. “She’s okay.” He didn’t offer any more details. It was enough.

  Nodding, I swallowed hastily. “Good.” I wasn’t ready to ask more. Maybe after this trip, I would.

  I knew I would.

  “So, you didn’t answer me, do you need me to come with you?” Marty reached around to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “With you gone for the past month, I’ve been making my own changes and I’ve got money to burn. This is a good cause.” He watched me, hopeful.

  As much as I wanted him to join me and act as a buffer, this was a journey I needed to do myself. “God, yes. I’d appreciate it, but no.” I shook my head and quickly glanced back at the security line. It was starting to grow longer. “I think this is one of those things best done alone. But would you do me a favor and swing back here in a few days and pick me up? We can talk then.”

  There was no trying to convince me to let him tag along. Only acceptance. Damn, I’d missed him.

  “Sure. Shoot me a text when you land and let me know your flight details. I know your mom mentioned something about a welcome home dinner once you get back. Just so you know.” He winked, and I laughed.

  I’d definitely missed her cooking. The mere thought of it made my mouth water and it filled my heart like some kind of healing elixir. Things would return to normal, again.

  Only this time, I was different.

  Better.

  More myself than I had ever been.

  An announcement over the loudspeaker drew our attention. It had nothing to do with my flight, but it signaled the urge to get moving. We were okay. I could do this. I had people who still loved me and would be here when I got home.

  Support.

  After everything I’d put them through, I was grateful to know they’d never left.

  “Okay, man, I better get going.” I reached down for my bag and slung the strap over my shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

  Marty gave me a nod. “Don’t need to, Cooper. You’ve got this. Go make peace with your past.”

  “Love you,” I uttered, catching him by surprise.

  “Fucking love you, too, bro.”

  Then, turning around to join the line, I let out a long breath.

  I could do this.

  I’d gone over this with Dr. Nicholas, mulling it over and over whenever I wasn’t in session or in group.

  I didn’t know what I’d find when I arrived, but that didn’t matter.

  Each journey started with that first step.

  I was determined to see this through to the end.

  ****

  I planted my feet on the doorstep, ignoring every instinct to run as I knocked hesitantly on the white painted door.

  There were a million places I would have rather been than here. There were locations I’d dreamed about and had on my bucket list—each of them a more welcoming sight than this one.

  As soon as the door opened, there would be no going back. It was hard not to bend to the side and empty the contents of my stomach when I heard the sound of approaching feet.

  I was a bundle of nerves and flashes of possible outcomes flickered through my mind. I’d stewed over it in my head during the flight—conversations that ended with hurt and blame . . . discussions that resulted in genuine forgiveness and acceptance.

  Frankly, I was hoping for somewhere in between. I was too jaded to truly believe mercy was within my reach.

  After all, I was responsible for the death of their son.

  Or at least, been there, unable to prevent it from happening.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Cooper,” I muttered beneath my breath, bouncing nervously on the balls of my feet, waiting as the door slowly opened.

  Marie greeted me with a shocked look on her face. Clearly, I was the last person she expected to find at her home. But instead of condemnation and rage, she almost seemed relieved to see me—like somehow she’d also been waiting for this moment.

  “Cooper.” She smiled and stepped forward to hug me. “This is a lovely surprise. Are you here alone?” She peered around me, found nothing, and glanced back.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sawyer. It’s just me. I figured it was time that we talked. I kind of have some things to share with you and your husband.” With each syllable, I felt a much needed comfort settle over me, fortifying me, giving me a dose of courage that made crossing the threshold into Owen’s childhood home a little easier.

  Even with frames of him hanging on the wall—one of them his and Caylee’s wedding photo—I managed to place one foot in front of the other. I’d come so far, both physically and mentally. I was still a Marine, albeit one pieced back together. I could do this.

  One breath at a time.

  “Joshua, we have a visitor,” Marie called out, guiding me into the cozy family room where her husband was relaxing on a recliner, watching ESPN. “You might want to turn the T.V. off for this.”

  The older man started to argue, but when he turned and saw me standing there, my gaze reluctantly meeting his, he obeyed without question. Again, for the second time that day, I was stunned into silence.

  “Son, how I have longed for this day.” And rising from his seat, he closed the distance and pulled me into an embrace I never wanted to end. It said everything. It broke me. It tore down any hastily erected ideas that this would be a battle and left us all emotional.

  “Sir,” I began, hoping to find something . . . anything to say. This conversation was one that should’ve been said years ago had I not been a coward and caught up in my own grief. “I am so sorry. Just so sorry.”

  “I know, Cooper. I know.” He didn’t let me go. I didn’t pull away. Together we cried, and another chip in my armor fell free, one I hadn’t realized still lingered. “It’s okay, son. I know you did the best you could.”

  Marie approached from the side, making sure I saw her coming. Even after all this time, she remembered that even though the deployment was over, care was still necessary.

  Despite the fact, for her, Owen was gone and such awareness wasn’t needed.

  It made me sob harder for what she’d lost—Owen’s family had lost—and yes, for what I had lost.

  “He loved you so much and he’d be happy to know you were here.” Her voice was soft and calming, her own tears spilling over her cheeks.

  “I should’ve come sooner. Straight away. Done more. Said more.” Now that I was here, there was no holding back.

  “You did what you could. We knew when you were ready, that you’d show up. We’ve been patient. We knew.” Finally, releasing his tight hold, Joshua rested his hand along the side of my face. “My boy. You were my boy, too.”

  I nodded and, in that moment, I vowed to make him proud as well.

  Gathering ourselves, we each took a seat and visited, exchanging small pleasantries and what each of us had been up to in the past few months. When I shared I’d finally hit rock bottom and admitted myself into a treatment facility, I thought I’d see pity in their eyes.

  Instead, I found nothing but respect. This wasn’t going at all how I had imagined.

  “Cooper,” Marie spoke, glancing first at her husband and then at me. “I feel I need to apologize to you as well.”

  I almost choked when she said it. “What for?” I felt my eyes widen, unable to
comprehend her meaning.

  “For all those times I called you. I wasn’t myself and it seemed easier to pour my grief into blaming someone else. You. Hearing you share your struggles and what you’ve been through since coming home, I feel sick that I contributed to that. I didn’t mean to. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Her admission could’ve knocked me over with a feather. “Honestly? I believed I deserved it. He died in my arms and I wasn’t able to stop it. I’ve relived those last few minutes . . . that entire patrol . . . countless times, hoping to uncover some missed opportunity where I could’ve saved him, or taken his place.”

  It was Joshua who jumped in. “And did you ever find what you were looking for?”

  Shaking my head, I studied the glass I was holding, knowing it didn’t hold the answer. “No, sir.”

  “That’s because there wasn’t one. You did everything you could. Sometimes tragedies happen. Unfortunately, Owen got caught in the crossfire.” Even now, the death of his son caused sorrow in his voice.

  I understood what he was saying, but that wasn’t the point I was trying to convey. “True, but that’s not why I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t find the solution because I never stopped searching. Every truth that surfaced was unacceptable so I squashed it . . . dismissed it . . . hanging on even tighter to my guilt. I refused to acknowledge the fact that it wasn’t anyone’s fault, except the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “But you do now?” Marie interrupted, her hand firmly in her husband’s grasp. “Please tell me that you finally accept that as the only truth. Please. It breaks my heart that you’ve carried the blame for so long when it wasn’t yours to carry.”

  I took a sip of sweet tea, using it as an excuse to unclench my jaw and gather my thoughts. I’d said it so easily to Susan back at Fairview, but that was when I was still fully protected in the bubble of therapy.

  This was the real world—often a lot less gentle.

  I searched my feelings, hoping that I could answer them with as much conviction as I had with Susan. My hands trembled when I found I wasn’t lacking.

  “It wasn’t my fault. Yes, I’m desperately sorry that he died. Owen was my best friend. He was my brother. I loved him and did everything within my power to make sure he survived that ambush. But I didn’t pull that trigger. And—” My voice gave out and I bravely swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I know the way I can honor his memory is to stop punishing myself for it.”

  An enormous weight lifted from my shoulders.

  I’d said it out loud to Owen’s parents—the two people who needed to hear it the most.

  It didn’t matter that it had taken this long to say it. It was done and, hopefully, it signaled the closing of a painful and bittersweet chapter in my life.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Joshua said, locking eyes with me across the coffee table. “Because I’ve waited a long time to say this, Cooper. But son.” He used that term of endearment again and it made my chest tighten, “there was never anything to forgive. Nothing. I know you’ve felt you needed to make some kind of grand gesture or somehow make up for losing Owen, but that was never your responsibility. Ever. You can put that burden down now. There is nothing to apologize for.”

  The rest of the night passed in a blur—much like a family reunion. The air filled with the sounds of shared memories, laughter, and tears. We each promised to remain in touch.

  I had one last stop to make tomorrow before heading home.

  Then I would be finally free.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cooper

  Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I navigated my way through the cemetery, weaving between neatly arranged rows with headstones and markers decorated with an assortment of flowers.

  I’d still been in Germany recovering from surgery when Owen had been buried. My absence had felt like a stab in the heart. No amount of pleading with the doctors had helped my cause. My injuries had made it difficult to transport me home.

  Sometimes I thought that was the fatal blow that destroyed my peace of mind—fracturing me into pieces I was only now fitting back together.

  Not the bullets that tore through muscle and flesh.

  Not holding my dying friend in my arms as he bled out on that street.

  It was my inability to make it home and honor his memory—to show my respect to one of the greatest people I’d ever known.

  But such was life. It didn’t always go according to plan and at least I could be here now.

  Better late than never.

  Following Marie’s carefully written directions, I made my way to Owen’s headstone. My steps faltered.

  Fuck, I was already losing it.

  As each second passed, a shroud of reverence enveloped me, not the guilt I’d worn so proudly before like it was some consolation prize for surviving the unthinkable. This trip was definitely nothing like I’d thought and I almost laughed out loud at how monstrous I’d built it up in my head.

  I’d pushed off this visit—days becoming weeks, which turned into months, then years. All that fearful anticipation had melted away the instant Marie had opened the door. If they didn’t condemn me—fully justified in acting as my judge and executioner—there was little chance the ghost of my friend would either.

  But it was him I’d come to face . . . the final piece in restoring my soul.

  His grave was well maintained, lovingly tended to with lilies blooming on each side of the marker. It was a beautifully crafted black granite headstone with his name and life dates etched into the surface.

  My eyes caught on the dash between his birth and death dates. It always struck me how someone’s entire existence was represented by a small stroke, the in-between. It seemed insufficient . . . inadequate . . . a mockery of the greatness he’d achieved. While Owen had still been young and in his twenties, he’d worked and played hard—giving everything he had in the pursuit of happiness and the things he believed in.

  A dash.

  It wasn’t enough.

  But then again, was there even a word or symbol that could fully encompass everything he was?

  Son.

  Husband.

  Friend.

  Brother.

  Marine.

  Family.

  In a short span of time—a mere blip in eternity—he’d accomplished what many only hoped for. Owen had been loved and had loved fiercely.

  “Hey,” I ventured, feeling slightly awkward at speaking to his grave. I tried not to overthink it. I tried not to imagine his lifeless body in the ground. Instead, I pictured him in my mind, beside me.

  I just couldn’t see him.

  Crouching down, I picked a few dead leaves that had fallen from the nearby trees and ended up cluttered at the base of the granite stone. He always did like a neat and tidy bunk—meticulously keeping his belongings in order, even when there wasn’t an inspection scheduled.

  It was who he was and something told me he’d appreciate the sentiment.

  “Sorry it’s taken me so long to come,” I continued. The fact I kept apologizing to people wasn’t lost on me. It didn’t leave me feeling guilty either. It was what it was.

  A gentle breeze blew, causing the leaves on the plants to bob up and down. Almost like Owen knew I was there. Goosebumps flared across my skin.

  Now that I was here, however, I didn’t know what else to say other than sorry. All the mental conversations I’d held with him over the past few months didn’t seem relevant anymore. Without the blame and denial, the only thing that remained was grief. I missed my friend.

  That was the best place to start.

  “Remember that time when you swore you could make BBQ ribs like your mom made and we all made bets on whether it would taste like shit or if you’d pull it off?” There were days I could almost taste the end result, my stomach rumbling over the phantom memory as if it too was waiting for a repeat of the perfection he’d created. “You never did tell us how you did it. We couldn’t tell whether you’d rece
ived a care package from home with the sauce or you’d somehow managed to mix the right kind of spices, but damned what I wouldn’t give for another plateful, Owen. I would do it all again just to be able to talk to you face-to-face. Laugh like we used to . . . even as the world around us exploded in violence. You kept me sane during those first few months and I just hope I did the same for you. Deployments were bearable together.” Standing so I took the pressure off my leg, the muscle throbbing with pain, I pushed the distraction aside. “It’s not the same without you. This wasn’t how it was meant to end.”

  Closing my eyes, I tried to pull up his image in my mind, how he’d looked in his dress uniform, all pressed and starched. That was how I chose to remember him—in all his finery—and, by the grace of God, it stuck.

  I didn’t think I’d make it if that picture unraveled, leaving behind the very last thing I saw before passing out. There was only so much horror I could take and there was no way in hell I wanted to desecrate his memorial.

  His grave needed to remain pure and undefiled.

  It struck me how, for the first time, I didn’t include myself in that. Shit, I had definitely come a long way—further than I ever dared hope for.

  Caylee’s face flittered before me and instantly my body responded. Not in arousal, but in that deep ache that came from her absence. Coughing, I dragged in cool air, expanding my lungs until I couldn’t inhale further, then my confession came out in one long extended sentence.

  “I love her, Owen. God, I tried not to, but it was a fight I was never meant to win. You know her. You loved her, too. I think that’s what I’m most sorry for. I should’ve protected her . . . cherished her like you would’ve. Instead, I screwed everything up and I’m so fucking sorry. There’s only ever been two instances where I wished I could rewind time and fix things . . . you dying in that damned street and me hurting Caylee. She was the best thing in my life . . . my saving grace.” I brushed away the tears that fell unabashedly to my chin before dropping to my shirt. “She’s the thing we fought for . . . the reason why we woke up each morning . . . the goodness in the world we desperately tried to preserve. I thought I could pretend, that I could hide those parts of myself from her, but it was all a lie. I was destruction . . . I can see that now. It would always end this way because I didn’t give us a chance.” The truthfulness I uttered danced around me like the songs I sang with the band—each word resonating deeper and deeper. “Pushing her away was the biggest fucking mistake of my life, Owen. And the selfish bastard that I am, I half wish you could somehow tell me how to fix it.”